bitte.” He shook his head: “I don’t need to say bitte!”—“And why is that?”—“Because my papa is the King of Poland, and everyone here has to obey him!” I nodded: “That’s very good. But you should learn to recognize uniforms. I don’t serve your father, I serve the Reichsführer-SS. So if you want some cake, you have to say bitte to me.” The child, his lips pinched, hesitated; he must not have been used to such resistance. Finally he gave in: “Can I have the cake, bitte?” I took a piece of torte and handed it to him. As he ate, smearing his mouth with chocolate, he examined my uniform. Then he pointed at my Iron Cross: “Are you a hero?”—“In a way, yes.”—“Have you been to war?”—“Yes.”—“My papa commands, but he doesn’t go to war.”—“I know. Do you live here all the time?” He nodded. “And do you like living in a castle?” He shrugged: “It’s all right. But there aren’t any other children.”—“You have brothers and sisters, though?” He nodded: “Yes. But I don’t play with them.”—“Why not?”—“Dunno. That’s how it is.” I wanted to ask his name, but a big commotion was taking place at the entrance to the room: a crowd was headed toward us, Frank and the Reichsführer in the lead. “Ah, there you are!” Frank exclaimed to the little boy. “Come, come with us. You too, Sturmbannführer.” Frank took his son in his arms and pointed to the car: “Could you carry that?” I picked the car up and followed them. The crowd crossed all the rooms and massed in front of a door that Frank had opened. Then he stood aside to let Himmler pass: “After you, my dear Reichsführer. Come in, come in.” He put his son down and pushed him in front of him, hesitated, searched me out with his eyes, then whispered to me: “Just leave that in a corner. We’ll get it later.” I followed them into the room and went to put the car down. In the center of the room there was a large table with something on top of it beneath a black sheet. Frank, with the Reichsführer at his side, waited for the other guests and arranged them around the table, which was at least three-by-four meters. The little boy, again, stood against the table on tiptoe, but barely reached the top. Frank looked around, saw me standing a little apart, and called to me: “Excuse me, Sturmbannführer. You’re already friends, I see. Would you mind carrying him so he can see?” I bent down and took the child in my arms; Frank made room for me next to him, and while the last guests came in, he ran his pointed fingers through his hair and fiddled with one of his medals; he seemed scarcely able to contain his impatience. When everyone was there, Frank turned to Himmler and declared in a solemn voice: “My dear Reichsführer, what you are now about to see is an idea that has occupied my spare time for a while now. It’s a project that, I hope, will make the city of Cracow, capital of the Generalgouvernement of Poland, famous, and will be an attraction for all of Germany. When it is finished, I plan on dedicating it to the Führer for his birthday. But since you are giving us the pleasure of visiting us, I don’t want to keep it secret any longer.” His puffy face, with its weak, sensual features, gleamed with pleasure; the Reichsführer, his hands crossed behind his back, contemplated him through his pince-nez with a half-sarcastic, half-bored look. I hoped more than anything that he would hurry up: the child was beginning to get heavy. Frank gave a signal, and some soldiers pulled the sheet, revealing a large architectural model, a kind of park, with trees and curving paths, outlined between houses of different styles, surrounded by a wall. While Frank puffed himself up, Himmler scrutinized the model. “What is it?” he finally asked. “It looks like a zoo.”—“Almost, my dear Reichsführer,” Frank chuckled, his thumbs in the pockets of his tunic. “It is, in the words of the Viennese, a Menschengarten, an anthropological garden that I hope to establish here, in Cracow.” He made a wide gesture over the model. “You remember, my dear Reichsführer, in our youth, before the war, those Hagenbeck Völkerschauen? With families of Samoans, Laplanders, Sudanese? One of them came to Munich, my father took me to see it; you must have seen it too. And there were some in Hamburg, Frankfurt, Basel, it was a huge success.” The Reichsführer rubbed his chin: “Yes, yes, I remember. They were traveling exhibitions, right?”—“Yes. But this one will be permanent, like a zoo. And it won’t be a public amusement, my dear Reichsführer, but a pedagogical, scientific tool. We will gather together specimens of all the peoples who have disappeared or are about to disappear in Europe, to preserve a living trace of them this way. German schoolchildren will come in buses to learn here! Look, look.” He pointed to one of the houses: it was half open, sectioned; inside, one could see little figurines sitting around a table, with a seven-branched candelabrum. “For the Jew, for example, I chose the Jew from Galicia as the best representative of the Ostjuden. The house is typical of their filthy habitat; of course, it will have to be disinfected regularly, and the specimens subjected to medical supervision, to avoid contaminating the visitors. For these Jews, I want pious ones, very pious, we’ll give them a Talmud, and the visitors can see them muttering their prayers, or watch the wife prepare kosher food. Over here are Polish peasants from Masuria; over there, Bolshevized Kolkhozniks; and there, Ruthenians, and over there, Ukrainians, see, with the embroidered shirts. This big building here will house an institute for anthropological research; I will endow it with a chair myself; scholars can come and study on-site these peoples who were once so numerous. It will be a unique opportunity for them.”—“Fascinating,” the Reichsführer murmured. “And ordinary visitors?”—“They can walk freely around the fences, watch the specimens working in their gardens, beating rugs, hanging out the wash. Then there will be guided tours of the houses, which will allow them to observe the habitat and customs.”—“And how would you maintain the institution in the long run? After all, your specimens will grow old, and some will die.”—“That is precisely, my dear Reichsführer, where I would need your support. They will marry among themselves and reproduce. One single family will be exhibited at a time; the others will serve to replace them if they fall ill, to procreate, to teach the children the customs, the prayers and the rest. I picture them being guarded nearby in a camp, under SS surveillance.”—“If the Führer authorized it, it would be possible. But we’ll have to discuss it. It’s not certain that it’s desirable to preserve certain races from extinction, even this way. It could be dangerous.”—“Of course, every precaution will be taken. In my opinion, such an institution will be found to be precious and irreplaceable for science. How do you think future generations will be able to understand the amplitude of our work, if they have no idea of the conditions that prevailed before?”—“You are certainly right, my dear Frank. It’s a fine idea. And how do you plan to finance this…