They took me to the Polizeirevier on Derfflingerstrasse, at the corner of the Kurfürstenstrasse; there, a half-asleep policeman took my ID papers, asked me some questions, and wrote the answers down on a form; then they told me to go sit on a bench. Two hours later they took me across the way, to the Abschnittkommando of the Tiergarten, the neighborhood’s main police station. They led me into a room where a man who was badly shaved but dressed in a meticulously ironed suit sat hunched behind a table. He was from the Kripo. “You’re in for it, young man. A man fired on a police officer and was killed. Who was he? Did you know him? They saw you on the bridge with him. What were you doing there?” Sitting on the bench, I had had time to reflect, and I stuck to a simple story: A doctoral student, I liked taking walks, at night, to meditate on my thesis; I had left home, in Prenzlauer Berg, to stroll along Unter den Linden then through the Tiergarten, I wanted to reach the S-Bahn to return home; I was crossing the bridge and this man had accosted me, he said something I couldn’t catch, his strange behavior had frightened me, I thought he was threatening me and had continued on my way, then I had met the Schupos, and that was all. He asked the same question as the policemen: “That area is a well-known meeting place. Are you sure he wasn’t your boyfriend? A lovers’ quarrel? The Schupos confirmed you spoke with him.” I denied this and repeated my story: doctoral student, etc. That lasted for a while: he asked his questions in a brutal, hard tone; several times he tried to provoke me, but I didn’t let myself be intimidated, I knew that the best thing was to stay calm. I began to be bothered by a strong need and finally asked to go to the bathroom. He sniggered: “No. Afterward,” and continued. Finally he waved the air with his hand. “Okay, Mr. Lawyer. Go sit in the hallway. We’ll continue later on.” I left the office and sat down in the entryway. Aside from the two Schupos and a drunkard asleep on a bench, I was alone. A bulb flickered now and then. Everything was clean, neat, quiet. I waited.

A few hours went by, I must have dozed, the dawn light was beginning to turn the windows in the entryway pale, a man came in. He was tastefully dressed, in an elegantly cut pinstripe suit with a starched collar and a pearl-gray knitted tie; on the lapel he wore a Party insignia, and under his arm he was holding a black leather briefcase; his jet black hair, thick, shining with brilliantine, was combed straight back, and although his face remained closed, his eyes seemed to be laughing as they looked me over. He murmured a few words to the Schupos on guard; one of them led him down the corridor and they disappeared. A few minutes later the Schupo returned and waved his stubby finger at me: “You there. This way.” I rose, stretched, and followed him, struggling to hold back my urge. The Schupo brought me back to the room where I had been interrogated. The Kripo inspector had vanished; sitting in his place was the well-dressed young man, one arm with its starched sleeve resting on the table, the other casually hooked over the back of his chair. The black briefcase lay on the table near his elbow. “Come in,” he said politely but firmly. He pointed toward an empty chair: “Please, sit down.” The Schupo closed the door and I came and sat. I could hear the man’s hobnailed boots clicking in the hallway as he left. The elegant, polished young man had a voice that was soft but barely hid its sharpness. “My colleague from the criminal police, Halbey, takes you for a Paragraph One-seventy-five. Are you a Paragraph One-seventy-five?” That seemed a genuine question to me and I answered frankly: “No.”—“That’s what I think too,” he said. He looked at me and held out his hand over the desk: “My name is Thomas Hauser. A pleasure.” I leaned over to shake it. His grip was firm, his skin dry and smooth, he had perfectly cut fingernails. “Aue. Maximilien Aue.”—“Yes, I know. You’re lucky, Herr Aue. Kriminalkommissar Halbey has already sent a preliminary report on this unfortunate incident to the Staatspolizei, mentioning your presumed involvement. It was addressed in duplicate to Kriminalrat Meisinger. Do you know who Kriminalrat Meisinger is?”—“No, I don’t.”—“Kriminalrat Meisinger directs the Reich’s Main Office for the Struggle Against Homosexuality and Abortion. So he’s in charge of the One-seventy-fives. He is not a nice man. A Bavarian.” He paused. “Fortunately for you, Kriminalkommissar Halbey’s report came across my desk first. I was on duty tonight. I was able for now to block the copy addressed to Kriminalrat Meisinger.”—“That’s very kind of you.”—“Yes, it is. See, our friend Kriminalkommissar Halbey has formed suspicions about you. But Kriminalrat Meisinger doesn’t care about suspicions, he cares about facts. And he has methods to obtain those facts that do not meet with complete approval at the Staatspolizei, but that generally turn out to be effective.” I shook my head: “Listen…I don’t really understand what you’re talking about. There must be a misunderstanding.” Thomas clicked his tongue: “For now, you’re right. There seems to be a misunderstanding. Or perhaps rather an unfortunate coincidence, if you like, hastily interpreted by the zealous Kriminalkommissar Halbey.” I bent forward, spreading my hands: “Look, this is all idiotic. I am a student, a member of the Party, of the SS…” He cut me off: “I know you are a member of the Party and the SS. I know Professor Höhn very well. I know perfectly who you are.” Then I understood: “Oh. You’re from the SD.” Thomas smiled amiably: “That’s more or less it, yes. Normally I work with Dr. Six, the replacement for your professor, Dr. Höhn. But for the time being I have been seconded to the Staatspolizei as assistant to Dr. Best, who is helping the Chief to draw up the legal framework for the SP.” Even then I noted the marked emphasis with which he uttered the words the Chief. “So you’re all doctors, at the Sicherheitsdienst?” I blurted out. He smiled again, a wide, frank smile: “Almost.”—“And you’re a doctor too?” He inclined his head: “In law.”—“I see.”—“The Chief, on the other hand, is not a doctor. But he is much more intelligent than we are. He uses our talents to reach his ends.”—“And what are these ends?” Thomas knitted his eyebrows: “What are you studying, with Höhn? The protection of the State, of course.” He stopped. I kept silent; we looked at each other. He seemed to be waiting for something. He bent forward and leaned his chin on one hand, tapping the manicured nails of the other on the table. Finally he asked in an annoyed tone: “The protection of the State doesn’t interest you, Herr Aue?” I hesitated: “Well, I am not a doctor…”—“But you will be soon.” A few more seconds of silence passed. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” I finally said.—“I’m not getting at anything at all, I’m trying to help you avoid useless difficulties. You know, the reports you wrote for the SD, at one time, were quickly noticed. Very well written, to the point, nourished by a Weltanschauung whose rigor was unquestionable. It’s too bad you didn’t continue, but that’s your business. Still, when I saw Kriminalkommissar Halbey’s report, I said to myself that this would be a loss for National Socialism. I phoned Dr. Best—I woke him up, too—he agreed with me and authorized me to come here, to suggest to Kriminalkommissar Halbey that he curb his annoying initiatives. You understand, they’re going to open a criminal investigation, as is necessary when a man dies. What’s more, a policeman was wounded. At the very least you should in principle be called to appear as a witness. Given the location of the crime, a notorious homosexual meeting place, the case, even if I can convince Kriminalkommissar Halbey to moderate his zeal, will automatically be forwarded, sooner or later, to the services of Kriminalrat Meisinger. Then Kriminalrat Meisinger will take an interest in you. He’ll start digging, like the coarse animal he is. Whatever the results are, it will leave indelible traces in your personal file. Now it just so happens that the Reichsführer-SS has a particular obsession about homosexuality. Homosexuals frighten him, he hates them. He thinks a hereditary homosexual can contaminate dozens of young men with his disease, and that all those young men will then be lost to the race. He also believes that inverts are congenital liars, who believe in their own lies—hence a mental irresponsibility that renders them incapable of loyalty, causes them to blab, and can lead to treason. Thus, this potential threat that the homosexual represents signifies that the question, for the Reichsführer, is not a medical question that can be remedied by therapy, but a political question, to be treated by the methods of the SP. He even recently expressed enthusiasm for the suggestion of one of our best legal historians, Professor and SS-Untersturmführer Eckhardt, whom you must know, to return to the old Germanic custom of drowning effeminate men in peat bogs. This, I would be the first to acknowledge, is a somewhat extreme point of view, and although its logic is undeniable, not everyone sees the matter in such an unequivocal way. The Führer himself, it seems, remains somewhat indifferent to this question. But his lack of interest on this subject leaves the field free for the Reichsführer, with his excessive ideas, to define the current policies. So if Kriminalrat Meisinger came to form an unfavorable opinion of you, even if he didn’t manage to obtain a condemnation under Paragraphs One-seventy-five or One-seventy-five-A of the Penal Code, you could have all sorts of problems. It’s even possible, if Kriminalrat Meisinger insisted, that an order for preventive custody be issued against you. I would be sorry about that, and Dr. Best too.” I was only half listening because my need was overtaking me again, more violently than ever, but finally I reacted: “I don’t understand where you’re heading. Are you making me an offer?”—“An offer?” Thomas raised his eyebrows. “But who do you take us for? Do you really think that the SD needs to resort to blackmail for its recruitment? Come on. No,” he continued with a broad, friendly smile, “I simply came to help you in a spirit of camaraderie, as one National Socialist toward another. Of course,” he added with an ironic look, “we suspect that Professor Höhn is warning his students against the SD, that he must have discouraged you a little, and that’s too bad. Did you know he’s the one who recruited me? He has become ungrateful. If you ever changed your mind about us, all the better. I think if our work began to appear to you in a more favorable light, Dr. Best would be happy to discuss it with you. I invite you to think about it. But that has nothing to do with my actions tonight.” I must say that this frank, direct attitude pleased me. I was very impressed by the uprightness, the energy, the calm conviction radiating from Thomas. It didn’t at all correspond to the idea I had formed of the SD. But he was already getting up. “You’ll go out with me. There won’t be any objections. I’ll inform Kriminalkommissar Halbey that you were in that area in the line of duty, and the matter will rest there. When the time comes you’ll testify to that effect. That way, everything will be perfectly civilized.” I couldn’t stop thinking about the toilets; when the conversation ended, Thomas waited in the hallway while I finally relieved myself. I had time then to reflect a little: when I came out, I must already have made my decision. Outside it was day. Thomas left me on the Kurfürstenstrasse, shaking my hand vigorously. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Tchüss!” And that is how, my ass still full of sperm, I resolved to enter the Sicherheitsdienst.