I was tired, but with the long, pleasant tiredness after exercise. We had walked for a long time. In the entry of the manor house, I returned my shotgun and game bag, scraped the mud off my boots, and went up to my room. Someone had put more logs on the fire, it was warm; I took off my wet clothes and went to inspect the adjoining bathroom: not only was there running water, but it was hot; that seemed a miracle to me, in Berlin hot water was a rarity; the owner must have had a boiler installed. I ran an almost scalding bath and slipped in: I had to clench my teeth, but once I got used to it, stretched out full length, it was soft and gentle like amniotic fluid. I stayed in as long as possible; when I got out, I opened the windows wide and stood naked in front of them, as they do in Russia, until my skin was marbled red and white; then I drank a glass of cold water and stretched out on my stomach on the bed.

In the early evening I put on my suit, without a tie, and went downstairs. Not many people were in the living room, but Dr. Mandelbrod was ensconced in his big armchair in front of the fireplace, sitting catercorner, as if he wanted to warm one side but not the other. His eyes were closed and I didn’t disturb him. One of his assistants, in a severe country outfit, came over to shake my hand: “Good evening, Dr. Aue. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” I examined her face: it wasn’t my imagination, they all really did look alike. “Forgive me, but are you Hilde or Hedwig?” She gave a crystalline little smile: “Neither! You’re a very poor physiognomist. My name is Heide. We saw each other at Dr. Mandelbrod’s offices.” I bowed with a smile and apologized. “You weren’t at the hunt?”—“No. We’ve just arrived.”—“That’s too bad. I can easily picture you with a shotgun under your arm. A German Artemis.” She eyed me with a little smile: “I hope you’re not going to push the comparison too far, Dr. Aue.” I felt myself blush: Mandelbrod definitely recruited odd assistants. No doubt about it, this one too would ask me to get her pregnant. Fortunately, Speer arrived with his wife. “Ha! Sturmbannführer,” he exclaimed cheerfully. “We’re very poor hunters. Margret brought back five birds, Hettlage three.” Frau Speer laughed lightly: “Oh! You must have been talking about work.” Speer went over to pour himself some tea from a large, finely wrought ornate urn like a Russian samovar; I took a glass of Cognac. Dr. Mandelbrod opened his eyes and called to Speer, who went over to greet him. Leland came in and joined them. I went to talk with Heide; she had a solid philosophical background and spoke to me almost clearly about Heidegger’s theories, which at the time I was not at all familiar with. The other guests arrived one by one. A little later on, Leland invited us all into another room, where the dead birds had been set out on a long table, grouped together like a Flemish still life. Frau Speer held the record; the hunt-loving general had killed only one, and complained with bad grace about the section of wood he had been assigned. I thought we were at least going to eat the victims of this slaughter, but no: the birds had to be left to hang, and Leland undertook to have them delivered when they were ready. Nonetheless the dinner was varied and succulent—venison with berry sauce, potatoes roasted in goose fat, asparagus and zucchini, all washed down with a Burgundy of excellent vintage. I was seated opposite Speer, next to Leland; Mandelbrod sat at the head of the table. For the first time since I had met him, Herr Leland was extremely talkative: while drinking glass after glass, he talked about his past as a colonial administrator in Southwest Africa. He had known Rhodes, for whom he professed a boundless admiration, but remained vague about his move to the German colonies. “Rhodes said once: The colonizer can do no wrong; whatever he does becomes right. It is his duty to do what he wants. It is this principle, strictly applied, that won Europe its colonies, its domination over inferior peoples. It’s only when the corrupt democracies wanted to mix in, to give themselves a good conscience, hypocritical principles of morality, that the decline began. You’ll see: whatever the outcome of this war, France and Great Britain will lose their colonies. Their grip has slackened, they won’t be able to close their fists anymore. It’s Germany now that has picked up the torch. In 1907, I worked with General von Trotha. The Herero and the Nama had rebelled, but Trotha was a man who had understood Rhodes’s idea in all its strength. He said it openly: I wipe out rebel tribes with rivers of blood and rivers of money. Only following this cleansing can something new emerge. But Germany at the time was already weakening, and Trotha was recalled. I have always thought that was a sign foreshadowing 1918. Fortunately, the course of things has now been reversed. Today, Germany dominates the world. Our youth isn’t afraid of anything. Our expansion is an irresistible process.”—“Still,” broke in General von Wrede, who had arrived a little before Mandelbrod, “the Russians…” Leland tapped the table with the tip of his finger: “Precisely, the Russians. They are the only people today who are our equals. That’s why our war with them is so terrible, so pitiless. Only one of us will survive. The others don’t count. Can you imagine the Yankees, with their corned beef and their chewing gum, enduring a tenth of the Russian losses? A hundredth? They’d pack their bags and go home, and let Europe go to hell. No, what we have to do is show the Westerners that a Bolshevik victory is not in their interest, that Stalin will take half of Europe as his spoils, if not all of it. If the Anglo-Saxons help us finish off the Russians, we could leave them the scraps, or else, when we’ve regained our strength, crush them in turn, calmly. Look at what our Parteigenosse Speer has accomplished in less than two years! And that’s just a beginning. Imagine if our hands were unchained, if all the resources of the East were at our disposal. Then the world could be remade as it should be.”

After dinner I played chess with Hettlage, Speer’s associate. Heide came over and watched us play, in silence; Hettlage won easily. I had one last Cognac and chatted a little with Heide. The guests went up to bed. Finally she got up and, as directly as her colleagues, said: “I have to go help Dr. Mandelbrod now. If you don’t want to be alone, my room is two doors down from yours, on the left. You can come have a drink, a little later on.”—“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ll see.” I went up to my room, pensive, got undressed, and lay down. The remnants of the fire were glowing in the hearth. Lying there in the dark, I said to myself: After all, why not? She was a beautiful woman, she had a superb body, what was preventing me from taking advantage of it? There was no question of an ongoing relationship, it was a simple, clear-cut proposition. And even if my experience of them was limited, women’s bodies didn’t repel me, they must be pleasant too, soft and pliable, you must be able to forget yourself in them as in a pillow. But there was that promise, and if I was nothing else, I was a man who kept his promises. Things weren’t settled yet.

Sunday was a quiet day. I slept late, until about nine o’clock—usually I got up at 5:30—and went down to breakfast. I sat down in front of one of the big casement windows and leafed through an old edition of Pascal, in French, which I had found in the library. At the end of the morning, I accompanied Frau Speer and Frau von Wrede on a walk in the park; the latter’s husband was playing cards with an industrialist known for having built his empire through clever Aryanizations, the hunter general, and Hettlage. The grass, still wet, glistened, and puddles punctuated the gravel and dirt paths; the humid air was cool, invigorating, and our breaths formed little clouds in front of our faces. The sky remained uniformly gray. At noon I had coffee with Speer, who had just made his appearance. He spoke to me in detail about the question of foreign workers and his problems with Gauleiter Sauckel; then the conversation turned to the case of Ohlendorf, whom Speer seemed to regard as a romantic. My notions of economics were too rudimentary for me to be able to support Ohlendorf’s theories; Speer vigorously defended his principle of industrial self-responsibility. “In the end, there’s only one argument: it works. After the war, Dr. Ohlendorf can reform as he likes, if anyone wants to listen to him; but in the meantime, as I said to you yesterday, let’s win the war.”