Martin Amis - The Zone of Interest

Hannah said sarcastically, ‘Unpleasant? Oh really? That’ll make a change. Unpleasant in what way?’

‘I’m not at liberty to disclose. War work. It may have a deleterious effect on the air quality. Here, let me top that up for you.’

A minute later I returned, with Hannah’s wine and a huge glass of gin.

‘Have a ponder about it. I’m sure you’ll see it’s for the best. Mm, nice sky. It’s getting colder. Which’ll help.’

‘Help how?’

I coughed and said, ‘Now you know we’ve got the Playhouse tomorrow night.’

Her flicked cigarette end looked like a firefly in the dusk — an upward swoop.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘gala performance of And the Woods Sing For Ever .’ I smiled. ‘You frown, my pet. Come on, we must keep up appearances! Dear oh dear. Who’s a sulky girl then? I’d invoke the name of Dieter Kruger. But you’ve shown, haven’t you, that you’re no longer much bothered about his fate.’

‘Oh, I’m bothered. Didn’t you tell me that Dieter passed through Stutthof? You told me they give you 25 lashes on arrival.’

‘Did I? Well only with very suspicious prisoners. They won’t do that to Bohdan … And the Woods Sing For Ever ’s a tale of rural life, Hannah.’ I took a big gulp of the stringent liquor and thoroughly rinsed my mouth with it. ‘About the longing for the redemptive community. The organic community, Hannah. It’ll make you pine for Abbey Timbers.’

It was a joint anniversary, commemorating i) our decisive electoral breakthrough on September 14, 1930, and ii) the historic passage of the Nuremberg Race Laws on September 15, 1935. So: a double cause for celebration!

After a few cocktails in the Crush Bar, Hannah and myself (the cynosure of all eyes) made our way to our seats in the front row. The house lights dimmed, and the curtain creaked ceilingward — to reveal a thickset milkmaid sorrowing over a bare pantry.

And the Woods Sing For Ever was about a family in a farmstead during the harsh winter that followed the Diktat of Versailles. The frost’s destroyed the tubers, Otto was 1 of its lines, and Get your toffee nose out of that book, can’t you? was another. Otherwise, And the Woods Sing For Ever completely passed me by. Not that my mind went blank — on the contrary. It was most peculiar. I spent the whole 2½ hours intently estimating how long it would take (given the high ceiling as against the humid conditions) to gas the audience, and wondering which of their clothes would be salvageable, and calculating how much their hair and gold fillings might fetch…

Afterwards, at the party proper, a couple of Phanodorm washed down with a few cognacs soon restored my equilibrium. I left Hannah with Norberte Uhl, Angelus Thomsen, and Olbricht and Suzi Erkel whilst I had some words with Alisz Seisser. The poor little thing is off to Hamburg at the end of the week. Alisz’s first item of business: see about her pension. For some reason she was white with dread.

‘We’ll go from west to east. There’ll be 800 of you.’

Szmul shrugged, and produced, if you can believe, a handful of black olives from his trouser pocket.

‘Maybe 900. Tell me, Sonderkommandofuhrer. Are you a married man?’

He said with his head down, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Shulamith, sir.’

‘And where is this “Shulamith”, Sonderkommandofuhrer?’

It’s not quite true to say that the crows of the charnel house are impervious to all human emotion. Fairly frequently, in the course of their work, they encounter someone they know. The Sonder sees these neighbours, friends, relatives, as they come in, or as they go out, or both. Szmul’s 2nd-in-command once found himself in the shower room calming the fears of his identical twin. Not long ago there was a certain Tadeusz, another good worker, who looked to the end of his belt in the Leichenkeller (they use their belts, do you see, to haul the Stucke), and there was his wife; he fainted; but they gave him some schnapps and a length of salami, and 10 minutes later he was back on the job, snipping merrily away.

‘Come on, where is she?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Still in Litzmannstadt?’

‘I don’t know, sir. Pardon, sir, but did they see about the excavator?’

‘Forget about the excavator. It’s a wreck.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And they’re to be carefully counted. Understand? Count the skulls.’

‘Skulls are no good, sir.’ He leaned sideways and expelled the last olive stone. ‘There’s a more reliable method, sir.’

‘Oh really? Here, how long’ll all this take?’

‘Depends on the rainfall, sir. I’m guessing, but I’d say 2 or 3 months.’

‘2 or 3 months ?’

He turned to me, and I saw what was unusual about his face. Not the eyes (his were the usual Sonder eyes), but the mouth. I knew then, up on the rise, that Szmul, immediately after the successful completion of the present measure, would have to be dealt with, by the employment of the apt procedure.

Have garnered some further information on the sugary Herr Thomsen (despite his record, I think, deep down, he is ‘1 of those’). His mother, Bormann’s much older half-sister, made an advantageous match, ne? She married a merchant banker — who also collected modern art of the most degenerate stripe. Does the mould seem familiar — money, modern art? I wonder if that ‘Thomsen’ wasn’t once something like ‘Tawmzen’. Anyway, both parents, in 1929, died in an elevator plunge in New York (moral: set foot in that Hebrew Sodom and you get what you so ‘richly’ deserve!). So then this only child, this princeling gets himself unofficially adopted by his Uncle Martin — the man who controls the appointment book of the Deliverer.

Now I’ve had to slave and sweat blood, I’ve had to kill myself to get where I am. But some people — some people are born with a silver… Now that’s funny. I was about to employ the usual phrase — but then an improvement popped into my head. And it’s perfect for him. Yes. Angelus Thomsen was born with a silver Schwanz in his mouth!

Nicht wahr?

I was bent over my desk at home, deep in weary meditation, when I heard footsteps; they neared and paused. They were not Hannah’s footsteps.

And I was thinking: I am someone caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. On the one hand, the Economic Administration Head Office is always after me to do everything I can to swell the labour strength (for the munitions industries); on the other, the Reich Central Security Department presses for the disposal of as many evacuees as possible, for obvious reasons of self-defence (the Jews constituting a 5th column of intolerable proportions). I swiped my fingertips across my brow in a kind of reflexive salute. And now, I see (the teletype lay before me), that that moron Gerhard Student at EAHO is floating the bright idea that all able-bodied mothers should be worked till they drop in the boot factory at Chełmek! Fine , I’ll tell him. And you can come to the ramp and try separating them from their children . These people — they just don’t think . I said loudly,

‘Whoever’s out there may as well come in.’

At last came the knock. Looking very penitent and stricken, Humilia crept into the room.

‘Are you just going to stand there and tremble,’ I muttered (I was thoroughly out of sorts), ‘or do you have something to convey?’

‘My conscience is upset, sir.’

‘Oh really? We can’t have that. That would never do. Well?’

‘I was obedient to Miss Hannah when I shouldn’t have been.’

I said quite calmly, ‘When I shouldn’t have been, sir .’