Martin Amis - The Zone of Interest

From outside there came a volley of inarticulate bawling, plus two pistol shots and then the familiar rhythm of the whip. Burckl said,

‘How many calories does an adult need daily in conditions of complete repose?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Two and a half thousand. In some of the Polish ghettoes, it’s three hundred. That’s dry execution. In the Stammlager it’s eight. And here it’s eleven, if they’re lucky. Eleven, for penal labour. On eleven hundred calories, I can tell you, a heavy worker loses about three kilos a week. Do your sums. Mr Thomsen, we need to give them an incentive.’

‘How’re you going to do that? They know they’re here to die, Mr Burckl.’

He narrowed his eyes and said, ‘Have you heard tell of Szmul?’

‘Indeed.’

‘What’s his incentive?’

I recrossed my legs. Old Frithuric was beginning to impress me.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘A thought experiment. We do some sifting and settle on a core of perhaps twenty-five hundred workers. We stop beating them. We stop making them do everything at the double, unverzuglich, unverzuglich — that terrible swaying trot. We feed and house them decently, within reason. And they work. As Szmul works. And efficiently collaborates.’ He opened out his hands towards me. ‘The incentive is just the full belly and the night’s rest.’

‘What does Dr Seedig say?’

‘I can carry him.’

‘And Doll?’

‘Doll? Doll’s nothing. It’ll be a hell of a battle, but I think the two of us together, Suitbert and I, can sway the Vorstand. Then Max Faust himself will take it to the top.’

‘The top. You’ll never convince the Reichsfuhrer.’

‘I don’t mean the Reichsfuhrer.’

‘Then who do you mean? Surely not the Reichsmarschall.’

‘Of course not. I mean the Reichsleiter.’

The Reichsfuhrer was Himmler, and the Reichsmarschall was Goring. The Reichsleiter was Uncle Martin.

‘Well, Mr Thomsen?’

In my considered opinion the changes Burckl was suggesting would improve the Buna performance by two or three hundred per cent, maybe more. I coughed, politely (as if alerting him to my presence), and said,

‘With respect, I fear there are certain things you don’t understand. Let me—’

There was a knock on the door and Burckl’s (male) secretary leaned in for a moment with a flat smile of apology. ‘He’s outside, sir.’

‘Scheisse.’ Burckl got to his feet. ‘Can you give me an hour on Monday morning? You won’t credit this, Thomsen — I can hardly credit it myself. Wolfram Prufer’s taking me hunting. In Russia . Deer.’

Outside the perimeter of the Buna-Werke, separated by about a kilometre, were the two British Kriegsgefangnisse. Between them gaped a cavernous loading bay strewn with planks and ladders, heaps of bricks and timber balks. There I saw an inmate, a burly officer in a padded overcoat and, remarkably, leather boots; he was having a sly breather, slumped against an upended wheelbarrow. I had noticed him many times before.

‘ Rule Britannica ,’ I cried. ‘ Britain shall never never… ’

‘ Rule Britannia. Britons never never never shall be slaves. And look at me now. ’

‘ Where were you took prisoner? ’

‘ Libya .’

‘… It says Englishmen love flowers. Do you love flowers? ’

‘ They’re all right. I don’t mind them. Funnily enough, I was just thinking about woodbine. ’

‘You like “woodbine”? ’

‘ It’s a flower. Like a honeysuckle. It’s also a brand of cigarettes. That’s what I was thinking about. ’

‘ Woodbine. I do not know this. Do you like Senior Services? ’

‘ Senior Service. Very much .’

‘ And Players? ’

‘ Players are good .’

‘ Your name? ’

‘ Bullard. Captain Roland Bullard. And yours? ’

‘ Thomsen. Lieutenant Angelus Thomsen. My English I hope is not too worse?’

‘ It’ll do. ’

‘ I shall bring you Players or Senior Service. I shall bring them yesterday .’

‘ … You already brought them tomorrow. ’

I walked on for another ten minutes; then I turned and looked. The Buna-Werke — the size of a city. Like Magnetigorsk (a city called Sparkplug) in the USSR. It was due to become the largest and most advanced factory in Europe. When the whole operation came on line, said Burckl, it would need more electricity than Berlin.

So far as the Reich leadership was concerned, Buna promised not just synthetic rubber, not just synthetic fuel. It promised autarky; and autarky, it had been decided, would in turn decide the war.

Early evening in the anteroom (and bar) of the Officers’ Mess: sofas, armchairs, and coffee tables pillaged from the ten thousand Jews and Slavs we booted out of the Old Town two years ago, a handsome kitchen dresser with bottles of wine and spirits ranked up together with the fruit and the flowers, prisoner servants with white smocks over their mattress ticking, various lieutenants and captains, either in the early stages of insobriety or the late stages of recuperation, and a noisy guest contingent of Helferinnen and Special Supervisors, among them Ilse Grese and her new fifteen-year-old protégée, freckly Hedwig, with her pigtails coiled up under her cap.

You could eat here as well as in the dining room, and Boris was opposite me at our low table for two. We were finishing the second and ordering the third round of aperitifs (Russian vodka) and deciding on our appetisers (eighteen oysters each).

He laughed quietly and said, ‘Are you surprised that Ilse’s gone queer on us? I’m not. Tout s’explique . She always said schnell . “Schnell.” Did she say it to you?’

‘Yes. Always. “Schnell.” Now come on, Boris. Schnell.’

‘Well here’s what happened. I know the old prof wouldn’t think so, but it’s really quite funny. What happened was, Bohdan gave the Old Boozer a clout with a gardening tool. That’s how he got his black eyes. An accident, but still.’

‘This is according to who?’

‘According to Bohdan’s Blockaltester. Who got it from Prufer’s adju. Who got it from Prufer. Who got it from the Old Boozer.’

‘So. This is all according to the Old Boozer. And what became of Bohdan?’

‘Golo. Why bother to ask. A Haftling can’t brain the Commandant and expect to walk away. Imagine if it got around. And there’s also petty revenge of course. You should take a lesson from this. Don’t mess with the Old Boozer.’

‘How long before they came for him? Bohdan.’

‘That same night. Slung him in with the next trainload. And guess what. Before he knocked off work in the garden Bohdan mushed the children’s pet tortoise. With the flat of his shovel.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he knew he was for it.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Bohdan Szozeck was a professor of zoology. He looked like an old poet. Anyway, what do I tell Hannah? Finally .’

‘You could have done all this yourself. I’ll show you who to ask. You don’t even have to bribe her. Just a few smokes for her pains.’

‘What do I tell Hannah?’

‘Tell her what I’m telling you. Tell her it’s Doll’s version, but the only thing you know for sure is that Bohdan’s grave is in the sky… Look at Ilse. Christ, her tomboy can’t be any older than Esther.’

I said, ‘Is Esther behaving? How’d you get her out?’