Fatherland

Trondheim.
    World news. In London it had been announced that King Edward and Queen Wallis were to pay a state visit to the Reich in July "further to strengthen the deep bonds of respect and affection between the peoples of Great Britain and the German Reich." In Washington, it was believed that President Kennedy's latest victory in the U.S. primaries had strengthened his chances of winning a second term . . .
    The paper slipped from March's fingers and onto the floor.
    Half an hour later, the telephone rang.
    "So sorry to wake you." Koth was sarcastic. "I had the
    "For God's sake!"
    "What can you tell me about a man named Josef Buhler?"
    That night, March had a dream. He was at the lakeshore again in the rain and there was the body, facedown in the mud. He pulled at the shoulder—pulled hard—but he could not move it. The body was gray-white lead. But when he turned to leave, it grabbed his leg and began pulling him toward the surface of the lake. He scrabbled at the earth, trying to dig his fingers into the soft mud, but there was nothing to hold on to. The corpse's grip was immensely strong. And as they went under, its face became Pili's, contorted with rage, grotesque in its shame, screaming "I hate you ... I hate you ... I hate you .. ."

    impression this was supposed to be priority. Shall I call back tomorrow?"
    "No, no." March was wide awake.
    "This you will love. This is beautiful." For the first time in his life, March heard Koth chuckle. "Now, you're not playing a joke on me? This is not some little trick you and Jaeger have worked out between you?"
    "Who is it?"
    "The background first." Koth was enjoying himself too much to be hurried. "We had to go back a long way to get a match. A very long way. But we got one. Perfect. No mistake. Your man has a record, all right. He was arrested just once in his life. By our colleagues in Munich, forty years ago. To be precise, on November 9, 1923."
    There was a silence. Five, six, seven seconds elapsed.
    "Ah! I can tell that even you appreciate the significance of the date."
    "An alter Kämpfer ." March reached down beside his chair for his cigarettes. "His name?"
    "Indeed. An old comrade. Arrested with the Führer after the Bürgerbräukeller putsch. You have fished out of the lake one of the glorious pioneers of the National Socialist Revolution." Koth laughed again. "A wiser man might have left him where he was."
    "What is his name?"
    After Koth had hung up, March paced around the apartment for five minutes, smoking furiously. Then he made three calls. The first was to Max Jaeger. The second was to the duty officer at Werderscher-Markt. The third was to a Berlin number. A man's voice, slurred with sleep, answered just as March was about to give up.
    "Rudi? It's Xavier March."
    "Zavi? Are you crazy? It's midnight."
    "Not quite." March patrolled the faded carpet, the body of the telephone in one hand, the receiver tucked beneath his chin. "I need your help."

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15

    détente , n.f. 1 (a) Relaxation, loosening, slackening (of something that is taut); relaxing (of muscles), (b) Easing (of political situation).

1

    Yesterday's rain was a bad memory, already half faded from the streets. The sun—the miraculous, impartial sun—bounced and glittered on the shopfronts and apartment windows.
    In the bathroom, the rusted pipes clanked and groaned, the shower dangled a thread of cold water. March shaved with his father's old cutthroat razor. Through the open bathroom window, he could hear the sounds of the city waking up: the whine and clatter of the first tram; the distant hum of the traffic on Tauentzien-Strasse; the footsteps of the early risers hurrying to the big Wittenberg- Platz U-bahn station; the rattle-of shutters going up in the bakery across the street. It was not quite seven and Berlin was alive with possibilities the day had yet to dull.
    His uniform was laid out in the bedroom: the body armor of authority.
    Brown shirt, with black leather buttons. Black tie. Black breeches. Black jackboots (the rich smell of polished leather).
    Black tunic: four silver buttons; three parallel silvered threads on the collar tabs; on the left sleeve, a red-white- and-black swastika armband; on the right, a diamond enclosing the Gothic letter "K," for Kriminalpolizei.
    Black Sam Browne belt. Black cap with silver death's head and Party eagle. Black leather gloves.
    March stared at himself in the mirror, and a Sturmbannführer of the SS stared back. He picked up