Garden of Beasts

gray-haired man in a suit. The other was heavier, balding, wearing a brown tweed jacket and a waistcoat. They looked the brothers over.
    “You are the Fischers?” the gray-haired man asked.
    Hans looked at Kurt, who nodded.
    He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read. “Kurt.” He looked up. “You would be Kurt. And you, Hans.”
    “Yes.”
    What was this?
    The man looked up the hallway. “Open the cell.”
    More footsteps. The guard appeared, glanced in and unlocked the door. He stepped back, his hand on the truncheon that hung from his belt.
    The two men stepped inside.
    The gray-haired man said, “I am Colonel Reinhard Ernst.”
    The name was familiar to Kurt. He occupied some role in Hitler’s government, though he wasn’t sure what exactly. The second man was introduced as Doctor-professor Keitel, from some military college outside of Berlin.
    The colonel asked, “Your arrest document says ‘crimes against the State.’ But they all do. What exactly were your crimes?”
    Kurt explained about their parents and about trying to leave the country illegally.
    Ernst cocked his head and regarded the boys closely. “Pacifism,” he muttered and turned to Keitel, who asked, “You’ve committed anti-Party activities?”
    “No, sir.”
    “You are Edelweiss Pirates?”
    These were informal anti–National Socialist clubs of young people, some said gangs, rising up in reaction to the mindless regimentation of the Hitler Youth. They’d meet clandestinely for discussions about politics and art—and to sample some of the pleasures of life that the Party, publicly at least, condemned: drinking, smoking and unmarried sex. The brothers knew some young people who were members but they themselves were not. Kurt told the men this.
    “The offense may seem minor, but”—Ernst displayed a piece of paper—“you have been sentenced to three years at Oranienburg camp.”
    Hans gasped. Kurt felt stunned, thinking of the terrible beating they’d just seen, poor Mr. Grossman pounded into submission. Kurt knew too that people sometimes went to Oranienburg or Dachau to serve a short sentence but were never seen again. He sputtered, “There was no trial! We were arrested an hour ago! And today is Sunday. How can we have been sentenced?”
    The colonel shrugged. “As you can see, there was atrial.” Ernst handed him the document, which contained dozens of prisoners’ names, Kurt’s and Hans’s among them. Next to each was the length of sentence. The heading on the document said simply “The People’s Court.” This was the infamous tribunal that consisted of two real judges and five men from the Party, the SS or the Gestapo. There was no appeal from its judgment.
    He stared at it, numb.
    The professor spoke. “You are in general good health, both of you?”
    The brothers glanced at each other and nodded.
    “Jewish to any degree?”
    “No.”
    “And you have done Labor Service?”
    Kurt said, “My brother has. I was too old.”
    “As to the matter at hand,” Professor Keitel said, “we are here to offer you a choice.” He seemed impatient.
    “Choice?”
    Ernst’s voice lowered and he continued. “It is the thinking of some people in our government that particular individuals should not participate in our military. Perhaps they are of a certain race or nationality, perhaps they are intellectuals, perhaps they tend to question decisions of our government. I, however, believe that a nation is only as great as its army, and that for an army to be great it must be representative of all its citizens. Professor Keitel and I are doing a study that we think will support some shifts in how the government views the German armed forces.” He glanced back into the hall and said to the SA guard, “You can leave us.”
    “But, sir—”
    “You can leave us,” Ernst repeated in a calm voice and yet it seemed to Kurt as strong as Krupp steel.
    The man glanced again at Kurt and Hans and then receded down the hall.
    Ernst continued. “And this study may very well ultimately determine how the government values its citizens in general. We have been looking for men in your circumstances to help us.”
    The professor said, “We need healthy young men who would otherwise be excluded from military service for political or other reasons.”
    “And what would we do?”
    Ernst gave a brief laugh. “Why, you’d become soldiers, of course. You would serve in the German army, navy or air force for one year, regular