Garden of Beasts

Leader.
    He now asked to have the housekeeper bring him some coffee, bread and sausage in the den.
    “But Reinie,” Gertrud said, exasperated, “it’s Sunday. The goose . . .”
    Afternoon meals on the day of rest were a long tradition in the Ernst household, not to be broken if at all possible.
    “I’m sorry, my dear. I have no choice. Next week I will spend the entire weekend with you and the family.”
    He walked into the den and sat at his desk, then began jotting notes.
    Ten minutes later Gertrud herself appeared, carrying a large tray.
    “I won’t have you eating a coarse meal,” she said, lifting the cloth off the tray.
    He smiled and looked over the huge plate of roast goose with orange marmalade, cabbage, boiled potatoes and green beans with cardamon. He rose and kissed her on the cheek. She left him and, as he ate, without muchappetite, he began to peck out a draft of the memo on his typewriter.
    HIGHEST CONFIDENTIALITY
    Adolf Hitler,
    Leader, State Chancellor and President of the German Nation and Commander of the Armed Forces
    Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg,
    State Minister of Defense
    My Leader and my Minister:
    You have asked for details of the Waltham Study being conducted by myself and Doctor-Professor Ludwig Keitel of Waltham Military College. I am pleased to describe the nature of the study and the results so far.
    This study arises out of my instructions from you to make ready the German armed forces and to help them achieve most expeditiously the goals of our great nation, as you have set forth.
    He paused and organized his thoughts. What to share and what not to share?
    A half hour later he finished the page-and-a-half document, made a few penciled corrections. This draft would do for now. He would have Keitel read the document as well and make corrections, then Ernst would retype the final version tonight and personally deliver it to the Leader tomorrow. He wrote a note to Keitel asking for his comments and clipped it to the draft.
    Carrying the tray downstairs, he said good-bye to Gertrud then left. Hitler had insisted that guards be stationed outside his house, at least until the assassin was caught. Ernst had no objection to this but he now asked that they remain out of sight so as not to alarm his family. He also acquiesced to the Leader’s demand that he not drive himself in his open Mercedes, as he preferred, but be driven in a closed auto by an armed SS bodyguard.
    They drove first to Columbia House, at Tempelhof. The driver climbed out and looked around to make sure the entry area was safe. He walked to the other two guards, stationed in front of the door, spoke with them and they looked around too, though Ernst couldn’t imagine anyone being so foolish as to attempt an assassination in front of an SS detention center. After a moment they waved and Ernst climbed out of the car. He stepped through the front door and was led down the stairs, through several locked doors, and then into the cell area.
    Walking down the long hallway again, hot and dank, stinking of urine and shit. What a disgusting way to treat people, he thought. The British, American and French soldiers he’d captured during the War had been treated with respect. Ernst had saluted the officers, chatted with the enlisted men, made sure they were warm and dry and fed. He now felt a burst of contempt for the brown-uniformed jailer who accompanied him down the corridor, softly whistling the “Horst Wessel Song” and occasionally banging on bars with his truncheon, simply to frighten the prisoners.
    When they came to a cell three-quarters of the way down the corridor Ernst stopped, looked inside, his skin itching in the heat.
    The two Fischer brothers were drenched with sweat. They were frightened, of course— everyone was frightened in this terrible place—but he saw something else in their eyes: youthful defiance.
    Ernst was disappointed. The look told him they were going to reject his offer: They’d chosen a spell in Oranienburg? He’d thought for certain that Kurt and Hans would agree to participate in the Waltham Study. They would have been perfect.
    “Good afternoon.”
    The older one nodded. Ernst felt a strange chill. The boy resembled his own son. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Perhaps it was the self-confidence and the serenity that hadn’t been there this morning. Perhaps it was just the lingering aftermath of the look in young Rudy’s eyes earlier. In any case, the similarity unnerved