Garden of Beasts

him.
    “I need your answer now regarding your participation in our study.”
    The brothers looked at each other. Kurt began to speak but it was the younger one who said, “We will do it.”
    So, he’d been wrong. Ernst smiled and nodded, genuinely pleased.
    The older brother then added, “Provided you let us send a letter to England.”
    “A letter?”
    “We wish to communicate with our parents.”
    “That is not allowed, I’m afraid.”
    “But you’re a colonel, right? Aren’t you someone who can decide what’s allowed and what isn’t?” Hans asked.
    Ernst cocked his head and examined the boy. But his attention returned to the older brother. The resemblance to Mark was indeed uncanny. He hesitated then said,“One letter. But you must send it in the next two days, while you’re under my supervision. Your training sergeants won’t permit it, not a letter to London. They are definitely not someone who can decide what’s allowed and what isn’t.”
    Another glance passed between the boys. Kurt nodded. The colonel did too. And then he saluted them—just as he’d said good-bye to his son. Not with a fascist extended arm but in a traditional gesture, lifting his flat palm to his forehead, which the SA guard pretended not to notice.
    “Welcome to the new Germany,” Ernst said in a voice that was close to a whisper and belied the crisp salute.
    •   •   •
    They turned the corner and headed for Lützow Plaza, putting as much distance between them and the boardinghouse as possible before they found a taxi, Paul looking back often to make sure they weren’t being followed.
    “We aren’t staying at the Metropol,” he said, gazing up and down the street. “I’ll find someplace safe. My friend Otto can do that. I’m sorry. But you’ll have to just leave everything back there. You can’t go back again.”
    On the busy street corner they stopped. Absently his arm slipped around Käthe’s waist as he looked into traffic. But he felt her stiffen. Then she pulled away.
    He glanced down at her, frowning.
    “I am going back, Paul.” She spoke in a voice that was devoid of emotion.
    “Käthe, what’s wrong?”
    “I was telling the truth to the Kripo inspector.”
    “You . . .”
    “I was outside the door, looking in. You were the one who lied. You murdered that man in the room. Therewas no fight. He didn’t have a gun. He was standing there helpless, and you hit him and killed him. It was horrible. I haven’t seen anything so horrible since . . . since . . .”
    The fourth square from the grass . . .
    Paul was silent.
    An open truck drove past. A half dozen Stormtroopers were in the back. They shouted out something to a group of people on the street, laughing. Some of the pedestrians waved back. The truck disappeared fast around a corner.
    Paul led Käthe to a bench in a small park but she wouldn’t sit. “No,” she whispered. Arms folded across her chest, she stared at him coldly.
    “It’s not as simple as you think,” he whispered.
    “Simple?”
    “There’s more to me, to why I’m here, yes. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be involved.”
    Now, at last, raw anger exploded. “Oh, there’s an excuse for lying! You didn’t want to get me involved. You asked me to come to America, Paul. How much more involved could I be?”
    “I mean involved with my old life. This trip will be the end of that.”
    “Old life? Are you a soldier?”
    “In a way.” Then he hesitated. “No. That’s not true. I was a criminal in America. I came here to stop them.”
    “Them?”
    “Your enemies.” He nodded at one of the hundreds of red-white-and-black flags that stirred nearby in the breeze. “I was supposed to kill someone in the government here to stop him from starting another war. But afterwards, that part of my life will be over with. I’d have a clean record. I’d—”
    “And when were you going to tell me this little secret of yours, Paul? When we got to London? To New York?”
    “Believe me. It’s over with.”
    “You used me.”
    “I never—”
    “Last night—that wonderful night—you had me show you Wilhelm Street. You were using me as cover, weren’t you? You wished to find a place where you could murder this man.”
    He looked up at one of the stark, flapping banners and said nothing.
    “And what if in America I did something that angered you? Would you hit me? Would you kill me?”
    “Käthe! Of course not.”
    “Ach, you say