Garden of Beasts

together they stepped into the hallway outside and then left the Chancellory. Turning north on Wilhelm Street they continued to Under the Lindens and turned west, chatting only of the weather, the Olympics, a new American movie that was supposed to open soon. Like the Leader, both men admired the American actress GretaGarbo. Her film Anna Karenina had just been approved for release in Germany, despite its Russian setting and questionable morality. Discussing her recent films, they entered the Tiergarten just past the Brandenburg Gate.
    Finally, looking around for tails or surveillance, Keitel spoke. “What is this about, Reinhard?”
    “There is madness among us, Doctor.” Ernst sighed.
    “No, are you making a joke?” asked the professor sardonically.
    “Yesterday the Leader asked me for a report on the Waltham Study.”
    Keitel took a moment to digest this information. “The Leader? Himself?”
    “I was hoping he would forget it. He has been wholly preoccupied with the Olympics. But apparently not.” He showed Keitel Hitler’s note and then related the story of how the Leader had learned of the study. “Thanks to the man of many titles and more kilos.”
    “Fat Hermann,” Keitel said loudly, sighing angrily.
    “Sssh,” Ernst said. “Speak through flowers.” A common expression nowadays, meaning: Say only good things when mentioning Party officials by name in public.
    Keitel shrugged. In a softer voice he continued, “Why should he care about us?”
    Ernst had neither the time nor the energy to discuss the machinations of the National Socialist government to a man whose life was essentially academic.
    “Well, my friend,” Keitel said, “what are we going to do?”
    “I’ve decided that we go on the offensive. We hit back hard. We’ll give him a report—by Monday. A detailed report.”
    “Two days?” Keitel scoffed. “We have only raw data andeven that’s very limited. Can’t you tell him that in a few months we’ll have better analysis? We could—”
    “No, Doctor,” Ernst said, laughing. If one could not speak through flowers, a whisper would do. “One does not tell the Leader to wait a few months. Or a few days or minutes. No, it’s best for us to do this now. A lightning strike. That’s what we must do. Göring will continue his intriguing and may meddle enough so that the Leader digs deeper, doesn’t like what he sees and stops the study altogether. The file he stole was some of Freud’s writings. That’s what he mentioned in the meeting yesterday. I think the phrase was ‘Jew mind-doctor.’ You should have seen the Leader’s face. I thought I was on my way to Oranienburg.”
    “Freud was brilliant,” Keitel whispered. “The ideas are important.”
    “We can use his ideas. And those of the other psychologists. But—”
    “Freud is a psycho analyst.”
    Ach, academics, Ernst thought. Worse than politicians. “But we won’t attribute them in our study.”
    “That’s intellectually dishonest,” Keitel said sullenly. “Moral integrity is important.”
    “Under these circumstances, no, it’s not” was Ernst’s firm response. “We’re not going to publish the work in some university journal. That’s not what this is about.”
    “Fine, fine,” Keitel said impatiently. “That still doesn’t address my concern. Not enough data.”
    “I know. I’ve decided we must find more volunteers. A dozen. It will be the biggest group yet—to impress the Leader and make him ignore Göring.”
    The doctor-professor scoffed. “We won’t have time. By Monday morning? No, no, we can’t.”
    “Yes, we can. We have to. Our work is too important to lose in this skirmish. We’ll have another session at the college tomorrow afternoon. I’ll write up our magnificent vision of the new German army for the Leader. In my best diplomatic prose. I know the right turn of phrase.” He looked around. Another whisper: “We’ll cut the air minister’s fat legs out from underneath him.”
    “I suppose we can try,” Keitel said uncertainly.
    “No, we will do it,” Ernst said. “There is no such thing as ‘trying.’ Either one succeeds or one does not.” He realized he was sounding like an officer lecturing a subordinate. He smiled wistfully and added, “I’m no happier about it than you, Ludwig. This weekend I had hoped to relax. Spend some time with my grandson. We were going to carve a boat together. But there’ll be time for recreation later.” The colonel added,