Page 53 of Hell to Pay

“No,” Ben said. “But I’d guess Germany.”

“Not even close. Germany lost eleven percent, most of them military. The Soviet Union was second, with fifteen percent. The United States, for comparison—less than one percent. No, it was Poland. Nearly twenty percent of Poles were killed, almost all of them civilians. Shot outright, sent to concentration camps, worked to death as slave labor … there were many Polish slave laborers right here in Dresden. No, Hitler believed the Slavs, like the Jews, were subhuman.”

“OK,” Ben said, “but what does that have to do with this guy? The minister guy, or whatever?”

“I’m telling you,” I said, “about how he broke with Hitler. He was vocal in his criticism and was arrested and imprisoned, then sent to a concentration camp. Eight years in all. A long time.”

“Well, that’s a happier ending than most of them, I guess,” Alix said, “if he survived.”

“OK,” said Ben, “but why are you telling us about him?”

“Oh!” I said. “I’d nearly forgotten. Soon after his liberation, he wrote a poem that more or less sums things up. Here you are.” I recited the thing from memory. It’s a simple enough poem.

First they came for the Communists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the Socialists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Socialist

Then they came for the trade unions

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me

And there was no one left

To speak out for me

“Easy to say what people should have done,” I finished, “from where we sit now. It’s the old story of the frog in the pot of water. When the fire is turned on beneath him, he gets a bit warm, but still thinks, ‘This is all right.’ The water grows hotter, but so gradually that the frog gets used to it. By the time the water boils, it’s far too late for the poor frog to hop out of the pot. We were all near-dead frogs by then, having grown slowly accustomed to seeing more and more of our movements, our plans, our very morality dictated by the state. Although I should note that frogs are actually quite sensitive to changes in temperature, and will jump out of the pot straight away when the water warms.”

“They’re smarter than people, then,” Sebastian said.

“Yes,” I said. “The German people—us—we sleepwalked our way to destruction. It’s not admirable, but it is, perhaps, understandable. Humans are fallible creatures, and easily misled.” I set my napkin on the table and got to my feet. “It’s time for me to do some telephoning of attorneys and so forth. Alix, you’ll help? After that, I have a journey I’d like to make. Call it a pilgrimage.”

25

THE FIRST DAY

“Where to first?” Sebastian asked, when we were in the car. The three in the back were slightly squashed, I’m afraid—Ashleigh wasn’t large, but shewasanother person. She was also filming me, I was sure, as she’d chosen her seat solely for that purpose. Perhaps I should have done the tooth whitening and spider eyelashes after all, if I were going to be filmed as much as this. I reminded myself that if Queen Elizabeth had staunchly remained her somewhat dowdy self to the end, who was I to put on airs? Also, an old lady with those eyelashes? I nearly laughed aloud at the image of the others’ faces if I’d come downstairs like that.

Oh. Sebastian. I said, “To the airport, please. I believe it’s still in the same place.”

Sebastian entered it into his telephone—how much less nerve-wracking than attempting to find one’s way around a foreign city with a paper map! Modern life is really quite amazing—and said, “The airport. Right. Here we go.”