The Violent Century (22 page)

– Yes. The man grins; you get the sense he smiles easily.

– A work never published in English – in fact, banned in both the United States and England?

– That … yes. It’s unfortunate—

– And which would otherwise be titled
A Biographical Dictionary of Super Men
?

– I expect so, Lieber says, which draws some muted laughter from the audience.
Übermenschen
, he says. What do we mean by that term? Beyond-Men? Heroes? The changed?

– You tell me, the counsellor says.

Lieber shrugs. It is a field shrouded by secrecy and superstition, he says. Filled with apocryphal misinformation and banned histories. I attempted to, if not clarify, then to at least
systemise
what we know. Or think we know. Even after the war –
especially
after the war – it is not a subject approved of by my government.

– Why is that? the counsellor says quietly.

The atmosphere in the court is tense. Muted. Lieber, for the first time, looks nervous. I’m not sure that I should – he begins.

– Remember, Mr Lieber. You are under oath.

– It’s to do with Operation Paperclip, Lieber says. Lets the words out quickly, in a rush, as if to be rid of them. The noise level rises in the court but quickly subsides. The Old Man sees the journalists focused, intent. This, clearly, is a juicy moment for the newshounds.

– Operation Paperclip, Mr Lieber?

– It was an operation carried out by my country – by the US military – in the immediate post-war years, Lieber says.

– And its
purpose
, Mr Lieber?

– Its purpose, overtly, was to locate and … and
repatriate
to the United States the, ah, the cream of the crop of Nazi scientists, Lieber says.

Shouts in the court. Silence! the lead judge shouts.

– To be taken to America and given new identities? the counsellor says.

– Yes.

– Despite what crimes they might have perpetrated during the war?

– Well, yes. It was felt that their knowledge – their expertise – would be best utilised in service. Rocket scientists, in particular, Lieber says, and now his cool is gone, and he seems to be sweating a little. But not only them, he adds.

– You said
overtly
, the counsellor says in that same soft, patient voice. But it had a second purpose, too, didn’t it?

– Yes.

– What would that have been, do you think? the counsellor says.

Lieber laughs, as if to make a joke of it. Wipes the sweat on his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. Well, I suppose it’s never been exactly a
secret
, he says. And these
are
the Sixties, so …

– Mr Lieber? Could you answer the question?

– Übermenschen, Lieber says. Its second – but some would say primary – objective was to locate and repatriate German Übermenschen deemed to be of potential military use.

The court’s in an uproar. The Old Man pinches the bridge of his nose. Feels a headache coming on.

– I see, the counsellor says, when the court quiets down. Tell me, Mr Lieber. Do you know – as a historian, as an expert in this field – can you tell us which name was at the top of both of those secret lists? Who was at the top of the Most Wanted list in this Operation Paperclip?

Lieber bites his lips. Looks at the man in the glass box. The man looks up and meets his eyes. Something between hatred and admiration twists Lieber’s face. He raises his hand, points at the man in the glass box. They were looking for him, he says. They were looking for Dr Joachim Vomacht.

– Silence! Silence in the court!

– You identify this man as Dr Joachim Vomacht?

Lieber swallows; his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. From all the evidence I have seen, he says, and such photographic material as could be found – yes. There is no doubt in my mind that this man is Joachim Vomacht.

– I see. Tell me, Mr Lieber. You are a Jew.

– Was that a question? Lieber says, and the audience laughs. The counsellor smiles patiently.

– During the war, you served in the Signal Corps?

– Yes.

– And there you worked on various propaganda campaigns?

– Yes.

– Specifically ones relating to the superiority of American Übermenschen?

Lieber shrugs. Our heroes were always made to be larger than life, he says. We merely helped them along.

– Is that when you became interested in the changed, Mr Lieber?

– I was always fascinated by the change, Lieber says. What happened in nineteen thirty-two changed the world.
This man
changed the world.

– Do you not, as a Jew, see the acts of Dr Vomacht – in view of later Nazi racial theory and the attempted wholesale extermination of your own race, Mr Lieber – as the supreme crime?

– Objection! the counsellor for the defence, who mostly, the Old Man notes, remains silent during these exchanges, says.

The judges silently confer. We’ll allow it, the lead judge says at last. Mr Lieber?

A strange look enters Lieber’s eyes. A fervent light, which transforms his face, makes him seem, for just that moment, like an innocent; like a child.

– With great power comes great responsibility, he says, softly.

– Excuse me, Mr Lieber?

Lieber shakes his head, but his eyes are far away, as though seeing something only he can see. I think the change, he says … I think it was the greatest thing to ever happen to mankind.

– Mr Lieber!

The counsellor for the defence smiles.

– No more questions, the counsellor for the prosecution says, sourly.

89.
JERUSALEM
1964

– Let us talk of your … associates, the counsellor says. The Old Man sits up, listening intently.

– What associates? the man in the box says.

– Did you know Dr Mengele, in Auschwitz?

– Objection!

– Your honour? the counsellor for the prosecution says, shrugging a bit, as if to say,
Really?

– Overruled. The witness will answer the question.

The counsellor nods. Thank you. Turns back to Vomacht. Raises his eyebrows as if to say,
Well?

– The man was an animal. A pig. His methodology was fundamentally flawed.

A murmur in the audience.

– You knew him? How many times did you meet?

– I will not answer that question.

The counsellor shrugs. Very well, he says. Makes a show of consulting his papers – it makes the Old Man smile, appreciatively. We will assume that you have—

–
Objection!

– Sustained. The lead judge frowns at the counsellor for the prosecution, who raises his hands in mock-surrender. The audience laughs. The judge’s gavel hits the bench. There will be
silence
in my court!

The counsellor turns back to the witness in his enforced glass box. The shimmer of the electric force field surrounding the box seems almost to hum. Makes us think, for just a moment, of bees in the grass, of a warm summer’s day.

– Now, please think carefully, the counsellor for the prosecution – not, it seems, in the very least deterred – says. Cast your mind back to the war. There was a man who supplied Dr Mengele with many of his … specimens. The head of Gestapo Department F.

A silence from the witness box.

– Do you know the person I mean? the counsellor says, softly.

A silence, still.

– Brigadeführer Hans von Wolkenstein, the counsellor says, still in that same soft, dangerous voice. But they called him the wolf man.

A silence.

– Yes? No? You see, we do rather wonder where he is, Doctor Vomacht. Many people are quite
anxious
to have a word with him. Over – how shall I put it? Over alleged war crimes?

A silence.

The counsellor shrugs. Very well, he says. Let the record show that the witness did not answer the question. Turns a page, looks down, looks up at the man in the box. There is one other, small matter, he says.

A stubborn silence.

– You had a daughter … the counsellor says.

The witness stands up in the box. For the first time showing emotion. His face contorts in fury and he shouts, You will leave my daughter out of this!

– What happened to her? the counsellor for the prosecution says, softly. What happened to your daughter, Herr Doktor Vomacht?

– Objection!

– Sustained. Be careful, counsellor. The lead judge rubs the bridge of his nose, sighs. Court will adjourn until tomorrow, he says.

90.
JERUSALEM
1964

A final memory from that trial, a few weeks later:

– I was not! You do not understand!

Vomacht had been quiet, almost placid, the Old Man thinks, throughout the trial. A parade of witnesses had come and gone, Übermenschen and scientists, but so few who had known Vomacht, had ever met him. He is a shadow, cast not by people’s testimonies but from their own perceptions of him, of the change. Vomacht seemed a recluse, the Old Man remembers the war, it was impossible to even get a good photo of him. A shadow. One of them.

Cool, until that last round of questioning. And now he is no longer cool. As if sensing the trial coming to a close, that soon there would be no more speeches, no more opportunities, Vomacht now stands up in his bulletproof glass box, glaring at the audience of Übermenschen and reporters, shaking his fist as he speaks, a well-preserved, unchanged man, a shadow finally dragged out into the light.

He glares at the counsellor for the prosecution. You ask who I worked with? he says. You ask who my
associates
were? He draws a deep, angry breath. I worked with
Planck
, he says. With
Heisenberg
! With Dirac and Bohr! I was a scientist, and we were penetrating the very heart of the universe!

– Dr Vomacht, please, the counsellor says.

– No! You do not understand! What we did – what we sought to do – it was to know God himself! The device was not meant to – was not meant to—

– Dr Vomacht, please answer the question!

Vomacht shakes his finger, as at an unruly pupil.

– The uncertainty principle—

– Dr Vomacht!

– What happened later was not, could not, be my fault! Vomacht says. Herr Hitler—

An eruption of noise in the audience.

From the bench: Silence! Silence in the court!

But they won’t be quieted, these spectators, these Übermenschen.

– Order! Order!

– Dr Vomacht will answer the question presented to him by the court!

The counsellor for the prosecution puts his hands on the dais, his fingers on the dark surface of the wood. Dr Vomacht, he says, in his soft, cultured voice. Were you, or were you not, a member of the Nazi Party?

An expectant hush descends. Vomacht glares. He reminds the Old Man of a butterfly, suddenly; a butterfly trapped in a glass jar.

– I was a scientist, Vomacht says. I did not—

– Did you not meet with the Führer on three separate—

– What I did, I did for science!

– Order! Or—

And it fades, colour leeched out of old memory, the courtroom and the men in their old-fashioned haircuts, and the garish costumes and the bad suits, and the parquet floor, disintegrating into the black-and-white snow storm of a dead analogue television signal.

And are gone.

FIGHTING INTENSIFIES IN VIETNAM

October 5, 1967

SAIGON American presence in Vietnam has risen to near 500,000 military personnel. Large-scale battles have taken place near Da Nang and la Drang in recent months. Heavy bombings by US airforce planes, including the use of napalm, continue. Protests have broken out across the United States. Four hundred thousand people marched from Central Park to the UN building in New York City to protest the war in April this year. In his State of the Union Address, President Lyndon B. Johnson said: ‘I wish I could report to you that the conflict is almost over. This I cannot do. We face more cost, more loss, and more agony. For the end is not yet.’

ELEVEN:

JUNGLE FEVER

LAOS
1967

91.
BANGKOK, THAILAND
1967

Oblivion flies London to Bangkok, first class, with a linen suit for the tropics custom-made on Savile Row. In Bangkok, a meeting with Jeffries from the Embassy, a tall nervous man with a pencil moustache. They have drinks at the Siam Intercontinental. Ceiling fans move lazily overhead, and the setting sun paints the sky in vivid reds and blues and yellows. They are surrounded by foliage. The gardens of the Siam are legendary. Mosquitoes buzz as lazily as the fans and the man from the Embassy lights up a Pall Mall with quick nervous fingers and waves it in the air – For the mosquitoes, don’t you know, old boy.

Snaps his fingers at the waiter, Boy, bring us two G&Ts, chop chop, turns with an apologetic shrug, It’s the tonic, you see—

– Quinine? Oblivion says.

– Got it in one, old boy. Got it in one, Jeffries says. Turns his head, this way and that, Well, he demands of the waiters, or the air, Well? A waiter hurries over, two tall glasses on a tray, lays them down on mats, already the glasses have a sheen of perspiration on their sides. Cheeky bugger, Jeffries says, affectionately, the waiter grins obediently as he walks off. Jeffries raises the drink, Cheers, old boy, Oblivion’s fingers curl around the glass, the clink they make when they touch is like the chime of hours. When he drinks the bubbles tickle his tongue, and the taste of the tonic, bitter and cool, slides smoothly down. Cigarettes for the mosquitoes, gin and tonic for the malaria, Jeffries says, grinning again, and Oblivion wonders: What is the man so
afraid
of?

– Tell me about the war, Oblivion says. Takes out his cigarette box, taps one out on the table, lights up. Watches the man from the Embassy through the smoke. Jeffries fidgets, stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray provided, lights up a new one, says, It’s the Americans’ show, old boy. It’s the Americans’ show all the way.