Winter of the World

Father Peter was in front of Macke now, naked, strapped by wrists and ankles to a specially constructed chair. He was bleeding from the ears, nose, and mouth, and had vomit all down his chest. Electrodes were attached to his lips, his nipples and his penis. A strap around his forehead prevented him from breaking his neck while the convulsions shook him.

A doctor sitting beside the priest checked his heart with a stethoscope and looked dubious. ‘He can’t stand much more,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Father Peter’s seditious sermon had been taken up elsewhere. The Bishop of Münster, a much more important clergyman, had preached a similar sermon, denouncing the T4 programme. The bishop had called upon Hitler to save the people from the Gestapo, cleverly implying that the Führer could not possibly know about the programme, thereby offering Hitler a ready-made alibi.

His sermon had been typed out and duplicated and passed from hand to hand all over Germany.

The Gestapo had arrested every person found in possession of a copy, but to no avail. It was the only time in the history of the Third Reich that there had been a public outcry against any government action.

The clampdown was savage, but it did no good: the duplicates of the sermon continued to proliferate, more clergymen prayed for the handicapped, and there was even a protest march in Akelberg. It was out of control.

And Macke was to blame.

He bent over Peter. The priest’s eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow, but he was conscious. Macke shouted in his ear: ‘Who told you about Akelberg?’

There was no reply.

Peter was Macke’s only lead. Investigations in the town of Akelberg had turned up nothing of significance. Reinhold Wagner had been told a story about two girl cyclists who had visited the hospital, but no one knew who they were; and another story about a nurse who had resigned suddenly, writing a letter saying she was getting married in haste, but not revealing who the husband was. Neither clue led anywhere. In any case, Macke felt sure this calamity could not be the work of a gaggle of girls.

Macke nodded to the technician operating the machine. He turned a knob.

Peter screamed in agony as the electrical current coursed through his body, torturing his nerves. He shook as if in a fit, and the hair on his head stood up.

The operator turned the current off.

Macke screamed: ‘Give me his name!’

At last Peter opened his mouth.

Macke leaned closer.

Peter whispered: ‘No man.’

‘A woman, then! Give me the name!’

‘It was an angel.’

‘Damn you to hell!’ Macke seized the knob and turned it. ‘This goes on until you tell me!’ he yelled, as Peter shuddered and screamed.

The door opened. A young detective looked in, turned pale, and beckoned to Macke.

The technician turned the current off, and the screaming stopped. The doctor leaned forward to check Peter’s heart.

The detective said: ‘Excuse me, Inspector Macke, but you’re wanted by Superintendent Kringelein.’

‘Now?’ said Macke irritably.

‘That’s what he said, sir.’

Macke looked at the doctor, who shrugged. ‘He’s young,’ he said. ‘He’ll be alive when you get back.’

Macke left the room and went upstairs with the detective. Kringelein’s office was on the first floor. Macke knocked and went in. ‘The damn priest hasn’t talked yet,’ he said without preamble. ‘I need more time.’

Kringelein was a slight man with spectacles, clever but weak-willed. A late convert to Nazism, he was not a member of the elite SS. He lacked the fervour of enthusiasts such as Macke. ‘Don’t bother any further with that priest,’ he said. ‘We’re no longer interested in any of the clergymen. Throw them in camps and forget them.’

Macke could not believe his ears. ‘But these people have conspired to undermine the Führer!’

‘And they have succeeded,’ said Kringelein. ‘Whereas you have failed.’

Macke suspected that Kringelein was privately pleased about this.

‘A decision has been made at the top,’ the superintendent went on. ‘Aktion T4 has been cancelled.’

Macke was flabbergasted. The Nazis never allowed their decisions to be swayed by the misgivings of the ignorant. ‘We didn’t get where we are by kowtowing to public opinion!’ he said.

‘We have this time.’

‘Why?’

‘The Führer neglected to explain his decision to me personally,’ Kringelein said sarcastically. ‘But I can guess. The programme has attracted remarkably angry protests from a normally passive public. If we persist with it, we risk an open confrontation with churches of all denominations. That would be a bad thing. We must not weaken the unity and determination of the German people – particularly right now, when we are at war with the Soviet Union, our strongest enemy yet. So the programme is cancelled.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said Macke, controlling his anger. ‘Will there be anything else?’

‘Dismissed,’ said Kringelein.

Macke went to the door.

‘Macke.’

He turned. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Change your shirt.’

‘My shirt?’

‘There’s blood on it.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’