Why two? Erich wants to ask. Did somebody tell Bern that this man, this loyal Assistant Police Chief, might be violent, might need restraint? He is taken to the Interrogation Room, walking past the benches where the Jews sat and waited to learn their fate. It is hot and airless in the room. Erich wipes sweat off his brow and asks for a window to be opened, but one of the Justice Ministry men says, ‘There’s no need. This won’t take long.’ Heat seems to exacerbate the too-fast oscillation of Erich’s heart. Sometimes, there is an accompaniment to the blood-beat and this is an aureole of pain, spreading across Erich’s chest and up into his throat, threatening to choke him. Now, he wants to loosen his tie, but he knows that he must remain ‘correct’ in front of these officials. He waits. Then, he sees arrive in front of him, on the scarred wooden table, a stack of refugee registration forms, bearing the falsified August dates and his signature beneath. ‘There you are,’ says the older of the officers.
