The Zone of Interest Read Online Free Page A

out of it while Max gazed elsewhere. Was it the pressure of the claws? Was it mortal fright? Whichever it was Max at once settled down to his meal.
     

     
    I went outside and descended the slope to the Stare Miasto. Empty, as if under curfew.
    What was the mouse saying? It was saying, All I can offer, in mitigation, in appeasement, is the totality, the perfection, of my defencelessness.
    What was the cat saying? It wasn’t saying anything, naturally. Glassy, starry, imperial, of another order, of another world.
     
    When I got back to my rooms Max was stretched out on the carpet in the study. The mouse was gone, devoured without trace, tail and all.
    That night, over the black endlessness of the Eurasian plain, the sky held on to its indigo and violet till very late – the colour of a bruise beneath a fingernail.
    It was the August of 1942.
     
    *
     

 
     
    2. DOLL: THE SELEKTION
     
    ‘If Berlin has a change of heart,’ said my caller, ‘I’ll let you know. Sleep well, Major.’ And he was gone.
    As you might expect, that ghastly incident on the ramp has left me with a splitting headache. I have just taken 2 aspirin (650 mg; 20.43) and shall doubtlessly rely on a Phanodorm at bedtime. Not a word of solicitude from Hannah, of course. Whilst she could clearly see that I was shaken to the core, she simply turned away with a little lift of the chin – as if, for all the world, her hardships were greater than my own . . .
    Ah, what’s the matter, dearest sweetling? Have those naughty little girls been ‘playing you up’? Has Bronislawa again fallen short? Are your precious poppies refusing to flower? Dear oh dear – why, that’s almost too tragic to bear. I’ve some suggestions, my petkins. Try doing something for your country, Madam! Try dealing with vicious spoilers like Eikel and Prufer! Try extending Protective Custody to 30, 40, 50,000 people!
    Try your hand, fine lady, at receiving Sonderzug 105 . . .
    Well, I can’t claim I wasn’t warned. Or can I? I was alerted, true, but to quite another eventuality. Acute tension, then extreme relief – then, once again, drastic pressure. I ought now to be enjoying a moment of respite. But what confronts me, on my return home? More difficulties.
    Konzentrationslager 3, indeed. No wonder my head is splitting!
     
    There were 2 telegrams. The official communication, from Berlin, read as follows:
     
    JUNE 25
BOURGET – DRANCY DEP 01.00 ARR COMPIEGNE 03.40 DEP 04.40 ARR LAON 06.45 DEP 07.05 ARR REIMS 08.07 DEP 08.38 ARR FRONTIER 14.11 DEP 15.05
    JUNE 26
ARRIVE KZA(I) 19.03 END
     
    Perusing this, one had every reason to expect a ‘soft’ transport, as the evacuees would be spending a mere 2 days in transit. Yes, but the 1st missive was followed by a 2nd, from Paris:
     
DEAR COMRADE DOLL STOP AS OLD FRIEND ADVISE EXTREME CAUTION VIZ SPECIAL TRAIN 105 STOP YOUR ABILITIES TESTED TO LIMITS STOP COURAGE STOP WALTHER PABST SALUTES YOU FROM SACRE COEUR END
     
    Now over the years I have developed a dictum: Fail to prepare? Prepare to fail! So I made my arrangements accordingly.
    It was now 18.57; and we were primed.
    Nobody can say that I don’t cut a pretty imposing figure on the ramp: chest out, with sturdy fists planted on jodhpured hips, and the soles of my jackboots at least a metre apart. And look of what I wielded: I had with me my number 2, Wolfram Prufer, 3 labour managers, 6 physicians and as many disinfectors, my trusty Sonderkommandofuhrer, Szmul, with his 12-man team (3 of whom spoke French), 8 Kapos plus the hosing crew, and a full Storm of 96 troops under Captain Boris Eltz, reinforced by the 8-strong unit deploying the belt-fed, tripod-based heavy machine gun and the 2 flamethrowers. I had also called upon a) Senior Supervisor Grese and her platoon (Grese is admirably firm with recalcitrant females), and b) the current ‘orchestra’ – not the usual dog’s breakfast of banjoes and accordions and didgeridoos, but a ‘septet’ of 1st-rate