Alone in Berlin (Penguin Modern Classics)

69

It’s Time, Quangel

It’s still night when a guard unlocks the door to Otto Quangel’s cell.

Quangel, awakened from deep sleep, blinks his eyes at the large black-clad figure that has entered his cell. The next moment, he is wide awake, and his heart is beating faster than usual, because he has grasped what this large figure, standing there silently in the doorway, means for him.

‘Is it time, Reverend?’ he asks, reaching for his clothes.

‘It’s time, Quangel!’ replies the minister. And he asks, ‘Are you ready?’

‘I’m always ready,’ replies Quangel, and his tongue bumps against the little vial in his mouth.

He begins to get dressed, quietly, without fluster.

For a moment the two of them look at each other silently. The minister is a raw-boned young man, with a simple, even slightly foolish face.

Not too much going on there, thinks Quangel. Not like the good chaplain.

The chaplain in turn sees before him a tall man, exhausted from a lifetime of work. He takes against the face with its sharp, birdlike profile, he takes against the expression of the dark, strangely beady eyes, he takes against the narrow bloodless mouth with the pinched lips. But the reverend makes an effort, and inquires with as much compassion as he can, ‘I hope you have made your peace with the world, Herr Quangel?’

‘Has this world made peace, Reverend?’ replies Quangel.

‘Unfortunately not yet, Quangel, not yet,’ replies the reverend, and his face tries to express a sorrow that he doesn’t feel. He skips that point and moves on: ‘But have you made your peace with the Almighty, Quangel?’

‘I don’t believe in any Almighty,’ replies Quangel truculently.

‘What?’

The reverend appears almost shocked by the brusque declaration. ‘Well,’ he continues, ‘if you don’t believe in a personal god, you will at least be a pantheist, won’t you, Quangel?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Well, it’s quite simple…’ The chaplain tries to explain something that he himself doesn’t find simple. ‘It’s the world soul, you know? Your own immortal soul will return to the great world soul, Quangel!’

‘Everything is God?’ asks Quangel. He has finished dressing, and is standing in front of his bed. ‘Is Hitler God? Is all the killing out there God? Are you God? Am I?’

‘You misunderstand me, presumably on purpose,’ the minister replies irritably. ‘But I’m not here to discuss doctrinal questions with you, Quangel. I’ve come to prepare you for death. You must die, Quangel, in a few hours. Are you ready?’

Instead of answering, Quangel asks, ‘Did you know Father Lorenz in the remand prison?

The minister, rattled again, answers irritably, ‘No, but I’ve heard of him. I may say the Lord summoned him at the right time. He has done some disservice to our calling.’

Quangel looked alertly at the clergyman. He said, ‘He was a very good man. A lot of prisoners remember him with gratitude.’

‘Yes,’ cried the minister with unfeigned annoyance. ‘Because he did your bidding! He was a weak man, Quangel. The man of God must be a fighter during these times of war, not a flabby compromiser!’ He recovered himself. Quickly he looked at his watch and said, ‘I only have another eight minutes with you, Quangel. I still have to see some of your companions in travail, to provide spiritual solace to others who, like you, will take their last walk today. Now let us pray…’

The priest, that rough, raw-boned peasant, pulled a white cloth from his pocket and spread it carefully on the ground.

Quangel asked, ‘Do you provide solace to the women who are to be executed as well?’

His mockery was so obscure that the minister failed to register it. He spread out his snow-white cloth and answered rather distantly, ‘No executions of women are scheduled for today.’

‘Can you remember,’ Quangel persisted, ‘if you’ve visited one Frau Anna Quangel?’

‘Frau Anna Quangel? Your wife, I take it? No. I haven’t. I would remember if I had. I have an exceptional memory for names…’

‘Can I ask you a favour, Father…’

‘Well, out with it, Quangel! You know my time’s limited!’

‘I would ask you not to tell my wife that I’ve been executed before her, when her time comes. Please tell her we’ll be dying at the same time.’

‘But that would be a lie, Quangel, and as a man of God I cannot violate His eighth commandment.’

‘So you never lie, Reverend? Have you never lied in your life?’

‘I would hope,’ said the minister, a little confused by the mocking scrutiny of the other, ‘I would hope I’ve always done my utmost to keep God’s commandments.’

‘So God’s commandments call upon you to deny my wife the comfort of believing that she is dying at the same hour as me?’

‘I may not bear false witness to my neighbour, Quangel!’

‘That’s really too bad! You’re not the good shepherd, are you?’

‘What?’ exclaimed the clergyman, half confused, half threatening.

‘Father Lorenz was always known as the good shepherd,’ Quangel explained.

‘No, no, no,’ cried the minister angrily, ‘I have no desire for any honorifics from the likes of you! They would have the opposite meaning, so far as I am concerned!’ He calmed down. With a smack he dropped to his knees right on the white handkerchief. He pointed to a spot on the grimy floor next to him (the cloth was only large enough for him). ‘Kneel down with me, Quangel, and let us pray!’

‘Who do I kneel down to?’ Quangel asked coldly. ‘Who do I pray to?’

‘Oh!’ the minister exclaimed petulantly, ‘don’t start that again! I’ve wasted too much time on you already!’ From his kneeling position, he looked up at the man with the angry, beaky face. He muttered, ‘Never mind, I’ll do my duty. I’ll pray for you!’

He lowered his head, folded his hands, and shut his eyes. Then he thrust his head forward, opened his eyes wide, and suddenly shouted so loud that Quangel jumped, ‘O my Lord and Christ! All-powerful, all-knowing, beneficent and just God, Judge of good and evil! A sinner lies before you in the dust, I beg you to turn your eyes in mercy upon this man who has committed many misdeeds, to freshen him in body and soul and to forgive him all his sins in your grace…’

The kneeling minister yelled louder still, ‘Accept the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, your dearly loved Son, in recompense for his misdeed. He is baptized in the same name, and washed and cleansed with the same blood. Save him from the body’s pain and torment! Curtail his agonies, sustain him against the accusation of his conscience! Give him blissful transport to eternal life!’

The minister lowered his voice to a mysterious whisper: ‘Send your holy angels here, that they may accompany him to the assembly of the elect in Christ, our Lord.’

Then again at the top of his voice, the minister shouted, ‘Amen! Amen! Amen!’

He got up, folded the white cloth carefully and put it away, and asked, without looking at Quangel, ‘I take it there’s no point in asking if you want to receive the last rites?’

‘No point whatever, Reverend.’

The minister hesitantly stretched out his hand toward Quangel.

Quangel shook his head and put his hands behind his back.

‘There’s no point in that either, Reverend!’ he said.

The minister walked to the door without looking at him. He turned back, shot a quick look at Quangel, and said, ‘Take these words with you to your place of execution, Philippians 1:21 – “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” ’

The door clacked open, and he was gone.

Quangel sighed.