I was sinking, I knew that. Worse still, I was struggling with trivial details, when what I needed to do was cling to the simple facts. There was no reason for what had happened. To try to find a root cause for evil was absurd. Evil is. It has existed since the dawn of time. Looking for a means to analyse it or a ready-made explanation is pointless, and weighing every detail in the balance is self-defeating. I believe that evil is an endlessly recurring accident that sends good and bad drivers alike crashing into a wall. Good has meaning only at funerals, it is only at such moments that we see ourselves for what we truly are: dust which will be swept away with the next breath of wind. This, I firmly believe, is what goodness means. There is no better deterrent, there is no more salutary lesson. If this person has died, we too will die, there is nothing more to it. But there is no good, evil resigns supreme. What happened to my father happened to others in Germany and elsewhere, yesterday and the day before, and it will go on happening tomorrow and the day after. For as long as the earth revolves around the sun, for as long as life – this sweet madness – keeps company with its antidote mankind – this furious madness – there will be crimes and criminals and victims. And grief beyond measure. And accomplices. And bystanders. And despots who wash their hands of our suffering. And yet, this crime is not like other crimes, and it is this uniqueness I must face. Alone. More alone than anyone in the world.