‘As soon as you can get about without too much pain, my advice to you is to get yourself out of here.’

‘What makes you stay? Hippocratic oath?’

Mendelssohn shrugged. ‘Never heard of it,’ he said.

I slept for a while. I had meant to stay awake and watch Mutschmann in case he came round again. I suppose I was hoping for one of those touching little scenes that you see in the movies, when the dying man is moved to unburden his soul to the man crouching over his deathbed.

When I awoke it was dark, and above the sound of the other inmates of the hospital coughing, and snoring, I heard the unmistakeable sound, coming from the cot underneath, of Mutschmann retching. I leaned over and saw him in the moonlight, leaning on one elbow, clutching his stomach.

‘You all right?’ I said.

‘Sure,’ he wheezed. ‘Like a fucking Galapagos tortoise, I’m going to live for ever.’ He groaned again, and painfully, through clenched teeth, said: ‘It’s these damned stomach cramps.’

‘Would you like some water?’

‘Water, yes. My tongue is as dry as -’ He was overcome by another fit of retching. I climbed down gingerly, and fetched the ladle from a bucket near the bed. Mutschmann, his teeth chattering like a telegraph button, drank the water noisily. When he’d finished he sighed and lay back.

‘Thanks, friend,’ he said.

‘Don’t mention it,’ I said. ‘You’d do the same for me.’

I heard him cough his way through what sounded like a chuckle. ‘No I fucking wouldn’t,’ he rasped. ‘I’d be afraid of catching something, whatever it is that I’ve got. I don’t suppose you know, do you?’

I thought for a moment. Then I told him. ‘You’ve got hepatitis.’

He was silent for a couple of minutes, and I felt ashamed. I ought to have spared him that agony. ‘Thanks for being honest with me,’ he said. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Hindenburg Alms.’

‘What for?’

‘Helped a Jew in my work kommando.’

‘That was stupid,’ he said. ‘They’re all dead anyway. Risk it for someone who’s got half a chance, but not for a Jew. Their luck is long gone.’

‘Well, yours didn’t exactly win the lottery.’

He laughed. ‘True enough,’ he said. ‘I never figured on going sick. I thought I was going to get through this fuck-hole. I had a good job in the cobbler’s shop.’

‘It’s a tough break,’ I admitted.

‘I’m dying, aren’t I?’ he said.

‘That’s not what the doc says.’

‘No need to give me the cold cabbage. I can see it in the lead. But thanks anyway. Jesus, I’d give anything for a nail.’

‘Me too,’ I said.

‘Even a roll up would do.’ He paused. Then he said: ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’