‘The first is that Nazism will be defeated and socialism will triumph. The second is this: there’s a moment when some men just give up in the camps. They decide life is so terrible they couldn’t care whether they live or not. I can see you’re like that. The third thing, though, is that there is a way to survive, a way to get through even in the most appalling circumstances.’

August paused, looking for some kind of response. Prince sat up, his eyes showing the first signs of life for a few days.

‘Look at Henk over there,’ August continued. They both looked over at the Dutchman, a mild-mannered man in his late sixties, a university lecturer who’d been suffering from typhus since Prince had arrived at the camp but who stoically carried on, a gentle smile rarely absent from his face. ‘Henk shouldn’t be alive, should he? He’s been a prisoner since the Nazis invaded the Netherlands; he was tortured by the Gestapo and has been here for years. He wasn’t a well man even before the war. How come he’s still alive, while younger, stronger men gave up and died?’

Prince shrugged: you tell me.

‘It’s because he has something he believes in. He has a goal to aim for. In his case it’s his family. His wife is in hiding – he refused to betray her – and now he’s holding on, convinced that one day they’ll be reunited. That’s what keeps him alive; it’s more powerful than anything else. Those of us who’ve survived against the odds – it’s because we’ve also got something to live for. For me, it’s my politics; my belief that a better world will replace this one, that the triumph of revolutionary socialism is inevitable. The Frenchman over there, the one with no eyebrows… he has a restaurant in Paris, doesn’t he? He spends all day planning new menus. He told me walking back here this evening that he knows the plats du jour for every day of the year after liberation, and now he’s working on the following year. That’s what has kept him going. You have to think of something to keep you going, your reason to survive. Are you married?’

For the first time in weeks, Prince felt emotion welling in him. His head dropped, and when he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes. ‘I was. My wife and daughter were killed in a car crash.’

August looked at him for a while, unsure of how to respond. He placed his hand on Prince’s shoulder. ‘My friend, I’m so sorry… is there no one else? Do you have religious beliefs maybe?’

‘No, but I do have a son. He’s very young.’ As he said those words, he suddenly felt stronger, as if the dead weight of despair had been lifted from him.