BooksBarbecue
Back The Hiding Game
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Naomi Wood
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. 1
  6. WEIMAR, 1922
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. DESSAU, 1929
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. BERLIN, 1932
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. Thank you
  62. Praise
  63. The Hiding Game
  64. Also by Naomi Wood

‘I thought so too.’

He returned the book to the table. ‘Walter says Mr Steiner has his sights on the Bauhaus, Paul.’

I knew, then, that he would soon go, but I also knew that with these new words I’d be caught forever. A sickness in my stomach. A feeling of the uncanny; that from this moment on I was trapped. ‘What does that mean?’

‘That’s all Walter said: that Steiner has his sights on the Bauhaus. It can’t be positive, I know that much.’ When he spoke again it was as if from a distance. ‘Promise you’ll at least try.’

‘Why do you think Walter wants to help?’

‘He just wants us to be safe.’

‘You don’t detect anything more underhand?’

‘He’s not a monster, Paul. Whatever he might have done to her in the past.’

When neither of us spoke again he made his excuses.

‘I leave this Monday,’ he said, by the door.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know.’

And then, he embraced me. The gesture was as inexplicable as when he had done so at the mausoleum. I heard his steps go down the staircase. I wondered what I meant to him. I wondered what he meant to me. Only later did I realise Jenö was saying goodbye forever.

51

Berlin

For Montaigne, there’s a difference between lying and telling an untruth. We can tell an untruth without knowing it is untrue. But lying is dissembling: it’s going against one’s conscience. I do not know whether I told untruths or lies. Certainly, I was able to pretend I did not know what I knew. Disavowal. Verleugnung. It’s what the people of Weimar did with Buchenwald.

We didn’t know; we did know.

And so here is my guilt: here is my secret. Here is the reason I cannot paint my eyes – and it is not just because of my failure to do anything after the conversation with Walter or with Jenö. It is because of what I saw behind the Japanese screen. What I saw on Ernst’s desk. Since Dessau I had been able to decode Walter’s Lotti-line, and the title on that piece of paper was STEGLITZ.

Jenö was right. If I wanted proof, then here it was in abundance: Ernst Steiner had the blueprints for the school’s warehouse.