Martin blinks rapidly. Then he collects himself and says in an unnatural voice, ‘What I do feel is that I have work which it’s important for me to finish, work that many experts are waiting for. I’m suited to it. So surely I ought to stay where I can be of use, I as much as everyone else.’

The man listens to him then laughs coldly, dispelling all Martin’s hopes of sympathy.

‘Excuse my laughter,’ says the man, ‘you don’t often get the chance these days.’

The man’s scornful tone turns Martin white with anger.

‘And who are you?’ he asks. ‘I don’t put up with this sort of thing from common burglars.’

‘We don’t use names very much,’ answers the man. ‘It’s too risky. And it’s not just me alone standing here with you, but all of us do you hear? All of us who are fighting for our lives. For your life too. Those who are kept on the move in the terrible detention centres, and those who are left in isolation in dark prisons, those who are tortured and shot – they are the ones who come in to you and ask whether you can sit pasting stamps all the time with a good conscience, and then come out again when it’s all over as if nothing had happened.’

Martin is supporting himself against the desk. There is a ringing in his ears. This is terrible, he thinks; this is how they attack you, when all you want is to be allowed to finish a piece of work.

‘You must come out! You’re a young man!’ says the stranger harshly. ‘Will you do so? The young men belong out there now.’

Martin stands blinking. The stranger continues in a voice that jolts him to the core because so many stand behind it.

‘You see, we get in everywhere. Even if there’s only a spark of hope we come, however much you are locked away. But I can see that there’s not much hope left. Haven’t you heard our appeal to you to join us? Sometimes we nearly go under, and then we need every helping hand we can find. That’s why I’m here. Not because I believe you can do much, but you could join us. It would be something.’

Martin does not answer. I must find a safer place to live, he thinks, so that they don’t find me. None of this is my business. It’s qute foreign to me. I can’t help it.

The man asks conclusively, ‘Will you?’

Martin is so terrified by these two words that they do not seem to him to be human. They cast a spell on him.

‘I…I…’ he says.

‘I can see you’re simply afraid,’ says the man. ‘All those reasons you’ve thought up are simply to conceal the fact that you’re afraid. But you must join us all the same. There aren’t many of us who aren’t afraid sometimes. But one must join. So come. You won’t get any more warnings.’