“You say it so nicely, Herr Gunther. Just like a catechism. And yet you never had to take the oath yourself?”

“Things were always rather different in Berlin from the rest of Germany,” I said. “People were always a little more relaxed about such matters. But I can’t imagine I’m the first SS man to tell you he never took the oath.”

“Perhaps I’m just testing you,” he said. “To see how honest you’re being. Honesty’s best, don’t you think? After all, we’re in a church. It wouldn’t do to lie in here. Think of your soul.”

“These days I prefer not to think about it at all,” I said. “At least not without a drink in my hand.” That was being honest, too.

“Te absolvo, Herr Gunther,” he said. “Feeling better now?”

“Like something just got lifted off my shoulders,” I said. “Dandruff, probably.”

“That’s good,” he said. “A sense of humor will be important to you in your new life.”

“I don’t want a new life.”

“Not even through Christ?” He laughed again. Or perhaps he was just clearing his throat of some finer feelings. “Tell me more about Minsk,” he said. His tone had changed. It was less playful. More businesslike. “When did the city fall to German forces?”

“June 28, 1941.”

“What happened then?”

“Do you know, or do you want to know?”

“I want to know that you know,” he said. “To make a little peep-hole into your persona to see if it is or it isn’t non grata. Minsk.”

“Do you want to know details or broad brushstrokes?”

“Paint the house, why don’t you?”

“All right. Within hours of the occupation of the city, forty thousand men and boys were assembled for registration. They were kept in a field, surrounded by machine guns and floodlights. They were all races. Jews, Russians, Gypsies, Ukrainians. After a few days, Jewish doctors, lawyers, and academics were asked to identify themselves. Intelligentsia, so-called. Two thousand did. And I believe the same two thousand were then marched into a nearby wood and shot.”

“And naturally you didn’t play any part in that,” said Father Gotovina. He spoke as if he had been speaking to a crybaby.

“As a matter of fact I was still in the city. Investigating another atrocity. This one committed by the Ivans themselves.”

In the church service proceeding outside the confessional, the priest said “Amen.” I muttered it myself. Somehow it seemed appropriate when I was talking about Minsk.

“How soon after your arrival was the Minsk ghetto established?” asked Gotovina.

“Less than a month,” I said. “July 20.”

“And how was the ghetto created?”

“There were about three dozen streets, I believe, including the Jewish cemetery. It was surrounded by thick rows of barbed wire and several watchtowers. And one hundred thousand people were transported there from places as far afield as Bremen and Frankfurt.”

“In what way was Minsk an unusual ghetto?”