“Really?” I said. I might have mentioned Ricardo’s knowledge of Yiddish, but thought better of it. I glanced around the sitting room noting the chessboard, the Monopoly set, the library full of books, the newspapers and magazines, the new General Electric radio, the kettle and the coffee cups, the full ashtray, and the blankets—one of these had been over Eichmann’s legs. It was plain to see that these two men spent a lot of time sitting in that room. Holed up. Hiding. Waiting for something. A new passport, or passage on a ship to South America.

“We’re very lucky that there’s a priest from Buenos Aires here in the monastery,” said the Father. “Father Santamaría has been teaching Spanish to our two friends, and telling them all about Argentina. It makes a real difference going somewhere when you can already speak the language.”

“Did you have a good journey?” asked Eichmann. If he was nervous at seeing me again he did not show it. “Where have you come from?”

“Vienna,” I said. And then shrugged. “The journey was tolerable. Do you know Vienna, Herr Klement?” I offered my cigarettes around.

“No, not really,” he said, with a flicker of an eyelid. I had to hand it to him. He was good. “I don’t know Austria at all. I’m from Breslau.” He took one of my cigarettes and let me light him. “Of course it’s now called Wrocław, or something, in Poland. Can you imagine it? Are you from Vienna, Herr—?”

“Dr. Hausner,” I said.

“A doctor, eh?” Eichmann smiled. His teeth hadn’t improved any, I noticed. No doubt it amused him to know that I wasn’t a doctor. “It’ll be interesting to have a medical man around, won’t it, Geller?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Geller, smoking one of my Luckies. “I always wanted to be a doctor. Before the war, that is.” He smiled sadly. “I don’t suppose I shall ever be a doctor, now.”

“You’re a young man,” I said. “Anything is possible when you’re young. Take my word for it. I was young once myself.”

But Eichmann was shaking his head. “That was true before the war,” he said. “In Germany anything was possible. Yes. We proved that, to the world. But not now. I’m afraid it’s no longer true. Not now that half of Germany is ruled by godless barbarians, eh, Father? Shall I tell you the true meaning of the Federal Republic of Germany, gentlemen? We are simply a slit trench in the front line of a new war. A war waged by the—”

Eichmann checked himself. And then he smiled. The old Eichmann smile. As if he objected to my tie.