Abrams answered, “He commanded the American squad that opened Belzec and he has some questions to ask you.”

“I’m not required . . .”

Bianco interrupted, “I’m not from the Tribunal. In fact I’m going back to the United States tonight. This is a . . . personal question.”

“You don’t have to answer any questions, Commandant,” Abrams said quickly. “You have the same right as any prisoner in a democratic . . .”

Speiser waved at Abrams to be quiet, and he looked closely at Bianco. “Bianco’s an Italian name, isn’t it? Are you Italian?” he asked.

“My grandfather was,” Bianco answered.

“Ah . . . so it’s the grandfather who comes from that country of yellow scum that sold out the noblest army in history. . . .” He was full of life for a second; Bianco could imagine him in the gray uniform with the lightning on the lapels. Then the man sagged and lowered himself shakily into the worn plush armchair. “You hear the creaking of a corpse,” he said. “I don’t care where you or your grandfather came from.” He turned to Abrams. “Before the major asks his question, could I have some tea, and maybe a small piece of cake? They gave me meat to eat, but I couldn’t get it down. Still, I’m very hungry.”

Abrams almost ran to the door. “Of course,” he said. “Of course . . . in a second . . .”

He left them alone, and Bianco offered the commandant a cigarette, then lit it for him. Speiser inhaled deeply, then said, “The question is about Belzec.”

“It is.”

Speiser grinned, showing those ghostly gums. “I would have thought everything you found there was clear.”

Staggering rage overcame Bianco. He wanted to hit Speiser in the face, to smash the cigarette against his mouth. He took a deep breath, and said as steadily as he could, “It was clear.”

Abrams came back with the tea and a plate of cupcakes. They poured the tea, held their cups, and drank. Speiser put four cubes of sugar in his cup, and ate three of the cupcakes, then licked his fingers, poured another cup of tea, and sat back and said to Abrams, “Leave us alone, Captain.” It was an order. Abrams looked at Bianco and Speiser said, “He won’t hurt me, but I don’t care if he does. Neither should you.”

“But I—”

“Leave us alone, Captain.”

Abrams gave up and left them.

“It’s hard to discuss Belzec in the presence of a Jew,” said Speiser. A fog had come up and was drifting in through the open windows. The dampness settled on their skin, made them feel itchy, and the air took on a misty look that softened the red color of the drapes and carpet. Bianco wondered if Speiser was as uncomfortable as he was. He wiped his face, and handed Speiser his list of names, looking again as he did.

Levy, Dabrowa, Poland

Lippmann, Dabrowa, Poland

Luria, Dabrowa, Poland