“The little Jew raised his hand,” Speiser said, “and it stopped. Behind me my men cried and groaned and I sobbed with them. The little Jew came right up to me and looked up into my face. He had very clear, dark eyes and black hair that shone in Reinhart’s spot. He was a good-­looking man, delicate, pale, and there were tears in his eyes. Don’t ask me . . . I don’t know why the little bastard was crying. ‘We need food,’ he told me. ‘You’ll have it,’ I sobbed. ‘There are old men in here,’ he said, ‘who get cold at night.’ ‘I’ll get blankets,’ I said. Then the little man took my chin in his hand and brought his face very close to mine. His skin was pasty from protein starvation and his breath smelled terrible. I tried to turn my head away, but he wouldn’t let my chin go. Then he whispered to me, blowing that foul breath in my face. ‘I don’t think Joseph will die with us.’ I knew that ‘Joseph’ was the monster and the Jew smiled at me as if the name was a joke we could share. ‘If you go back to your bunker and bomb us, blast us to dust, I think Joseph will come out of the rubble, step over our bodies, and kill you all. I think he will leave the camp, go out in the world, so to speak. He could go ten thousand miles and twenty years before anyone stopped him. He could kill ten thousand, a hundred thousand . . .’

“I nodded and nodded. ‘No bombs,’ I gibbered. ‘No tanks, I swear . . . oh God . . . I’ll bring food and coal, anything you say . . . I swear.’

“ ‘And no more killing,’ said the little Jew.

“ ‘I swear you’ll live,’ I said.

“ ‘And all the others in this camp,’ said the Jew, and everyone in the barracks waited for my answer. Even the dying soldiers on the floor stopped moaning. I grabbed the little Jew’s arm. ‘Come outside,’ I pleaded.

“He went with me and we walked a little way to the side of the barracks and squatted together next to the fence.