recall that my father was just as unhappy with his new employers as the old ones.
Prüfer I perceived to be a good man. He smiled, made jokes, he asked after my university. He was an engineer, had started at the bottom with Topf and determined his way to become a head man. He was pleased I had no children.
‘They interfere with a man’s career,’ he said. ‘Wait until you are a director! Children are a vice to a man’s promise when he is young.’
Fritz Sander did not offer a handshake. He nodded when Herr Klein introduced me in his office and I returned the nod as proficiently as his own. I had my white-coat now, my blond hair smoothed back with Etta’s pomade. It felt like I was at work. That I almost belonged.
‘Has Herr Klein detailed your work here?’ His answer already known.
‘Yes, sir. The Special Ovens Department.’ They were both standing, hands behind their back and I put mine the same.
‘It is important work, Topf has secured the contracts for all ovens for the prisons.’ I saw his skin was raw around his moustache and neck. A shaving rash like all of us except for Klein’s talcum smoothness. Even the wealthy had trouble getting good blades I supposed. But Sander’s grey hair was closely cut, precision sharp around his ears. He did not get his cut by his wife in a kitchenette with sewing scissors. A waft of Bay Rum as he moved.
‘The regular muffle ovens have become inadequate. They break. Operated by inexperienced men. And they are overworked. We are able to supply mobile counterparts and engineers to repair but new ones must be built. I have hired you to help me prepare the drafts.’
I opened my mouth to speak but he anticipated.
‘You need not know anything about crematoria. I just need you to replicate the drafts from the designs. For SS approval. Any aspect you do not understand can be put to Herr Klein or Herr Keller on the third floor for annotation. The designs are to be as clear as possible for a layman.’
I had prepared questions as I slept, in my dreams. Questions that an ambitious man might ask.
‘These new designs will improve the process, sir?’
His eyes now smaller through his glasses.
‘How do you mean?’
‘That Topf is superior throughout the world for crematoria. I’m sure we are improving all the while. I am honoured to be a part of such endeavour.’
Sander half-turned, hands opening and closing at his back.
‘These contracts were won on price not quality.’ He turned back to me sharply. ‘You know our closest competitor?’
‘Kori of Berlin, sir.’
‘Quite so. We beat a Berlin company because of our price and location.’
Klein lifted his hand for my attention. Spoke proudly.
‘And that when the call came we installed mobile systems into Mauthausen within a day. That is service,’ he said.
‘Mobile systems, sir?’ I had heard this word previously, jumped on it now.
‘Stock items,’ Klein said. ‘For farmers, small abattoirs and such, who do not need their own scale furnace. Petrol fired. The incinerators had broken and they needed an emergency replacement. We fulfilled where Berlin could not.’
Sander raised a finger to me and then to Klein. ‘That reminds. Herr Klein is going to Buchenwald. A site visit. Monday. It would be useful for you to attend.’
I inhaled, stalled.
‘To the prison?’
‘We are measuring for new muffles,’ Sander said as reply. ‘It would be useful for you to see our work first hand. It is important for an architect to see the fulfilment of his task. You will learn much.’
I would like to say that I feigned enthusiasm. But I was curious in that pedestrian way people stare at accidents or listen to a neighbour’s fight or as a child you try to peek a look into the butcher’s back room as he emerges when his bell rings, wiping his hands and beaming at your mother.
And this my work after all.
‘That would be most interesting, sir.’
‘Good,’ Sander nodded again. ‘Be sure to bring your identification.’
Before supper Etta and I went for a walk. The early evening dry and warm, my coat only a little still damp from the morning’s rain. We went arm in arm by the river, towards the bridges and the old quarter. Etta had asked what Sander was like, how my day had been. I volunteered the walk. Easier to tell her outside.
‘The camp!’ Etta stopped walking, pulled her arm away. Stragglers coming home scowled from beneath their caps.
‘The prison, Etta. Buchenwald is well established. Topf has hundreds of workers from the place in the factory.’
‘Slaves you mean.’
‘Labour for their crimes.’
‘But Ernst, it is a camp. People die there. There is disease. Dangerous men.’
I took her arm again and strolled slower.
‘Klein and the engineers go there often. I am sure it is safe.’
‘I don’t like it. Why did you say you would go?’
‘I could hardly refuse on my second day.’ We walked into the cobbled streets, a walk around the block to take us back to Station Street. Quiet here. The Jewish businesses closed and sold to develop into apartments, but that had stopped. The developers no doubt waiting for the war to end any month now and the prices to rise. But even with the boarded-up windows a nice peaceful stroll in April.
‘Do you like this Herr Klein?’
‘I do not know him. Does it matter? He’s the head of the floor. When the war ends a few of those who used to work there may come back. Part of their service is to retain their old jobs. I must do well before then. Everything I can.’
‘Will you have to join the Party?’
‘No-one has mentioned. Prüfer wears a pin. A standard one. Herr Sander did not. Nor Klein.’
‘Would you? Would you join?’
I do not know why I did not think before answering. It seemed natural to say it.
‘If it helped my career. For you. For us. All other business ties are gone. No Freemasons or Rotaries. How else do you get on?’
We said no more on this.
If you live near to your parents you walk slower to meet them for Sunday lunch than if you had to get on a train where at least you can pretend that something enjoyable is happening. The slow walk, lingering around shop windows, all to avoid the dreaded hour. The walk enlivened by the Sunday street all looking to the sky as a squadron of Heinkels flew west overhead. Our skies normally silent.
Etta shielded her eyes to watch.
‘Where do you think they are going?’
‘I don’t know. England? Early for a raid. Where from is more interesting. I did not know we had bases in the east.’
‘Perhaps the Russians have surrendered. And we have taken their bases.’
‘Do they even have bases to take? I thought them all farmers?’
She slapped my arm. ‘Ernst. They are an army. I’m sure they have planes.’
‘We conquered France didn’t we? And they have toilets inside their homes. The Russians?’ I cocked my thumb over