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Adolf Hitler was the medium. The Society used him accordingly. He was the
focal point. Behind him were powerful magicians. The great work has only
begun. Soon it will be time for the second step. Only the true man deserves
Lebensraum
.
Kaufmann was working himself up, I could see that. He stood close to me and
said,  You are a political animal, Goebbels. You believe that politics is an
end in itself. The truth is that governments are nothing in the face of
destiny. We are near the cleansing of the world. You should be proud. Your own
son will play an important part. The finest jest is that modern scientific
method will also have a role.
He turned to go. I had no recourse but to follow him. There was nowhere else
to go but straight down to sudden death.
We reentered the elevator.  Have I been brought here to witness an honor
bestowed on my son? I
asked.
 In part. You will also have a role. You saw the telegram!
That was enough. There could no longer be any doubt. I was trapped amidst
madmen. Having made up my mind what to do, I feigned an attack of pain in my
clubfoot and crouched at the same time.
When Kaufmann made to offer aid, I struck wildly, almost blindly. I tried to
knee him in the groin but failing that brought my fist down on the back of his
neck. The fool went out like a light, falling hard on his face. I
congratulated myself on such prowess for an old man.
No sooner had the body slumped to the floor than the elevator came to a stop
and the doors opened automatically. I jumped out into the hall. Standing there
was a naked seven-foot giant who reached down and lifted me into the air. He
was laughing. His voice sounded like a tuba.
 They call me Thor, he said. I struggled. He held.
Then I heard the voice of my son:  That, Father, is what we call a true
Aryan.
I was carried like so much baggage down the hall, hearing voices distantly
talking about Kaufmann.
I was tossed on to the hard floor of a brightly lit room and the door was
slammed behind me. A
muscle had been pulled in my back and I lay there, gasping in pain like a fish
out of water. I could see that I was in some sort of laboratory. In a corner
was a humming machine the purpose of which
I could not guess. A young woman was standing over me, wearing a white lab
smock. I could not help but notice two things about her straightaway: she was
a brunette, and she was holding a sword at my throat.
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ASILOOK BACK , the entire affair has an air of unreality about it. Events were
becoming more fantastic in direct proportion to the speed with which they
occurred. It had all the logic of a dream.
As I lay upon the floor, under that sword held by such an unlikely guardian (I
had always supported military service for women, but when encountering the
real thing I found it a bit difficult to take seriously), I began to take an
inventory of my pains. The backache was subsiding so long as I did not move. I
was becoming aware, however, that the hand with which I had dispatched
Kaufmann felt like a hot balloon of agony, expanding without an upper limit.
My vision was blurred and I
shook my head trying to clear it. I dimly heard voices in the background, and
then a particularly resonant one was near at hand, speaking with complete
authority:  Oh, don t be ridiculous. Help him up.
The woman put down the sword, and was suddenly assisted by a young Japanese
girl gingerly lifting me off the floor and propelling me in the direction of a
nearby chair. Still I did not see the author of that powerful voice.
Then I was sitting down and the females were moving away. He was standing
there, his hands on his hips, looking at me with the sort of analytical
probing I always respect. At first I didn t recognize him, but had instead the
eerie feeling that I was in a movie. The face made me think of something too
ridiculous to credit . . . and then I knew who it really was: Professor
Dietrich, the missing geneticist. I examined him more closely. My first
impression had been more correct than I
thought. The man hardly resembled the photographs of his youth. His hair had
turned white and he had let it grow. Seeing him in person, I could not help
but notice how angular were his features . . .
how much like the face of the late actor Rudolf Klein-Rogge in the role of Dr.
Mabuse, Fritz Lang s character that had become the symbol of a
super-scientific, scheming Germany to the rest of the world. Although the
later films were banned for the average German, the American-made series
(Mabuse s second life, you could say) had become so popular throughout the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]