The Good Liar

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The Good Liar Page 24

by Nicholas Searle


  ‘Yes, sir, and it’s all true.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. But I do need to think about it.’

  ‘Our deal, sir?’ said Hans tentatively.

  ‘You’ve no need to worry. I’ll keep my side of the bargain. The

  question is whether we can do anything with this. That’s what’ll

  make it important or unimportant. Would you be prepared to sign

  a statement?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good man. You said you had ideas about how to make your

  father go overseas?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It involves Herr Professor Wolff.’

  ‘I see. Tell me more.’

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  Later, Hans was asked to leave, with an agreement to talk again

  the next day in the principal’s office.

  ‘Do you believe him, Wolff ?’ asked Weber. ‘Might he have got this

  wrong?’

  ‘He’s a very intelligent boy. Yes, I believe him. But we have some-

  thing of an ethical problem.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The boy is a minor. It is one thing denouncing your parents for

  insulting the Führer when he comes on the radio. This is quite dif-

  ferent. The consequences could be significant.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. But the difficulties may be surmountable.’

  ‘Do you have any corroboration for what he says?’

  ‘That’s something I’ll have to check. Frankly I doubt it. They may

  have talked out of turn in front of little Hansi, but Taub and

  Schröder are generally cautious individuals. Of course we know of

  Taub’s visits to the house, but beyond that . . .’

  ‘You would not wish to see whether the boy can obtain further

  information about Schröder and his father?’

  ‘I doubt he’d be able to. What he said would be sufficient to con-

  demn both of them anyway, if we could prove it in a court of law.

  Also, the time when we have room for manoeuvre for arrange-

  ments like this may be limited. By this time next year . . .’

  ‘This is the unsupported testimony of a fourteen- year- old.’

  ‘I suppose so. If you put it like that. But it’s compelling and I suspect even more so when we get the detail down on paper. His age

  doesn’t damage his credibility. What he said is entirely believable.

  And there’s this. There’s a great deal of doubt about the Schröders.

  They have bohemian connections. They make no effort to espouse

  the right ideals. To be candid, my colleagues could welcome a con-

  crete reason to edge Albert Schröder out of the picture. His business is a good one and can make a contribution to the war effort. The

  wrong man’s in charge, though. Schröder is regarded as unreliable.

  With good reason, it seems. And it’d be good to have Taub senior

  out of our hair. There may be the possibility of a little latitude.’

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  ‘What do you mean, latitude?’

  ‘It may be more convenient to gloss over the fact of Hans’s age,

  for instance.’

  ‘But when it comes to examination in court . . .’

  ‘Oh, there’s no question Hans would actually appear as a witness.

  The state protects those who are public- minded enough to offer

  confidential information. The presiding judge of the People’s Court will simply read the statement and hear my testimony.’

  ‘You would be prepared to omit relevant facts?’

  ‘Of course not. I simply don’t believe the boy’s age is particularly germane. More pertinent is his reliability, and we seem to have

  established that. There are plenty of adults whose reports would be far less detailed and accurate. And if you and I have the choice of protecting the Reich or allowing known criminals to go scot free on questionable procedural grounds, then we surely have to err on the

  side of justice. I’ll think about it overnight. Please have the boy available tomorrow.’

  3

  The next morning Hans was called from his first lesson by Herr

  Professor Wolff and taken in a car to an anonymous office block he

  did not recognize near the Ku’damm. It was exciting and at the

  same time unnerving. He might easily be incarcerated in this grim

  place. The Mercedes parked underneath the building and he was

  escorted in the lift to an empty office on the fourth floor.

  The office was panelled in walnut and had deep blue carpets.

  Around a long polished conference table were twelve leather-

  upholstered chairs. Hans walked around the table and counted

  them twice. One long wall was dominated by a huge swastika flag.

  He felt a frisson of pride.

  Weber entered quickly with two other men. He was wearing a

  black uniform so smart that Hans immediately coveted one. Weber

  said, ‘ Heil, Hitler,’ and saluted. Hans did not know whether this was 193

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  a trick or a test. He responded with an outstretched arm and a bold

  ‘ Heil, Hitler.’ This was so much better a feeling than when he had practised it in his bedroom, or saluted in class. This was for real, and he felt just slightly taller. The three men smiled, a little patronizingly he felt.

  Weber was businesslike. ‘Now then, Herr Taub.’

  It took Hans a moment to realize that Weber was referring to

  him. He sat on one side of the table with the other two men and

  invited Hans to sit on the other.

  ‘May I introduce two colleagues from the legal department, Herr

  Engel and Herr Ziegler? As you’ve made a number of serious allega-

  tions we are required to ensure complete accuracy in taking your

  statement. We must at all costs avoid a miscarriage of justice. Legal counsel are present to confirm that this statement has been taken in accordance with the law of the Reich and is admissible in possible

  future legal proceedings.’

  Legal proceedings. Hans had, he supposed, understood that this

  was an inevitable consequence of the information he had given to

  Weber the previous day. But to hear it said out loud made it all the more concrete. The kernel of a qualm germinated in his stomach

  but was easily quelled. That bastard Schröder was after all planning to betray the Fatherland. And so what if the family would be humiliated and ruined? They deserved all they got.

  ‘Do you understand?’ asked Weber.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Hans.

  Patiently and kindly, they took him through what he had told

  Weber the previous day. Hans had an excellent memory and was

  able to recall more or less word for word what he had said. He stuck closely to the same script, venturing the odd extra detail but avoiding wholesale additions even when invited to provide more

  information by Weber or his two lawyers. The three men each had

  a copy of what seemed to be an identical document in front of

  them, which they checked carefully at each stage.

  Engel pressed him on the circumstances of his hearing what his

  father and Schröder had said.

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  I was there. Herr Schröder was so keen to begin the discussion. I

  went away then and returned later. That’s when I listened outside


  the door.’

  ‘You would say that you heard the conversation clearly?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And there were no other persons in the room? You could recog-

  nize the two speakers quite clearly?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Engel pursed his thin lips. ‘So you are quoting the direct words of these two individuals?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want to ask you about your father’s response to what Herr

  Schröder had to say,’ said Ziegler, the friendlier of the two. ‘Your father is a socialist, I understand.’

  ‘He calls himself a liberal, sir. I don’t know a lot about politics, but I think that means he is on the left?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Ziegler smiled at him. ‘Now, would you say your father

  was happy with what Herr Schröder proposed?’

  Weber looked sideways at Ziegler and cast a warning glance in

  Hans’s direction.

  ‘No, not happy, sir. Not really. Of course I couldn’t see their faces.’

  ‘If I may interrupt for a moment, Herr Doktor Ziegler,’ said

  Weber. ‘I’ve noted Hans’s impression that his father seemed shocked at the boldness of Herr Schröder’s statements. I believe you said,

  Hans, if I’ve written it down correctly, that “whatever my father’s personal views he would not be disloyal to his country at a time of national crisis”. Do I have that correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I ask,’ persisted Ziegler, ‘because it appears that for some reason Herr Schröder had the impression that your father would be passing his information on to third parties. Do you have any idea why

  that might be the case?’

  ‘None at all, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ Ziegler smiled again, and their business was all but

  done.

  Weber gathered together the three copies of the document they

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  had been perusing and neatened the edges. It seemed to Hans a

  rather feminine gesture.

  ‘This is a statement I had prepared for your signature, Hans. Read

  it carefully. It is a legal document. Then, if you’re happy, please sign each copy.’

  Hans took a moment or two to pretend to read the document. In

  truth the adrenalin burst had robbed him of the ability to concen-

  trate. Casually, he signed the three copies.

  ‘Well then,’ said Weber, addressing Engel and Ziegler, ‘you gen-

  tlemen may wish to begin the process. I need to discuss some

  practical details with Herr Taub.’

  The two lawyers filed from the room.

  ‘Three days,’ said Weber. ‘That’s all I can guarantee you. There’s

  a chance the process of drawing up warrants may take longer if I

  drag my heels but three days is the maximum on which you can

  count. You’ll need to be gone by then. After that it’ll be as if our agreement never existed. In the meantime, if your parents are

  arrested for reasons outside the bounds of our agreement, the same

  applies. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ve spoken with Herr Professor Wolff. Later today he will do as

  we discussed.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘And your parents will need exit visas. They’ll have to obtain them through Herr Professor Wolff. I’ll brief him what to say. I can do

  nothing about foreign entry visas. I’m assuming your father has

  contacts abroad who can supply whatever is required . . .’

  ‘I suppose so, sir.’

  Weber’s mood lightened somewhat. ‘Then all that remains is our

  written contract.’ He took a single sheet from his pocket and looked at it for a moment before handing it to Hans to sign. Hans did so

  without reading it.

  Weber said, ‘London, that’s where you think your father will head?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’d be prepared to serve the Reich while there?’

  ‘Of course.’

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  ‘There’s always a requirement to keep tabs on annoying little

  communities of dissenters abroad. You may well be contacted by

  one of our fellows.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’d like to make one thing clear. I view your father as a traitor.

  I’m allowing him to go because you and I have a bargain. I’m a man

  of my word. If it were up to me I would personally wring your

  father’s neck. But there it is. We have our deal. You’ve been a very brave and a very clever little German, and you’ve served your country. It will be noted. Goodbye and good luck.’

  In the car on the way back to his school Hans replayed the con-

  versation and savoured each drop of sarcasm in Weber’s words.

  Well, fuck you too, he thought, and smiled.

  4

  His father was working on an article when the rap on the door came

  that evening. Hans went quickly to the window and glanced down

  to the street. He could see no cars but now fully expected Weber to have reneged on the deal. His father scrabbled at the table, struggling in his panic to pick up the papers that lay before him and

  seemed to stick to the surface. Renate opened the door to the main

  bedroom, where Konrad thrust everything under the bed. Hans

  was sure both his parents knew this was a futile action, a gesture

  and no more.

  Hans watched his father compose himself and go to the door.

  ‘Ah, Herr Professor Wolff,’ he said, surprised.

  ‘Herr Taub.’

  ‘Do come in.’

  Wolff entered, stamping his shoes clear of wet snow on the door-

  mat and handing his overcoat to Hans’s mother. He peered around

  the small apartment, his curiosity evident even as he attempted to

  conceal it. Hans did not know what Herr Professor Wolff might

  expect of the lair of two liberal intellectuals. A mire of squalor and filth denoting their depravity, a coterie of revolutionaries trading 197

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  polemics, a cache of weapons and explosives? What he would have

  seen was a perfectly normal apartment consisting of a bathroom,

  two small bedrooms and a larger single living area comprising

  lounge, dining area and small kitchen, clean and tidy, perhaps a little worn and old, as the Taubs had not prospered since Hitler became

  Chancellor.

  It was peculiar to see his headmaster here. Wolff seemed a fas-

  tidious man, entirely at home in the familiar environs of his study, where he could find security in his carefully arranged books and the neatly aligned pen and pencils on the blotter on his desk. Here, he appeared nervous, his eyes flicking to and fro and his fingers moving swiftly, interlocking then parting, twirling and bending, to no obvious purpose.

  ‘Is it about school?’ asked Hans’s father. ‘Is Hans in trouble?’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Wolff, an expression of perplexity coming to his

  face. He was not cut out for this, thought Hans. But his unease

  might serve a purpose. ‘Ah, no, nothing like that at all.’

  Konrad and Renate Taub waited for a moment.

  ‘Then?’ asked Konrad.

  ‘Ah yes. If it were convenient, it would be helpful, I think, to have a private word.’ Wolff glanced at Hans.

  ‘Without Hans?’ asked Renate.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘We do not keep secrets from our son,’ said Konrad. ‘Whatever
/>
  you have to say you may say in front of him.’

  ‘I rather think . . .’

  ‘It’s all right, Father,’ said Hans. ‘I’ll read in my room.’

  He went to his tiny bedroom, which overlooked the snow- covered

  courtyard, and left his book unopened on his bed. He listened at the door. Wolff was attempting to speak quietly but he was so accustomed to making bombastic pronouncements that it took little

  effort to hear what he was saying. Hans’s parents’ responses were

  more difficult to discern.

  ‘Herr Taub,’ said Wolff, ‘we can agree on one thing at least,

  namely that we disagree wildly on almost every topic. I find your

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  views anathema and I am sure you regard mine with equal distaste.

  But I do acknowledge that, however misguided, you believe in your

  country. I am here, therefore, on an errand of mercy. I see in your son the makings of a fine young man. But I fear that owing to

  your views your son’s future will be destroyed.’

  Konrad Taub replied inaudibly.

  ‘No no no,’ said Wolff. ‘I am not here to proselytize or try to convince you of the error of your ways. Things are much too far along

  the road for that. I am here for a specific and very practical purpose.

  And you should know that this is at considerable personal risk. You need to understand that we live in a very different world today from even five years ago.’

  There was silence. Hans strained to hear whether his parents

  spoke. But it seemed that this pause was for dramatic effect, before Wolff continued to declaim.

  ‘Whatever our differences, I am here to tell you that you are in

  severe and immediate personal danger. As you know, I am heavily

  involved in Party matters. I have it on the highest authority that a warrant has been issued for your arrest.’

  Hans could well imagine his parents’ shocked expressions.

  ‘The reasons will be as clear to you as they are to me. I have been informed discreetly. The consequences are obvious. You will be

  tried for sedition, with a predictable outcome. Hans’s future will be uncertain. If he is fortunate he will be fostered or adopted. But I rather doubt that will happen. After all, he will be the son of two traitors.’

  Wolff spoke without emotion. ‘There can be no mistake. No

  doubt at all,’ he was now saying dismissively, as if talking to a particularly stupid pupil. ‘I am certain of my facts. The nation at such times of crisis needs to know precisely who its enemies are.’

 

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