by Tom Knox
Amy said: ‘But it’s on the map. If it was demolished then why indicate it? I don’t get it.’
David leaned nearer.
‘So…maybe it wasn’t demolished. It was turned into something else, probably before the war. The synagogue will be disguised as something else.’
‘Like what?’ ‘Something insulting? Another joke, like in Luderitz.’
Angus nodded, firmly.
‘Yes. This is true. The Nazis turned some synagogues into pigsties, some into nightclubs. To insult Jewish faith. Of course…’
Amy shook her head.
‘There’s no nightclub in Pskov. It’s tiny – there’s nothing bloody here, no dancehalls, no pig farms, no nothing.’
The farmer on the next table belched robustly as he finished his pig knuckle. And Simon was pointing.
‘So what about that? Look.’
They all turned. At the top of the front wall was a small and grubby old window. It wasn’t letting in much light because it was paned with dark stained glass, the colour of fortified wine.
But the dusty light, thrown by the Budvar sign outside, was sufficient to illuminate the window’s leaded design.
It was a Star of David.
47
The publican was entirely uninterested in their bizarre request, and stranger questions – until David offered him three hundred euros.
Then he quickly brightened and took them to the back of the pub: where steel barrels concealed a wall.
It was painted with Hebrew script.
‘Move the barrels,’ said Amy. ‘The Tabernacle must have been here.’
The steel barrels boomed and clanked as they were shifted. Under the barrels was…nothing. David felt a miserable disappointment, tinged with faint relief. Part of him actively didn’t want to know what was under the castle. The proof of his blood. And part of him needed to know immediately.
The publican was staring at them. His arms were crossed. Beer stains dotted his white jacket. Then he said: ‘Die Juden Tur?’
‘Yes!’
‘Hier.’
He led them down into a dark corner of the back room. A small wooden door was set low in the wall. The publican gabbled an explanation in gruff German. Amy interpreted, her voice rising with excitement:
‘He says…this is the door from the war. There is a cellar behind, a passageway beyond that. He used the cellar to store…something he doesn’t want to talk about. Contraband maybe? He doesn’t know where the passage ends. He has never explored further. Too bloody scared of the communists in the castle.’
Another hundred euros elicited an agreement to open the door – then to close it behind them. And to tell no one.
Another fifty euros bought a torch.
The door was creaked open. David felt a surge of queasiness as he peered through. Another small door, a little door, like a Cagot door. The door he was always meant to pass through.
Inside, a few steps led down into a room full of damp darkness and cobwebs – and stacks of beige and grey Marlboro cigarette cartons, and a dozen garden gnomes. The gnomes leered in the sudden light; one of them was frozen in a fishing position. With grinning scarlet lips.
‘OK?’ said David, trying to quell his nerves. Now he could almost sense Miguel – nearing. Hunting them down. Blood finding blood.
‘OK,’ the others replied, as one.
They stepped inside the low chamber; the bar owner looked at them for a final second, shrugged as if they were obviously mad, then shut the tiny door.
Darkness enshrouded them. Apart from their one feeble torchbeam. David flashed it down the chamber, which went on, and on. A long passage into the chilly blackness.
‘Let’s go.’
They knew they had two kilometres to walk: the distance to Zbiroh. They began in silence. The sound of their footsteps slipping in the mud was the only noise they made. No one spoke.
Their hurried pace at last brought them to another door. An iron door. It was shut.
David slumped to the side. He could feel clammy mud on his back. He didn’t care.
‘Christ.’
Angus swore. Simon shook his head. David had his head weighed in his hands.
Another door. Just another door. That would stop them? He remembered all the doors he had been through these last weeks: the Cagot doors, the door in Navvarenx church, the door to the Holocaust museum, José’s door in the Cagot house, all the many doors. And now another door, defeating them. Just one last door, one door too far.
Amy stepped forward, she turned the handle to the door. It opened.
48
As one they passed through the doorway into a dark, brick-walled room, with a concrete floor.
David spun the torch, left to right. It was a large space; wooden chests were piled in severely neat stacks on each side.
Angus walked across and directed David’s torchbeam downwards, at one of the wooden chests. It had a motif burned into the surface: a large black Nazi swastika, clutched in the talons of an imperial eagle. And beneath it was an inscription, in Gothic lettering.
Die Fischer Experimente.
The lid of the first wooden case was easily prised off with Simon’s pocket knife. Amy found a paraffin lamp, with a wick, sitting at the back of the chamber. They flicked a lighter and turned the knob: the wick sent a good light across the shadowy chamber.
And then, for an intense and concentrated hour, they sat in a circle – and deciphered the documents, by torchlight and lanternlight. With Amy interpreting the German, and Angus’s knowledge of biochemistry and genetics, and Simon’s appreciation of the politics and history, they were a tensely effective team.
As they speedily pieced together the last elements of the story, Simon wrote it down, once again, sometimes squinting close to see the documents proffered to his gaze. Every so often, Angus would exclaim, or swear – ‘Fuck, so that’s why, so that’s what he found.’
Then Angus dropped the last document, and looked Simon’s way.
‘You’re the writer. Finish the story.’
Simon looked nonplussed for a moment, struck by the horror of it all, their discoveries, and their predicament. Then he said, quietly, ‘OK. So this is it. The last chapter.’
‘Go on.’
‘The first amazing discovery Fischer made was this: human speciation was happening. In Europe. Even as he watched. And it was the Cagots who were evolving.
‘As a result of their linguistic, cultural and social isolation, the Cagots had become a new kind of human. A new species. They were still able to breed, with difficulty, with their close relatives, Homo sapiens – but they were genetically drifting away. Fischer guessed that in a few generations the last Cagots would die out, thanks to these breeding problems. Their speciation from normal humans would be a failure.
‘Fischer relayed this information to Hitler, who was delighted. Here at last was proof that Nazism was just Applied Biology, as they had always boasted. Man truly differed from man. Indeed the racial differences within mankind were greater than even Hitler had speculated. Speciation was happening in Europe. It had happened to the Cagots…’
David glanced around, trying to contain his emotions. He wanted not to think of his own dark secrets, concealed in the vaults of his soul. Dooming him. Burying him under the concrete of his shame.
Then Simon turned a page.
‘Through 1941, correspondence between the Führer and his favourite scientist became ever more enthusiastic. Money poured into the camp to accelerate Fischer’s experiments. Hitler wanted proof that Germans were superior within the emerging hierarchy of races.
‘But then Fischer made a discovery at Gurs which was even more profound – and complicated. He predicted that the Cagot process would be repeated; he told Hitler that another species would soon splinter off from Homo sapiens, as the Cagots had done.’
Amy interrupted:
‘The Jews.’
‘As we see in the documents.’ Simon gestured at one of the open boxes
. ‘Because of their religiously imposed self-segregation, their strictures against outbreeding – which enforced genetic isolation from the wider family of man – the Ashkenazi Jew was gradually becoming a new subspecies, maybe a new species, with a unique genotype. And all this Fischer told Hitler in a letter. This letter.’ He brandished the document, then returned to his notes.
‘Indeed Fischer told Hitler that, paradoxically, Nazi isolation of the Jews was only going to increase the chance and speed of this speciation. When he handed over the information, Fischer knew that Hitler would be excited by proof of Jewish Otherness. The problem was, as Fischer reluctantly told Hitler, the Jews were becoming, in some respects, a superior species. Certainly in terms of intelligence. Superior even to the Germans.’
He flipped a page. ‘How, ah, had this happened? Over centuries, Talmudic tenets and customs had emphasized the fame and renown of the scholar. For a Jewish girl in medieval Europe it was much more desirable to marry a brilliant rabbi than a successful merchant or a wealthy goldsmith.’
‘So the brainy, rather than the brawny, had more kids.’
Simon nodded at Amy.
‘The genetic evolution of the Jews was biased towards ever higher intelligence. Pogroms against Jews merely increased this effect. In times of great adversity and persecution only the most highly educated and adaptable Jews survived: the less bright Jews died off.’
He coughed, with a flicker of emotion. Then went on:
‘The…result of these centuries of upward pressure on Jewish intelligence, and the simultaneous genetic isolation in ghettos and shtetls, meant that Jews were speedily evolving into a more intelligent kind of human. There were downsides: Jews were and are uniquely prone to certain genetic ailments, like…how do you pronounce this…Tay-Sachs disease?’
Angus nodded. Simon returned to his text:
‘But the Jews were brighter. The syndromes might even have been the genetic price they had to pay for their cognitive gifts.
‘This remarkable discovery, when relayed by Eugen Fischer to the Führer in Berlin, chimed with the darkest fears in Hitler’s mind. Prior to this revelation, the Nazi leader had entertained other ambitious plans for Europe’s Jewry – sending them all to Madagascar, or using them as gifted slave labour in some far-off Russian province. But with the Fischer data in his hand, Hitler realized he had little choice. He had to strike now, while he controlled Europe, before those clever and very different Jews became truly dominant and different – and enslaved Germany in turn.
‘So in 1942 Hitler gave the go ahead for the Final Solution: the extermination of all European Jews, despite the huge cost and the possible crippling of the German war effort. Hitler had to end this menace to Aryan racial supremacy once and for all.
‘But Hitler also decided to put his knowledge of speciation to one further use: he employed it as a threat against the Catholic church.’
David spoke: ‘The Milan Treaty.’
‘Yes. In a secret accord signed in Milan in 1942 Hitler agreed to stay silent about human speciation, so threatening to Catholic doctrines, if the Pope agreed to stay silent about the Holocaust. It was a total bluff. Hitler had no intention of revealing the Fischer discovery that the Jews might be “superior” to the Germans. He simply intended to exterminate. But the bluff worked. The Pope stayed silent about the Shoah, thus assisting the Germans in their genocide; the shame of papal complicity has plagued the church to this day.’
Simon sighed, but continued.
‘So…Between 1944 and 1945, the Allies slowly liberated Occupied France. The Nazi doctors who had worked at Gurs feared for their lives. But they had one grand bargaining chip: the mindblowing results of the Fischer experiments.
‘Eugen Fischer realized that the western democracies would be just as keen as the Catholic church to suppress this knowledge – as it would destabilize the world, in so many ways, and of course lend disastrous credibility to Nazi racial theories. So Fischer and his colleagues had potential leverage over the Allies – but only if they could preserve the data. They therefore hatched a plan to conceal their results: in the labyrinthine vaults of an inaccessible SS castle, in Bohemia. The vault was hurriedly built – here – even as the Red Army marched across Slovakia.
‘The plan worked. The doctors, many of whom had committed the most appalling crimes, threatened to reveal their experimental data if they were harmed; so they were hastily exonerated and returned to work at German universities by the fearful Allies. The Fischer data remained entombed and unknown. The conspiracy of silence had worked. Up to a point.
‘At the end of the war, there was one other class of people who might reveal the terrible secrets of the Fischer experiments. The survivors of Gurs. Cagots and Basques, in the main. The Germans had been free and easy with the Fischer results in the camp. The few survivors therefore also had to be silenced: this was done with large sums of money. The Gurs survivors were bought off by the Catholic church – which was consumed by guilt at the behaviour of its chaplains in the camp. The church was also shamed by its cooperation with the Nazis. Blood money was paid.
‘Some of the survivors then dispersed around the world, to Britain, to Canada and to America. But for many of these people the Gurs money was tainted: associated with the terrors of Gurs. Many of them never spent the cash, and endured a life of concealed shame.’
‘So what happened afterwards?’ Amy asked.
Angus answered. ‘Nothing. At first. The plan worked: the Nazi doctors slowly died off, as did the Gurs survivors.’
‘But everyone forgot about…the Kellermans?’ she said.
Simon nodded:
‘Yes. The Kellerman dynasty in far-off Namibia. They had been close to Fischer; Fischer stayed in touch with them after the war. Indeed some of Fischer’s Nazi colleagues fled to Namibia, after the war, and were protected by Kellerman Namcorp.’
David gazed around the assembled faces. ‘But what was in it for the Kellermans?’
Angus spoke:
‘I can provide that answer. Truth is, the Kellermans were interested in the Fischer results for the Jewish people. Old Samuel Kellerman was a strict believer in Leviticus 25, that Jews were allowed by God to take slaves from the inferior Gentiles.’
Amy protested, ‘But – Nathan?’
‘Sure, yup, the younger Kellermans were different…they may have dispensed with these superstitions, but they were still ardent Zionists. Determined to create and then preserve Israel as a homeland for Jews.’
‘So?’
Angus gazed Amy’s way. ‘Think about Israel, Amy. You’re Jewish, you know this stuff. Through the 1970s, 80s, and 90s, demographics have been pointing to one outcome in Israel: at some point Jews are gonna be outnumbered by non-Jews even in their Jewish homeland. And then Israel will no longer be safe: and maybe another Holocaust will ensue.’
Simon interrupted: ‘The Fischer results promised a philosophical escape route. If it could be proved that Jews were a different subspecies to ordinary gentiles – or at least headed that way – that would give a justification for treating non-Jews, within Israel, in a discriminatory fashion. Why should a different kind of man get the vote – in a homeland reserved for Jews?’
Amy shook her head. ‘Homo judaicus? Shameful!’
‘But it makes sense,’ Angus answered her, calmly. ‘Universal human rights do not apply if humans are not universally the same. If the Jews are provably different, superior, then they deserve provably different and superior rights. If you really want to fucking push the point.’
‘Therefore,’ Simon added, ‘the Kellermans wanted the Fischer results for their Zionist purposes – or, failing that, to repeat the, ah, experiments and get the same data. Right?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Angus was gesturing, in the lamplight. ‘But the first option was closed. No one would tell them where the data were hidden. That left the second option. Science. Redoing the experiments. But it has taken seventy years for science to catch up with the Nazi discoveries at Gurs,
and begin to prove them, all over again. And even now, when science has caught up, there are still forces ranged against the whole concept of racial differences and eugenics. The Human Genome Diversity Project at Stanford was shut by pressure from western governments – and from the church.’
‘So the Kellermans switched to GenoMap.’
‘Exactly. The experiments we were doing at GenoMap were directly funded and abetted by Kellerman Namcorp. That old Nazi doctor, Dresler, fled to Namibia in the 90s, after he was uncovered by David’s father. And he forwarded advice to GenoMap on how to reproduce the Fischer results. He even suggested blood testing the same people: Gurs survivors – Cagots especially.’
Angus continued: ‘And you know what? This plan would have succeeded, if Fazackerly hadn’t blabbed. At a conference in France, he boasted he was going to successfully repeat the experiments of Eugen Fischer at Gurs. I was there. It was mortifying. And I guess that’s when the Catholic church was alerted, and began taking more serious steps. They recruited the Society of Pius X: because, as we all know, they are some zealous fuckers. And because they already knew the secrets of Gurs, so it involved no widening of the circle of knowledge. Their roots go back to Vichy France.’
Simon briefly glanced David’s way, then looked at his notes.
‘And sympathizers with the Society had already killed off previous attempts to unearth the Gurs secrets. David’s parents – when they came to France, innocently seeking the truth of the Martinez’s, ah, Basque ancestry…’
Amy interrupted, her voice fierce in the flickering shadows. ‘And the Society was already using the most ruthless operatives to do this work: ETA terrorists like Miguel. Perfect! A highly trained killer, a devout Catholic. And he had a hatred – concealed self-hatred – for Cagots.’
Angus had returned to one of the cases. He lifted out a document, embossed with several black swastikas, like rigid and futurist lauburus.
‘It also makes sense…’ David said, hesitantly. He was trying not to think of his parents; trying not to think of Granddad; trying not to think. He stammered his words. ‘Using him. I mean Miguel. The Wolf. Cause he knows the crucial area: the Basque Country, where many Cagots and Gurs survivors lived…’
