by Isser Harel
The early-evening train they set out in reminded them of something in an old American cowboy movie. After a tiring over-night journey, they reached Coronel Suárez at nine-thirty A.M. and made inquiries at the antiquated little railroad station about the return trip to the capital. There was only one passenger train a day on that line – it would leave in the afternoon.
Their plan was that Hofstaetter would go alone to Hermann’s house, and two hours later Ilani would wait for him in a taxi somewhere near the house; if Efraim didn’t reappear within a reasonable amount of time, Ilani would go look for him.
A long road led from the railway station, single-story houses on either side, and at first glance there appeared to be no other streets in the town. They hailed a taxi – an ancient American model – and gave the driver the address; they could easily have gone on foot, as it turned out to be only a three-minute drive from the station. Efraim got out, and Ilani continued on.
Everything in the town seemed to be old, including Hermann’s house. Hofstaetter knocked at the door. A man of about fifty, short and thin, his hair sprinkled with gray, opened it. There was something odd about his whole appearance, his hesitant walk, his slow movements. A feeling of discomfort crept over Hofstaetter as he stood face to face with the man.
‘Good morning. Is this Mr. Hermann’s house?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’m Lothar Hermann. What can I do for you?’
‘My name is Karl Huppert,’ Hofstaetter said. ‘I sent you a telegram from Buenos Aires to tell you I was coming.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Hermann. ‘Please come in.’
The living room was poorly and sparsely furnished: an old cupboard with a glass door, a table, and a few simple chairs. The trained senses of an experienced police officer told Hofstaetter that something was out of kilter in this house, though he could not immediately put his finger on it. Hermann invited him to sit down but made no attempt to hide his suspicions.
‘Excuse me, Mr. Huppert,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never heard of you. Who in fact are you?’
‘I spend most of my time in America and Canada as representative of the German authorities, and I’ve come to you on their behalf,’ Hofstaetter said.
‘How am I to know if you are telling the truth? Anybody can make such claims. And besides, what have those authorities of yours got to do with me?’
‘Mr. Hermann, for obvious reasons, I prefer not to say too much about the people who sent me. Allow me, however, to remind you of your correspondence with Dr. Fritz Bauer of Frankfurt, Public Prosecutor of the Province of Hesse, in connection with the Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann. Dr. Bauer wrote to you on January 21 to inform you that he would be sending someone to talk to you on his behalf. I have with me a letter of introduction from Dr. Bauer written on the same date. Here it is, as you see.’
The letter in his outstretched hand remained dangling in mid-air. Hermann ignored it completely. Hofstaetter’s discomfort increased.
Hermann suddenly raised his voice and called out in the direction of the door, ‘Come in, my dear, come in.’
A middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, Lothar,’ she said.
‘Mr. Huppert,’ said Hermann, ‘this is my wife. Meet Mr. Huppert, my dear. He’s brought a letter from the Public Prosecutor in Frankfurt. Please take it and read it aloud.’
He’s blind, he didn’t see my outstretched hand! flashed into Hofstaetter’s mind, and his suspicions were immediately set at rest. He would have to be careful to conceal his surprise and relief. ‘Here’s the letter, Mrs. Hermann,’ he said, rising and handing it to her.
‘Do sit down, please,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll read the letter for my husband: ‘The bearer of this letter is the person whose visit I advised you about in my letter of today’s date. He will discuss with you the subject of our correspondence. Sincerely, Dr. Bauer.”
Hofstaetter noticed a smile spreading over his host’s face.
After a moment’s pause, his wife added, ‘The signature is without doubt Dr. Bauer’s.’ This was apparently a customary ritual between the two. Now the ice was broken.
‘Bring us something to drink, my dear,’ said Lothar cheerfully. The woman went out, and he turned to Hofstaetter. ‘I also used to do investigations, when I was still a young lawyer. But when Hitler came to power everything changed. My parents were murdered by the Nazis, and I too had firsthand experience of the horrors of the concentration camps. I have Jewish blood in my veins, but my wife is German and our daughter has been brought up according to her mother’s traditions.’
At first Hofstaetter fancied that this was an attempt to sound out his reaction to the ‘Jewish angle’. He decided not to comment at all.
Hermann continued. ‘Don’t think that I started this Eichmann business through any desire to serve Germany. My only purpose is to even the score with the Nazi criminals who caused me and my family so much agony and suffering. Because of that, I don’t even want any reward or any other sort of compensation for my efforts.’
‘How did you in fact get on to Eichmann’s trail?’ asked Hofstaetter.
‘Let’s say it was a combination of chance and analytical skill.’
‘Would you please be good enough to explain?’
‘With pleasure,’ Hermann said. ‘I have a daughter, a charming girl – you’ll meet her, she’ll be home soon – a sensible and intelligent girl.’
‘And she has something to do with the matter?’
‘Yes. Until eighteen months ago we lived in Buenos Aires, in the Olivos quarter. There she met a young man of twenty-one or twenty-two, named Nicolas Eichmann. He started taking her out and visited our house several times. Naturally, he didn’t know that I have Jewish blood – or that my daughter does, of course. Since we’ve been in Argentina we’ve been accepted as German in every way. So Nicolas used to talk freely in our company. Once, when the conversation turned to the fate of the Jews in the Second World War, he said it would have been better if the Germans had finished their job of extermination. On another occasion, he said that his father was an officer in the German army during the war and did his duty for the fatherland. One day, when he happened to drop in, my wife asked him how it was that his German accent wasn’t typical of any one region but reflected the influence of many dialects. He replied that during the war his father served in many different regions and the family went with him on his journeys, so they never stayed long enough in one place to become fluent in the local idiom.’
Hofstaetter paused for a moment and then said, ‘I was told that the trial of a war criminal in Germany had something to do with your interest in this affair.’
‘Yes, that trial, I must say, started me thinking. One day my wife – or it may have been my daughter – read a report in the local paper about the trial of a war criminal in Frankfurt. At the trial a man by the name of Adolf Eichmann was mentioned as a central figure in the mass murders. When I heard the name a thought flashed through my mind: That Nicolas Eichmann, who’s so sorry that the Nazis didn’t manage to wipe out all the Jews, must be the son of Adolf Eichmann, the army officer in the war who, according to his son, ‘did his duty for the fatherland.’ Without any hesitation, I wrote to the Public Prosecutor in Frankfurt, voicing my suspicions. An exchange of letters followed, and he requested me to investigate the matter further. He even provided me with various details about Eichmann, including a personal description. Not long after, the Public Prosecutor of Hesse was transferred and Fritz Bauer took his place. I continued to correspond with him.’
And what investigations did you carry out to verify your suspicions?’ asked Hofstaetter. The second part of the question he did not express aloud: And how could a blind man undertake such an investigation?
At Bauer’s request, I went back to Buenos Aires twice in an effort to discover where the Eichmann family lived and to meet the head of the family. My daughter accompanied me on both journeys. It was then that we recalled an episode to which we had not attributed any i
mportance at the beginning: my daughter and Nicolas had been writing to each other since we moved here, but he never told her where he lived; he asked her to send her letters to the address of a mutual friend. This detail naturally heightened our suspicions.’
A voice broke in. ‘Good morning, Dad!’ An attractive young woman of about twenty entered the room with Mrs. Hermann, who carried a tray with two cups of tea on it.
‘Mr. Huppert, this is my daughter,’ Hermann said, and turning to her he added, ‘I’m glad you came. Mr. Huppert is interested in the Eichmann family. Tell him how you found their house and whom you saw there. You can speak English.’ He turned back to Hofstaetter, saying, ‘In two months she’s going to study at a university in America.’
‘Dad must have told you,’ the young woman began, ‘that Nick never let me know his address. When we went to Buenos Aires I asked a friend to help me find his house. I knocked at the door and it was opened by a woman. I asked her in German if this was the house of the Eichmann family. Her reply did not come immediately, and during the pause a middle-aged man wearing glasses came and stood beside her. I asked him if Nick was at home. He said no, Nick was working overtime. I asked if he was Mr. Eichmann. No reply. So I asked if he was Nick’s father. He said he was, but only after long hesitation.’
‘Are you sure about the hesitation?’ asked Hofstaetter. ‘And, incidentally, was there anything special about the way he spoke?’
‘There’s no doubt about the hesitation. And his voice was unpleasant and strident, just as the Public Prosecutor in Frankfurt described it in one of his letters.’
Hofstaetter said, ‘So you may have been influenced by the letter, thinking his voice sounded strident?’
‘No. I’m a hundred per cent sure it was an unbiased impression.’
Hofstaetter was still not convinced. He continued pressing her with questions about the family. She said the Eichmanns had five children, three born in Germany and two in Argentina. She said – and her father confirmed it – that the ages of the three older boys tallied with the information given in the Public Prosecutor’s letter. She gave a description of the house at 4261 Chacabuco Street which contributed nothing new.
‘I must tell you,’ said Hermann, ‘that everything we’re telling you now has been passed on to the Prosecutor in Frankfurt. I only asked him to cover the expense I have been put to because I’m in no position to bear it myself.’
Mrs. Hermann interrupted for the first time. ‘This whole business frightens me enough already, and I don’t think that we have to be out of pocket as well. As a mother, it was natural for me to be interested in finding out something about the young man who was courting my daughter. I never met his parents, but my heart tells me we have stumbled on the family of the criminal Adolf Eichmann. And take my word for it, Mr. Huppert, my mind’s not easy about it.’
‘I don’t expect any reward,’ her husband added, ‘but I think it would be fair for them to reimburse me the 120 or 150 dollars I spent on my trips to Buenos Aires. I’ve written to Frankfurt about it, as I said, but I haven’t had any direct reply. All they told me was that someone would be coming to see me.’
That aspect of the problem is new to me, Mr. Hermann,’ Hofstaetter said. ‘I’ll be in touch with my superiors to arrange the matter, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few more weeks.’
Hermann pressed on. ‘I seriously hope it will be arranged quickly. And by the way, I believe I’ve done a good job and there’s no room for any doubt whatever about the identity of the man – he is definitely Adolf Eichmann.’
‘What you say is pretty convincing,’ Hofstaetter said, ‘but it isn’t a conclusive identification. Vera Eichmann may have married again – we’ve heard many such rumors – and her children may have continued using their father’s name.’
‘I think Eichmann had plastic surgery, which is why it is difficult to identify him from old photographs. And as for Vera Eichmann, she may have married again, but if she did, it was her first husband she remarried and not another man.’
Hofstaetter tried to explain the delicacy of his position. ‘You may be right, but then again you may be wrong. You must understand that we have to have decisive proofs which leave no room for doubt before we can take practical steps.’
‘I’m certain I’ll be able to get you your proofs,’ Hermann said. ‘I know the neighborhood and its residents, and I can work more efficiently and more safely than anybody brought from outside. So I’d like to suggest to you that you work only through me. I don’t have to remind you that any attempt to identify Eichmann by direct action is liable to arouse his suspicions and chase him away. Maximum caution is required here.’
Hofstaetter nodded agreement.
The blind man went on. ‘I must also warn you against the personnel of the German Embassy in Buenos Aires. If they find out that Eichmann has been traced, I have no doubt whatsoever that somebody from there will rush to warn him about the danger confronting him. I’m prepared to go still further and say that the same applies to any and every German Foreign Service person as far as anything to do with Nazi war criminals is concerned.’
In his role as Huppert, Hofstaetter considered it his duty to defend ‘his’ country’s authorities: ‘You’re exaggerating, Mr. Hermann, you’re overdoing it.’
‘There’s even more than that,’ Hermann went on. ‘I tell you that Eichmann has considerable means at his disposal. He’s also got a Jeep.’
At this stage Hofstaetter realized that Hermann had no further information, and he decided to divert the conversation into practical channels. ‘Mr. Hermann,’ he said, ‘I want to explain what we need for a definite identification of the man: his present name, his place of work, details about his car, a photograph like the one on his identity card, and any other official document we can lay our hands on. And most of all, I’d like to get his fingerprints, which are an infallible means of identification.’
‘I’ve got many friends in Olivos, as well as connections with the local authorities. It won’t be difficult for me to get the things you enumerated,’ replied Hermann, ‘but it’s obvious I’ll have to travel to Buenos Aires again, my daughter too, and we’ll have to stay there for a week. This will involve further expense, and I can’t afford it.’
Hofstaetter said, ‘I promised you I’d see to it that you get back the money you’ve already spent, and I’ll also have your future expenses covered. What’s more, I suggest that you don’t do anything until you have the first payment in hand. However, when it comes, it’s understood that I can expect you to go to Buenos Aires without delay and make every effort to obtain all the data we spoke about.’
‘Just as you say,’ Hermann replied.
‘I’d also like to suggest that you stop all direct correspondence with Germany and that you send all future letters to an address I’ll provide for you,’ Hofstaetter said. ‘By the way, do you have visiting cards?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Perhaps you’ll give me some cards with your signature on them. I’ll attach one of the cards to each letter I send you, to show that it does in fact come from me, no matter who signs it.’
‘Excellent ideal’ exclaimed Hermann admiringly.
Hofstaetter took an Argentine banknote out of his pocket, folded it, and cut it in two with his nail file. ‘I’ll leave you one half of this note. If anybody comes to you and shows you the other half, you may be sure he comes in my name and you can trust him completely.’ Hofstaetter looked at his watch: he had been there nearly two hours.
Hermann’s daughter brought the visiting cards and helped her father sign them. Hofstaetter took them, then stood up, saying, Thank you very much indeed, Mr. Hermann, for all you’ve done up to now and for your kind hospitality. I’ll have to be going, but we’ll keep in touch as arranged.’
‘Thank you for coming, Mr. Huppert. I hope to hear from you very soon.’
Hofstaetter said good-bye to Hermann and his wife and daughter and went out. He strode off in t
he direction of the railway station. He hadn’t gone a hundred yards when a taxi drew up beside him.
‘Can I give you a lift, sir?’ asked Ilani in English.
A few minutes later they were at the tumble-down little railway station, and by late evening they were back in Buenos Aires. On the train Hofstaetter had told Ilani about his conversation with Hermann and his family. He made no secret of his impression that Hermann was impetuous and overconfident and that if the story had not been confirmed by the wife and daughter he would have been less likely to believe Hermann. All the same, he decided to recommend that contact with the man be maintained, on the assumption that there was no particular danger in the blind man’s interest in Eichmann’s identity.
Hofstaetter described the meeting with Hermann in great detail in the report he sent to Israel. He added that he had also drafted a letter to Hermann stating that he, Huppert, was anxious to get things moving and was sending 5000 pesos (about 130 dollars) out of his own pocket to cover expenses; a mailing address would follow soon. Hofstaetter left the letter and money with Ilani to forward to Hermann as soon as Israel confirmed the action; he also suggested that a few days after the dispatch of the letter with the money a second letter be sent to Hermann with the new address, and that a post-office box in another country be rented for the purpose. Ilani kept some of the visiting cards and Hofstaetter’s half of the banknote.
Hofstaetter suggested in his report that we act quickly: Hermann’s daughter, whose help he considered extremely important, was going abroad in two months, and once she was gone her mother might prevail on Hermann to wash his hands of the whole affair.
4
HOFSTAETTER returned to Tel Aviv in the middle of March 1958 and put the finishing touches on his Buenos Aires report. I met him to hear further details. He repeated his reservations about Hermann, but his opinion of the wife and daughter was favorable.
