better to enjoy it, because death is so easy to acquire in war, do you not think?'
'Yes, Herr commandant.'
'Do you believe you will live through the war, Hart?'
Tommy inhaled sharply. This was the one question, bluntly put, no kriegie ever asked or answered, never gave voice to, not even in a joke, because it immediately opened the door to all their deep and uncontrollable fears. The wake-up-choking-in-the-middle-of-the-night fears. The staring-at-the-barbed-wire-in- the-middle-of-the-day fears. It invoked the names and faces of all the men who had died in the air around them and all the men still breathing, but destined to die in the seconds, minutes, hours, and days to come. He slowly released his breath and answered obliquely, forcing himself not to truly dwell on this, the worst of all questions.
'I am alive today, Herr commandant. I hope to be alive tomorrow.'
Von Reiter's eyes seemed piercing. His stiffness. Tommy thought, masked a man of considerable intellectual intensity and rigid formality. This was always a dangerous combination.
'Captain Bedford, he undoubtedly felt the same on the final day of his life.'
'I wouldn't know what he felt,' Tommy replied, but of course, this was a lie, for he did know.
Von Reiter continued to fix Tommy with an unwavering gaze. After a momentary silence, he continued his queries:
'Tell me. Hart, why do Americans hate the blacks?'
'Not all Americans do.'
'But many, yes?'
Tommy nodded.
'Yes. It seems so.'
'And why is that?'
Tommy shook his head.
'Complicated. I'm not sure I really could say.'
'You do not hate Lieutenant Scott?'
'No.'
'He is inferior to you, no?'
'Doesn't seem that way.'
'And also you believe in his innocence?'
'I do.'
'If he has been falsely accused, as you say, then we have many problems. Many problems. Both for your commander, and myself.'
'I haven't really considered that question, Herr commandant.
Perhaps.'
'Yes, this will be true. It might be wise for you to examine this question, lieutenant. But perhaps, on the other hand, he is truly guilty and you are merely doing what you have been ordered.
Americans are fond of showing the world how just and fair they are.
They speak of rights and laws and their beloved founding fathers and their documents. Thomas Jefferson and George Washington and the Bill of Rights. But I think they forget about order and discipline, too.
Here, in Germany, we have order…'
'Yes. I've seen it.'
'And here in Stalag Luft Thirteen, we have order, as well.'
'I suppose.'
Von Reiter paused again. Tommy shifted about in his seat, eager to leave. He did not know what the commandant was searching for, and in the absence of this knowledge, he was uncomfortable about what information he might impart unwittingly.
The German laughed briefly.
'And sometimes, I think this is correct, lieutenant, justice for
Americans, the show is more important than the truth. Do you not agree?'
'I haven't thought of it.'
'Truly?' Von Reiter looked at him quizzically.
'And you a student of your own laws?'
Tommy did not reply. Von Reiter smiled again.
'Tell me. Lieutenant Hart, for I am eager to know: Which is more dangerous, if Scott is guilty or if he is innocent?'
Tommy remained silent, not answering the question. He could feel sweat trickling down beneath his armpits, and the room seemed to increase in heat. He wanted to leave, yet was rooted to his seat. Von Reiter's voice was rough-edged, but penetrating. He thought in that second the commandant was a man who saw secrets within secrets, and he told himself that the commandant's creased uniform and stiff-backed bearing were every bit as deceptive as Hauptmann Visser's cryptic, questioning glances.
'Dangerous for whom?' Tommy answered cautiously.
'Which result will cost men their lives. Guilt or innocence, lieutenant?'
'I don't know. It is not my job to know.'
Von Reiter allowed himself a small, unfriendly laugh, nodded, and idly picked up a sheet of paper from his desk, staring at it for a moment before continuing.
'Vermont is your home, no?'
'It is.'
'It is a state not unlike here. Thick woods and harsh winters, I believe?'
'It has many quite beautiful forests and a long, hard winter season, yes,' he said slowly.
'But it is not like here.'
Von Reiter sighed.
'I myself have only been to New York.
And just once. But London and Paris many times. Before the war, of course.'
'I never traveled all that much.'
The commandant took a long look out the window.
'If Lieutenant Scott is declared to be guilty, will your colonel truly demand I provide a firing squad?'
'You should ask him.'
The commandant frowned.
'No one has escaped from Stalag Luft Thirteen,' he said slowly.
'Only the dead, like the unfortunate men in the tunnel. And now, such as Captain Bedford. It will remain that way, do you not think, lieutenant?'
'I never try to guess what the future holds,' Tommy replied.
'It will remain that way!' Von Reiter said forcefully. Then he swung away from the window.
'Do you have a family. Lieutenant Hart?'
'Yes. Of course.'
'A wife? Children?'
'No. Not yet.' He hesitated as he spoke.
'But there is a woman, no?'
'Yes. Waiting back home.'
'I hope that you will live to see her again,' Von Reiter said briskly.
He waved his hand at Tommy, signaling the end of the meeting. Tommy rose, and started toward the door, but Von Reiter added one other question, almost as an afterthought.
'Do you sing, Lieutenant Hart?'
'Sing?'
