look alike to you, but believe me, to the prisoners each of you looks different.”
Langhof stared at the vermin suspiciously. “What do you do in the medical compound?”
“Anything I’m told to, same as you,” Ginzburg said, and followed his reply with a small smile.
“Get that smile off your face,” Langhof said loudly.
The smile disappeared instantly. “Sorry, sir. A hazard of my profession.”
“Profession? What profession?”
“Before I came here, I was a comic,” Ginzburg said. “Nothing big, you understand. You would not have heard of me. Strictly small time. Smoke-filled clubs where the patrons chat constantly during the performance and sometimes throw cocktail olives at the performers.”
“And you haven’t lost your sense of humor, is that it?” Langhof said sternly.
“Not entirely.”
“Well, then, I would suggest that you keep it to yourself,” Langhof warned.
“I suppose I should,” Ginzburg said, “but I never learned how to act appropriately. I snicker at all the wrong times. Funerals. Weddings. During the High Holy Days. It was always embarrassing for my family.”
“There are people here who will teach you proper behavior,” Langhof said.
“I know. Have you ever heard of the swing?”
“Yes. You were tortured?”
Ginzburg laughed. “Everyone is tortured.”
“But not on the swing. Why you?”
Ginzburg grinned. “They were jealous of my good looks, I suppose.”
Langhof did not smile. “And I imagine that you laughed all the way through it.”
Ginzburg shook his head. “No. I cried. Screamed, really. I begged. I pissed my pants. I called my mother foul names. It was quite a show.”
“Always the performer.”
“A ham, I’m afraid.”
“The clown in hell,” Langhof said contemptuously.
“No, not that.”
“What, then?”
Ginzburg shrugged. “Who can answer such a question? But I’ll tell you this. I have learned to read a face perfectly. It comes from years of scanning audiences through all that cigar and cigarette smoke. I can tell the man who’s cheating on his wife. He’s always glancing over his shoulder. And I can spot all the virgins in the room. The girls always look happy; the boys always look miserable.”
Langhof waved his hand. “Nonsense,” he said. He began to walk away.
Ginzburg stepped up beside him. “I’ve noticed your face,” he said.
“You’ve noticed nothing,” Langhof said irritably.
“Oh, yes, I have. The moment I saw it was you with the pistol, I knew it would be all right.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“I’m quite sure. I saw you the first day you came to the Camp. What was it, two years ago? Three? Anyway, I saw you.”
“Where?”
“You were in the dissecting room with Kessler and Ludtz. Kessler told us to bring a few stiffs over to the table. They were all piled up in the corner. Pregnant women. Anyway, I saw your face.” He paused a moment, looking at Langhof. “You were trying not to scream.”
Langhof halted and turned toward Ginzburg. “Shut up!”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Ginzburg said quickly. “I’m not that much of a fool, no matter what my father used to think. Besides, I know a dangerous man when I see one.”
“That’s your first mistake,” Langhof said. “I’m not the least bit dangerous.”
“Really? When was the first time you injected chloroform directly into someone’s heart?”
“That’s none of your affair,” Langhof said angrily.
“No, it isn’t. That’s not my point. But you do remember the day, don’t you? You probably remember the exact time.”
“Have you not performed work, such as it is, in the medical compound as well?” Langhof asked sarcastically.
“We are hardly in the same position, Doctor,” Ginzburg replied. “Besides, I did not mean to taunt you.”
“Go to your quarters,” Langhof said. “Go in front of me.
Ginzburg did not move. “I haven’t killed anyone, there’s the difference.”
“Congratulations,” Langhof said bitterly.
“When the New Order triumphs, I’ll just be a nameless casualty. One of those insufferable weaklings who permitted himself to be destroyed without the slightest resistance. I’ll be held up as the perfect proof of why I should have been annihilated.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Langhof said, “because the New Order will not triumph.”
Ginzburg smiled. “Yes, it will. Do you know why? Because it’s too much work to oppose it. It requires too much thinking.”
“The New Order is doomed,” Langhof said. “The work is being done on the eastern front, and thinking has very little to do with it. You’ll be hearing the cannons in a matter of weeks.”
“This time you may be right,” Ginzburg said lightly, “but history goes on.”
“You seem awfully serene about it.”
Ginzburg winked. “Serene? No. But free. Free because I’m crazy. Except I’m not really crazy. I’m a fraud.”
“I’m not in the mood for a confession,” Langhof said.
“That’s your religious tradition, not mine,” Ginzburg said. “But let me continue. Where was I? Oh yes, this business of my being a fraud. I’m a fraud because this joking, this humor, it’s all a pose. That’s why I know that the next time, or the next, they’ll win.” He laughed. “The prisoners think they know the world; the ones who think at all, I should say.”
“But you’re the philosopher, I suppose,” Langhof said.
“I look at the prisoners’ faces, and all I see are blank spaces,” Ginzburg said. He leaned forward. “Do you know how dangerous that is, Doctor?” he whispered. Then he chuckled.
“But you see through everyone, is that it?”
“I keep my eyes open. Not everyone does,” Ginzbnrg said with a laugh.
“A smart fellow like you, a wise guy,” Langhof said mockingly, “it’s a wonder they got you here.”
“The wheel of fate,” Ginzburg said with a shrug of the shoulders. “How about you, what’s your story?”
“That’s not your business,” Langhof said.
Ginzburg smiled. “Everyone will have to explain it someday,” he said.
“But not tonight,” Langhof said coldly.
“Perhaps when we hear the cannons, then.”
“Get away from me,” Langhof said.
Ginzburg remained in place. “I’ve seen your face, Doctor.”
“Get to your quarters, now,” Langhof said loudly.
Ginzburg smiled and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a slight bow. “Gentlemen may deposit gratuities in my hand; ladies may use a little pouch behind my fly.”
Langhof stood and watched Ginzburg trot toward the medical compound. At the steps, under the light, he did a quick soft shoe, kicking up a spray of powdery snow.
DR. LUDTZ is lying on his back, sweating in the steamy cottage, but adamant in his refusal to open the shutters for ventilation.
“Decent of you to call upon me,” he says as I enter.
“Feeling better, I hope?”
“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Ludtz replies. His breathing is labored, and his voice comes to me through a slight,
