Langhof waited a moment, but Ginzburg added nothing. “Well, what did you think?” he asked finally.
Ginzburg turned to look at Langhof. “You are a curious man, Langhof,” he said. “What could you possibly expect me to think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you expect to accomplish by jotting down all these details about the Camp?”
“Someone has to do it,” Langhof said defensively.
“Why?”
“The world has to know what happened,” Langhof said. “All the details, I mean.”
Ginzburg laughed. “The world will know the details, my dear doctor,” he said. “You may be sure of that. I think you have another idea in mind.”
Langhof looked at Ginzburg curiously. “Other idea?”
“You are trying to redeem yourself,” Ginzburg said. “It’s quite clear. You want the world to know that you suffered great agonies of conscience, and that these agonies were every bit as horrible as the physical suffering in the Camp.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely it,” Langhof said weakly.
“Perhaps not,” Ginzburg said. “But just in case, let me tell you something about the agonies of conscience, Langhof. They are a joke. No one would trade the worst of them for a toothache.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think I don’t have these so-called agonies? I do. Every time Kessler slips his cock up my ass, my conscience recoils. But as much as he revolts me, as much as I revolt myself, I wouldn’t trade my place with anyone in the general Camp population.” He leaned forward, his eyes burning into Langhof. “Would you, Doctor?”
“No,” Langhof said quietly.
“So let’s just drop the nobility, if you please,” Ginzburg said. He leaned back in his seat. “I’d rather just enjoy the day, if you don’t mind.”
Farther down the road, Langhof brought the jeep to a halt and waited while a farmer herded a group of cows across their path. He turned to Ginzburg. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
Ginzburg watched as the farmer slapped the cattle with a long rod.
“For a long time I lost touch with everything,” Langhof began. “I mean everything in the Camp. It was as though it didn’t exist for me. I was there, but I wasn’t there. Do you know what I mean?”
“I envy you,” Ginzburg said lightly.
“Please listen,” Langhof said. “It’s important to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Ginzburg said, turning to Langhof. “Go ahead.”
“Some months ago Kessler came into my room and said there was something he wanted me to see,” Langhof began again. “I followed him outside to the courtyard behind the medical compound. There were a lot of people, naked people, sitting in the snow, freezing. It was a freezing experiment.”
Ginzburg casually returned his eyes to the cattle. “People freeze all the time.”
“It wasn’t that,” Langhof added quickly. “I really don’t know what it was. I may never know. But something broke through to me. The Camp broke through, somehow. So I started walking around, taking notes, recording everything in that little notebook you seem to find so ridiculous.”
“I don’t find the notebook ridiculous,” Ginzburg said. “Only useless.”
The last cow made its way across the road, and Langhof leaned forward and started the engine. The farmer smiled gently and waved to them as the jeep passed.
“Friendly fellow,” Ginzburg said, watching the farmer’s face. “The sturdy peasant, the backbone of Europe.” He turned to Langhof. “How far to the railway station?”
“Only a few kilometers,” Langhof said. “But what I was saying. You know, about the Camp, about watching those people. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Perhaps a nice souffle,” Ginzburg said with a wink.
“Please don’t joke,” Langhof pleaded.
Ginzburg turned back to face the road. “So serious, Doctor,” he said. “It’s not good for the heart.” He looked at Langhof. “Have you ever been to London?”
“No,” Langhof said dully.
“Beautiful city. Lots of nightclubs, that sort of thing. Plenty of places for a comedian to try out new material.”
Langhof pressed the accelerator. “I’m trying to learn something,” he said, “about this place.”
“Perhaps there’s nothing to learn. Have you ever thought of that?” Ginzburg asked. He took a deep breath. “It happened. It’s still happening. No need to chase your tail endlessly about it.”
Langhof shook his head despairingly. “I don’t believe you mean that.”
“I’m tired of talk,” Ginzburg said. “By the time you talk about something, it has already happened, so what’s the point?”
Langhof pulled a packet of cigarettes from his coat and offered them to Ginzburg.
Ginzburg withdrew a single cigarette and put it in his mouth.
“Take the pack,” Langhof said.
Ginzburg laughed. “The pack? Don’t be so charitable, Doctor. I probably have more cigarettes in my room than you do.”
Langhof returned the pack to his pocket.
“Don’t treat me like your personal object of guilt, Langhof,” Ginzburg said. “I don’t like that. In fact, I loathe it. Your problem is with yourself, not me.” He lit the cigarette and took in a long draw. “What are we picking up in the village, anyway?”
“General medical supplies,” Langhof replied.
“Do you know what kind?”
Langhof shrugged. “Antibiotics. Aspirin.”
Ginzburg grinned. “Phenol?”
Langhof’s lips tightened. “Yes.”
Ginzburg blew a shaft of white smoke into the rushing air. “You’re depending upon the Allies, aren’t you?”
Langhof looked at him. “For what?”
“To get you out of the Camp.”
Langhof nodded. “Of course. Aren’t you?”
Ginzburg flicked the cigarette from his fingers. “The Camp is a rumor mill. We hear that Paris is in flames, that there is nothing still standing in London. What is left of Europe, I wonder?”
Langhof swerved to avoid a large puddle of icy water. “How long did you live in London?”
“Only a few months. A brief engagement at a small club in South Kensington.”
“Did you like it there?”
“The audiences are dull,” Ginzburg said. “Too much warm beer and tasteless food. They have the worst food in the world. Everything tastes like gruel.”
“You prefer Paris?” Langhof asked.
Ginzburg smiled. “I was almost married in Paris.” He turned to Langhof and winked again. “I may have relatives there.”
“Really?” Langhof asked. “Uncles, aunts?”
The corners of Ginzburg’s mouth crinkled mischievously. “No,” he said, “but perhaps a little boy or girl with a rather odd sense of humor.”
They arrived in the village a few moments later. The train was puffing at the station, white steam billowing from the engine.
“You won’t try to escape, will you?” Langhof asked almost playfully, as he stepped from the jeep.
“To where, Doctor?”
Langhof nodded and walked into the station. He returned with a large package and dropped it behind the front seat.
Ginzburg glanced at the box. “Well, I suppose we’ve done our assignment for the day,” he said.
Langhof shrugged and pulled himself in behind the wheel. “I wish it could have taken longer.”
