The Kindly Ones

In the early evening I put on my suit, without a tie, and went downstairs. Not many people were in the living room, but Dr. Mandelbrod was ensconced in his big armchair in front of the fireplace, sitting catercorner, as if he wanted to warm one side but not the other. His eyes were closed and I didn’t disturb him. One of his assistants, in a severe country outfit, came over to shake my hand: “Good evening, Dr. Aue. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” I examined her face: it wasn’t my imagination, they all really did look alike. “Forgive me, but are you Hilde or Hedwig?” She gave a crystalline little smile: “Neither! You’re a very poor physiognomist. My name is Heide. We saw each other at Dr. Mandelbrod’s offices.” I bowed with a smile and apologized. “You weren’t at the hunt?”—“No. We’ve just arrived.”—“That’s too bad. I can easily picture you with a shotgun under your arm. A German Artemis.” She eyed me with a little smile: “I hope you’re not going to push the comparison too far, Dr. Aue.” I felt myself blush: Mandelbrod definitely recruited odd assistants. No doubt about it, this one too would ask me to get her pregnant. Fortunately, Speer arrived with his wife. “Ha! Sturmbannführer,” he exclaimed cheerfully. “We’re very poor hunters. Margret brought back five birds, Hettlage three.” Frau Speer laughed lightly: “Oh! You must have been talking about work.” Speer went over to pour himself some tea from a large, finely wrought ornate urn like a Russian samovar; I took a glass of Cognac. Dr. Mandelbrod opened his eyes and called to Speer, who went over to greet him. Leland came in and joined them. I went to talk with Heide; she had a solid philosophical background and spoke to me almost clearly about Heidegger’s theories, which at the time I was not at all familiar with. The other guests arrived one by one. A little later on, Leland invited us all into another room, where the dead birds had been set out on a long table, grouped together like a Flemish still life. Frau Speer held the record; the hunt-loving general had killed only one, and complained with bad grace about the section of wood he had been assigned. I thought we were at least going to eat the victims of this slaughter, but no: the birds had to be left to hang, and Leland undertook to have them delivered when they were ready. Nonetheless the dinner was varied and succulent—venison with berry sauce, potatoes roasted in goose fat, asparagus and zucchini, all washed down with a Burgundy of excellent vintage. I was seated opposite Speer, next to Leland; Mandelbrod sat at the head of the table. For the first time since I had met him, Herr Leland was extremely talkative: while drinking glass after glass, he talked about his past as a colonial administrator in Southwest Africa. He had known Rhodes, for whom he professed a boundless admiration, but remained vague about his move to the German colonies. “Rhodes said once: The colonizer can do no wrong; whatever he does becomes right. It is his duty to do what he wants.

It is this principle, strictly applied, that won Europe its colonies, its domination over inferior peoples. It’s only when the corrupt democracies wanted to mix in, to give themselves a good conscience, hypocritical principles of morality, that the decline began. You’ll see: whatever the outcome of this war, France and Great Britain will lose their colonies. Their grip has slackened, they won’t be able to close their fists anymore. It’s Germany now that has picked up the torch. In 1907, I worked with General von Trotha. The Herero and the Nama had rebelled, but Trotha was a man who had understood Rhodes’s idea in all its strength. He said it openly:

I wipe out rebel tribes with rivers of blood and rivers of money. Only following this cleansing can something new emerge.

But Germany at the time was already weakening, and Trotha was recalled. I have always thought that was a sign foreshadowing 1918. Fortunately, the course of things has now been reversed. Today, Germany dominates the world. Our youth isn’t afraid of anything. Our expansion is an irresistible process.”—“Still,” broke in General von Wrede, who had arrived a little before Mandelbrod, “the Russians…” Leland tapped the table with the tip of his finger: “Precisely, the Russians. They are the only people today who are our equals. That’s why our war with them is so terrible, so pitiless. Only one of us will survive. The others don’t count. Can you imagine the Yankees, with their corned beef and their chewing gum, enduring a tenth of the Russian losses? A hundredth? They’d pack their bags and go home, and let Europe go to hell. No, what we have to do is show the Westerners that a Bolshevik victory is not in their interest, that Stalin will take half of Europe as his spoils, if not all of it. If the Anglo-Saxons help us finish off the Russians, we could leave them the scraps, or else, when we’ve regained our strength, crush them in turn, calmly. Look at what our Parteigenosse Speer has accomplished in less than two years! And that’s just a beginning. Imagine if our hands were unchained, if all the resources of the East were at our disposal. Then the world could be remade as it should be.”