Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [73]
Frau Meissner was puzzled.
“Well, Frau Meissner ... do you in Rombaden feel yourself Aryans?”
“I ... don’t ... understand ...”
Sean thumbed through a few more pages. “Would any of you ladies or gentlemen care to make an interpretation of the following passage ... ‘You of Rombaden are the chosen children of Wolfram, King of the Gods.’”
Herr Maas began to understand. He dismissed Sean’s question with a wave of his hand. “It is merely a way of saying that Rombaden is a fine city. All cities think of themselves as the best. Even in the United States there is that competition between cities.”
“Fine, Herr Maas ... then, how about this. ‘I promise you a death, a moment of divine exaltation ... this is the warrior’s death ... this is the moment of fulfillment ... the instant your life passes from his body for the fatherland he will know ecstasy beyond ecstasy.’”
Brows wrinkled.
Sean read on. “Or this one, Herr Maas ... ‘I bathe myself in the blood of a wild pig, I castrate him, I become a superman among the peoples of the world with his strength and his virility ... forgive me wild pig for I have a mission to rule the sub-humans which infest us.’”
Sean closed the book. He flipped it contemptuously on the table. Everyone had been frightened into silence except for Professor Moltke. He picked up their flagging banner. “But, Major, you find the same type of writing in Greek mythology ... in Norse mythology.”
“I challenge you. The Greek Gods were subtle and had delightful senses of humor and mocked their mortal failings.”
“And the Norwegians and Danes. We base the Ring on their mythology.”
“Yes, but neither the Norwegians nor the Danes take their gods seriously ... you Germans do. In fact, you live out your mythology.”
“I do not bend to your point, Major O’Sullivan. You can write in any meaning you wish to write in ... any meaning you seek.”
“And that is my point, Professor Moltke. The Nazis gave meaning to these legends. This poem was Nazi in conception. Adolf Hitler found it and others like it and said ... this is what we are and the German people believed it.”
“But ...” Hoffman protested weakly. “Hinterseer has been dead for nearly two centuries.”
“However, Hoffman, Nazi ideas have been alive in the German people for twenty centuries.”
It was as though they had all been doused with cold water. For many moments a stunned silence prevailed until Herr Bach, the most innocuous member of the council, spoke up mousily. “I always thought there was something wrong with that poem,” he said.
“Then why in the hell didn’t you speak up?” Sean demanded.
“But, Major, one does not speak up against tradition.”
“That is precisely the point. Your tradition demands blind obedience. So long as you are willing to be led like sheep your minds will be captured by another madman. Perhaps in a year or five or twenty some priest will deliver a sermon from the pulpit denouncing the legend or some teacher lead a group of students to protest it ... only then will it be safe to read Hinterseer.”
Falkenstein, who had remained completely out of it now spoke. “You do have tradition in America, do you not, Major?”
“If the President of the United States were to read the Declaration of Independence before the Lincoln Memorial on the Fourth of July there would be someone in America to protest and to question.”
Falkenstein nodded his head, as if to say “touché.” A slight smile crossed his lips as he saw the utter confusion among the council. Here they had believed themselves to be the “good” Germans. The failing then was partly theirs too; there was an iota of Nazi in them all.
“There being no further business before this council I am advising you that I will be at Supreme Headquarters in Frankfurt for the next several days. Captain Duquesne will be in command during my absence. You are dismissed,” he said, eyeing Falkenstein to remain.
Sean stuffed his notes and papers into his briefcase. The two men