BY THE TIME the officers sat down to dinner, some of them were already quite drunk. It wasn’t an exclusively male affair – five SS women from the camp had been invited as well as the two telephone girls from the hut. The guests were arranged along the length of the table so that the officers would have a woman close enough to talk to. It didn’t make them behave any better. Brandt and the two white-jacketed SS clerks from the camp were kept busy filling up glasses.
The mood wasn’t cheerful. There was a shadow behind the polite smiles and forced laughter, and as the first course progressed the conversation began to reduce in volume to a muted mutter, with some withdrawing from it altogether. Even the two clerks seemed more like undertakers offering condolences than waiters serving a meal.
Only the Commandant, plump and self-assured, his round face made luminous by the candlelight, was enjoying himself. He was sitting in the middle of the long table with his officers arranged either side of him – Neumann to his right, looking concerned as he contemplated the glum expressions of his guests. The talk, by now, had fallen away to the occasional whispered request for a glass to be filled or a salt cellar to be passed. Brandt watched as Neumann leant over to whisper in the Commandant’s ear, and saw the Commandant nod, rising to his feet and clinking the glass in front of him with a knife. The clinking was unnecessary. All eyes were already on him. But the Commandant, benevolent as his gaze might be, was making some sort of point.
When he stopped, there was almost perfect silence. Only the hiss and occasional pop from the fireplace disturbed it. The Commandant stood back from the table, his posture straightening, his shoulders filling out, his eyes narrowing. He allowed his sharp gaze to move along the table – nodding to each in turn. Only when his gaze had traversed the entire company did he begin to speak in a conversational tone – quiet enough that those seated at the far end felt compelled to lean forward.
‘Comrades, there is sadness in our hearts this evening. The Führer has marked this day on the Fatherland’s calendar as one on which our nation should remember our many comrades who have fallen in the great struggle for a final, decisive victory. Let us take a few moments to think about them, the many who have made that ultimate sacrifice. Let us acknowledge their ghostly presence amongst us this evening. Let us remember them.’
The Commandant bowed his head.
‘And let us stand to honour them.’
The chairs scraped back on the wooden floor as his guests stood and followed the Commandant’s example, bowing their heads. It was some time before the Commandant broke the silence.
‘And let us drink to them.’
They raised their glasses. When the glasses were back on the table, the Commandant stuck his thumbs in his belt and drummed his fingers on his stomach.
‘Our comrades were happy to die for their country – and their homeland. Tonight we should celebrate their achievements and also celebrate our own. We can be proud of what we have done – fiercely proud. So let us cast off our cares for this one evening. Let’s enjoy ourselves, friends. Let’s celebrate the happy life our comrades led – and salute the glory of their deaths.’
Brandt felt his anger corroding his stomach. What had these men and women achieved, after all? The deaths of countless fellow humans was nothing to be proud of. It was something to be disgusted by. However, the Commandant’s words had a different effect on the gathering. The thought of their dead comrades seemed to lift their spirits, rather than oppress them. They were cheerful now.
And soon after that, they were jolly.