Fatal Lies

73

Eichmann placed the letter in front of him-a carefully executed, fastidious movement. He took care to ensure that the upper horizontal line of the paper was exactly parallel with the edge of his desk, let his finger run over the embossed seal, and took a deep breath.

“From the minister of education.”

Gartner took a swig from his hip flask. “I see.”

“He is going to attend the next meeting of the board of governors. He wishes to raise a number of issues.”

“Issues?”

“The minister makes several allusions to the emperor's desire to create a more inclusive military-and he writes of the moral obligation incumbent upon educational institutions to respect His Majesty's wishes. The implications, I'm afraid, are all too clear.”

“Headmaster? Are you suggesting that…”

“I will almost certainly be asked to tender my resignation. And so-I am sorry to say-will my closest allies.”

“We must fight them!” said Gartner. “We must argue our case.”

Eichmann leaned forward and ran his finger down the margin of the letter.

“Listen to this: Young minds are easily misguided, and great care must be taken to ensure that any philosophical instruction given in military schools is concordant with, the emperor's vision. It is over, my friend.”

Gartner took another swig. “The ingratitude, headmaster.”

“I have given the best years of my life to this school.”

Gartner pulled his gown around his shoulders, as though he had suddenly felt the temperature drop in his old bones.

“Was it Wolf?”

“He wrote a letter to his uncle-the commissioner of the security office.”

“And have you spoken with him? The boy?”

“He sat where you are now, straight-faced, explaining to me how he felt he had been manipulated, corrupted. How he had been mesmerized in your special tutorial group-made to believe things through relentless repetition-that he now understands were disloyal to the emperor… not in sympathy with the spirit of an empire comprised of so many great and proud nations.”

“Disgraceful. And he seemed such a receptive boy-so full of promise. Did we teach him nothing?”

Eichmann smiled: a humorless display of teeth.

“No. You are mistaken, old friend,” said the headmaster. “I fear we taught him too much.”