In Paradise: A Novel by Peter Matthiessen

yes, of course, but these are scarcely new ideas,” the professor says. “‘Our much-praised technological progress, and civilization generally, could be compared to an axe in the hand of a pathological criminal.’ That’s Einstein, in a letter to a friend while still in Germany. He already understood these things in the early thirties.”
    Anders looks cross because Adina has derailed his disquisition just as it was gathering steam, and Adina is cross because Ben Lama had not consulted anyone before giving permission to a small film crew to come document his pioneer retreat. (“No starring role for the famous Israeli professor, that’s what annoys her,” Anders advises Olin in a stage whisper, loud as usual.)
    “Is it really so simple?” Olin asks, impatient with them both. “Incipient evil in human nature? Technological progress versus pathological axe murders? Why can’t I take that on faith, even from Einstein?”
    “Nor I, sir! I don’t believe that either!” protests Eva. “There were kind acts also—
extraordinary
acts!”
    The ironical Swede marvels aloud that this old woman sentenced to death for partisan activities had survived five years in a Slovenian camp.
    “What are you suggesting, sir?” Her frail voice rises. “I fought hard to save my soul! I fought hard, yes,” she whispers as tears come. “And yes—if this is what you wish to hear, sir—yes, I was defeated. My very soul, it was defeated.”
    Triumphant, Anders grins at Olin, who awards him a cold stare in return.
    Adina Schreier, patting the old woman’s hand, is glaring at the Swede: “You are happy now, sir? Shame on you!” But there it is, the fatal question, like an arched scorpion taut on the doorsill.
Five years, you say? Not so fast, madame. Pray tell us, how did you manage to survive so long? And at what cost to others?

SEVEN
    A fter supper, people gather slowly in the auditorium. On this second evening, most look stunned by Birkenau, and the mood is darkening. The German woman who rejoiced the day before in the forgiving spirit of the gathering complains tonight that she is barely tolerated here as “just another guilty German”: never before has she felt the burden of her nationality in this painful way.
    “It’s about time, then!” taunts She Who Won’t Eat with Germans.
    “So maybe yes, it is ‘about time,’ so maybe you are correct, madam.” The German woman concurs earnestly but perseveres. “Still, it is hurting very much. Today the singing of our hymns is weak because few come to join our Christian service. Today even, I see some turn their backs. We Christians seem to be in the wrong place here.”
    “
We Germans
, you mean.”
    “
Nein! Nein!
She does
not
mean!” Rainer jumps up to defend her. “Many Germans—nowhere near as many as now claim it but maybe more than our Jewish comrades here may think—they hated the Nazis, too.”
    “Only because of your lost war and your bombed-out cities and the piles of your own dead and no damned food—you Germans love to eat,” calls Earwig. “Nothing to do with murdered Jews.”
    But the audience has had enough of Earwig, and some who have only muttered now speak out: Who
is
that guy? What’s he doing here? someone complains. Another: Is he with us or against us, for Christ’s sake? And a third voice, louder: Hey, Ben? Come on, man! Throw him out!
    Before we lynch him?
Olin thinks
. Is that already in the air?
    Ben Lama slips into one of the seats beside Earwig, which are always empty. He does not remonstrate or even speak; the action itself subdues the man. Almost alone among the Jews, Ben seems untroubled by that lacerating tongue; in fact, he has already told Olin how much he appreciates this guy’s remarks, which cut away the devotional hushed speech and pseudo-spiritual manner that afflict too many participants, getting in the way of true empathy and clarity. “I agree, he’s pretty rough. But have you heard him say anything untrue?”