Sunrise with Sea Monster by Neil Jordan

sunlight, the square, the reddened wall. I had told myself that
     when it came I would be calm, retain whatever dignity was left to me. And now that it had come I had no alternative but calm,
     that awful silence I had always suspected lay behind it all, for my lips moved and no sound came out. I would have screamed
     had it been possible but nothing could move, shift or whisper in this pit my body had become. I was inert and howling inside
     it but outside all else was dumb. Then I realised we had not turned. What should have been the crunch of pebbles beneath their
     feet was still their boots on the flagstones; what should have been the sun bleaching the red behind my closed eyelids was
     still dark. I let my eyelids open slowly, saw the curved, vaulted ceiling coming to me and away. Then another door. They have
     taken a different route, I thought, to another end of the square; and two of them opened the door and I saw open countryside
     outside. The German standing there, bleached by the light, pale leather gloves on his hands, an open-topped car behind him.
     Come with me, Irish, he said, whether you like it or not.
    The hands let go. I swayed on my numb feet. He kindly stopped for me, I remembered the verse.
    We drive through the outskirts, factories reduced to rubble, bomb craters filled with water, lines of people walking in both
     directions as if the destination doesn't matter. His white scarf blows in the wind and the kid gloves play nonchalantly at
     the wheel, one hand continuously on the horn. He talks of how they'll make the world a rubbish-tip, cut through cities like
     a cleansing wind, how he would care if his uniform allowed him. He was a physicist, he tells me, worked in Leipzig with Heisenberg
     on the uncertainty principle. He relates to me the bones of quantum physics, says how Einstein claimed God does not play dice
     with the universe then tells me how he discovered God does nothing else. His father was Prussian, an officer, rooted in the
     civilised brutalities of the Wehrmacht. Perturbed by the more pervasive brutalities of the Reich, he was foolish enough to
     express his feelings and now worked as a sub-postmaster in Silesia. Both of his brothers joined the Waffen SS, and he had
     chosen to hide himself in the bureau cratic niceties of the Abwehr. I ask him the connection between that and the uncertainty
     principle and he tells me to look around me.
    Lorries full of returning loyalists are passing us from the north and the legs of a child jut out behind a mound of rubble.
    I was an indifferent mathematician, he tells me, more interested in metaphors than equations. And quantum theory was as apt
     a metaphor as any for what I saw around me. I have no taste for brutalities but a certain aptitude for interrogation. I listen,
     I ask the pertinent question after the teeth have been extracted by others, I find civility works wonders. My brief, if you
     must know, was to question those members of your brigade whose sympathies may be uncertain. You fell into that category by
     reason of your movement's approaches to the Reich. You knew about this?
    I shake my head.
    You have some argument with Britain?
    I shake my head again.
    Then certain of your compatriots do. Whether you do or don't, frankly, I couldn't give a damn. That's how you say it?
    As good a way as any, I tell him.
    You will be contacted in Dublin by persons possibly unknown to you. Whether or not you act upon these contacts is no concern
     of mine.
    He drives in silence for a while.
    Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
    He smiles. It's from a film they made while you were inside. Clark Gable, walking down the staircase. Vivien Leigh, walking
     up. Gone With the Wind. See it, when you get the chance.
    We are bumping across a makeshift bridge over the Ebro, the ruins of the aqueduct to our left. Beyond it, miles of broken
     farmland, as far as the eye could see.
    In fact, he continues, you would have been released either way.