Winter of the World by Ken Follett Page A

of subversive literature, specifically a book called
Robinson Crusoe
, apparently a novel that promotes
bourgeois individualism, whatever the hell that might be. He was sent to a prison camp somewhere in the Arctic. He may—’ Franck’s voice broke for a moment, and he paused,
swallowed, and at last finished quietly: ‘He may still be there.’
    There was a moment of silence. Lloyd was shocked by the story. He knew that the Russian Communist government could be cruel, in general, but it was quite another thing to hear a personal
account, told simply by a man who was clearly still grieving.
    Walter said: ‘Ludi, we all hate the Bolsheviks – but the Nazis could be worse!’
    ‘I’m willing to take that risk,’ said Franck.
    Count von der Helbard said: ‘We’d better go in for lunch. I’ve got an afternoon appointment. Excuse us.’ The two men left.
    ‘It’s what they always say!’ Walter raged. ‘The Bolsheviks! As if they were the only alternative to the Nazis! I could weep.’
    Heinrich walked in with an older man who was obviously his father: they had the same thick, dark hair combed with a parting, except that Gottfried’s was shorter and tweeded with silver.
Although their features were similar, Gottfried looked like a fussy bureaucrat in an old-fashioned collar, whereas Heinrich was more like a romantic poet than a political aide.
    The four of them went into the dining room. Walter wasted no time. As soon as they had ordered, he said: ‘I can’t understand what your party hopes to gain by supporting this Enabling
Act, Gottfried.’
    Von Kessel was equally direct. ‘We are a Catholic party, and our first duty is to protect the position of the Church in Germany. That’s what people hope for when they vote for
us.’
    Lloyd frowned in disapproval. His mother had been a Member of Parliament, and she always said it was her duty to serve the people who did
not
vote for her, as well as those who did.
    Walter employed a different argument. ‘A democratic parliament is the best protection for all our churches – yet you’re about to throw that away!’
    ‘Wake up, Walter,’ Gottfried said testily. ‘Hitler won the election. He has come to power. Whatever we do, he’s going to rule Germany for the foreseeable future. We have
to protect ourselves.’
    ‘His promises are worth nothing!’
    ‘We have asked for specific assurances in writing: the Catholic Church to be independent of the state, Catholic schools to operate unmolested, no discrimination against Catholics in the
civil service.’ He looked enquiringly at his son.
    Heinrich said: ‘They promised the agreement would be with us first thing this afternoon.’
    Walter said: ‘Weigh the options! A scrap of paper signed by a tyrant, against a democratic parliament – which is better?’
    ‘The greatest power of all is God.’
    Walter rolled his eyes. ‘Then God save Germany,’ he said.
    The Germans had not had time to develop faith in democracy, Lloyd reflected as the argument surged back and forth between Walter and Gottfried. The Reichstag had been sovereign for only fourteen
years. They had lost a war, seen their currency devalued to nothing, and suffered mass unemployment: to them, the right to vote seemed inadequate protection.
    Gottfried proved immovable. At the end of lunch his position was as firm as ever. His responsibility was to protect the Catholic Church. It made Lloyd want to scream.
    They returned to the opera house and the deputies took their seats in the auditorium. Lloyd and Heinrich sat in a box looking down.
    Lloyd could see the Social Democratic Party members in a group on the far left. As the hour approached, he noticed Brownshirts and SS men placing themselves at the exits and around the walls in
a threatening arc behind the Social Democrats. It was almost as if they planned to prevent the deputies leaving the building until they had passed the Act. Lloyd found it powerfully sinister. He
wondered, with a