Thomas had sat down on a bench and, with his legs crossed, held out his silver case to offer me a luxury cigarette, with a gold tip. I took one and lit his too, but remained standing. “The global solution you were talking about, then, was emigration. Things have changed quite a bit since then.” Thomas let out a long puff of smoke before replying: “That’s true. And it’s also true that we have to change with the times. That doesn’t mean we have to become stupid. The rhetoric is mostly for those playing second, even third, fiddle.”—“That’s not what I’m talking about. What I mean is that we’re not necessarily forced to get mixed up in it.”—“You’d rather do something else?”—“Yes. I’m tired of it.” It was my turn to take a long pull on my cigarette. It was delicious, a rich, fine tobacco. “I’ve always been impressed by your formidable lack of ambition,” Thomas finally said. “I know ten men who’d kill their father and mother to get a private interview with a man like Mandelbrod. Just think that he lunches with the Führer! And you play hard-to-get. Do you know what you want, at least?”—“Yes. I’d like to go back to France.”—“To France!” He thought. “It’s true, with your contacts, your knowledge of the language, that’s not so dumb. But it won’t be easy. Knochen is BdS now, I know him well, but he doesn’t have a lot of openings, and a lot of people are after them.”—“I know Knochen too. But I don’t want to be with the BdS. I want a job where I can get involved in political relations.”—“That means a job at the embassy or with the Militärbefehlshaber. But I heard that since Best left, the Wehrmacht there doesn’t think much of the SS—and same goes for Abetz. We might be able to find something that would suit you with Oberg, the HSSPF. But for that, the Amt I can’t do much: you have to go directly through the SS-Personal Hauptamt, and I don’t know anyone there.”—“If a suggestion came from the Amt I, would that work?”—“Possibly.” He drew a last puff and negligently threw the butt into the flowerbed. “If it had still been Streckenbach, no problem. But he’s like you, he thinks too much and he got sick of it all.”—“Where is he now?”—“At the Waffen-SS. He’s commanding a Lithuanian division at the front, the Fifteenth.”—“And who replaced him? I haven’t even asked.”—“Schulz.”—“Schulz? Which one?”—“Don’t you remember? The Schulz who headed a Kommando, in Group C, and who asked to leave, way back in the beginning. The weasel, with that ridiculous little moustache.”—“Oh, him! But I never met him. I’ve heard he’s a decent sort.”—“No doubt, but I don’t know him personally, and things didn’t go well between the Gruppenstab and him. He was a banker before, you know the type. Whereas I served with Streckenbach, in Poland. And also Schulz has just been appointed, so he’ll overdo things. Especially since he has a lot to make up for. Conclusion: if you make an official request, they’ll send you anywhere but France.”—“What would you suggest, then?” Thomas had gotten up and we had resumed our walk. “Listen, I’ll see. But it’s not going to be simple. On your side, can’t you try too? You used to know Best well: he comes to Berlin often, go ask him his opinion. You can easily contact him through the Auswärtiges Amt. But if I were you, I’d try to think of other options. And it’s wartime. You don’t always have a choice.”
