Zoo Station by David Downing Page A

went to sleep almost immediately, but Russells brain refused to let him be. He had not been angry with the Nazis that morning, he realized. He had been angry with himself. Angry at his own helplessness. Angry that all he could manage was fantasies of escape.

    It suddenly occurred to him that his imaginary book of photographs might make a real impact abroad. Especially in America, where the Jewish organizations had some political clout. He could get pictures of old Jewish businesses from press libraries and shoot the rest himself with Zembskis camera. Getting it out would be a problem, but hed worry about thatand ensuring his own anonymitywhen the time came. And if anyone noticed him taking pictures of burned-out synagogues he could say he was compiling the record of anti-Semitic triumphs he had originally envisaged. He smiled to himself in the dark.

    THE NEXT MORNING THEY walked to their usual cafe in the Tiergarten for milky coffee and rolls. The winter sun was already riding high in the southeastern sky, and as they strolled back along the northern bank of the Landwehrkanal it seemed as if most of Berlin had had the same idea. Effi had arranged to meet her older sister Zarah for lunch, something she often did when Russell was seeing his son. He had never particularly liked Zarah, who had none of Effis fitful ability to look beyond herself, and had married an ambitious Nazi civil servant. Soon after Russell met Effi, she had asked his help in arranging an abortion for Zarah in England, which he had done. Zarah had traveled to London, decided at the last moment she couldnt go through with it, and had eventually given birth to a boy. Much to everyones surprise, she had doted on the child from day one. Much to Russells annoyance, she blamed him for the fact that she had nearly had an abortion.

    After he and Effi parted, Russell caught a 76 tram outside the zoo for Grunewald, and watched the houses grow bigger as it worked its way through Halensee and into Berlins prosperous southwestern suburbs. Pauls school was a five-minute walk from the tram terminus, and just down the road from the large tree-shrouded villa which his stepfather Matthias Gehrts had inherited from his father. Both school and villa backed onto one of the small lakes which dotted the area, and sitting on a low wall besides the school gates, Russell had occasional glimpses of sailboats between buildings. A couple of women arrived on foot to pick up their sons, but his fellow dads all arrived in cars, and stood around discussing the reliability of their mechanics.

    The Jungvolk appeared soon after one, buttoning their overcoats over their uniforms as they walked to the gate. Paul half-ran to greet him, a big smile on his face.

    So where shall we go today? Russell asked.

    The Funkturm.

    Again? They had visited Berlins radio tower at least half a dozen times in 1938.

    I like it there.

    Okay. Lets get a tram then. Do you want me to carry that? he asked, indicating the large book his son was holding.

    Well take turns, Paul decided.

    What is it? Russell asked.

    Its the yearbook, Paul said, holding it out.

    The Hitler Youth Yearbook, Russell realized, as he skimmed through the pages. There were 500 of them. So what did you do today?

    The same as usual to begin with. Roll-call and gymnastics and then the history lessonthat was all about Germania and the Romans and how most history people get it wrong about them. They think the Romans were civilized and the Germans were barbarians, but in fact it was the other way roundthe Romans got mixed up with other races and got soft and lazy and forgot how to fight but the Germans stayed German and that made them strong. They reached the tram stop just as a tram squealed to a halt. And after the history lesson, Paul went on, once they were in their seats, we did some work on the map wallremember?were doing a whole wall of maps of Germany from the beginning to now. Its beginning to look really good. He looked out the