Psalm 44

Then, at last, he said something which must have signified the beginning of that discussion for the sake of which he was now sitting there with Jakob — she was just as impatient as either of the men — so that things could finally get started and then what had to happen could finally happen and this game could be wrapped up and she could be rescued but it still seemed to her that time wasn’t moving, was at a standstill, just like this conversation being conducted by two voices, their speakers invisible, while she bled to the point of passing out with strained attentiveness in a position of both disfigured sacrifice and unseen witness; she was horribly dependent upon the words and the voices she could hear and on the facial expressions and hand gestures she couldn’t see while at the same time aware of her own role and her own movements, her own immobility that was every bit as significant and momentous as the two men’s words; aware to the point of pain and numbness both that every movement of her hand and even every beat of her pulse was governed by that diminutive cogwheel of events; and not only that: even every one of her thoughts connected with Jakob denoted something essential because it guided her and floated, invisibly present, now more than ever before, because of that sacrificial blood that was running out of her and depriving her of strength and dimming her consciousness — it was not just the pledge of her absolute union with Jakob but also the pledge and guarantee of her complicity in all of life’s temptations and accordingly also the pledge and guarantee of their joint conspiracy against death, and accordingly she had to hold out and not pass out, especially now, when it had already commenced, the thing to which she was so insanely bearing witness with her presence and her blood that was not merely the price of love and of love’s embrace but also (miraculously) evidence of the principle of life and of the thirst for life, for the presence or appearance of death always challenges love to pair off with it and mate so that finally one of them can take up the conqueror’s standard and wave it above the world; that breathless pairing of corpses and that love between Eros and Thanatos, born of antagonism, was no less than the clash of fundamental elements, of earth and blood, sometimes nearly incomprehensible as long as one is thinking of the basic nature of those substances and their original components: the vague, well-nigh organic sensation of all of this kept her mind alert; this encounter between love and death in her consciousness and in her blood: she could still hear Dr. Nietzsche’s words, uttered in a lowered voice, in what was almost a whisper: “I have a concrete suggestion for you. . More or less a quid pro quo. Yes. A little favor in return.”

“A favor in return?” Jakob asked.

“A trifle,” Nietzsche responded. “You will do a little job for me. If you don’t deny that it is only your doing me a favor in return. . But of course. Only in that case. Otherwise. .”

“Otherwise what?” Jakob asked. “Otherwise what?”

“Otherwise I can remind you of the favors I’ve already done you. By way of the fact that you’re still alive, for one. . But I don’t believe you would show me such ingratitude. I don’t believe you would walk away just like that. Without a rematch.” And then the doctor went on, still bearing arms, albeit merely a wooden, gold-plated sword: “But it’s still too soon for good-byes. I think it is too soon indeed. . so let me get to the point.”

“I’m listening,” Jakob said; then Dr. Nietzsche:

“I’m talking to you above all as a scientist and a doctor. Bear that in mind. As a Nazi doctor, of course.”

“But of course,” Jakob said. “I’m listening.”

“You know about the collecting of Jewish skulls and skeletons?”

“I’ve heard about it.”

“So much the better. I had assumed as much; it means at the very least that you’ve already thought about all of this,” Dr. N. said, “. . and that you have, naturally, your own opinions about it all.”

“Actually. . ” but Jakob couldn’t finish his sentence.

“At this time I have no intention (after all I’ve just told you) of inquiring after your personal opinion on the matter. I only want to remind you that the bottom line is that that these collections number among the favors that I mentioned to you a moment ago (to your prodigious amazement), which I undertook on your behalf. .”

“For me?”

“For your nation,” Nietzsche said. “Same thing.” Then he corrected himself: “For your race, actually.”

“I don’t understand,” Jakob said. “For my race. .?”

“It amazes me the way your intuition. . But let’s drop it for now. — It is, I believe, obvious to you that should genocide be carried out (as has been planned — something you also know full well), nothing would remain of your race except this collection of skulls.”