My Cousin Skinny, page 13
‘Do you know that to be the case?’ said Willi.
‘Yes, I’m quite sure of it,’ said Erzberger.
‘Tell me more,’ said Willi.
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ said Erzberger. ‘He had access, he had opportunity, and he certainly had motivation – his own addiction and money. And, to clinch the deal, he’s the type, isn’t he?’
‘What type is that?’ said Willi.
‘Well … defective,’ said Erzberger.
‘Are you referring to his infirmity?’ said Willi.
‘His deformity, what you call his infirmity, is a physical manifestation of his weak constitution, ergo, his inferiority,’ said Erzberger. There was that phrase again.
‘What do you mean by weak constitution, Herr Erzberger?’ said Willi.
‘Please, Detective, no need to be coy. I mean: Samuel Raschermann is an Israelite.’ He nodded his head in the direction of Willi’s jacket pocket, where the newspaper was sticking out. ‘I know it’s your job to appear objective, Herr Detective. But we have to be clear-eyed about things, don’t we? We have to keep the greater good in mind. We have to see that the unfit are not allowed to pollute our German stock.’
‘So, you had him fired because he’s a Jew?’ Willi regretted saying the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
‘I can’t say that,’ said Erzberger. ‘You know I can’t say that. But it’s the same among the police, isn’t it? You take certain actions, measures, precautions that have to be taken, after all, even without actually naming them?’
Willi took the newspaper from his pocket and laid it on the table. JEWS ARE KILLING CHRISTIANS IN BAVARIA was the headline under the drawing. ‘Samuel Raschermann may be a Jew,’ said Willi, ‘but he isn’t the thief. My job is to find the actual thief.’
‘Why? What does it matter who stole the drugs?’ said Erzberger. ‘The theft was, perhaps … an opportunity. And for all you know, the drugs may have been put to a good use.’
‘What do you mean “an opportunity?”’ said Willi.
‘Nothing, really,’ said Erzberger. Now it was his turn to regret having spoken.
‘Do you know of some particular purpose they might be used for? Do you have something in mind?’ said Willi.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘I’m not a scientist or a doctor,’ said Willi. ‘Give me the benefit of your experience and knowledge.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Erzberger.
At a nearby table, voices were suddenly raised in argument. As the argument grew louder, someone at the table started singing. It was the Olympia way: when things got heated, you started singing, everyone joined in, and that way the disputation was ended. A dozen or so men began pounding the table in time. When the song reached its final note, the room erupted in a great cheer.
‘ES LEBE HOCH DAS VATERLAND! HOORAH!’
‘You see, Detective? This is who we are now,’ said Erzberger, his eyes glittering with excitement, as though the song had been his doing. ‘This is the new Germany. Deutschland gehört den Deutschen. Germany belongs to the Germans.’
EUGENICS
Doctor Aaron Trevelius had been the Geismeier family doctor since before Willi had been born. He had seen the family through one ordeal after another – Willi’s childhood diseases, his father’s depression, his mother’s two miscarriages. Trevelius had always been there, even when there was little he could do beyond offering comfort.
He was happy to see Willi again, now looking fit and strong. They had not seen one another since Willi’s parents had died. The two men shook hands. ‘You look wonderful,’ said the doctor.
‘I couldn’t help noticing,’ said Willi, ‘that you’re packing.’
‘We’re moving back to Amsterdam,’ said Trevelius.
‘You think the situation here is that bad?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m afraid it will be before very long. Let’s go outside for a minute; I want to show you something.’ They walked back down the hall and out on to the street. Trevelius turned and pointed at the garden wall. Someone had painted a six-pointed star and written Jude in black paint. ‘There have been other incidents,’ he said. ‘I can stand this nonsense. But I have to think of my wife and her parents. I can’t put them at risk. We have to go.’
‘I understand,’ said Willi. ‘But I’ll be sorry to see you go.’
‘Me too,’ said Trevelius. ‘But that’s not why you wanted to see me, is it?’
‘No,’ said Willi. ‘I want to ask you some questions about a case I’m working on.’
‘Really?’ said Trevelius. ‘Good.’ His face lit up and he rubbed his hands together.
Trevelius was still seeing patients. His office had not been packed up yet, but there were already boxes of books in one corner, and pictures had been taken off the walls.
‘Sit down,’ said Trevelius. ‘I’ll make us some tea.’
The two men sat facing one another and sipped their tea.
‘I’ve got a puzzling case, and I was hoping you could help me,’ said Willi.
‘Tell me,’ said Trevelius. ‘I’ll help if I can.’
‘This case,’ said Willi, ‘… I don’t really know what it has to do with. I know that sounds odd. But all I’ve got are minor crimes that suggest major wrongdoing. Trouble is I don’t have any idea what the major wrongdoing might be. At first it was just two separate cases – one about stolen drugs and maybe stolen medical equipment and another about insurance fraud. But the more I looked into it, the more the two kept running into each other in strange ways. Although I’m not even sure about that.’
‘What do you mean?’ said the doctor.
‘Many of the people I have interviewed in both cases are scientists and doctors. Laboratory technicians and researchers too. Some have brought up what I guess you could call racialist issues. They talk about things like human stock and genetic purity.’
‘I see,’ said Trevelius.
‘I know all that stuff is in the air these days,’ said Willi.
‘Yes,’ said Trevelius. ‘It’s swirling around like the Spanische Grippe. You just have to breathe it in and it infects you. It’s as if all anyone can think of is who’s better, who’s worse, who’s fit, who’s unfit, who’s strong, who’s weak, and of course who’s German and who’s a Jew.’
‘It may be a coincidence that the people I interview keep bringing this stuff up,’ said Willi. ‘I don’t know. It has surprised me to hear this kind of talk from doctors. Do medical people talk this way now?’
‘Yes and no,’ said Trevelius. ‘Do you know anything about eugenics?’
‘Not really,’ said Willi. ‘But a doctor I questioned just gave me a little lecture on it.’
Trevelius went over to the boxes of books. He looked inside one box after another until he found the book he was looking for. ‘Francis Galton, Inquiries into Human Fertility and its Development,’ he said and held up the book. He opened it and read ‘“the science of improving human stock, which is by no means confined to questions of judicious mating, but which, especially in the case of man, takes cognizance of all influences that tend, in however remote a degree, to lend the more suitable races or strains of blood a better chance of prevailing speedily over the less suitable than they otherwise would have had. The word eugenics would sufficiently express the idea.”
‘So Galton wants to manipulate every aspect of human society so that the “more suitable” races can “prevail speedily over the less suitable.” This eugenics, as he calls it, pretends to be scientific but there is very little scientific about it. It’s a racialist strategy and nowadays it is flourishing worldwide, especially in England and the United States.
‘Now, improving the human race is a good idea. What could be wrong with eliminating diseases, making the human constitution stronger and more resilient, eliminating conflict and war? But that isn’t where eugenics takes us. And it’s not new; it goes back a long way and has venerable origins. Plato wrote in his Republic about the value of choosing the best human specimens to produce children and forbidding reproduction in inferior people, and killing their offspring if they didn’t comply. At one point, Roman citizens were required by law to kill their children if they were deformed. In my opinion, there’s a straight line between this ancient and essentially barbaric frame of mind and Galton’s eugenics.’
The two men sat in silence for a while. Then Willi said, ‘So, people I interviewed talked about finding some people inferior because of their race or origin. No big surprise there. But one described poverty as a genetic condition. That was new to me.’
‘That is exactly where eugenics leads,’ said Trevelius.
‘The guy that said that is a medical doctor,’ said Willi.
‘A physician?’ said Trevelius. ‘Are you sure?’
‘A highly placed physician,’ said Willi.
‘That’s outrageous,’ said Trevelius. ‘He should be reported to the Medical Licensing Board.’
‘This is why I have come to you, Doctor.’
‘Give me the man’s name,’ said Trevelius. ‘I will look into it …’
‘No, Doctor Trevelius. That’s not what I meant. I want you to help me understand this: to what extent, if any, is this stuff – this eugenics – a legitimate part of modern science, of modern medical practice? And if it is legitimate medical practice, what does the practice look like? What does it entail?’
‘And you think this has to do with your case?’ said Trevelius.
‘I don’t know,’ said Willi. ‘This is what I’m trying to figure out.’
‘Listen to this,’ said Trevelius. He read from a newspaper clipping that had been folded inside the Galton book. “Doctor Alfred Ploetz wrote his study Racial Hygiene Basics in 1895. Ploetz wrote that society must avoid “counterselective forces” such as inbreeding and free healthcare for the poor.’
‘Counterselective?’ said Willi.
‘He’s referring to Darwin,’ said Trevelius. ‘Eugenics seems based on a willful misunderstanding of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. What strikes me here is that Ploetz sees inbreeding and free health care for the poor as of the same order. Just like inbreeding, health care for the poor should be eliminated in order to improve the “race.”’
‘That’s like the doctor I interviewed,’ said Willi. ‘He said poverty is genetic.’
‘That’s right,’ said Trevelius. ‘It’s not poverty they want to eliminate, it’s the poor.’
‘How widespread do you think this kind of thinking is among scientists and medical doctors?’ said Willi.
‘Widespread enough,’ said Trevelius. ‘And once they’re thinking that way, what prevents them from seeing physical stature or culture or race or even certain political attitudes as genetic and “counterselective” as well? Once you believe man is perfectible and you set about perfecting him, that road leads straight to hell.’
‘Here’s another question,’ said Willi. ‘If eugenics is regarded as a branch of medicine, is there some sort of “treatment” being done? If it’s science, is there experimentation that goes along with it? I’ve heard of doctors measuring people’s skulls, feeling the knots on their heads, photographing and comparing their shapes, their faces, their posture, that kind of thing. Do you think there are other more sinister things going on?’
‘Heaven forbid,’ said Trevelius.
‘And if there are,’ said Willi, ‘what would such treatments, such experiments look like? What would they be trying to “cure,” what would they be trying to find out, what would they be trying to prove?’
OTTMAR FREIHERR VON FISCHER
Doctor Ottmar Freiherr von Fischer could have told Willi and Trevelius in a few words what they were failing to understand: that the purpose of science was to lead the human race to its perfection by means of rational selection. Of course, he could not speak that way with the likes of Willi or Trevelius. They were not at his level, not capable of the long view, and thus, not devoted, as he was, to the preservation and elevation of the German race through science. If Germany was to be restored first to the Germans and then to its rightful place at the pinnacle of civilization, Ottmar believed that he would be instrumental in achieving that goal.
Ottmar had come by his perverse views honestly. He was the only son of a brutish and alcoholic father – Otto Freiherr (count) von Fischer – who believed in a sort of Germanic godliness, and an artistic mother who made paintings no one ever saw and wrote poetry no one ever read. Ottmar had grown up on an estate in East Prussia. As his father had taught him, the surrounding villages were populated by Poles and Jews, dull and grasping peasants, who, beyond the brute labor they were capable of, were essentially worthless.
They worked the land on the count’s estate, but they stole what they could as they did – grain, chickens, money, anything. ‘They’d slit our throats given the chance,’ said Otto, who always carried a whip and a pistol when he went among them. When Ottmar became too close with playmates – peasant children – and failed to see they were as dull and without ambition as their parents, his father admonished him. ‘That Petrov you like so much, he only wants what you have, and if you are not constantly on guard, he will rob you. Just wait and see.’
Count Otto left a small tart on a table while he and Ottmar watched from the doorway. Little Petrov – who had not eaten all day – broke off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth. Count Otto grabbed him by the neck. He handed Ottmar a switch and commanded that he beat the boy. ‘Do it,’ said Count Otto, ‘or I’ll beat both of you.’
As soon as Ottmar was old enough, he was sent to a boarding school where the so-called Germanic values – discipline, obedience, honor – were emphasized. From there Ottmar went off to Tübingen to study medicine with the great Doctor Erich Jaeckel, a racialist and pioneer in eugenics.
Doctor Jaeckel had written many ground-breaking articles and several books. He advised Ottmar to concentrate on genetic disorders, which he did. Needing a traditional medical specialty in order to succeed, Ottmar also trained as a surgeon. It seemed like what he was meant to do. When other young candidates were fainting in anatomy class, Ottmar wanted to cut deeper. The sight of a flayed human body excited him, the sensation of cutting flesh made him feel triumphant.
Ottmar took an anthropology doctorate along with his medical degree. His dissertation was entitled ‘A Morphological Examination of the Nasal Bone in Four Racial Groups.’ He proved, at least to his professors’ satisfaction, an essential physical difference in the races. It was a case of ‘science’ backing up his deepest and firmest convictions. He believed with his whole being that white Christian Europeans, such as he and his family, were in imminent danger of being replaced by inferior races.
Jaeckel’s disciples were in great demand. They readily found their way into academic and medical institutions all over Germany and were already exerting outsize influence, heading departments and research labs, founding institutes in Bonn, Frankfurt, Dresden, Hamburg and – most recently – in Vienna.
Herr Professor Doctor Wilhelm August Schäuble was no admirer of Doctor Jaeckel. Having worked his way up from poverty by dint of good, hard work, Schäuble found Jaeckel’s inclination toward eugenics reckless and prejudiced and based on sloppy science. And so, for the longest time, there was no Jaeckel acolyte on the staff of Ludwig Maximilian Hospital or on the medical faculty either. Still, Jaeckel was determined that one of his students should be on the faculty at Munich, and the opportunity finally presented itself in July of 1914 when Europe went to war.
Within weeks, six members of the medical faculty in Munich were drafted into the Army Medical Corps and sent off to the front. The university hospital found itself dangerously understaffed and therefore obliged to hire temporary replacements as quickly as they could. Because the same thing was happening at other hospitals, there were few candidates available. Doctor Ottmar von Fischer, who somehow had avoided the general call-up, presented himself as a candidate.
‘You understand this is a temporary position,’ said the chief of surgery. ‘It will last only until the war is over and our permanent staff returns.’
‘Yes, Herr Doctor, I understand,’ said Ottmar. ‘Thank you for considering me. I deem it a rare privilege to be associated with such a great hospital and university as the Ludwig Maximilian. I’m sure there is much I can learn from you and Professor Doctor Schäuble and the other eminent scientists on this staff.’
The chief of surgery was impressed. Doctor Schäuble, on the other hand, saw right through Ottmar’s flattery. It didn’t matter. The fact was they needed a junior surgeon right away and they had little choice. And since the position was temporary and everybody was sure Germany would win the war in a few weeks and all the doctors who had shipped out would come home, this Doctor Ottmar von Whoever-He-Was would soon be on his way somewhere else.
Of course, it didn’t turn out that way; the war didn’t end quickly. Of the six doctors who had gone off to war, two were killed when the field hospital where they were sawing off limbs and stuffing bandages into sucking chest wounds was struck by incendiary shells, killing almost everyone inside. Two others went mad, one right away, the other after a year doing triage and improvised surgery. At least it was supposed he went mad, although the bullet he put through his brain didn’t leave enough of that organ behind to make a certain diagnosis. The last two doctors – friends when they had gone off to different frontline hospitals – came back intact, embraced each other joyfully, and opened a private clinic that specialized in the new science of plastic surgery, manufacturing noses and ears out of flesh borrowed from buttocks or wherever it could be spared, and stitching torn faces back together as best they could.
Ottmar stayed through the war and beyond and became highly regarded as a surgeon. He dared the riskiest procedures without hesitation. Some of the students referred to him, not to his face, as the ice man. It couldn’t be disputed that he saved many lives, although he gave the impression that doing so wasn’t what surgery was about for him.
