I didn’t know how many days they had kept me in that little windowless closet. Luckily for me I had no tendencies toward claustrophobia because otherwise I could already have been on the verge of a breakdown. I tried to keep my mind alert by thinking about Nathan, the children, my parents, Nathan’s parents, all the members of the Psychoanalytical Society, the titles of all of Freud’s published works. But I didn’t know whether it was day or night. I slept in short intervals and had bad dreams. I had only the cold, hard floor to lie on and I woke up shivering, my body aching. Every now and then they gave me a tray with cold soup and a hard piece of bread. No more interrogations or verbal harassment, and I was too tired to have the energy to feel afraid. I wondered what had happened to Lotte and Hanna. Who else had been taken into custody by the SA? Had Nathan confessed? He was so susceptible to pain, my Nathan. If they hurt him he would be sure to confess, and then they would do away with him. He must have made it! Gerhard and Nathan usually managed well together, especially when they had Peter with them. The Vienna Jazz Trio. One of my favorites was ‘Mood Indigo.’ Hawkins and Ellington, Gerhard used to say. And Peter pretended to be Basie’s bass player, what was his name? Woodyard? Sam Woodyard?
My Nathan! How would he get along without me? The children would be all right in the care of my parents, but they would miss me very much. Who would have patience with all of Miriam’s questions, and who would make Sally feel better when she hurt herself? Damn it all! I would have needed God. Where was He, actually, now when He was needed? He kept himself concealed as usual, thought it was better to be mysterious and unapproachable than to give us a solid hand. Otherwise He could have let a tempest hurl all of the Nazis into space, and he could have released all of the prisoners so that I could be reunited with my family. But I guess that would be too easy and too childish for Him. He thought it was more important to be unfathomable. The narcissistic God, we used to say at seminars, and then certain of our teachers were outraged. But Freud himself would surely have agreed with us. Anna didn’t usually say much when I spoke about such things on her analyst’s couch. I wonder how she is now? Jones was no doubt trying to get both her and her family out of the country now, but would the old one go along with that? God, make it so that Nathan and the children survive this and that I can see them again! Listen to me! God?
Translated by Tomas Böhm with Grete Heinz.