Chapter 4 Gray Men
Gray Men
Berlin
Hugo Andres Krüss looked out the huge window of the Prussian State Library. His office smelled like books, leather, and tobacco,
the only three perfumes the seasoned librarian tolerated. He had been the director for seven years, but he dreamed of forming
a German National Library, equivalent to what other countries had. Many colleagues had complained at his appointment, given
his lack of professional experience in the library field, but he had dedicated his life to books. He had overseen academic
libraries in Prussia and belonged to the German People’s Party, an idealist, nationalist party of the elite. Yet Krüss was
practical and knew that the hour of the National Socialists had arrived. His only fatherland was a library, and his only religion
was what he could find between the covers of a book.
His secretary announced the arrival of Rudolf Kummer. Krüss stood to receive the disquieting visitor who seemed to bring a
cloud of doom everywhere he went.
“I hope your journey from Bavaria was pleasant enough,” Krüss said, forcing a friendly tone and smiling wide enough to raise his long sideburns.
“I’ve been in Berlin since last week. Personally I don’t care for the city, but the Führer asked me to come in support of
his impending consolidation of power. I don’t know whose idea it was to make this the capital city. It’s too far north and
too near the Polish border, plus the weather is atrocious.”
Krüss passed over the critique. He was familiar with Kummer’s dogged negativity and the expression of eternal disapproval
that he and so many other National Socialists wore.
“So it seems an agreement will finally be reached?” Krüss asked, settling into his chair. He ran his fingers over the leather
desk topper and tried to stay calm before Kummer’s animal-like instincts that could detect fear by smell.
“Sometimes even the devil is on God’s payroll,” Kummer quipped with a hearty guffaw.
Krüss attempted a laugh, but his smile stayed frozen on his face. Kummer’s response had, in fact, made his blood freeze. He
thought of Goethe’s Faust being tempted by Mephistopheles to grasp at wisdom.
Krüss pushed the thought away. He did fear the Nazis, but, like many respectable Germans, he feared the communists even more.
He knew firsthand what had happened to the Russian nobles and bourgeoisie during their revolution and had no interest in a
repeat on German soil.
Yet Krüss cared little for politics, and that was not what this meeting was about.
He changed the subject to something that went beyond ideologies and parties, playing to the Nazi penchant for pride.
“You’re well-informed about my idea to start a National Library.
Being a book man yourself—the most famous librarian among the Nazis and perfectly situated within Hitler’s inner circle—Germany needs you. ”
“We have more pressing priorities. Communist and Jewish literature is contaminating the minds of German youth, and that has
to stop.” Kummer’s fist on the desktop beat out the last three syllables, startling both Krüss and the books and pens on the
desk.
“Yes, of course, but we must preserve culture. Even during the Inquisition, the volumes on the Index of Forbidden Books were
kept for consultation by the doctors of the Holy Office,” Krüss said, sensing where Kummer was headed. In broadcasted speeches
he had heard the Nazis’ intentions to purge libraries.
“You’re comparing the SS with Dominican friars? Evil must be completely rooted out. Jewish and Bolshevik literature is crafty,
capable of confusing even the best Aryan. We cannot take that risk. All contaminated literature should be made to disappear.
This includes communist works and Jewish works that have been eroding the morals of German youth for decades. Surely you’ve
seen all the degenerate cabarets, the streets teeming with Aryan prostitutes who sleep with Jewish bourgeoisie just a few
blocks from here? I can assure you of one thing: We’re not coming into power just to keep everything the same.” As he spoke
Kummer had leaned across the desk and inched steadily nearer to Krüss’s face.
Krüss was sweating. He held out a list to Kummer, the real reason for the visit. Handing over friends and colleagues he had
known for years, the librarian felt like Judas at the Last Supper. “These are the librarians with Jewish blood or who are
members of a leftist party. If you remove them, you will have cleaned out the Prussian libraries in one fell swoop,” he said,
running his index finger along the neat rows written in excellent calligraphy.
Kummer pulled away and frowned. He took his time inhaling, his eyes lighting up with the rage he was about to bellow out. “I asked you for the entire country! It’s the only way my superiors will overlook your past and keep you in your post! You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“You’ll have it as soon as possible,” Krüss said, nodding apologetically. He was now sweating so hard that rivers of salt
ran into his eyes and blurred his vision.
Kummer took the list and put it in a leather briefcase. Then he looked up at his reflection in Krüss’s small blue eyes. “You
have until the beginning of January. Power will soon be in our hands, you understand? Don’t fail, or I’ll turn you in as well.
The Party does not accept halfway. You’re either with us or against us.”
Krüss nodded, aware that his damp clothes were sticking to him.
Kummer flashed a smile and left the room, the slight limp in his right leg a testimony to his involvement in the Beer Hall
Putsch. Victory was so near he could almost touch it with his bony hands.
On his way to the front doors, Kummer glanced at the shelves full of spines in various colors, stamped with the library’s
customary gold lettering. He felt a passing pity for the volumes that had to go. A flash of memory rose before him: hours
spent reading in bed in Munich, his life being saved by books that took him to all sorts of imaginary lands. He waved the
vision aside. Conscience was a thing invented by Jews. True Germans aspired to obedience, and obedience was the only road
to true freedom.