Chapter 39 Fight and Fire
Fight and Fire
Berlin
The weather was pleasant, and there were no airplanes in the sky. Gabor and Lena seized the chance to take Mark, now almost
four, out to play in the woods. Amalia had taken to the boy immediately when Lena and Gabor moved in, and as his constant
playmate, she joined them for the excursion. She sought every opportunity to be out in the sun.
Helene was in the basement reshelving a few volumes recently returned by some living library participants when she heard the
distant but familiar sound of the front door opening and shutting. “You’re already back?” she called. “I thought you’d be
gone longer. I haven’t even started on lunch yet.”
There was no answer.
She went upstairs to find the front door was closed.
Confused, she ran her hand across her forehead and wondered if she really had heard it move.
There were all sorts of unexpected noises in the woods.
She went back down to the basement, where the books seemed to languish just as much as the house’s human occupants in their impatience for spring.
Then she sensed a presence behind her and heard the sound of boots. She turned in terror.
“Helene Nathan, you have no idea what I’ve been through to find you. So this is your Secret Library,” Kummer said, glancing
around. “It’s rather underwhelming. I expected more.”
Helene willed herself to keep her head and not faint. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. They’re just books: paper, glue, cardboard
covers, and some fabric to dress them up. Their intrinsic value is what’s inside, printed on their souls.” Her voice sounded
much calmer than she felt.
“As poetic as always, I see. I’ve read a lot too. I used to be a dreamer like you, but the noise of the world woke me up a
long time ago. You may recall Cervantes addressing the matter in Don Quixote.”
Kummer began reciting a few lines about the burning of Don Quixote’s library:
The housekeeper said the same, so eager were they both for the slaughter of those innocents, but the curate would not agree
to it without first reading at any rate the titles . . . as there might be some to be found among them that did not deserve
the penalty of fire.
“None can be spared, Helene. I’m afraid that, like the Man of La Mancha, many words have driven you mad. For these books you’ve
sacrificed your children, your husband, your colleagues, and now your own life. Are they really worth all that?” Kummer crossed
his arms, leaned back, and looked at her hard.
It was the question she asked herself a thousand times a day. She swallowed and replied, “Some people, like you, are willing to kill for their ideals. Others, like me, are willing to die for theirs.”
The Nazi nodded. “Which is why you’ll be the loser and I’ll be the winner.”
“Are you quite sure? The way the war is going, it doesn’t seem that way. Your Führer is losing. The thousand-year Third Reich
won’t even make it twenty—probably not even till next year. You and the whole system have failed, despite your barbarism.
You’re a drowning man flailing around, trying to drag everyone else down with you.”
Kummer responded by pointing his pistol at her. “You’re a rebel, but you don’t see that at the core, rebellion is a vain aspiration.
The Allies might beat us, but our ideas are imprinted on the hearts of men and women all over the world. We’ve done it once,
and we’ll do it again. Stop kidding yourself: Human beings just want happiness and security. They don’t care about freedom
or all those books you so desperately love.”
“You may be right, but every time people like you rise up, there will be men and women like me who sing the sweet melody of
freedom and refuse to live in chains.”
Kummer threw his head back and laughed, the pistol jiggling in response. “Well, let’s wrap up this show, shall we?”
He started pouring the gasoline from Helene’s stock of cans on the floor, never taking his eyes—or his gun—off her. Then he
rose and started flinging the liquid everywhere, heedless of Helene’s body or even of his own clothing.
“Even if you burn them, books won’t die . . .” she began.
“Oh yes, they will. Watch them.”
He struck a match.
There was a sharp whistling noise as a knife cut through the air.
It lodged between Kummer’s shoulders, and as he turned in shock, the lit match dropped.
A trail of gasoline lit up instantly. Kummer was too busy trying to get the knife out of his back to notice the flames on his boots, and then his pants.
Gabor looked at him aghast but then grabbed a blanket and ran to the Nazi. Gabor fought to smother the flames as Kummer writhed
and howled. Helene, meanwhile, threw blankets onto the line of fire that was leaping toward the nearest bookshelves. Both
she and Gabor were successful, but not before Kummer had moved on from the world. He had lived among demons for so long and
so comfortably that he hardly noticed the difference when they came out to meet him.
He sank to their depths, tormented by the knowledge that he had not vanquished Helene Nathan or her library of forbidden books.