‘That’s fine,’ he said.
‘Your own involvement with Harting twenty years ago, your association with certain British Government agencies-‘
‘Nobody knows about that,’ Praschko said quickly. ‘You go damn carefully about that.’
‘I was going to make the very same point,’ said Bradfield with a reciprocal smile of relief. ‘I would not for a moment wish to have it said of the Embassy that we harbour resentments, persecute prominent German politicians, rake up old matters long dead; that we side with countries unsympathetic to the German cause in order to smear the Federal Republic. I am quite certain that in your own sphere, you would not like to have the same things said about yourself. I am pointing to an identity of interest.’
‘Sure,’ said Praschko. ‘Sure.’ His harrowed face remained inscrutable.
‘We all have our villains. We must not let them come between us.’
‘Jesus,’ said Praschko with a sideways glance at the marks on Turner’s face. ‘We got some damn funny friends as well. Did Leo do that to you?’
‘They’re sitting in the corner,’ Turner said. ‘They did it. They’re waiting to do it to him if they get a chance.’
‘Okay,’ said Praschko at last. ‘I’ll go along with you. We had lunch together. I haven’t seen him since. What does that ape want?’
‘Bradfield,’ Saab called across the room. ‘How soon?’
‘I told you, Karl-Heinz. We have no statement to make.’
‘We just talked, that’s all. I don’t see him so often. He called me up: how about lunch some time? I said make it tomorrow.’ He opened his palms to show there was nothing up his sleeve. ‘What did you talk about?’ Turner asked.
He shrugged to both of them. ‘You know how it is with old friends. Leo’s a nice guy, but – well, people change. Or maybe we don’t like to be reminded that they don’t change. We talked about old times. Had a drink. You know the kind of thing.’
‘Which old times? ‘ Turner persisted, and Praschko flared at him, very angry.
‘Sure: England times. Shit times. You know why we went to England, me and Leo? We were kids. Know how we got there? His name began with an H, my name began with P. So I changed it to a B. Harting Leo, Braschko Harry. Those times. Lucky we weren’t Weiss or Zachary, see: they were too low down. The English didn’t like the second half of the alphabet. That’s what we talked about: sent to Dover, free on board. Those damn times. The damn Farm School in Shepton Mallet, you know that shit place? Maybe they painted it by now. Maybe that old guy’s dead who knocked the hell out of us for being German and said we got to thank the English we’re alive. You know what we learnt in Shepton Mallet? Italian. From the prisoners of war. They were the only bastards we ever got to talk to!’ He turned to Bradfield. ‘Who is this Nazi anyway?’ he demanded, and burst out laughing. ‘Hey, am I crazy or something? I was having lunch with Leo.’
‘And he talked about his difficulties, whatever they may be?’ Bradfield asked.
‘He wanted to know about the Statute,’ Praschko replied, still smiling.
‘The Statute of Limitations?’
‘Sure. He wanted to know the law.’
‘Applied to a particular case?’
‘Should it have been?’
‘I was asking you.’
‘I thought maybe you had a particular case in mind.’
‘As a general matter of legal principle?’
‘Sure.’
‘What policy would be served by that, I wonder? It is not in the interests of any of us that the past be resurrected.’
‘That’s true, huh?’
‘It’s common sense,’ Bradfield said shortly. ‘Which I imagine carries more weight with you than any assurances I could give. What did he want to know?’
Praschko went very slowly now: ‘He wanted to know the reason. He wanted to know the philosophy. So I told him: “It’s not a new law, it’s an old one. It’s to make an end of things. Every country has a final court, a point you can’t go beyond, okay? In Germany there has to be a final day as well.” I spoke to him like he was a child – he’s so damned innocent, do you know that? A monk. I said, “Look, you ride a bicycle without lights, okay? If nobody’s found out after four months, you’re in the clear. If it’s manslaughter, then it’s not four months but fifteen years; if it’s murder, twenty years. If it’s Nazi murder, longer still, because they gave it extra time. They waited a few years before they began to count to twenty. If they don’t open a case, the offence lapses.” I said to him: “Listen, they’ve fooled around with this thing till it damn near died. They amended it to please the Queen and they amended it to please themselves; first they dated it from forty-five, then from forty-nine and now already they’ve changed it again.” ‘ Praschko opened his hands – ‘So then he shouts at me, “What’s so damn holy about twenty years?” “There’s nothing holy about twenty years; there’s nothing holy about any number of damn years. We grow old. We grow tired. We die.” I told him that. I said to him: “I don’t know what you’ve got in your fool head, but it’s all crap. Everything’s got to have an end. The moralists say it’s a moral law, the apologists say it’s expedient. Listen, I’m your friend and I’m telling you; Praschko says: it’s a fact of life, so don’t fool about with it.” Then he got angry. You ever seen him angry?’