The Final Testament Read Online Free PDF Page A

not a historian or a Bible scholar.”
    â€œNo, but you are truly one of the most respected eminences on the continent,” Sauerwald spoke over him. “In the world, in fact. Anything you write would command attention from an international audience and have instantly credibility.”
    â€œ Sauerwald .” Freud mustered the strength to slam a gavel-like fist on his desk. “The world is on the brink of war. Jews like myself are being robbed, persecuted, and even murdered under the color of law on the streets and in the houses of every country where your party holds sway. Do you honestly think I would aid in hurting the cause of my own people?”
    â€œI believe you would do what you needed to do to protect your sisters.”
    â€œAnd so that is the choice you give me? Save my sisters or put my name on a book intended to defame and harm the race that I belong to?”
    â€œIt would appear so.” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Sauerwald’s mouth and as his hands rested on his belly, two fingers flexed with a hint of playfulness. “If you insist on putting it that way”
    Freud sank down in his seat, seething at his own helplessness. At the betrayal of his body. At the betrayal of his countrymen back home. At the betrayal of the European allies. At the betrayal of humanity at large for allowing people like Sauerwald to spread such lies in the service of further German atrocities. He began to breathe more heavily, as if he was starting to suffocate under the accumulating weight of history. This would not do. His chin began to wag from side-to-side, an involuntary old man tremor turning into a deliberate headshake.
    Almost without conscious decision, he took the book off his lap and set it aside on his desk. Then he picked up his fountain pen, the implement of his trade, which he’d used to take notes on his famous patients. He brandished it, like a cowboy in one of the American movies he so deplored, strapping on his gun one last time, and reached for a notepad. Then he narrowed his eyes and tried to imagine Sauerwald stretched on the couch, instead of sitting in his green chair.
    â€œSauerwald, tell me something,” he said. “What is your purpose in writing this book?”
    â€œDr. Freud, I think I’ve been very clear about my motives.”
    â€œHave you?” Freud touched his pen to the corner of a blank notebook page. “To write a book of any kind is a serious undertaking, requiring a great commitment of time and effort. I’m interested why you chose to write about these particular themes in a book that you’ve put my name on. The betrayal of Ishmael, the theft of Esau’s birthright…”
    â€œVery clever.” Sauerwald interrupted. “Perhaps you are onto something.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œYou mentioned that this book could be construed as helping our war effort.” Sauerwald’s Adam’s apple bobbed behind the tight red knot of his necktie. “But it could be said that it was written with an eye toward the future as well. And I believe the future belongs to the Arabs.”
    â€œThe Arabs ?”
    â€œOf course.” Sauerwald offered his palms like a waiter showing an expensive wine list. “Everyone else will be focused on the war here in Europe for the next few years. Eventually, though, the conflict will move to the Allies’ colonial holdings in North Africa, where the Arab population is substantial. And where there is oil. And whoever controls the oil to feed the tanks and airplanes will win the war.”
    â€œExcuse me, Sauerwald.” Freud picked the book off his desk again, where it had been sitting among his collection of totems and figurines. “But how would a fraudulent volume about ancient prophets possibly be of any benefit to twentieth-century Germans in the Middle East?”
    â€œThe leaders of these Arab countries will appreciate the attack on their blood