The Violent Century Read Online Free PDF

given, he says. You’ll work for me. Ultimately, you’ll be working for the King.
    – What? Fogg says. Where?
    Doesn’t understand.
    The Old Man smiles. The Civil Service, he says. Then, into Fogg’s bemusement, Now come along. We need to hurry if we want to make it back to London for tea.

16. BERLIN 1946
    Old certainties ripped away, never to be replaced. What makes a man? It was Franz who asked him that. The memory jolts Fogg. Things he had not thought about, had successfully managed to forget, for decades. Good old Franz. Fogg’s one-time informer, in post-war Berlin. What makes a … Franz hesitating, looking for the right word, in English. They are seated in a cafe in the Breitscheidplatz, near the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church. What was left of it, after the bombing. Rat-people outside. That’s how he came to think of the Berliners, after the war. Rat-people in the gutter, scavenging for food, love, identity papers, hope. The bombings and the loss. Robbed them of that perfect semblance of Germanic humanity. What makes a … Franz says again, thinking. Beyond-Man, he says, a little hesitant. Thinning hair, pinched face. Lost two toes on the Eastern Front. Round glasses with pale watery brown eyes behind them. No one’s idea of an Aryan.
    – Übermensch, Fogg says. Yes, yes, Franz says, a little impatiently. Hugging the cup of hot chocolate, unimaginable luxury. Fogg is paying. From what they call the Rat Fund.
    Fogg isn’t sure what Franz is asking.
    – The Übermensch acts within the moral vacuum of nihilism to create new values, Franz says. Fogg realises he is quoting – or perhaps paraphrasing – Nietzsche. Shakes his head. Says, How the hell should I know what makes a man? What makes an Over-Man?
    Pale sunlight coming in from outside. The remnants of ruined houses, craters in the street. Rats. Berlin. On the Eastern Front, Franz says, hesitates. Hugs the hot chocolate. Words come out haltingly. Like he’s forgotten speech. On the Eastern Front the snow was broken by bomb craters. And yet it seemed to spread out to eternity. You know, Herr Schleier? It shimmered a pale blue, the ice did. And the sky, so black, a darkness undisturbed, so very strange, inhuman. Takes a deep shuddering breath, says, And amongst it, stars. So many stars, Franz says. Gulps down hot chocolate, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. So many stars. And each and every one is a sun, hiding multiple planets, worlds. War on each one, perhaps. He laughs. He rolls a cigarette between his fingers. Paid for by Fogg, from the Rat Fund. Franz lights it up. Takes a deep drag. We were all meant to be Beyond-Men, he says. A little sadly. We didn’t know, Herr Schleier. That’s what he calls him. Schleier for mist, or fog. We didn’t know .

17. THE ROAD TO LONDON 1936
    He is unused to this vehicle, the luxury is unimaginable. A machine from the future, this black shark moving smoothly across the road. Cambridge in the distance. Fields on either side of the road. Lone bird in a startling blue sky. The driver doesn’t speak. But hums to himself. Looks back in the rear-view mirror, every now and then. Checking on Fogg.
    The Old Man beside him on the back seat. The window open. The Old Man smoking a cigar. The smoke coalesces in the interior of the automobile. Warm air enters through the open window. Fogg with his hands in his lap. Silence from the Old Man. A waiting silence, wanting to be filled.
    – What will happen to me? Fogg blurts out. The Old Man turns his gaze on him. Like he’s been waiting. Says, Are you scared? But gently.
    – How did you find me? Fogg says. Almost in despair. How did you know ?
    The Old Man, those deep-set, deceptively sleepy eyes. One can get lost in them. We know this. Says, Deutsch is a spotter. We pay his salary. Well, his second salary. When a possible candidate comes up, we’re notified.
    – We? Fogg says. The Old Man’s teeth around the cigar. Uneven. Canines a little pronounced. Gives him the aura of