'My wife,' I said.
'The other was Resi,' he said.
'My wife's younger sister,' I said. 'Just their names that's all.'
'You said "Goodbye,'' he said.
'Goodbye' I echoed. That certainly made sense, whether I dreamed or not Helga and Resi were both gone forever.
'And you talked about New York' said Mengel. 'You mumbled, and then you said "New York," and then you mumbled some more.'
That made sense, too, as do most of the things I dream. I lived in New York for a long time before coming to Israel.
'New York City must be Heaven,' said Mengel.
'It might well be for you,' I said. 'It was hell for me — or not Hell, something worse than Hell.'
'What could be worse than Hell?' he said.
'Purgatory,' I said.
6: Purgatory ...
About that purgatory of mine in New York City: I was in it for fifteen years.
I disappeared from Germany at the end of the Second World War. I reappeared, unrecognized, in Greenwich Village. There I rented a depressing attic apartment with rats squeaking and scrabbling in the walls. I continued to inhabit that attic until a month ago, when I was brought to Israel for trial.
There was one pleasant thing about my ratty attic: the back window of it overlooked a little private park, a little Eden formed by joined back yards. That park, that Eden, was walled off from the streets by houses on all sides.
It was big enough for children to play hide-and-seek in.
I often heard a cry from that little Eden, a child's cry that never failed to make me stop and listen. It was the sweetly mournful cry that meant a game of hide-and-seek was over, that those still hiding were to come out of hiding, that it was time to go home.
The cry was this: 'Olly-olly-ox-in-free.'
And I, hiding from many people who might want to hurt or kill me, often longed for someone to give that cry for me, to end my endless game of hide-and-seek with a sweet and mournful —