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writhing in agony. Agony he had inflicted upon her. When she saw him coming toward her, she tried to run away, but her entrails were spilling out, and she got her hind legs caught in them. And she kept screaming. He tried to pick her up and she bit him and scratched him. He did not notice. Only her screaming. He thought he would lose his mind. He realized that only one thing could help her. Death. And it was up to him to give it to her. It was his doing.
    He put her on the wet ground. He took a large stone. And he smashed her head—smashed it until the screaming stopped. . . . When his father found him, he was sitting in the grass, bloody with his own and Mausi’s blood, hugging the mutilated cat carcass to him. But he was dry-eyed.
    His father had insisted that he go hunting rabbits with him the very next day. He could not be permitted to nurture a fear of guns, a fear of hunting, of killing. Like a rider thrown from his horse, he had to mount again at once. He had not the strength to protest. He had been certain he would never kill anything again. But he got over that. There had been more hunting, more killing, and soon it meant nothing to him at all. He was not afraid of death, of killing. He could cope with that. . . .
    The civilian came around in front of him. He went to the table and sat on the edge of it He did not take his eyes from the young SS officer but watched him intently as the commandant continued reading.
    “. . . Subject’s education continued at Linz Gymnasium. At age fourteen he joined the Austrian Hitler Youth. Attended the Reichsparteitag in Nuremberg, 1929, and the Reichsjugendtag of the NSDAP at Potsdam, 1932. . . .”
    . . . He would never forget it. It had been a stirring adventure he felt certain would always be a high point in his life. He’d written about it in his diary: “Potsdam, 2 October 1932—the Greatest Experience of My Life!”
    In his mind’s eye he could see the Gothic script marching along each pale blue line on the pages of the composition book he had used. He would always remember those words, words of pride and of glory, as he confided his feelings to his diary:
    For many days thousands upon thousands of German boys and German girls from all the provinces of Greater Germany have streamed into town, this town of the heroic Prussian Warrior King, Frederick the Great It is awe inspiring.
    At dusk every road and every path leading to the giant stadium seems alive with youth. The swastika banners fly high in the wind over the gigantic arena which we cover with our multitude. Torch bearers arrive, their firebrands blazing, and brilliant searchlights illuminate the mighty dome of heaven. We are thrilled at the splendid grandeur, almost reverent. . . .
    The Führer is to speak to us!
    We wait with an impatience that will hardly be denied.
    At last He is at the podium.
    Our exultation knows no bounds! The roar of our homage fills our world. We are in His presence. Our Führer. The one whose name we bear in pride— Hitler Youth! The one for whom no sacrifice is too great.
    And He speaks. To us. The Youth of Greater Germany.
    We listen. Impassioned. He speaks as a leader to his faithful followers, as a father to his children. His words shall forever remain emblazoned upon our hearts.
    Others may mock and laugh, he says. But you are Holy Germany’s future; you are her coming people, and up you shall rest the fulfillment of what we so solemnly struggle for today. Already as boys and girls you have dedicated yourselves to our New Germany. You remain true. Rewards which no one can give you today shall be yours tomorrow. Germany awaken!
    The tumultuous ovation we gave our Führer must be heard throughout Germany. Throughout the world! Our spirits soar with the rocketing fireworks and explode with them in a burst of radiance.
    And it is over. . . .
    . . . For a brief moment his attention returned to the close, windowless interrogation room and the droning voice of the commandant reading his