Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night (39 page)

‘You will have to do your best. Perhaps you can pray. I am sure that the God that you believe in will help you.’

‘That is not how it works.’

‘I have decided that it doesn’t work at all. There is no God. But perhaps there will be a miracle. Alternatively you could start to tell the truth.’

‘I am telling the truth.’

Lothar Fechner closed the door to the cell. ‘I will leave you to your tests.’

Sidney opened the chemistry paper and read.

Which of the following electronic transitions in a hydrogen atom would result in the emission of a photon with the longest wavelength?

(a)    n=4 to n=1    (b)    n=4 to n=2    (c)    n=5 to n=1 (d)    n=4 to n=3

Sidney remembered the blackboard in the lecture theatre where he had asked Neville Meldrum about Anthony Cartwright. He guessed that the answer was (d) and moved on. Only two years previously he had been at the Rede Lecture given by C.P. Snow in which the old man had argued that the British lived in two different cultures, one of art and the other of science, and that there was very little overlap between them. Well, he was certainly going to prove that now. Sidney was hopeless at science and the memory of chemistry at school filled him with dread. He did know his periodic table but he had never been that impressed by chemistry teachers showing off with random explosions in the lab. Then it dawned on him. All these questions might be related to the plot to blow up a chemical plant. If he was too good at his answers he would be even more of a suspect than he was already; too bad, and the authorities would not believe that he was so incompetent. He had to display a distinctly average ability. In short, he had to be English.

There were thirty more questions and he answered with blind guesswork, making up numbers and formulae as he did so, dimly remembering his chemistry O level. After an hour the game was up. The test went nuclear.

What percentage of a radioactive substance remains after 6 half-lives have elapsed? (a) 0.78%    (b) 1.56%    (c) 3.31%    (d) 6.25%

Sidney plumped for (b) and then abandoned the exam. He was not going to be drawn on anything that might concern the atomic bomb. Then he turned to the other exam in front of him. This was a theology paper. Looking at the questions he was filled with confidence and could already imagine his reward: a shoulder of lamb, a nice stew or even a bit of fresh fish perhaps.

1. Explain Luther’s doctrine of the Cross. What is the difference between a ‘theologian of glory’ and a ‘theologian of the Cross?’

2. What does Kant mean by the statement: ‘A hundred real thalers would not be worth more than a hundred possible thalers.’

3. ‘Believers have a perpetual struggle with their own lack of faith.’ Explain what Calvin meant by this sentence.

This was all first-year undergraduate stuff and Sidney was pleased. He wrote at length about how Calvin stressed that the reliability of the divine promises could co-exist with a human failure to trust in those promises; and that the person of Christ is seen as a confirmation of the promises of God.

It was straightforward, and Sidney used the time to think less of the circumstances he was in and more about the nature of theology and the origins of doubt. He had none about his biblical scholarship and was therefore surprised when Fechner questioned him the following morning.

‘You are quite proficient in chemistry, I see.’

‘If I did well it must have been a fluke. I guessed most of the answers.’

‘Then you guessed very well. Interesting that you should do better in a subject where you have doubts than in a study where you appear to have none.’

‘I trust in the promises of Christ.’

‘So our pastor tells us. Of course we will give you food. But there are a number of questions which still need answers.’

‘I think I’ve had enough questions for one day.’

‘That is most amusing. Please excuse me while I allow myself a small chuckle.’

Fechner stood up, looked out of the window and walked around his desk once more. Then he sat down. He said nothing. Sidney realised this was a technique to make him speak, his interrogator was forcing him to break the silence between them. He decided to say nothing and counted the seconds. After five minutes, Fechner asked him another question. ‘There are very many things we need to discuss, Canon Chambers; not least your knowledge of Dieter Hirsch – or perhaps I should say, Rory Montague?’

‘You think that is his name?’

‘You were heard to address him so.’

‘I may have been mistaken.’

‘Then why did he pass you confidential information?’

‘I was not aware of what he was giving me.’

‘And what were you supposed to do with it?’

‘I was asked to take it back to Cambridge and give it to the Master of my college. I imagined it was a letter; an explanation of some sort. Rory Montague had gone missing a few years ago.’

‘Missing?’

‘He had been climbing on the roof of King’s College with a friend.’

‘Is that what students normally do?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Surely they should be studying?’

‘They should.’

‘Although sometimes they may not be studying the subjects they tell people they are studying, isn’t that right, Canon Chambers? They could, for example, be studying the industrial infrastructure of a foreign country. They could be planning to sabotage its scientific progress. They could be working against our ideological freedom to preserve the tyranny of capitalist exploitation.’

‘Of course they could be doing that,’ Sidney replied. ‘But I don’t think that’s likely.’

‘I am sure you don’t, Canon Chambers, but I still have not received a convincing explanation of why you are in the DDR, what you were doing on that train with a camera normally used by spies, and carrying a negative exposure of one of our most secret chemical plants. It is unusual for a priest to be in such a position, is it not? Particularly one who appears to be so adept in chemistry.’

‘I am hopeless at chemistry,’ Sidney answered. ‘I am far better at being a priest.’

‘That is not what my examiners think. Pastor Krause thought your arguments reflected the thinking of a decadent intellectual rather than the mind of a man who spends his time either in prayer or with his people.’

‘That is, I acknowledge, a weakness.’

‘Then I am sure you will not mind spending a little longer in our company. The circumstances here are not unpleasant; a man might even consider them monastic. Perhaps you could use the time to become a better man of God?’

‘I am not sure I need the excuse of being here to concentrate on my duties as a Christian.’

‘But I am afraid you have no choice, Canon Chambers. I have taken the liberty of ordering
The Rule of St Benedict
from the library. It is surprising we still have it. Many works have, of course, been taken away, but this remains. However, it is not in German.’

‘I presume, then, that it is in Latin.’

‘It is. You speak Latin?’

‘I do. I am good at Latin.’

Fechner smiled. ‘Vanity again, Canon Chambers. You do disappoint me.’

Sidney was led back to his cell, passing through the dark corridors with their exposed pipework and niches to prevent him seeing any other prisoner. He had met only guards and interrogators since his arrival. The place smelled of sewers and the warmth made it worse. He was given a few thin pork knuckles and some sauerkraut. The guard told him that it would make him healthy.

Kristian Krause came to visit. This was the man who had marked down his theology exam and accused him of decadent intellectualism. Sidney took an immediate dislike to him and felt no guilt. Some men, he thought, even if they were priests, were inherently unpleasant.

Pastor Krause gave him a copy of
The Rule of St Benedict
. ‘You may find it helpful in your cell.’

‘You think I should pretend I am a monk.’

‘There are worse ways of surviving.’

‘Have you ever been a monk yourself?’

‘My duties are in the world.’

‘I think a monk considers himself to be in the world.’

‘I mean with the people.’

‘Are you a communist?’ Sidney asked.

‘It is not irreconcilable with our faith. Perhaps it is even an opportunity.’

‘You mean that?’

‘Of course. We fight for the poor and the oppressed.’

‘While supporting the oppressor.’

‘Canon Chambers, I think your views of the DDR are naive. Perhaps you need some time alone to think. Your stay here might even be considered a blessing.’

‘I find it hard to see it in those terms.’

After Pastor Krause had left, Sidney picked up his copy of
The Rule of St Benedict
. He chose a passage at random. ‘We believe that the divine presence is everywhere and that in every place the eyes of the Lord are watching the good and the wicked.’

‘Well,’ Sidney prayed, ‘I hope you are watching over all the people gathered in this place.’ It was becoming increasingly hard to make the best of things or even to think the best of people.

‘You must not be proud nor be given too much wine,’ Sidney continued to read. There was fat chance of that.

‘Refrain from too much eating or sleeping and from laziness.’

Sidney hesitated. This was only making the situation worse. He tried to think positively. He could pretend, he supposed, that he was in some beautiful Renaissance cell decorated by Fra Angelico, but this only worked when he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was confronted with grim reality. If this was God’s way of making him a better Christian then it was going to be a hard graft.

‘Do not grumble or speak ill of others,’ St Benedict admonished. ‘Place your hope in God alone.’

The next day Sidney was taken to see Fechner again. ‘I thought you might have escaped by now.’

‘I presume that you are joking,’ Sidney replied.

‘I like a little amusement,’ Fechner continued. ‘Don’t you?’

‘What happened at Pieseritz?’ Sidney asked.

‘I am pleased that you are concerned.’

‘Was there an explosion?’

‘I am not sure that I am at liberty to tell you. Even if I were, I think that the information might prove too useful.’

Sidney knew that an interrogator must have been trained to give nothing away but thought that a matter of fact might be allowable. Clearly it was not.

‘Mr Chambers, I am sure you will not mind. I have ordered the polygraph. It is time to test whether you are lying or not.’

‘I try not to lie.’

‘You try? That means sometimes you do. You could be lying about your lying.’

‘I sometimes try to protect people from the truth. That is different, I think.’

‘It is still a lie. In this country the truth must come before everything else.’

‘But I have found,’ Sidney replied tentatively, ‘that there are often different kinds of truth.’

He thought of explaining further but realised, by the look on Lothar Fechner’s face, that any Anglican meditation on the constitution of truth could only lead to trouble.

Once he had been rigged up with galvanometers on his fingers, a blood-pressure cuff and tubes around his chest and abdomen, Sidney was asked a series of questions to test that the machine was working. What was his name? Who was the Prime Minister of Britain? When the real test actually began, he found the questions even weirder. They were nothing to do with espionage or his knowledge of chemistry but almost entirely about Hildegard. It was clear, perhaps, that Fechner was trying to destabilise him by concentrating on the personal.

‘How well do you know Mrs Staunton?’ he asked.

‘She is a very good friend of mine.’

‘Is the relationship physical?’

‘That’s a very personal question.’

‘Please answer it.’

‘I don’t see why I should.’

‘I would remind you that you are a prisoner.’

‘On what charge?’

‘We haven’t decided. There could be so many. In the meantime I would remind you of my original question.’

‘The answer is no.’

‘Would you like it to be physical?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.’

‘Do you love her?’

‘Again, I don’t know. I don’t see why I should answer these questions. This is a private matter. It has nothing to do with any case you may bring against me.’

‘In this country there is no privacy.’ Fechner lit a cigarette and let the smoke furl over his face. Sidney remembered him saying that he did not smoke. ‘Secrecy is the enemy of freedom, don’t you find? A man with a clear conscience has nothing to hide.’

‘That does not mean that his conscience is a possession of the state.’