Assembled in front of the Reichstag, the people at the head of the protest heard Scheidemann’s proclamation and at first couldn’t believe the news. The kaiser had abdicated, and Germany would be a republic. The war was over—was that what he had just said?
The people rejoiced. Scheidemann’s voice hadn’t reached everyone, so when those at the back were informed of what he had said, they finally understood.
After all their efforts and repeated protests, their moment had finally arrived.
The group swayed more fiercely than when they first assembled. The wave no longer needed to push forward anymore and so boiled up on the spot.
The police and guards were no longer their enemies. They were fellow citizens celebrating the end of the war. Completely stunned at first, the guards and police first grimaced, but as they watched the feverishly celebratory crowd, their tension began to slowly fade until they looked wholly relieved. Some, however, cried bitter tears, knowing that Germany had lost the war.
Jörg’s corpus and Fritz were caught up in the revelry around them. There were no food and drinks to celebrate with, but the two men slapped the backs and shoulders of everyone around them as if it were the middle of the harvest festival. “Hey, the war is over!” “Are you serious?” “It’s true—the war is over!” “Unbelievable!” “What a dream!”
Beside the two men, Lila said, “When the end comes, it happens so quickly.”
“It does.” Milos looked around as if blinded. “These Germans will probably keep celebrating for a while. But the harshness of reality will return.”
“Even when Great Britain lifts the blockade, imports won’t arrive immediately. Germany will continue to go hungry.”
“Are you going to stand back and just watch?”
“Of course not. We’ll keep working our fields, and the people will survive somehow. Would you like to come with us, Mr. Milos?”
“Me?”
“With the war over, the men have nothing to do. So come help us on the farm. We don’t care where our workers are from or whether they are men or women. We welcome anyone who wants a slow, relaxing life.”
“You’ve started speaking like the Count.”
“You think so?”
“He must have affected you. But I’ll pass, thank you.”
“Why?”
“I want to plow Serbian land. I’ll wield a hoe instead of a gun. The time has finally come when I can do that.”
Lila’s face brightened, and she thrust her hand out toward Milos. With a smile on his face, Milos extended his own hand and shook hers firmly.
Watching from inside his corpus, Jörg felt his entire self relax.
As he gazed around the crowd, he noticed something strange in the air.
The people were avoiding a little patch of ground. A man stood in the center, surrounded by what looked like a void. No one could touch it.
Shock erupted in Jörg when he saw the man’s face. He should have been in Rotterdam, but Hubert Duran was standing right there, staring ahead blankly. It looked as if even he didn’t know why he was here in Germany. He craned his neck toward Jörg, seemingly realizing that someone was looking at him. That was when his expression cracked. The smile rising on his face told Jörg that Nil had been hidden deep within and had now surfaced.
Hubert—no, Nil—turn around to face him, raised a hand, and spoke directly into Jörg’s mind.
“Congratulations. Germany has taken the first step toward a new era.”
“Why did you bring Hubert here?” Jörg asked.
“He’s always been curious about what’s happening in Berlin. He said he wanted to see the moment the German Empire fell. So I granted his wish.”
“Still, how dare you bring him to such a dangerous place.”
“He didn’t have a simulacrum, so I had no choice but to bring his real body.”
“I doubt you did all this out of the kindness of your heart. What are you after?”
Instead of answering, Nil exited Hubert’s body.
Hubert lurched like a marionette with its strings cut. He was conscious but looked around with fresh eyes that seemed even more confused. He must have experienced his time under Nil’s control as some sort of dream. Now himself again, he wasn’t sure where he was. He was deaf. And he probably didn’t speak much German. He most certainly couldn’t hear the screams and words the crowd yelled.
A frightened Hubert started to run but bumped into an invisible wall and bounced backward.
Jörg looked up and scanned the surrounding area.
At some point the space around them had sewn itself shut. Hubert, Jörg, and the others were trapped in this space, separated from the crowd. The Berliners stopped still as if frozen, laughing as though about to burst.
Nil stepped back, took on human form, moved next to Fritz, and patted him on the shoulder. He kept watch on Jörg’s corpus out of the corner of his eye as he leaned over and whispered something into Fritz’s ear. His words reached Jörg loud and clear.
“That Frenchman there is the one who killed your friend Norbert Kerner. Now’s your chance to get your revenge.”
Jörg yelled at Fritz, forgetting that his voice couldn’t reach him.
“Don’t listen to him, Fritz. Where’s the proof? Don’t let him convince you.”
His corpus seemed to sense Nil’s presence. But Nil’s words might have enchanted him, too, because he stared intently at Hubert.
“He’s certainly French,” the corpus said.
Jörg and his corpus shared memories, so he would remember the photograph Christine had shown him in Paris.
“Any Frenchman here now could only be a spy. He’s here to give German secrets to foreign nations.”