It amazes me that Kantorek does not explode with a bang, especially when, during physical exercises, Mittelstaedt copies him to perfection, seizing him by the seat of his trousers as he is pulling himself up on the horizontal bar so that he can just raise his chin above the beam, and then starts to give him good advice. That is exactly what Kantorek used to do to him at school.

The extra fatigues are next detailed off. “Kantorek and Boettcher, bread fatigue! Take the handcart with you.”

A few minutes later the two set off together pushing the barrow. Kantorek in a fury walks with his head down. But the porter is delighted to have scored light duty.

The bakehouse is away at the other end of the town, and the two must go there and back through the whole length of it.

“They’ve done that a couple of times already,” grins Mittelstaedt. “People have begun to watch for them coming.”

“Excellent,” I say, “but hasn’t he reported you yet?”