I had no idea what was going on. Later I learned that the SA had problems finding a suitable car to take me away. It eventually arrived, though – the oldest vehicle I have ever set foot in, a decrepit, rattling conveyance from the year dot, which didn’t even have a starter motor, but had to be hand-cranked from the front. I was squeezed in between two SA men in the back of this ancient vehicle, whose upholstery was all torn and ripped, while the group leader sat up front and drove, with another SA man beside him. We set off in the direction of Berlin. I looked back at the house. It was a lovely spring day. The sun was reflected off the window panes, and if there was a face at the window looking out at me, I didn’t see it. I didn’t dare wave. But I noticed that the sentry on the garden gate had not been stood down after my departure, but continued to wander up and down the street. So were they now keeping my wife under guard too? My heart sank.

We rattled through the village, across open country between fields, and entered the forest, a monotonous expanse of scrawny young pines: a characteristic feature of this sandy region, amounting to nothing more than a bunch of thin poles topped with a bit of greenery.

The leader was now oddly courteous to me, constantly turning around (the car had a top speed of twenty kilometres an hour, no more) and inviting me to smoke if I wanted to, and even asking if we were not too cramped back there. The change in his manner made me uneasy. His friendliness seemed so forced, there was something about it that felt like fear; whatever it was, the man was very agitated. I was very much on my guard, and had the feeling: he’s up to something. Perhaps the moment of truth is at hand.

Suddenly the car stopped in the middle of the barren forest, the road was completely empty. The two SA men got out, as did the two men in the front. I stayed in my seat. I watched the four of them step to the edge of the road and relieve themselves. And then they stood there, while they lit up cigarettes and talked quietly among themselves. One of them tugged at his belt and pushed his holster more towards the front. I was getting more uneasy by the second . . . The leader crossed the road towards me. His voice sounded strangely low and agitated as he spoke: ‘Perhaps you’d like to get out? Please.’ His face was very pale. He went on: ‘We’ll be on the road for quite some time yet, and this old jalopy isn’t up to much!’ He tried to laugh.

I replied coolly: ‘Many thanks, but I don’t need to get out. But thanks all the same.’

He was insistent: ‘No, no, it really would be better if you did it now. Otherwise I’ll have to stop later when it just isn’t convenient. And this old jalopy is hard to get going again. So please!’ Now it sounded more like an order.

But as he was speaking, I kept seeing a headline that I’d recently read in a newspaper: ‘Shot while trying to escape.’ It all fitted: the quiet, empty road, the secluded forest setting – they would carry me into the house and tell my wife ‘Shot while trying to escape.