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334 | YugoslaVia igor torkar (pseudonym of boris Fakin; 1913–2004) The bitter irony of Torkar’s life was determined by his experiences during World War II. A chemical engineer by training, he had entered the national liberation movement not long after the outbreak of war. His main goal was to join Tito’s Partisans. But before he could, he was turned over to the Germans by an informer and was transported to the Dachau concentration camp at the end of 1943. He was subsequently imprisoned also in Sachsenhausen and Klinger. Torkar survived the camps, but in a sense his real trial began after the end of the war. In April 1948 he was arrested on the charge of having been a Gestapo agent in the German concentration camps and was initially sentenced to twelve years in prison. Thus began what is generally referred to in Slovenian history as the Dachau Trial. Besides Torkar, eight other former concentration camp internees , all chemical engineers, were convicted on similar charges. Prior to his arrest, Torkar was employed by the Ministry of Industry as a chemical engineer. He claims that he was offered the position of general manager of the Chemical Industry of Slovenia in exchange for his testimony against the other engineers who happened to be friends of his going back to their student years. When he refused, he was sentenced to four years. Although he regained his freedom, he was not legally exonerated until 1971. Thirteen years later, Torkar transformed his grim experiences into the autobiographical novel Umiranje na obroke (Death by Installments). The following excerpts are from Umiranje na obroke, 3rd edition (Ljubljana: Cankarjeva žalozba, 1988), 171–76, 191–98, and have been translated from Slovenian by Harold B. Segel. from Umiranje na obroke A new OZNA5 officer entered the room. Big, upright, athletic build, flawless . His olive-green suit fit as if poured on him. Brown hair, cut short. He could be the son of Tarzan. Obviously young. But not Tarzan’s face. No OZNA uniform. Not the slightest trace of a professional police smile on his face. It is the face of some friendly professor of humanistic philosophy. In short, an attractive , likeable man. The only thing spoiling the picture was his unpleasant and even insidious dark glasses. The humanist with the dark glasses slowly turned his face to Gaber. Gaber was annoyed that because of the dark glasses he couldn’t see if the humanist was looking at him or past him. The insidious silence lasted for only a moment . Then the humanist with the dark glasses sat down in an armchair next to the round table. With a calm movement of his right hand, he pointed to the YugoslaVia | 335 other armchair, “Sit down opposite me, Comrade Martin Pekvar.” Gaber sat down silently in the armchair near the round table. The humanist with the dark glasses continued, “May I suggest a reasonable conversation . . .” “Reasonable? For whom?” “For both of us! A conversation that considers just the facts. An open, friendly conversation without any game of hide-and-seek.” “Please . . .” “Don’t be misled by my civilian dress. May I introduce myself: Milivoj Acen, major OZNA.” “Pleased to meet you . . .” “I do hope that you are indeed pleased. By way of an introduction, I should tell you that I like short and clear conversations. So, short and clear: I have read your biography and party profile in the card file. For the moment, I should like to express my praise.” “Thank you.” “Unfortunately, only for the moment! I have also read all the notes on your fellow engineers whom we have already been interrogating for six months . . .” “As humanely as you are now interrogating me?” “That depends on the degree of obstinacy of the interrogated, Comrade Pekvar. Remember this equation of ours! Your colleagues confirm in writing that engineer Martin Pekvar-Gaber while in Dachau collaborated with them on orders of the Gestapo. As I read this, it took my breath away, Pekvar!” “But now you’re taking my breath away!” “One moment! I am allowing you enough breath to answer my question here and now: When and where did you sign on with the Gestapo?” The question struck Gaber like a bomb. Millions of sparks exploded in him boring through his flesh and skin, flying about the room, and circling the humanist with the dark glasses. It seemed to Gaber that the humanist had been attacked by a swarm of burning hornets. The voice of the humanist...

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