“There have been too many pictures of him already,” Verena said “Every article comes with a huge portrait of Bruno. It’s ridiculous!”I wondered if I could see his Holocaust library, a personal archive of papers, books (2,000 of them), films and photos. Wilkomirski shook his head; “I don’t have the strength for all that at the moment Maybe I’ll go back to it when I’m better, but now … I’m very weak.” His voice was a boy’s soprano, a little on the feeble side. It occurred to me that it was much easier to tell the story of a traumatic childhood in that delivery, rather than an adult baritone. It was a child’s voice and it was asking for gentle, considerate treatment.After a few remarks about the viciousness of the press, he relaxed a little and began to talk about his work. He teaches music at three schools, and has a workshop where he builds his clarinets.

Then, although he wouldn’t show me the archive, he talked about what it meant to him. With the help of a computer technician, he examined documents and photographs which related to children who had been given new identities. “I have been in contact with many people who are in that situation. I try to help them.”"Last time we saw each other you seemed very happy.”"Happy … that would be the wrong word, but I was pleased that my book had helped people, and that I was receiving so much moral support.

I felt that I could come out of my hiding place, and could really be myself. For the first time in my life, I felt liberated.”"And now?”He fell silent for a moment.”Now I feel like I’m back in the camps.”The Holocaust had entered our conversation and now didn’t leave it. He avoided trains, he said, because he could not forget those trains. “When I was married to my ex-wife and had to commute to Geneva for a while, I pretended to take a train … but secretly I always took the car.”"Can I tell about the feet?” asked Verena He nodded.”Bruno moves his feet constantly during his sleep. It’s a habit he’s had since the camps, to keep the rats away at night.”"Yes,” Wilkomirski said, “if you keep moving them, like this” – he demonstrated a waving motion with his feet – “the rats stay away.”When he talked about the camps, he trembled and cried. Sometimes, he couldn’t speak and needed to wait before he caught his breath again.Later we switched to a less sensitive topic: Switzerland.”In this country, everything and everyone had to be proper, quiet, bourgeois .. That is how I was brought up, and I played along I guess.

But in 1981, when I recovered from my illness, which had almost killed me, I said to myself: ‘I am sick of leading this pretend-Swiss life. Enough of all that.’ And I decided to be myself, which meant going back to the beginning – my own beginnings.”Ten difficult years followed He continued to be ill: a disease of the blood cells. It was Verena – after he met her in 1982 – who suggested a connection between his physical state and his mental anguish. “She was the first person who was willing to listen to me, really listen.” He began telling her what he remembered. In about 1990 she advised him to start writing his memories down. She also recommended a therapist, who was a friend of hers.Wilkomirski said: “The idea of the therapy was for me to learn to speak about my past without fear or panic. It also helped me to clarify certain details of my memories.”I turned to Verena: “Did you always believe him?”"Not always I had my doubts.