God, it’s scary to think my entire legacy to my children might be nothing-more than a few obscure words scribbled into a book. I get so scared. Maybe it’s all for nothing, maybe the Pure German movement doesn’t want to do anything but scare us. I guess, though, that I’m not the first person in this world to feel afraid.
That was the last entry that mentioned anything about her fears or in any way presaged the future. She took up her pen for twenty or so more pages to describe her life and those around her, but her fears were buried, and if any more incidents of harassment occurred or if any conclusions were reached in her discussions with the Underground, they were not mentioned. With a growing sadness, Peter read her last entry, dated eight days before she disappeared from his life:
Niklaus will be home in about a week, I look forward to seeing him. I wonder if the feeling is mutual. The flowers in Mrs. Stone’s window box are blooming. They always bring a smile to my face when I see them. Someday, I’m going to get around to putting window boxes outside this place. I don’t think we’ll ever get another flat, but the neighborhood isn’t that bad, after all.
There’s a concert being held in the new hall they built in Covent Garden. It’s martial music, which I don’t like, but I’d like to get tickets just to see the inside of the new building. It’s supposed to be as ugly on the inside as on the outside.
Price of bread went up again. I heard there were some riots in Lincoln about that, but who knows what the truth is. All seems quiet here. Maybe if the fine weather holds, Charles and I will go to the park on Sunday. It’s always crowded and the grass is completely worn-out, but still it will be nice to get out and about. We can take some wine with us. Maybe that and some bread. Buy a loaf before the price goes up again, ha, ha. Didn’t someone write “a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou beside me in the wilderness”? Well, a scruffy park is going to have to do!
Peter paged through the rest of the book, but there was nothing else, just empty pages testifying to yet another life cut short. He set the book down and wiped the dampness from his cheeks, then turned off the light and stared into the darkness for a long time.
32
“HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY’VE DONE!” Karl flapped his arms, utterly panicked.
Richard guided him down the hall, shushing him as he led him into his office. Once the door was shut behind them, Richard asked, “Now what?”
“They have a photograph!”
“Get control, man! What are you talking about?” Richard snapped.
“A photograph!” When Karl saw Richard’s angry look, he made a determined effort to control his panic. “They released a photograph of me and that ingrate to the American press! There I am clear as day talking to him in front of my own house!”
“Who’s they?” Richard teased.
“I don’t know!” Karl moaned. “But now the Americans have proof I’m lying. They have a photograph of me and my Zwangsarbeiter together, well before this all happened!”
Richard stopped to consider. Logically, there were a lot of escapes from this situation. The photograph proved nothing, but if Karl did not realize that, there was no reason to head in that direction. There were only two weeks until the election—things were going well, but time was running short.
“Do you have any ideas for a response?” Richard asked, just to be sure that Karl had not considered any of the denials that had just run through his own mind.
“Would I be here? Oh, yeah,” Karl added now that he was on a roll, “that thing with the kid—dead end. She was adopted. That envoy went on record saying it was his granddaughter and that Halifax had married his daughter and adopted her daughter.”
“Oh, too bad.” That must have been good for some sympathy points: distraught grandfather being interviewed about his beloved granddaughter. Richard felt a momentary surge of anger and sadness as he recalled Joanna’s smiling face, as what they had done to her flashed through his mind. It was, unfortunately, not a propaganda stunt.
“Married!” Karl harrumphed.
“Huh?” Richard asked, momentarily confused.
“Married! What’s he doing getting married? He’s a criminal. Criminal blood. All we need is that sort breeding their filth into society. Married! What a pervert!”
“Yes, yes,” Richard agreed tiredly. “So what are you going to do about the photograph?”
“It’s all your fault! You told me to say it was all faked!”
“Ah, yes. Well, I thought we were just working off your inspiration, but if I’ve led you astray, let me see if there is anything I can suggest.” He paused and bowed his head, deep in thought. Karl waited impatiently.
Karl really did not have any ideas, that was clear. He apparently had not even noticed that Peter’s papers, though genuine, had been touched up to include adoptive parents so that it would all be consistent with what he had said on television. So, Karl was clueless; with that knowledge, Richard felt safe jumping a few steps and suggesting, “All right, admit that you knew him. So we have a different system from theirs. That does not make it wrong. They must learn to appreciate our culture; our culture is different, but that does not make it wrong. Diversity, they used to call it; or cross-culturalism.” Richard waved his hand in genuine annoyance at his lack of memory. “Or was it anti-culturalimperialism? Oh, something like that. Anyway, they’re wrong to judge us so harshly. Yes, you, er, ‘owned’ this Peter Halifax, but it was only part of an employment system which they do not fully understand. Workfare—I think that’s what they call it.”
“Workfare?” Karl fumbled in his pocket for a notebook and pen.
“Yes.” Richard handed Karl what he needed, spelled the word, and gave him a translation. “Tell them he was an asocial, homeless. He needed a place in society, a job, a skill. You provided all these things and a home as well. He might have called it slavery, but it was nothing more than providing useful employment to someone who would otherwise have been a drain on the system. Emphasize that it was for his own good. That there was no brutality, that it was an education for him. No violence.” Richard’s voice took on a patronizing air. “None of these negatives that he emphasized in his presentation. Just good, healthy work. Yes, yes, it had a bit of coercion, but they have chain gangs in some of the American states. They understand that sometimes a bit of coercion, a bit of discipline, is necessary. Still, it was all an education. Not brutal, not violent, just organized, disciplined. Not slavery at all. An apprenticeship. A work-release program. That’s all.”
Karl was delighted with the suggestion. Together he and Richard put together a presentation that would, in Karl’s mind, emphasize the advantages of their system. Richard was careful to include everything and anything that an American might find repugnant. He inserted the word independent as an insult wherever possible, he threw in racism, sexism, anti-Semitism, and every negative prejudice he could invent. He even managed to insult the Nazi sympathizers in America by referring to them as “little brethren” and implying they needed guidance from their superiors overseas. He emphasized time and again that there was no brutality, that Karl was essentially a philanthropist, a nice guy who had provided a poor, antisocial outcast with a place in society. Richard gave the whole tone of the presentation an obnoxious, arrogant, and patronizing air. He insisted Karl make a personal appearance, that he arrange a press conference in some neutral third country. That would give the entire affair far more import than it would otherwise gain. He timed it all for one week before the election. Two days to percolate and then the countermeasuresand the release of that most damning series of photographs. There would be no time for a response. It would work wonderfully!
Both finished their complicated work ecstatic with the result. Both had their reasons for being happy, and Richard could smile at Karl with genuine pleasure as he sent him on his way to carry out his task as spokesman for the Reich and the National Socialist agenda. Let the Americans hear it the way it really was! Let Karl speak the truth!
Karl’s press
conference went as might be expected. It gained a reasonable amount of coverage simply because of the novelty value. Richard had made a point of choosing a suitably warm and sunny resort island not far from America; cheap to get there, a nice little break from the beginning of November with all its miserable wet and cold. The reporters were falling over themselves to cover it.
At first Karl had difficulty getting the Propaganda Ministry to agree to the trip and the press conference, but Richard armed him with persuasive arguments and had him point out that several ministry officials would probably need to accompany him on the jaunt, and suddenly all was possible.
Karl returned tanned and gloating. “Idiot Americans never knew how to reserve a place for themselves by the pool!” He laughed. “I mean, once you got used to the fact that there were no reserved places, all you had to do was have the maid drop your towel on a lounge chair first thing in the morning, and it was there waiting for you after breakfast!”
“Ah, how clever of you to do that,” Richard commented agreeably.
“Yes, but it was inconvenient getting the hotel staff to do my bidding. I don’t know why you insisted I not take my own servant along.”
“Maybe you should have.” Richard and Kasia had debated the merits of that. Should he let Karl blow everything all at once, or were they better off letting out the information slowly? To influence the elections, probably the former, but the elections were pretty much guaranteed already. The Republicans had completely backed away from isolationism, and both parties now emphasized the importance of keeping their age-old commitments to their defeated allies.
What Richard was pursuing now, more than election results, was funding. The newly elected Congress would be voting on appropriations; the American public would be asked yet again to donate personally. A steady stream of uncomfortable revelations would better suit these purposes, and in that case it had been decided that Karl should not take his servant with him to the press conference.
So he went alone and was forced to deal with the services provided by the hotel staff. Even so, the American reporters were not unaware of the arrogant and demanding nature of the speaker. Was it typical? No one could be sure, and it did not really matter; it was enough that he annoyed the hell out of them. They took their quiet media revenge with their unbiased reports carried in certain tones of voice, using well-chosen words, emphasizing particular events and illustrated-from bad camera angles. It was, of course, all unbiased; they were reporters just reporting the facts.
Karl rubbed his hands with glee at his performance. His bosses were wellsatisfied with his defense of the Reich, and the American public shuddered at being tutored like ignorant schoolchildren by a pompous and unattractive bureaucrat. Still, some with open minds considered his words and wondered, if it is just a training scheme, if it is just a cultural difference, have we been too judgmental?
Alex waited the several days until this opinion emerged in the news and discussion groups, and then he released the three-photograph sequence. The press didn’t hesitate this time: the negatives were accepted from their mysterious source immediately, and the photographs appeared everywhere. There was an explosion of anger as those who had disliked Karl and had trusted Peter’s story suddenly had proof positive of their intuition. The man was not only pompous and arrogant, he was brutal and a proven liar. Nothing he said could be trusted, nothing in the Halifax story had been disproved. In fact, the poor fellow had been rather soft-spoken about all he had endured. And now he was almost certainly dead, brutally tortured to death after witnessing the vicious murder of his beloved daughter. All because he had dared speak the truth.
In the last days before the election the politicians fell over themselves trying to get to the nearest microphone to denounce the Reich and its policies toward its subject peoples. They vowed funding, they vowed support. The resounding silence from across the sea that greeted their denunciations only further convinced the Americans of the justice of their words. For once, as rarely happened, the truth had gained the upper hand in the propaganda stakes.
33
RICHARD CAME INTO THE OFFICE on Monday morning and waited for Karl’s inevitable arrival. Richard had taken Saturday off as a sick day just to prolong his response and to see what Karl might do on his own. The answer was nothing— Karl waited for his adviser. The U.S. elections were to be held on the morrow, and Karl dutifully panicked when Richard casually mentioned this.
“You mean, they have an election tomorrow?” Karl yammered unhappily.
“Yes, remember I told you about them before.” Richard removed his cigarette and coughed.
“But are they important? I mean, the outcome is fixed, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Richard responded truthfully. He had never ceased to be amazed at the reports that the American elections were free and fair. Certainly money and other influences played their roles, but apparently news reports and photographs could also affect the results. The past months had proven that, andit had gone some way toward removing his own doubts about democracy. “Everyone claims it isn’t fixed, but maybe they’re just very clever about it. In any case, they seem sufficiently clever that they are forced to bend to public opinion.”
“Well, with this current disaster, that means . . .” Karl paused, unsure what it meant.
“What current disaster?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Karl was stunned.
“No, I’ve been sick. What’s happened?”
“Oh, it’s terrible. After that little speech I gave emphasizing no brutality and all, well, there’s been another leak. A set of photos of me and him.”
“So, you’ve admitted he worked for you. Big deal.”
“But I’m kicking him.”
“Kicking?” Richard asked as if he must have misheard.
“Yes. He was on the ground and I kicked him in the face. Somebody caught it on film.”
“You kicked him in the face?” Richard did not hide his contempt.
“Yes,” Karl responded timidly.
“While he was on the ground?”
“Yes.” Karl’s voice was even quieter.
“What did you do that for?” Richard asked with sarcastic patience.
“I don’t know. Discipline?” Karl ventured. He gained steam and asserted, “It’s reasonable, you know, we are their superiors, after all. I had the right!”
“You kicked a man in the face when he was lying on the ground?”
“Yes, I guess I must have. I’m sure he turned his head—he was good at dodging. Anyway, I’m sure it wasn’t very hard, just, you know, letting him know who was boss,” Karl whined.
“You kicked him in the face,” Richard repeated yet again. “What had he done?”
“I don’t remember. I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as it looks. It looks worse in the photographs. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Anything can look unreasonable if you splash it on hundreds of newspapers.”
“Is he threatening you or disobeying you, at least?”
“Not obviously,” Karl admitted ruefully. “He probably said something disrespectful or gave me one of his goddamned stupid looks.”
“Go get me a copy of what the Americans have seen,” Richard ordered. Karl was so distraught that he obeyed immediately, not even upset by the command in Richard’s voice.
Once he was out of Richard’s office though, his confidence returned. He even felt slightly angry. He did have the right! Everyone had said so. Halifax had not complained, had not even reacted really. Just rolled and ducked, as Karl knew he would. His foot had hardly grazed his face. Besides, what if it had? He had the right to mete out punishment, he had the responsibility to maintain order. Nobody thought about him, about the great responsibility he carried withrespect to his family and his chattel. If things fell apart, he was held responsible! He was expected to keep order, it was his job, and without discipline, where would they be? Let an inappropriate comment or a sly look pass unpunished, and next would be chaos! What was this? Were
they getting soft? Were they becoming American? Why in God’s name should he have to defend an action that was legal and moral?
When he got to his office, he found another press release on his desk. It had been left there without comment by someone from Censorship. They must have picked it up off the American wire and decided he should see it. It was yet another photograph of him and Peter. Damn that man! Karl looked at the picture. Outside again, Peter was listening to him with that vacuous expression he so often used. It had irritated the hell out of Karl. He could tell that Peter was hardly listening! His face was terribly beaten, and Karl guessed it must have been shortly after he had discovered Peter talking to Ulrike. Now the American public should know about that! What would they think if they knew why Peter had been hit? Didn’t they worry about their daughters? Didn’t they care if their children heard lies from their servants? How did they keep their inferiors under control? Certainly they would understand.
He picked up the photo and took it along with the three-photograph sequence to Richard’s office. This time Karl would be the one with the ideas. Richard had got it all wrong. This time Karl would tell them exactly what was going on and they would understand!
Richard looked at the photographs that Karl had brought him. “I don’t know,” he muttered, “I just don’t know.”
“You’re the one who got me into this mess!” Karl fumed.
“I had no idea you had, er, meted out discipline quite so, er, efficiently. Why didn’t you tell me when we were working on your response last time?”
“I thought you knew. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with what I did.”
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