The car stopped before a great red brick building in the Alexanderplatz, and Lanny was escorted inside. Steel doors clanged behind him—a sound which he had heard in the building of the Sûreté Générate in Paris and found intensely disagreeable. He was escorted down a bare stone-paved corridor, with more doors opening and clanging, until he found himself in a small room with one steel-barred window, a table, and three chairs. “Bitte, setzen Sie sich,” said the Oberleutnant. The chair which Lanny took faced the door, and he sat, wondering: “Will they have shaved his head and put him in stripes? Will he have any marks on him?”
He had none; that is, unless you counted spiritual marks. He was wearing the brown business suit in which he had set out for his yacht; but he needed a bath and a shave, and came into the room as if he might be on the way to a firing-squad. When he saw his daughter-in-law’s half-brother sitting quietly in a chair, he started visibly, and then pulled himself together, pressing his lips tightly, as if he didn’t want Lanny to see them trembling. In short, he was a thoroughly cowed Jew; his manner resembled that of an animal which had been mistreated—not a fighting animal, but a tame domestic one.
“Setzen Sie sich; Herr Robin,” ordered the Oberleutnant. On Lanny’s account he would be polite, even to a Missgeburt. Johannes took the third chair. “Bitte, sprechen Sie Deutsch,” added the officer, to Lanny.
Two S.S. men had followed the prisoner into the room; they closed the door behind them and took post in front of it. As Lanny was placed he couldn’t help seeing them, even while absorbed in conversation. Those two lads in shining black boots and black and silver uniforms with skull and crossbones insignia stood like two monuments of Prussian militarism; their forms rigid, their chests thrust out, their guts sucked in—Lanny had learned the phrase from his ex-sergeant friend Jerry Pendleton. Their hands did not hang by their sides, but were pressed with palms open and fingers close together, tightly against their thighs and held there as if glued. Not the faintest trace of expression on the faces, not the slightest motion of the eyes; apparently each man picked out a spot on the wall and stared at it continuously for a quarter of an hour. Did they do this because they were in the presence of an officer, or in order to impress a foreigner—or just because they had been trained to do it and not think about it?
“Johannes,” said Lanny, speaking German, as requested, “Irma and I came as soon as we heard about your trouble. All the members of your family are safe and well.”
“Gott sei Dank!” murmured the prisoner. He was holding onto the chair in which he had seated himself, and when he had spoken he pressed his lips together again. For the first time in his life Johannes Robin seemed an old man; he was sixty, but had never shown even that much.
“The situation is a serious one, Johannes, but it can be settled for money, and you and your family are to be allowed to go to France with us.”
“I don’t mind about the money,” said the Jew, quickly. He had fixed his eyes on Lanny’s face and never took them away. He seemed to be asking: “Am I to believe what you tell me?” Lanny kept nodding, as if to say: “Yes, this is real, this is not a dream.”
“The charge against you is that you tried to carry money out of the country on your yacht.”
“Aber, Lanny!” exclaimed the prisoner, starting forward in his chair. “I had a permit for every mark that I took!”
“Where did you put the permit?”
“It was in my pocket when I was arrested.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Absolutely. I would have been mad to try to carry money out of Germany without it.”
Lanny was not too much surprised by this. “We have to assume that some malicious person destroyed the paper, Johannes.”
“Yes, but there will be a record of it in the office of the Exchange Control Authority.”
“I have been told on the best possible authority that no such record exists. I am afraid we shall have to assume that some mistake has been made, and that you had no valid permit.”
Johannes’s eyes darted for the fraction of a second toward the S.S. officer. Then he said, as humbly as any moneylender in a medieval dungeon: “Yes, Lanny, of course. It must be so.”
“That makes a very serious offense, and the punishment, I fear, would be more than your health could stand. The only alternative is for you to part with your money. All of it.”
Lanny was prepared for some anguish, some kind of Shylock scene. “Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!” But Johannes sank back in his chair and resumed his dull tone. “I have been expecting that, Lanny. It is all right.”
The man’s aspect and manner revealed even more than his words. Lanny knew how he loved his money; how hard he had worked for it, how many plans he had for the use of it. But here he was kissing it good-by, as casually as if he had been a darling of fortune whose interest was dancing, playing the piano, and listening to parlor Pinks discussing the expropriation of the expropriators!
What had happened to him to produce such a change? Had he been worked over with rubber hose, which leaves few marks? Had he seen his fellow Jews being compelled to lash one another’s faces with whips? Had he lain awake all night listening to the screams of men with camphor injected in their urinary ducts? Something of the sort must have happened.
IX
The visitor had to leave no uncertainty in his friend’s mind. He had to be as implacable as Minister-Präsident Göring himself. He said: “It means everything you have, Johannes—both here and abroad.”
“I understand.”
“They have had a man in your office and have all the records.”
“I had become aware of that.”
“I have gone into the situation carefully, and I’m afraid you will have to give up.”
“If they will really let me go, and my family, they may have everything.”
“I have the word of Minister-Präsident Göring, and I believe that he means what he says. He has explained in the clearest language that he has no interest in you or yours, and will be glad to be rid of you.”
“I am sure that Minister-Präsident Göring is a man of honor, and I accept his promise.”
“He wants your money to use for the upbuilding of National Socialism. From his point of view that is, of course, a worthy purpose.”
“The money would be of no use to me in this place.”
“Exactly, Johannes. We can go abroad and you and Robbie can start business again. Irma will back you.”
“Thank you, Lanny. I’ll get along, I am sure.”
“I have had to agree, and you have to agree, not to say a word about the case to anybody. We’ll just get out and forget it.”
“God knows I don’t want to talk about it, Lanny. What good would that do me?”
“All right, then. Papers will be brought for you to sign.”
“I will sign them.”
“Some papers must go to New York, you know. It should take a week or two. Irma and I will wait here, and take you and the others out with us.”
“I will never be able to express my gratitude, Lanny.”
“Don’t waste any energy on that. All we want is to have the family with us on the Riviera. We can have a good time without so much money. Are you being treated reasonably well?”
“I have no complaint.”
“Is there anything I could send you—assuming I can get permission?”
“I have everything I need—everything unless perhaps some red ink.”
Johannes said this without the flicker of an eyelash; and Lanny answered, without change of tone or expression: “I will see if it is possible to get some.”
Rote Tinte! “Oh, the clever rascal!” Lanny thought. “His mind works like greased lightning.” Johannes could sit there in the presence of a Schutzstaffel officer and two privates, and with all this pressure of terror and grief upon him—in the midst of having to make the most fateful decision of his life—he could think up a way to tell Lanny what he wished him to know, and without the sligh
test chance of his enemies’ guessing what he had said!
For fifteen years Lanny and his old friend had been watching the experiment in the Soviet Union and arguing about it. Johannes, taking the negative, had delighted himself by collecting ironical stories, to be repeated to the credulous Lanny, and over Lanny’s shoulder to Johannes’s two misguided sons. One such story had to do with two German business men, one of whom was going to make a trip into the proletarian paradise, and promised his friend to write a full account of what he found there. “But,” objected the friend, “you won’t dare to write the truth if it’s unfavorable.” The other replied: “We’ll fix it this way. I’ll write you everything is fine, and if I write it in black ink it’s true, and if in red ink the opposite is true.” So he went, and in due course his friend received a letter in black ink, detailing the wonders of the proletarian paradise. “Everybody is happy, everybody is free, the markets are full of food, the shops well stocked with goods—in fact there is only one thing I cannot find, and that is red ink.”
While Lanny and the Oberleutnant were driving to the hotel, the latter inquired: “What does he want red ink for?”
Lanny, who wasn’t slow-minded himself, explained: “He keeps a diary, and writes it in red ink to keep it separate from his other papers.”
The officer replied: “One cannot keep a diary in prison. They will surely take it away from him.”
X
It was the Oberleutnant’s duty to report to his superior, and meanwhile Lanny had to wait. He was deposited at his hotel a few minutes before two o’clock, and called his wife and told her: “I have seen our friend and he is all right. I think matters can be arranged. Take your time.” To his mother, his father, and Rick he sent telegrams. “Have seen our friend. Believe matters arranged.” He decided against using code names; if the Gestapo was interested, let them know what he was saying, and to whom. He called Heinrich and reported: “I think that matters are being arranged, and I am grateful for the help of yourself and your friends. I have been asked to keep the matter confidential, so I cannot say any more.” That was satisfactory to a perfect young bureaucrat.
The afternoon papers contained the story of the arrest of Johannes Robin, made public by the Prussian government. Eighty million Germans, minus the infants and a few malcontents, would learn that a Jewish Schieber had been caught trying to smuggle money out of the country on his yacht. Eighty million Germans, minus the infants and malcontents, would continue every day to believe statements issued on official authority, which statements would be carefully contrived fiction. It was a new kind of world to be living in, and for the present Lanny had but one desire, to get out of it.
Irma came home in the middle of the afternoon and he took her for a drive. He didn’t feel in any way bound by promises made to a bandit, so he told her the story, adding: “If you drop a hint of it to anybody here it may cost Johannes and his family their lives.” Irma listened in wide-eyed horror. It was like the things you read about the Borgias. He answered that there was nothing in history to compare it to, because never before had barbarians commanded the resources of modern science.
“Do you suppose Göring is taking that money for himself?” she asked.
“It’s all the same thing,” he told her. “Göring is Germany, and Germany will be Göring, whether it wishes to or not. The Nazis will spend everything the Germans have.”
“But the money abroad! What will he do about that?”
“They have a network of agents in other countries, and doubtless they will have more. Also, if things should go wrong, and Göring has to take a plane some day, it will be nice to have a nest-egg, and be able to spend a comfortable old age in Paris or Buenos Aires.”
“What perfect agony it must be to Johannes to turn all that money loose! My father would have died first!”
“Your father wouldn’t have got into this position. Johannes was too trusting. He thought he could handle matters by diplomacy; but these fellows have knocked over the conference table. They have the advantage that nobody can realize how bad they are. If you and I were to go to Paris or London tomorrow and tell this story, the Nazis would call us liars and nine people out of ten would believe them.”
XI
They went back to the hotel, expecting Freddi to call. But he didn’t, and in the evening Colonel Emil Meissner came to dinner. He had read about the Robin case, and it did not occur to him to doubt his government’s word. He said there had been a great deal of graft and favoritism under the Republic, but now, apparently, the laws were going to be enforced against rich as well as poor. This tall, severe-looking Prussian officer expressed polite regret that such misfortune should have fallen upon a relative of Lanny’s. The host contented himself with replying that he had reason to hope matters would soon be straightened out, and that he had been asked to consider it confidential. Emil accepted this just as Heinrich had; all good Germans would accept it.
Emil talked freely about the new Regierung. He had despised the Republic, but had obeyed its orders because that was the duty of an army officer. Now Adolf Hitler had become his Commander-in-chief, and it was necessary to obey him, however one might privately dislike his manners. But Emil was sure that the stories of abuse of power had been greatly exaggerated, and for malicious purposes. There were bound to be excesses in any governmental overturn; the essential thing was that Germany had been saved from the clutches of the Reds, and every civilized person owed the new Chancellor a debt of gratitude for that. Lanny indulged in no Pink arguments, but said that he and his wife had been greatly impressed by what they had found in the country.
They waited late for a call from Freddi, but none came, and they went to bed speculating about it. Doubtless he was avoiding risks, and perhaps also afraid of bothering them; but it was too bad they couldn’t give him the news which would so greatly relieve his mind. Lanny was prepared to state that he had come upon a wonderful Bouguereau!
Morning came, and the papers had editorials about the case of the Jewish Schieber; in Hitlerland all news stories were editorials, and were full of rancid hatred and venomous threats. At last the sneaking traitors were feeling the stern hand of the law; at last the vile Semitic parasites were being shaken from the fair body of Germania! Der Angriff was especially exultant. Here was proof to all the world that National Socialism meant what it said, that the stealthy influence of the Jewish plutocracy was no longer to rule the Fatherland! Lanny translated the words, which really seemed insane in their virulence. “Mr. Mouth doesn’t sound so pleasant in print,” he remarked.
Breakfast, and still no call from Freddi. They didn’t like to go out until they had heard from him. Irma had her hair dressed and got a manicure; Lanny read a little, wrote a few notes, roamed about, and worried. They had a luncheon engagement at the Berlin home of General Graf Stubendorf, and they had to go. Irma said: “Clarinet can call again; or he can drop us a note.”
Driving to the palace, they were free to discuss the various possibilities. Göring might have had Freddi arrested; or the Brownshirts might have picked him up, without Göring’s knowing anything about it. Freddi was a Jew and a Socialist, and either was enough. Irma suggested: “Mightn’t it be that Göring wants to keep the whole family in his hands until he’s ready to put them out?”
“Anything is possible,” said Lanny; “except that I can’t imagine Freddi delaying this long to call us if he is free.”
It rather spoiled their lunch. To tell the truth it wasn’t an especially good lunch, or very good company—unless it was enough for you to know that you were the guest of a high-up Junker. The General Graf’s attitude was the same as Emil’s; he was a cog in the Reichswehr machine, and he obeyed orders. His special concern was getting his home district out of the clutches of the Poles; he knew that Lanny sympathized with this aim, but even so, he could talk about it only guardedly, for the Chancellor had given the cue by a pacific speech, so it was the duty of good Germans to let the subject of boundary lines rest and to concentr
ate on the right of the Fatherland to equality of armaments. Having expressed regret over the plight of Lanny’s Jewish relative, the General Graf Stubendorf talked about other friends, and about the condition of his crops and the market for them, and what did Lanny’s father think about the prospects for world recovery?
Lanny answered with one part of his mind, while the other part was thinking: “I wonder if Freddi is calling now!”
But Freddi wasn’t calling.
19
No Peace in Zion
I
When Mr. and Mrs. Irma Barnes had visited Berlin a year previously, they had been the darlings of the smart set, and all the important people had been glad to entertain them. But now the social weather had changed; a thunderstorm was raging, and nobody could be sure where the lightning might strike. The story of Johannes Robin was known to the whole town; and who could guess what confessions he might have made, or what might have been found in his papers? Many persons have dealings with moneylenders which they don’t care to have become known. Many have affairs of various sorts which they prefer not to have looked into by the Secret State Police, and they carefully avoid anyone who might be under surveillance by that dreaded body.
Moreover, Irma and Lanny were worried, and when you are worried you are not very good company. Another day passed, and another, and they became certain that something terrible must have happened to Freddi. Of course he might have been knocked down by a truck, or slugged and robbed by one of the inmates of an Asyl für Obdachlose who suspected that he had money. But far more likely was the chance that a Jew and Socialist had fallen into the clutches of the Brown Terror. Their problem was, did Göring know about it, and if so was it a breach of faith, or merely a precaution against a breach of faith on their part? Would Göring be content to keep his hostage until the bargain was completed? Or was Freddi to remain in durance for a long time?
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