by David Lodge
– Boy! Vince murmured from somewhere at the back, I never get tired of that. Timothy remembered him quoting in the Mercedes on the way to Baden, We shall drag a world with us, a world in flames.
The spectacle lasted for about ten minutes before the red glow began to fade, and the castle slowly melted back into the blackness of the night. Then, to a great gasp from the crowd, the Old Bridge burst into view, its twin towers, arches and parapet outlined in molten gold and silver that cascaded into the dark river and sent reflections bouncing and spinning like new coin across the surface of the water. And as that display spent itself, a tremendous rocket barrage began in the valley beyond the bridge. The rockets illuminated the whole town as they burst, scattering their seeds of fire, jewel-coloured stars that exploded again and again, throwing out new galaxies of colour as their predecessors faded. Each cluster of rockets seemed to outdo the previous one in splendour. The valley boomed and echoed with thunderous explosions. You felt it could not go on, and yet you willed it to go on, to go on surpassing itself. And when the obvious climax came, when a great necklace of diamonds, rubies and sapphires was thrown across the throat of the valley, and hung there in exquisite symmetry for a few fragile seconds, and then slowly, poignantly, began to waver, to melt, to disintegrate, to fall, and fell, and went out, star by star, leaving the dark backcloth still and vacant, the spectators could not resign themselves to its being the end, but waited in suspense until the streetlights came on again. Then there was a great collective sigh of mingled satisfaction and regret, and bursts of clapping and cheers, and the crowds began to break up and disperse, cars started their engines, and the boats on the river began to churn the water. On the balcony they stirred, and shuffled round to go back into the room.
– Well, said Kate to Timothy, what did you –
Her question was cut short by a woman’s piercing scream from in front of them. The people in between swayed back, forcing himself and Kate dangerously against the balustrade, then lurched forward again, and they all tumbled into the room. It was obvious what had provoked the scream, and Timothy himself experienced a momentary shock of fear when he saw, standing quite still, in the far corner of the room, with his back towards them, hands clasped behind his back, his sinister shadow thrown on the wall by the dim red lamp, a German Army officer in the unmistakable uniform of the Second World War – the long, full-skirted topcoat, the high-crowned peaked cap, the black, shiny jackboots.
– What the hell? Mel blurted out.
Vince wheeled on them, clicked his heels and shot out his arm.
– Heil Hitler!
Then he lowered his arm until it was merely pointing a derisive finger at them, and sweeping it round in an arc, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
The guests responded variously. Some were amused, some pretended amusement, and a few were openly disapproving. Kate was among the latter.
– I don’t think that was very funny, Vince, she said. You’ve upset Maria.
Maria was crouched in an armchair, with her head in her hands, trembling.
– Oh Maria, you’re not really upset? Vince cajoled. It was just a joke.
Maria looked up and smiled weakly, shaking her head.
– It may be a joke to you, said Kate, but Maria has reason to be afraid of that uniform.
Timothy remembered her telling him that Maria had been in Holland under the Nazi occupation. Kate looked at her for support, but Maria was, as usual, too humble to say anything.
– I’m sorry, Maria, said Vince. I apologize. Is that all right? Am I forgiven?
Maria nodded.
– What you need is a drink.
– She’s not the only one, said Dot, feelingly.
There was a general rush to the bar. Greg slipped a record onto the turntable and began to roll up the carpet.
– First dance, Kate? he called.
She shook her head.
– No, Greg, not just now.
– Here, said Vince, coming up with a drink for Maria, and another which he pressed on the reluctant Kate.
– Say, Vince, that was a helluva trick you played on us, Mel said. You must have cut off while we were watching the rockets.
– That’s right. Vince winked at Timothy. Did I scare you, kid?
– Just a bit.
Dot joined them.
– Where’d you get the togs, Vince?
– Oh, here and there.
– I hope you’ve had ’em cleaned. You don’t know where they’ve been, as they say. She giggled.
– Sure, but they couldn’t get rid of the bloodstains, see? This was where the guy got hit.
They crowded round to see the bullet hole in the chest, slightly frayed around the edge, and the brownish stains of old blood. Encouraged by their interest, Vince opened up his entire collection of Nazi souvenirs, which proved astonishingly extensive – uniforms, hats, helmets, belts, boots, weapons and badges and medals, dragging them out of drawers and cupboards, and spreading them over the floor of the main room. The guests handled them with a mixture of repulsion and fascination; and then, on a sudden whim, a few began trying on the clothing themselves. In the tipsy, excited mood of the party, nerves still tingling from the power of the fireworks and the shock of Vince’s tableau, the idea of dressing up caught on rapidly, and soon they were all scrambling hilariously among the clothes and objects, struggling into various items of uniform and equipment, posing before mirrors, strutting about and clicking their heels and giving each other the Nazi salute. Greg was urging them on with spluttering announcements delivered through an old tin megaphone: Achtung! Achtung! Until further notice the National Socialist Party will be known as the National Socialist Cocktail Party! One of the girls was wrapped in a swastika flag and acclaimed Miss Gestapo. Dot was going around holding out an Iron Cross.
– Decorate me, she invited Timothy.
Sheepishly, he obeyed. Kate had pointedly turned her back on the charade, and was talking to Maria. He heard her asking the Dutch girl if she would like to leave, and hoped that this wouldn’t mean he would be packed off to bed. Though he had no wish to take part in the masquerade, which struck him as being, in a queer way, almost blasphemous, it held him with a morbid fascination. In the dim red light of the lamp, which might have been the reflected glow of the castle burning on the other side of the valley, the spectacle had an eerie and almost frightening reality. Although the faces beneath the death’s head cap-badges were foolishly grinning, and the swastika armbands were tied on the sleeves of cocktail dresses, and the creased tunics were buttoned over jazzy silk ties, the incongruity did not make these grim relics entirely absurd. Like children meddling naughtily with old spells, the guests had conjured an element of genuine evil in the room.
Mel came over to Timothy, fondling an automatic pistol.
– Take a look at this, kid.
It was so unexpectedly heavy that he nearly dropped it. Kate snatched it from his hand.
– Give that to me! You’re a fool, Mel, how d’you know it’s not loaded?
– It’s not loaded, relax. None of the weapons is loaded, Vince said, as he came up to them. He took the pistol from Kate. He was still wearing his long overcoat, though his forehead was beaded with perspiration.
– Vince, can I take Timothy to your bedroom, please?
– You’re not sending the kid to bed already?
– I’m taking Maria home, and I want to see that he’s in bed before I leave.
– I don’t have to go straightaway, said Maria anxiously.
Kate looked vexed.
– Timothy ought to go to bed anyway, he has a long journey ahead of him tomorrow. And I want to leave myself.
– Oh, come on, Kate! You can’t go just when the party’s beginning to swing. Get with it, baby! Have another drink. You’ve gone all serious on us. You’ve been seeing too much of that Commie schoolteacher.
Kate’s face was red, angry.
– Vince, I believe you did report him after
all.
– What are you talking about? Do you know what she’s talking about, Greg?
– Nope, but she looks adorable when she’s mad, doesn’t she? Come on, honey, let’s tango.
Greg put his arm round her waist, but she pushed him away, almost violently.
– I wouldn’t dance with that . . . rabble. It’s disgusting. She turned to Mel. I’m surprised at you, Mel, why don’t you make them stop it?
She looked upset, almost hysterical. Mel looked merely embarrassed.
– Aw, come on, Kate, you know it’s just for laughs. We have to be so goddam tactful with the Krauts these days, it’s a relief to let go once in a while.
– It does look pretty wild, doesn’t it? Vince murmured, surveying the dance floor with a certain awe. Packed close together in the dim red light, sweating in their hats and helmets and uniforms, the dancers heaved and jostled, swaying to the music, some laughing and chattering, others almost asleep, propping each other up.
– I’m going to have one more cigarette, Kate declared, then Timothy’s going to bed and I’m going home.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she extracted the cigarette from her case. Vince supplied her with a light from his Ronson, without appearing to take his eyes from the dancers.
– You know what, he mused, it must have been like this the night Adolf shot himself in the Berlin bunker.
– Not as merry as this, surely? said Mel.
– That’s what you might think, but there’s a strange story about that night, perhaps the strangest Hitler story of all. (He paused to take a swig from his glass.) Of course, they were all out of their minds by then. Most of them had been living underground for days. The Russians were closing in, shells were falling in the Chancellery garden, the whole of Berlin was in flames, Adolf was throwing fits every hour, on the hour. Then there was the wedding with Eva.
Kate stubbed out her cigarette, only half-smoked.
– Come on, Timothy.
– Wait a minute, Kate. I’m telling the kid a story here. It’s a history lesson.
– Yeah, hold it, Kate, said Mel. This is interesting. So he married Eva Braun, yeah?
– So he married Eva Braun and . . . d’you know the name of the guy who married them?
– Wagner, said Timothy.
– Right! You remembered. Vince grinned at him. You’re a smart kid, Timothy. You don’t forget things. You won’t forget tonight in a hurry, huh?
– Vince, said Kate impatiently.
– O.K., O.K. So Adolf and Eva got hooked, and they had a wedding breakfast, with champagne and all, but that was something of a flop, not surprisingly, since the happy couple had declared their intention of shooting themselves within the next twenty-four hours. That kind of puts a damper on a wedding. Adolf didn’t even go to bed with his bride. He spent the night composing his last will and testament. Next day the news arrives that Mussolini and his mistress have been shot by partisans and strung up by their heels. That must have made up Adolf’s mind, if he was still hesitating. He had his dog, Blondi, poisoned. He handed poison capsules to his two secretaries, to save themselves from the Russians. Then he sent word that nobody was to go to bed until further orders. Some time after midnight, they were all summoned to the dining-room, and he walked down the line, shaking hands with the women, and mumbling something that nobody could hear, not looking at them, looking far away. . .
Vince’s own eyes seemed to be looking far way. His listeners, even Kate, were quiet, attentive, still, anxious not to miss his words against the noise of the dancing.
– Then a strange thing happened. They all knew that this was Hitler’s farewell, that he was going to kill himself, and remember that most of these people were devoted to him. Most of them had volunteered to stay with him in the Bunker until the end. But d’you know what they did? Afterwards, after he’d gone back into his room? They went to the canteen and they had a party. A party! They danced. Danced! They made so much noise that Hitler sent a message asking them to be quiet. But they went on dancing. Can you imagine? With the Russians half a mile away, Berlin about to fall, what was left of it, and knowing that they’d be dead themselves soon if they didn’t get the hell out . . . they danced.
He stopped, and took another sip of his drink.
– And what was Hitler doing? Timothy asked
– Who knows? said Vince, abstractedly. Perhaps he was waiting, with his finger on the trigger . . . Vince raised the automatic and looked into the barrel. Perhaps he was hoping for a miracle, a miracle that didn’t come. So . . .
Vince put the barrel to his head and squeezed the trigger.
– Bang! said someone from behind, and they all jumped.
– Jesus Christ! said Mel.
– Don! Kate exclaimed.
– Well, well, said Vince, the Russians have arrived.
– The door was open, so I came in, said Don. He looked around the room. Fun and games.
– You missed the fireworks, Vince said.
– Yeah, I was at the hospital, visiting a friend of yours.
– Rudolf? How is the guy?
– Much better.
Vince nodded.
– Good, I feel kind of responsible. I’ll have to go round there tomorrow. I didn’t know he was allowed visitors.
– Tonight was the first time. Apart from the military. I gather he’s been seeing a lot of the military. He looked challengingly at Vince, who did not reply, but lit a cigarette. It’s my guess that you’re in deep trouble, Vernon.
Vince gave an odd, derisive snort.
– What would you know about the trouble I’m in?
Don looked at Kate.
– Are you and Timothy ready to leave?
– Yes, I’ll come, but Timothy’s staying here for the night.
Don stared.
– Staying here?
– Yes, Dolores turned up unexpectedly and –
– You must be out of your mind. Come on, let’s go. Don took Timothy’s arm.
– Now just a minute! Vince grabbed Timothy’s other arm. Who the hell do you think you are?
– Leave him alone, both of you!
Kate clutched at Timothy protectively, and for a moment he had the bewildered sense of being tugged and pulled between the three of them. He made no resistance, for he had no idea of what was going on, and nobody seemed to be taking any notice. Mel had shuffled off after Don’s arrival and the dancing was still continuing.
– I think I know what you are, Vernon, said Don. You get off on one-armed guys, do you?
Timothy felt Vince’s grip loosen on his sleeve and fall away.
– That Kraut . . . he said thickly.
– He didn’t say much, but I can read between the lines, said Don. Come on Kate, let’s get out of here. He bore them away.
– Kate! Vince called after them, low but urgently. She turned a white, frightened face towards him, but did not stop. Don, however, paused by the door. He stooped, and with a quick, violent movement, pulled an electric plug from its socket. The music died with a groan. He straightened up, and switched on the ceiling lights. The dancers staggered to a halt, and looked round bemusedly, blinking in the glare. The uniforms and equipment with which they were decked looked suddenly tawdry and unfrightening.
Epilogue
The motel was one of the pleasantest they had stayed at, built in a vaguely Spanish style on three sides of a courtyard, with a swimming pool on the fourth side. Their main room (it was a residential motel, designed for vacationers, and each unit comprised two rooms, shower and kitchenette) opened out on to a small terrace overhung with some kind of flowering vine. He sniffed its perfume appreciatively as he came out, a well-iced gin and tonic clinking in each hand, and lifted his face to the starlit sky and the black silhouettes of the palm trees. Shouts and splashes carried across the courtyard from a party of late bathers.
– Nice idea, he said, swimming in the dark. We must try it. It’s almost too hot in the day-time, even for swimming.
– You’ll have to watch the children’s feet on the concrete.
– Yes, they’ve got those rubber sandal things, but Michael won’t keep them on.
He put her drink down on a low table and sat down beside her. She was lying on a wicker chaise longue, her face in shadow.
– They’re gorgeous, the children.
– They’re not bad kids, really. They get a bit fractious in the car, but that’s not surprising.
– It certainly isn’t, considering the distance you’ve covered. I think they’re marvellous.
– We took it easy, mind you. About two hundred miles a day, maybe two-fifty.
– You’ve seen more of the States than I have in – what is it – fourteen years?
– I expect we’ve seen more than most native Americans, come to that. Thanks to the Fellowship.
– What a marvellous thing to have! And they gave you the car too? I suppose you have to be terribly brilliant to get it.
– And terribly lucky. They don’t have many applicants in my field, I think that was in my favour.
– I know you’ve explained to me what it is, in your letters, Timothy, but I can never quite . . .
– Environmental Studies. It’s a pretty new academic subject, actually. My own special line is urban renewal. I did my Ph.D. on planning blight.
He talked for a while about his research until her silence indicated to him that he had more than satisfied her curiosity. The problems of urban renewal were not, he reflected, likely to be of keen interest to someone living in a Californian desert resort, where nothing looked more than twenty years old except the residents.
– Isn’t Sheila coming outside? Kate asked.
– In a minute. She’s writing a letter to her mother.
– She’s a lovely girl, Timothy. You’re very lucky.
– Yes, I am.
– Of course, she is too. What are you grinning at?
– You sound just like Mum. When we told her we were getting engaged, she kept looking at Sheila as if she’d just won first prize in a raffle.
Kate chuckled in the shadows.
– You don’t know how good it is to see you, Timothy, you and your little family. I can’t believe you’re really here.