The Berlin Connection

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  I started.

  "How is she?"

  "Everything is fine. She's sleeping. She'll have to rest today but tomorrow she can work again. Sends her best regards."

  Suddenly the room spun, my hand went to my throat and I fell back on my bed. "Can't. . . can't breathe . .."

  "Where is the box?"

  "Under ... bed . .."

  He quickly locked the door, pulled out the box. Yellow box, chrome-plated steel, injection. Then peace, calm, serenity.

  I breathed deeply. Schauberg stowed away the box, unlocked the door. Not a moment too soon. Seaton's protege, the blond Hans, looked in, "We're ready to resume in five minutes, Mr. Jordan."

  "Rest another five minutes," said Schauberg, his smile benign. "Everything went off smoothly, dear Mr. Jordan."

  "Swear it!"

  "You know that I don't believe—"

  "If Shirley is not all right, if you are lying, I'll see to it that you'll never leave Germany, that you'll never get 2l chance of a new start, that you're going to rot here—^you understand?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Why are you so late?"

  "I ran out of gas right after I passed Hanover. I stood and waved for almost three hours before I got a lift to the next gas station." Hans looked in, "Mr. Jordan, are you ready now?" And was gone again.

  I got up. I felt reborn. Now I could take on another dozen such nights!

  "Schauberg, those injections are fantastic."

  "Are you telUng me?" He looked worried and held on to my arm. "Listen, dear Mr. Jordan, there is something wrong with your wife."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're paying me. So I'm on your side. I don't care about your wife. This afternoon we very nearly ran into some trouble..."

  Door open. Hans.

  "Mr. Jordan—"

  "Get out!" I yeUed. He did, offended. "What kind of trouble?"

  "Well, just as we were about to start the telephone rang. Your stepdaughter had left word not to be disturbed but some stupid bitch called anyway because it was the police."

  "The poUce?"

  "Yes, an inspector,"

  "Who talked to him?"

  "I did."

  "You?"

  "What else could I do? The girl was already anaesthetized. I said I was your chauffeur. Miss Bromfield could not answer the telephone since she was taking a bath."

  "And he believed that?"

  "Apparently. He really didn't want Miss Bromfield, he wanted to see her mother."

  "My wife?"

  "I told him she was staying at the Konigshof Hotel in Essen. He said he would call the police here and have them send someone to the hotel. Tomorrow morning. That is, this morning."

  "Did he say what they wanted my wife for?"

  "He was very pohte. It seems the German police don't want anything from her. But the American police seem to have asked the German authorities for help."

  This time it was Seaton who opened the door. "Peter, we're all waiting for you. You really must come now!"

  I left Schauberg and followed the director: Seaton gave me instructions, "Now in the next scene you are certain that Maria knows everything. You are panic-stricken, desperate, at the end of your rope. But you must pull yourself together. No one must know. No one. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "It's a difficult scene, T know."

  "It's quite easy," I said absent-mindedly. "You'll see."

  At eleven o'clock, after six hours of sleep, I was up again, breakfasting with Joan.

  "Shirley called an hour ago."

  "Anything special?"

  "No, just to see how we were. She said she had caught a cold and was resting in bed, reading."

  "Something interesting, I hope?"

  "Exodusr

  Now I felt relieved. Exodus was the word we had agreed on. If Shirley was reading Exodus everything had gone well and she was feeling all right.

  The telephone rang on the table behind me. I picked up the receiver.

  "This is the operator. I have a call for Mrs. Jordan."

  "AU right."

  "Just a moment please. I'll connect you with a phone booth."

  A man's voice. "Mrs. Jordan?"

  "This is Mrs. Jordan's husband.'*

  Joan caught her breath. "Who is it?"

  I motioned her to be quiet.

  The man asked, "Could I speak to your wife, Mr. Jordan?"

  "Who are you?"

  Joan had jumped up and hurried to me. She pressed her ear to the receiver.

  "I'm Inspector Munro. Hamburg asked us to talk with Mrs. Jordan. They had been asked by the Los Angeles police to help. It would be best if I could explain it to you personally. May I then—"

  Joan's lips quivered. She was deathly pale.

  "Come on up. Room five-eleven." I replaced the receiver.

  "He'll be here in two minutes," I said.

  Joan covered her face for a moment with both hands. Her eyes were enormous.

  "Now the time has come," she said.

  I said nothing.

  "Two detectives already came to see me in Pacific Palisades before I left for Hamburg."

  I remained silent.

  "Then they wrote to me ... to the hotel in Hamburg ... you saw the letter ... you looked for it ... I lied to you ... I told you it had been an invitation for a fashion show... You remember?"

  "I remember."

  "I was going to tell you everything right away! Right after arriving in Hamburg. I ... I was so upset .. . that's why I drank too much in the plane ... I didn't think I'd be brave enough to tell you ... and then I was tight and lost my courage altogether ..."

  One more minute and the inspector would be here. How odd that the final catastrophe should take place before another person, a witness, a stranger, this Mr. Munro.

  "And then . .. then I thought I'd forget all about it ... Hamburg is a long way from Los Angeles .. . but they sent that letter ... and now the inspector ... one cannot escape them!"

  No, one could not escape, I thought. Why did the authorities go to Joan, not to me or Shirley? Apparently they had not believed Gregory's statement that he was the father. Obviously they hoped to make me confess in this way.

  "Peter, you must forgive me!"

  "Forgive you?"

  "Yes. I've done something terrible ..."

  "What?"

  "You had already left for Europe ..." "I had already left for Europe ..." I repeated as if I had been hypnotized.

  "On Sunset Boulevard ... my foot slipped off the brake onto the gas pedal and I hit a car about to park. I think I did quite a lot of damage ... it was very late ... I had been drinking ... I came from a party at the Lexingtons' . . ."

  "Lexingtons'.. ."

  "And I was afraid of a blood test. So I drove away." Now she was crying. "On the next day the detectives came . . . They thought at first that you had driven the car but when they heard you were in Europe they asked me ... and I did the second stupid thing . . ." It was fantastic. It was unbelievable. But true. "I told the detectives the Cadillac had been stolen. I said I had only just noticed that it was missing and that I was just about to report it!" "I don't understand..."

  "Well, I abandoned the car after the collision . . ." "Where?"

  "In some street ... I only drove a little way and left the car. I ran and ran until I found a taxi ... I told you, I just lost my head ... I told the detectives the car had been stolen from the street in front of the house ..."

  "Yes, and?" That v/as all I could manage to say. I still did not have complete control over myself.

  "They believed me at first. They had already found the Cadillac and our fingerprints in it..." "What happened then?"

  "Nothing. Until they sent that letter . . . they wrote they had found paint chips and tire marks and some witnesses . . . and I don't know what else ... I was to go to the German police and make another statement . . . tell the truth . . . they were threatening hit-and-run charges ..."

  "Why didn't you go to the
German police?"

  "I thought it might be just a threat, a trap. I wrote them that I had nothing new to add ... I meant to tell you . . . later . . . but not while you were working . . . you are so nervous right now .. . and we never had anything to do with the police . . . they are going to take me to court... in Los Angeles where everybody knows us ..."

  There was a knock at the door. I opened it.

  A short, slight man, hat in one hand, a brief case in the other, bowed politely.

  "Come in. Inspector Munro. My wife just confessed the entire business. I knew nothing of this." Behind me I heard Joan cry. "She did a very foolish thing and committed a punishable offense. At least no one came to any bodily harm."

  "Well, it's not a capital offense." The inspector spoke good English. "Good morning, Mrs. Jordan. Please calm yourself."

  "I'll be taken to court!"

  "Well yes, but—"

  "And I'll be sent to jail!"

  "It is possible. Perhaps a suspended sentence. Or a fine. Naturally your driver's license will be revoked. Please, Mrs. Jordan, you must calm yourself. I'm very sorry, but my orders are to question you once more."

  "Yes, darling," I said, "you must stop crying. Try to be reasonable now."

  Joan slowly stopped sobbing.

  "Fm so ashamed," she whispered. I offered her my handkerchief. "What I've done is a criminal offense, a terrible thing..."

  Inspector Munro in his correct school-English tried to pacify her while he pulled paper and pen from his brief case. -

  "Excuse me for one moment, please," I said. The black bag was hidden in a cupboard of my bedroom. I drank from the bottle until I fell on the bed gasping for breath.

  (Transcriber's noter At this point Signore Jordan interrupted his taping for three days because of influenza. It enabled me to catch up with transcribing his report and to hand the entire manuscript to Professor Pontevivo. The followmg was taped on May eleventh, 1960.)

  PROFESSOR pontevivo: Have you come to a conclusion regarding the treatment by hypnosis? SIGNORE JORDAN: Ycs. I agree to it.

  PROFESSOR pontevivo: Good. We'll discuss the details tomorrow. It will take several sessions. While you were ill I caught up on your last tape transcriptions. Now for weeks you had lived in fear of your wife knowing all about you and your stepdaughter. It proved to be without foundation. In fact she had been afraid that you might find out about her car accident.

  SIGNORE JORDAN: That's right and yet that's not all of it At the time of our filming in Essen I was already so exhausted that I could hardly think straight. Logically, I now had no more reason to be afraid. But the fear was still with me! I would say that after Inspector Munro's visit my fear increased. Perhaps I knew; I sensed that all this could not come_to a good end. I had prepared myself for the long overdue catastrophe. I had almost wished for an end of this torture, no matter how dreadful the end might be.

  PROFESSOR PONTEvrvo: I Understand. And now, once more, your situation was as it had been in the beginning, with a loving, trusting wife . ..

  SIGNORE JORDAN: You can imagine that when she confessed her "crime" to me, my reaction made her feel even more affectionate. She thought I was the best hus-

  band in all the world. She kissed and hugged me even

  while the inspector was still there.

  PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: And the prospect of having to talk

  to your unsuspecting wife ...

  siONORE JORDAN: You Can understand how I felt, can't

  you? It would have been easier if she had suspected

  something, if she had mistrusted me! The fact that she

  was so happy, so relieved made my life doubly difficult.

  Right after the inspector left she went out and bought me

  a gold cigarette case. And before I left for the night's

  shooting—(unintelligible)

  PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: You Completed your shooting

  without any kind of breakdown?

  siGNORE JORDAN: Ycs. Schaubcrg now used medications

  which must have been very strong. I frequently had dizzy

  spells while I was working; I vomited a few times, I often

  had intolerable headaches. To counteract those symptoms

  Schauberg gave me more and more drugs.

  We left Essen on a Friday, December fourth. For me there were another fifteen days of shooting. The scenes I did not appear in were to be shot later. The most difficult ones had been completed.

  PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: Your stepdaughter was all right again after you returned? How did she seem to you? SIGNORE JORDAN: She seemed very friendly but preoccupied. I often felt she did not recognize me when we talked. She was the same with her mother. She did her work, was pleasant and polite—and very reserved. PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: She had promised you to explain her behavior once the operation had been performed. SIGNORE JORDAN: I did ask her about that. She asked me to be patient for another few days. PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: Were you intimate? SIGNORE JORDAN: Not oncc since she had arrived in Europe. She seemed so strange that I did not even dare kiss her any more. Besides, I already mentioned it, Schau-berg's medications were making a physical and mental

  wreck of me. Often when I walked, I thought I was falling. Again and again I dreamt the dream that I was locked in the elevator. Sometimes tears would be streaming down my face or I caught myself talking to myself. I tried desperately to control myself so as not to become suspicious.

  PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: But day after day you were in front of the cameras.

  siGNORE JORDAN: I had to finish the movie. As I think of it now, I had only one wish: to finish. Just to complete that movie.

  PROFESSOR PONTEVTVo: Did your stepdaughter stiU see that man secretively?

  SIGNORE JORDAN: Ycs. Schaubcfg and his student were still watching her but they never found out who-he was or where Shirley was meeting him. She always eluded her pursuers.

  PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: But you did find out the truth. When did it happen?

  SIGNORE JORDAN: On the twelfth of December. Things might have turned out differently if Schauberg had not asked me to be a witness to his marriage. PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: Witness to his marriage? For heaven's sake, he was going to marry?

  "Witness to your marriage?"

  It was early morning on the fifth of December. Schauberg and I stood in the darkness outside the hotel entrance. It was snowing again and the exhaust from the Mercedes looked like a shivering white snake. Schauberg had just brought the car.

  "Witness, that's right," he said.

  "Surely, you're not going to marry!"

  "But I am."

  "Whom?"

  "Kathe, of course."

  The sudden shock made me slip on the snow and I came to rest on the fender.

  "Why are you staring at me, my dear Mr. Jordan? We'd like you and Madam Misere to be our witnesses. You are my choice, Madam is Kathe's. The wedding Will take place on the twelfth of December at twelve noon. That's next Saturday. You'll be finished at the studio by then. Will you do us the honor?"

  "Now tell me the point of the joke."

  "It's no joke. Kathe and I want to marry." He smiled and once more reminded me of my father. His disarming smile, his elegance even in his uniform.

  I rose.

  "Your drugs have done it. I'm crazy. Do you know I just heard you say that you're going to marry Kathe?"

  "That's what I did say."

  "Then you're the crazy one. It's the morphine!"

  "What's so crazy about my wanting to marry Kathe?"

  "I can't believe it. Do you know why I admired you?"

  "Why, dear Mr. Jordan?"

  "For your perfect cynicism, your incorruptible frigid reason. I saw you as a man who had no false ideals, no empty talk. A man who would never fall victim to a treacherous, undefinable feeling ... let alone love."

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, dear Mr. Jordan. Apparently I have."

  "You can't possibly love anybody!"

  "Yes, I can. One person. Kathe. Y
ou admire my perfect cynicism. Thank you. Well—"

  "I said I admired cynicism. It can't be perfect."

  "Why not?"

  "It would make love impossible."

  "On the contrary. It proves very useful to my love. Were I an honorable, moral idealist—I could not marry a

  whore who is working in a bordello: a woman who is dumb, primitive, simple, uneducated. Kathe is all those things, isn't she?"

  I was silent.

  Schauberg said, "For a cynic such as I am there is also a second Kathe who is more loyal than any woman I have ever met. In spite of what she does, she has retained a child-like innocence. She never lies; she will never betray me. She has stood by me when things were at their worst. Many times I have hurt her feelings, have offended her. She always loved me."

  Now he did not remind me of my father. "I want to get away from here. I want to start anew, in spite of everything. I can't do it alone. With Kathe, who will stand by me, who wiU always be truthful and who does not have to fear evil because her innocence is stronger than evil—with her I will be able to succeed."

  I was silent.

  "You believed, naturally, that I would abandon Kathe."

  "Naturally."

  "It's understandable. It would have been the logical, reasonable thing to do. Of course, at first I thought that too. But in time, weeks, months, I discovered that I loved her. In her artlessness, her simplicity she did things . . . little things .. . which touched me ... things I admired."

  "Such as?"

  "Two men in Leipzig gave her seven eels which they had stolen. When pressure was put on her she escaped to the West just so she would not have to betray those men. She left everything, her home, her youth, Would you have betrayed those men?"

  "Probably."

  "I would have too. You see what I mean. What is love, Mr. Jordan? To go to bed together? To writhe, to groan with lust, to copulate in the manner of animals? How long

  does that last? How long can it last? Two years? Three years? A month? And what follows then?"

  "What?"

  "Mostly nothing. Sometimes a human relationship. One needs the other. One trusts the other. Trust and need— that's probably love. And that's why we are going to marry."

  "I understand."

  "And you're terribly disappointed in me," said Schau-berg. He was still smiling and straightened his beret. Snow, crystalline and clean, fell on us, still clean because it had not yet come in contact with our dirty world.