by War
How can you compare this Jastrow person to him? Jastrow's a full-blooded Jew."
"Ezra Pound's talks are no good for American audiences.
Please take my word for that. I know the United States. He'll just be regarded there as a traitor or a lunatic. What I plan for Jastrow " "We know you studied in the United States. We also know that Jastrow was your teacher."
Feeling that he was getting nowhere-that his conception was beyond the SS mentality-Beck yet had to plow on.
What he hoped for, he said, was a farseeing, forgiving, Olympian broadcast, or series of broadcasts, picturing the Germans and Japanese as deprived and misunderstood proud peoples, the Allies as fat cats clutching riches gained by armed force, and the whole war as a useless bloodletting that should be settled at once by a "sha of the hegemony."
This brilliant phrase was Jastrow's own. Coming from a prominent Jewish author it would have great impact in America to weaken the war effort and encourage a peace movement. Perhaps other high-level alien intellectuals like Santayana and Berenson would follow Jastrow's example.
Eichmann looked unconvinced. Santayana's name clearly meant nothing to him. At "Berenson" his eyes sharpened.
"Berenson? There's a smart millionaire Jew. Berenson has a tot of protection. Well, all right. When will this Jastrow make his first broadcast?"
"That's not definite yet." Under Eichmann's hard surprised gaze he added, "It's a question of persuading him, which takes time."
The lieutenant colonel gently smiled. "ReaRy? Why should it?
Persuading a Jew is simple."
To be effective, this has to be done of his own free will."
"But Jews will do anything that you want them to do, of their own will. Still, I believe I understand you now. He is your old teacher, a fine man. You have a soft spot in your heart for him. You don't want to upset or frighten him. It isn't that you're coddling or protecting a Jew-" Eichmann happily smiled, and waved the schoolteacher's forefinger-it isn't that, but rather that you think you'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. ?"
Dr. Beck began to feel cornered. The man had a streak Of the actor, and his changing moods and manners were hard to deal with. Yet he was just an SS lieutenant colonel, Beck told himself, whatever his role with Jews. He, Beck, must not let himself be burned into an untenable commitment. His reply was as light and confident as he could make it. "I'm sure that MY approach is correct and will get the right results."
Eichmann nodded and briefly giggled. "Yes, yes, providing YOu get the results before the war is over. By the way, is your family here with you in Rome?"
"No, they're at home."
"And where is home?"
"Stuttgart."
"And how many kids do you have?"
"Four."
"Boys? Girls?"
"Three boys. One girl."
"Girls are so sweet. I have three boys. No luck on girls."
Eichmann sighed and produced the forefinger. "I try once a week, no matter what, to get home to the kids. Even if it's only for an hour, once a week religiously I must see the kids.
Even General Heydrich respected that, and he was a goddamn hard boss." Eichmann sighed again. "-l suppose you're as fond of your kids as I am." Every time Eichmann said "kids" he managed to edge the word with freezing menace.
"I love my children," said Beck, trying to control his voice, "but I don't get to see them once a week, or even once a month."
Eichmann's face took on a drawn, faraway look. "Enough, Dr. Be Let's talk straightd Can Reichsfuhrer Himmler expect a progress report fairly soon on those one hundred eighteen Jews? You'll have all their documents by courier tomorrow."
"I'll do my best." With a wide friendly grin, "Eichmann said, "I'm glad that I came here and we thrashed it out. This Jastrow business is not 'kosher."
" Eichmann repeated the Jewish word with rude amusement.
"Not'kosher,"Dr. Beck. When you walk in shit, it sticks to your shoes. So tell the old Yid to make his broadcast quick. Then let the O.V.R.A put him and his niece away with the other Yids."
"But they have a guarantee of safe conduct back to America, as part of the journalist exchange."
"How can that be? All the American journalists have already left Italy. Anyway, he's no journalist, he writes books."
"I delayed their departure myself. It's a temporary thing, we tied it to a mess in Brazil which sooner or later is bound to clear up."
The lieutenant colonel's narrow face brightened into a jolly smile. "Well, but you did manage that delay! See? When you want to be, you're a live wire. So do a job now for the Fuhrer.
Eichmann -accepted another glass of brandy. As Werner Beck walked out with him to the entrance of the embassy, they exchanged banalities about the way the war was going.
The colonel's walk was rather bowlegged in the varnished black boots; and as he creaked and clicked along on the marble floor, he was very much the preoccupied civil servant again. At the door he turned and saluted. "You have a big responsibility here, Dr. Beck, so good luck.
Heil Hitler."
The greeting and the outstretched arm gesture were in almost total disuse around the embassy. Both came rustily to Beck. "Heil lfitler," he said.
The black figure clumped down the steps, frightening away into the flowering shrubbery two peacocks that had the run of the embassy grounds. Beck hurried to his office and called Siena.
By mere chance, Natalie's hand was resting on the telephone when it rang. She stood by Jastrow's desk, holding the baby on her arm.
Mrs. Castelnuovo, with Miriam clinging to her skirt, was admiring the Madonna and child over the mantel; and the little girl kept looking from the painted baby to the live one, as though wondering why the wrong one had the halo. Dr. Beck came on the line, gay and high-spirited. "Good morning, Mrs. Henry! I hope you're theeling well. Is Dr. Jastrow fere?" Beck had this odd speech defect of mixing up his f s and this in moments of excitement or tension.
Natalie had noticed it first when a highway patrol car had stopped the Mercedes on the drive from Naples to Rome.
"I'll call him, Dr. Beck." She went out to the terrace, where Jastrow was writing in the sunshine.
"Werner? Of course. Does he sound cheerful?"
"Oh, merry as could be."
"Well! Maybe it's news of our release." Laboriously he got out of the lounge chair, and began hobbling toward the house. "Why, bless me, both my legs are numb! I'm tottering like Methuselah."
Natalie took Miriam and Anna to her bedchamber, where the pink satin hangings and bedspread were getting threadbare with age, and the painted cherubs on the ceiling, what with the decay of the plaster, looked somewhat leprous and perspiring. She laid Louis in his crib, but he promptly pulled himself to his feet with tiny fists clenched on the rail. The women sat chatting while Miriam played with him.
Natalie was growing very fond of Anna Castelnuovo. Mere snobbish self-isolation, she realized, had deprived her of this warm bright companion in all her long Italian exile. What a waste! Neither she nor Aaron had imagined that the few shadowy Sienese J--ws might be worth bothering with. No doubt because Dr- Castelnuovo had sensed this, he had not told her he Was Jewish.
Aaron looked in. "Natalie, he's coming by overnight train for lunch tomorrow. He has letters for us from America. also he hinted - great news he can't discuss by phone."
Jastrow's wrinkled face was animated by hope. "So talk to Maria about the lunch, my dear, and tell her I'd like some tea and a little compote on the terrace now."
When Louis fell asleep in his rump-to-ceiling pose, Natalie strolled with Anna Castelnuovo and her daughter to the bus stop. They sat in the rickety wooden shed talking on and on, until the ancient bus wound smokily into sight, far up among the green vineyards along the ridge. Anna said, "Well, I hope your news will be truly good. It's so curious that a German official should be your benefactor."
"Yes, it's decidedly curious." They exchanged looks of wry skepticism.
The bus
went off, and she walked back to the villa feeling very much alone.
When Dr. Beck arrived next day, he at once gave two letters to Natalie, and one to Dr. Jastrow. They were waiting for him on the terrace. "Don't be polite, please. Go ahead and read your mail."
Smiling benignly, he sat on a bench in the sun while they ripped at the envelopes.
"The Arch of Constantine! It arrived safely!" Jastrow burst out.
" Werner, you must tell Father Spanelli and Ambassador Titman.
Natalie, just listen to this, from Ned Duncan. "We can never thank the Vatican enough.... The Arch of Constantine is your best book yet... a permanent contribution to popular understanding of both Judaism and Christianity-' I declare, what a satisfying description! '... Of classic stature... certain book club selection... brilliant panorama Of decadent Rome... honored to publish such a fresh and seminal work.
Well, well, well! Isn't that capital news, Natalie?"
"That is good news," said Dr. Beck, "but not all the good news."
Natalie looked up alertly from Slote's discouraging letter.
The German and Italian red tape over the Brazil affair seemed endless, he wrote; it would all work out, but he could no longer guess when. She passed this letter to Beck, who after a glance handed it back with a shrug and a smile. He looked very pale and his eyes were bloodshot, but his manner was jocose. "Yes, yes, but all that is quite out of date. May we have lunch? Otherwise we've so much to discuss, we may forget to eat."
Natalie was skimming a piece of microfilmed V-mail from Byron, poorly printed and scarcely readable, which had fallen out of the three-page scrawl from her mother. Nothing really new in either letter; Byron was writing from Australia in a lonesome mood, and her mother was complaining about the coldest Miami Beach spring in years, and fretting about Natalie's detention. She jumped up. "Lunch is only a souffid and a salad, Dr. Beck."
"Ah, I didn't expect your veal coup to be repeated."
"But at any rate," Jastrow said, "we'll share the last of Berenson's coffee."
After lunch Beck asked Natalie's permission to light a heavy black cigar. With his first puff leaned back, sighed, and gestured toward the open window. "Well, Dr. Jastrow, won't you be sorry to leave this view behind?"
"Are we leaving it?"
"That's why I've;come."
He talked for a long while. His pace and tone were leisurely, with frequent long cigar puffs, yet he began mixing up his f's and this. The official Italian radio, he disclosed, wanted to put Dr. Jastrow on the air! The shortwave section was planning talks by famous enemy aliens, to project abroad an image of intellectual tolerance in Fascist Italy. Speakers would have carte blanche. The plan called for big names: Bernard Berenson, George Santayana, and of course Aaron Jastrow- The O.V.R.A had just come through with a written cotenent to Beck that Jastrow, his niece, and the baby would leave for Switzerland directly after the broadcast. So this development was proving a quick solution of the departure snarl. If Jastrow would simply come to Rome with Mrs. Henry and her infant, and record a leisurely two-hour interview-or four half-hour broadcasts, whichever he preferred-the Brazil business would be set aside. Beck would arrange in advance three exit visas, and tickets on the Rome-Zurich plane. They would not even have to return to Siena! And the sooner this happened, the better. Rome Radio was very hot on the idea.
Having said all this, Beck sat back, relaxed and smiling.
"Well, Prothessor? How does it strike you?"
"Dear me, I confess I'm bewildered. Would they want me to discuss something in my field of work, like Constantine?"
"Oh, no, no. Absolutely out of the question! They want a philosophical view of the war, simply showing that all the right is not on one side. Remember what you said in this very room, Dr. Jastrow, on the occasion of our famous veal dinner? That would precisely fin the bill."
"Oh, but Werner, I'd had far too much wine that night. I couldn't rail against my own country like that on enemy shortwave. You can see that."
Pursing his lips around the cigar, Beck cocked his head.
"Professor, you're creating difficulties, aren't you? You're a genius in the use of words, and in the subtle elaboration of ideas.
You have a great original vision of this world catastrophe, a remarkable God's-eye view of the whole tragic panorama. That theme of 'sharing the the hegemony' is perfect.
Once you put your mind to it, the words would come easily.
I'm sure you'd not only please Rome Radio, but impress your own countrymen as well. And to state matters bluntly, you'd get out of Italy at once."
Jastrow turned to his niece. "Well?"
"Well, you and Ezra Pound," said Natalie.
An unpleasant expression flashed across Beck's jowly face.
"Comparisons are odious, Mrs. Henry."
"What about Berenson and Santayana?" Jastrow asked.
"Have they agreed to this?"
Beck took a long puff at the cigar. "The Italian radio people consider you the key personality. Santayana is veryold, and as you know he lives up in the clouds, with his theory of essences and all that philosophical mumbo jumbo. He'll just mystify people. Still, a great name. Berenson, well, Berenson's whimsical and very independent.
Rome Radio feels they'll get Berenson once you agree. He thinks very highly of YOU."
"Then neither of them knows about this yet," Natalie said.
Reluctantly Beck shook his head.
"No, no, no!" Jastrow suddenly rapped out. "I can't possibly become bracketed with Ezra Pound. His critical writings are undeniably brilliant. He has an original mind, though his verse is willfully obscure. The few times we'-ve met I've found him an untidy, overbearing egotist, but that's neither here nor there. The thing is, I've heard his broadcasts, Werner. His attacks on the Jews are worse than anything even on your Berlin broadcasts, and his wild ravings about Roosevelt and the gold standard are simple treason. After the war he'll be hanged or shut up in an insane asylum. I can't imagine what's gotten into him, but I'd rather rot here in Siena than become another Ezra Pound."
With a curl of his lips, and a total confusion offs and this, Beck retorted, "But there's also the question of Mrs. Henry I and her baby 'rotting here." And there's the more serious question of how long you can stay on in Siena." He pulled out a gold pocket watch. "I've made a long trip to put this before you. I didn't expect a rejection out of hand. I thought I had earned your confidence."
Natalie interjected, "What's the question about our staying in Siena?"
Deliberately crushing out the cigar, grinding it on the ashtray, Beck replied, "Why, the O.V.R.A pressure never lets up on me, Mrs. Henry.
You realize that you belong in a concentration camp with the rest of the alien Jews. I was reminded of this very pointedly, when the broadcasting idea came up, and-I' "But I can't fathom this!" Jastrow expostulated, his flecked little hands shaking on the table before him.
"We're guaranteed eventual passage to Switzerland! Aren't we?
Even Leslie Slote's new letter affirms that. How can Rome Radio blackmail me into wrecking my reputation? Just be firm, Werner. Tell them to put it out of their minds. I won't consider it."
Beck rolled his bloodshot eyes at Natalie. "That, I must tell you, is a grave statement, Professor."
"Nevertheless, that's my answer," cried Jastrow, his excitement mounting, "and it's final."
An auto horn sounded outside.
"Dr. Beck, are you expecting a taxi?" Natalie folded her napkin on the table. Her tone was low and calm. Her face seemed all bones and eyes.
"Yes "Let me walk out with you. No, Aaron, don't you come "Werner, if I seem obstinate, I'm sorry." Jastrow stood up and held out an unsteady hand to Dr. Beck. "Martin Luther once put it well.
'kh kann night anders- " Beck stiffly bowed, and went out after Natalie.
On the terrace she said, "He'll do it."
"He'll do what? The broadcasting?"
"Yes. He'll do it."
"Mrs. Henry, his re
sistance was very were hard, questing, anxious.
From behind the gate came the cracked wheeze of the horn again.
"I know him well. These explosive reactions pass. I set him off by mentioning Pound. I'm terribly sorry. When does Rome Radio want him?"
"that's not definite," Beck said eagerly, "but what I must imperatively have from him at once is a letter consenting to make the broadcasts. That will getthe hounds off my back, and start the wheels turning-the wheels of your release, Mrs. Henry."
"You'll have the letter by the end of the week."