by Nick Salaman
‘So how come you’re called Middleburg? Is that your real name?’
‘Almost. I discarded the name von Melder when I left Berlin in 1945. I used Mittelberg for the Americans in Germany and changed it to Middleburg when I settled here. America is full of names like that.’
‘Can I depend on anything you say?’
‘Lies are no good unless there is a high proportion of truth.’
‘So why did you take over The Other Judas?’
‘We didn’t take it over. We started it. Quite early on, we needed another name for the consumer division of Messinger’s. We were a serious company making serious things like medication and pest control and fertilisers and even military materials of various kinds. A charity was the masterstroke. As long as you run a small part of the company for no profit, you can have it as a tax-deductible holding company. We needed something that sounded fun, something that gave people a lift when they were saying it, something that created goodwill. The Other Judas, Inc or TOJI for short. TOJI. You can like it without trying. Messinger was altogether too grim. You want to shoot the Messinger? Go ahead. No one wants to shoot TOJI – the company that grew and grew. Quite early on it had to stop being a charity for tax reasons.’
‘So you had already started The Other Judas when you merged? It belonged to you anyway.’
‘There is no law against buying something from yourself so long as the companies are separate. The companies are now together but separate. Everything is above board. Our shareholders are over the moon. Of course, we do have other companies.’
‘And why did you spell Messenger with an i?’
‘Because we couldn’t register it with an e. Actually, the i makes it more distinctive. I am tempted to call myself Messinger. Middleburg does sound too European. But, hell, I’ve kind of got used to it now.’
***
‘So you were a Nazi?’ she asked.
She knew the answer to that one but she had to say it. He laughed.
‘We all were. You had to be if you wanted to get on. That mad fellow, my cousin – your father – developed something quite unprecedented and of course he had plenty of helpers to work with him. The Nazis were really excited about his project – another month or two and who knows! We might have…’
Here he threw up his hands with a graphic, no-use-crying-over-spilt-milk gesture.
‘We were not interested in your father’s so-called crimes, only in his genius,’ Middleburg continued. ‘When he came over here to work on projects of national security, we promised to help him build a successful company to market some of his more peaceful ideas – cosmetics, anti-ageing creams, shampoos – so long as he helped us with other things. It all worked well for many years, but in the end he started to become … well … you have seen how it is with him. So we decided to merge the businesses.’
‘You mean that man who tried to mess with me just now really is my father?’
‘I do mean that. He is a man to be proud of. His whole world crashed about him and he made a new one. Why should he not be?’
‘My father? I am dizzy with the things you tell me.’
‘We came from a country in ruins. The kaleidoscope shook – and here we are again. You with a damaged father and I with a cousin. You should be overjoyed.’
All her life she had been looking for a father and a family but a father like this was not what she had ever imagined, missed or wanted. As for family, they appeared to be exclusively businessmen whom no one could call comforting, loving or cosy. All in all, the mixture of these considerations coupled with the events of the last half hour, to say nothing of the last few years, were suddenly taking their toll, breaking down her resistance. She felt weak, tearful, grateful, joyful, alarmed, suspicious.
‘Someone suggested you work under the auspices of the CIA,’ she said, reaching for something that did not directly concern her own journey of discovery – although she realised as she said it that perhaps it did, since she was the company mascot now: the pampered goat, or schnauzer.
‘We never answer questions like that,’ he said with an amused air, ‘but it is right you ask questions now. That is why we are here. Soon your father will come down, heavily sedated, and acknowledge the workers’ applause. It is a pity you see him now like this. He was a lion when he arrived here. Much untruth has been written about him. Those experiments people speak of were either conducted by Mengele, unauthorised, or were undertaken by your father himself for the good of humanity. Consider his work on antibiotics. In Germany, even before the war, he was right at the front in the development of sulphur drugs. And he was still developing antibiotics afterwards. You have probably been injected with Miramycin after a bug bite or wound that turned septic. It has saved tens of thousands of lives.’
‘But he is still a monster. I am the daughter of a monster. Are you a monster too? A war criminal?’
‘We don’t use that word. The past is hidden. The workers do not talk about it. Many of them are Germans … the families of those who have settled here.’
‘And some of them are Nazis…’
‘Only some. A little more wine before we start the presentation?’
‘No more, thank you.’
She was still feeling the effects of her first two glasses, though her head was usually strong. Or was it simply her situation here and the nature of the story she was hearing that made her feel odd, displaced, as if she were taking part in a masque or charade, or what the Aunts used to call Dumb Crambo?
‘Maybe a little water,’ she said.
‘I am presenting their co-founder’s daughter to them, of course,’ he told her, as he poured her a glass from the carafe. ‘You are going to sign a document on the occasion of your twenty-fifth birthday and they are going to applaud you as a substantial shareholder in the company. They might even sing you one of their German songs. I think they will for I have heard them practising “Guter Mond, du gehst so stille”…’
‘What project are they working on at the moment?’
‘Can’t say, I’m afraid.’
‘But as a substantial shareholder surely I have a right to know.’
‘Not if it is a matter of national security.’
‘Who are the other shareholders?’
‘Private individuals, big funds, nominees.’
‘Who are?’
‘Can’t say, I’m afraid.’
‘There is one other thing. Why have you been watching me? Why can’t you leave me alone?’
He shrugged. ‘We have to keep an eye on you. You are going to be a very big shareholder and you are the daughter of one of the founders. We did lose you for a time in London but we soon caught up with you. We really couldn’t have you mixing too much with other people. Your father dreamed of meeting up with you one day and telling you his story. So we softened the background to make him seem more … sympathetic. We owed your father that. Thanks to him and people like him we have in this country, I don’t say the largest, but the most effective stockpile of chemical and biological weapons in the world.’
‘And that will be his legacy,’ she said. ‘But if I may speak of myself while we talk about the world that you seem so fond of, what do you think a childhood like that did to me?’
‘You were looked after. You were fed. You had your old nurse to love. Many of Germany’s orphans would have given an arm and a leg to be brought up like that. To you, your father’s legacy will be enormous. You will be many times a millionairess. To the free world, his legacy is that it is a free world.’
‘And who said national security takes precedence over morality? Was that a corporate decision?’ Her mind was on fire.
‘That was your father’s decision,’ he said.
‘And why do you operate from a castle and not just your office?’ she added.
‘I love the castle. That is why I showed you round, not so much for you as for me. Every time I do it, I discover something new. And now I remember, that is why I called you Marie. That was the name of G
illes de Rais’ daughter. I was interested in him even then. We had both lost so much. It made a kind of sense at the time.’
‘I am glad it made sense to someone.’
‘And his castle did too, you see. I found it by chance in earlier days when I was poking around. It’s a good front for a laboratory working on government projects. It says history, continuity, respectability, you see,’ he told her. ‘All these things we cherish. The offices and labs are out beyond the pleasaunce that I showed you, away from the prying eyes of the public. We have many other factories and workshops of course, thoughout the USA and the world.’
It was all to make America safe and free, Marie thought. You had to admire the duplicity of this man.
‘And why did you go through the charade of showing us round the castle when you knew my father’s so-called crimes were never committed? Why did you give out that they were?’
‘Just to show you the care we’ve taken to conceal your true past. As you yourself have said, you would rather be the daughter of a sex-fiend than a Nazi. I didn’t want to reveal the truth until we had this conversation. The castle and everything all fitted in rather well. We had Timothy Leary here, you know. And Manson in earlier days. He said there were messages in the stone. We had a séance here. Quite horrifying, actually.’
Her host now took her by the arm. He was keen on touching. He was one of those rare and disconcerting older men who seem to get younger every time you meet them. But it didn’t make her like him more. It was part of his sinister and ever-growing pharmacopeia.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘This is the bit that concerns you here.’
She shrugged his hand away. ‘And why, after all the lies you’ve given me, should I believe one word that you say now? How do I know that this isn’t another lie, another of your stories covering something even worse, though I am not sure that would be possible.’
‘You do not have a choice.’
He pointed at the screen again, at the men in white coats, now fully gathered. A man appeared (it was Middleburg) piloting a Marie (it did indeed look like her) through a doorway and onto the stage. How many Maries did this man have? Had they somehow managed to hypnotize or drug her into this? It felt shameful to see herself doing something of which she had no recollection. What else had they made her do?
But it could not possibly be her.
A round of applause from the assembled throng greeted their appearance. A sleek, keen man in a white coat was already on the podium, speaking into a microphone.
‘That is the Chief Executive of TOJI, the consumer side of the business,’ whispered Middleburg, ‘Martin Haldermann.’
‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for Miss Marie Messinger and Mr Felix Middleburg, Founder Vice-President of Messinger Incorporated.’
The clapping of hands rose to a crescendo as the man urged the white-coats on, raising his arms the while like a conductor. Then with a downward sweep, as if his hands were daggers, he cut them instantly short.
‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, fellow-workers in our great enterprise. I should like to pay tribute to our other famous founder, cousin of Felix here, none other than Marius von Melder or, as we now know him, Marius Messinger who, though stricken with age and illness, has come down to wish you well – and to meet again his daughter, Marie. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Marie and her father Marius.’
‘Come on, Marie,’ Middleburg whispered at the screen. ‘Give them a little wave and for chrissakes, smile.’
The Marie on screen did it. Marie found herself doing it too. There seemed no reason not to.
There was now a slight commotion in the action on film, the madman who had said he was her father was being shuffled up the steps to the stage on the arm of the security nurse. As he arrived, there was an enormous cheer and some ‘heiling’ from the serried ranks. He half-raised a feeble arm, and was led towards the microphone. It seemed he was going to make a speech. He stood like that for a while, stirring imperceptibly like a willow on a hot day, the air moving languidly above his brow.
The pause was pregnant. But then, just as Marie thought it must now be time for someone to do or say something, the figure that had once been her father clutched the microphone and addressed the throng.
‘It’s all…’
‘What is it all, Founder?’ asked the Middleburg on film.
‘It’s all…’
‘Easy now,’ said Middleburg, easing him along.
‘Ist alles … Scheiße.’
There was a great triumphant blast from the mighty organ and the audience erupted when they heard the great man say it was all shit. They had never heard anything better, or funnier. Her father smiled profoundly as though he had imparted the Secret of the Grail. The security-nurse now took him by the arm and led him back towards the stairs.
I should try and talk to him, Marie thought. Not now, but soon, when he’s having a quiet moment.
‘Speech! Speech!’ the audience demanded.
‘He is a good German,’ she heard someone say, in German.
‘Heil … heil … heil!’
We’re having a rally, she thought.
Middleburg now strode forward and addressed the throng.
‘This won’t take long,’ he said, ‘for I know you will be thirsty and they are even now preparing beer, bread and Wurst in the kitchen and we have our very own Bierkeller and Fräuleins to serve in it. But I just wanted to add a word or two about Marie, only child of my cousin, Professor Marius Messinger. Because he is now somewhat incapacitated, he has asked us to transfer much of his very large share in Messinger Inc to her and I know that her arrival will coincide with a new golden age for TOJI-Messinger. She will now be working with us, taking an active interest in all of you and learning what each and every one of you is doing for the cause.’
More muted applause.
‘Now,’ he continued, ‘I understand you have been rehearsing a good old German song that all of us know. I ask you now to sing “Guter Mond du gehst so stille” for Marie von Melder.’
A small, energetic choirmaster in shorts emerged and stood at the front. At a signal from him, the organ played a quiet tuning chord. And then they were off.
‘Guter Mond, du gehst so stille
Durch die Abendwolken hin;
Deines Schöpfers weiser Wille
Hieß auf jene Bahn dich zieh´n.
Leuchte freundlich jedem Müden
In das stille Kämmerlein!
Und dein Schimmer gieße Frieden
In’s bedrängte Herz hinein!’*
It was one of those simple melodies that go straight to the heart. It brought a tear to Middleburg’s compelling eye, though to Marie’s mind the spectacle of so many white-coats singing nursery rhymes was surreal. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with these people who duped and drugged and ran secret empires and sang nursery rhymes. How could they reconcile such innocent words with their chemical and research activities? She wiped away her own tear now, attached, it seemed, to Middleburg’s eye, to the German people’s eye, by an invisible mutual nerve. Her head felt heavy. Her legs and arms felt heavy. Was it the wine?
The image rose before her eyes of a long life spent under control – not her control but theirs – and she began to feel so heavy that she really did not mind; it was really quite welcome. It was the feeling she had had in the house in Beverly Hills after Mrs Holdsworth had brought her bedtime drink. At the corner of the screen, her eyes became drawn to movement at the side of the hall where a passage led off to a buttery or refectory or under-croft, or god knew what. Yes, it was Joe in his white coat. He seemed to be standing there, taking it all in. Or was he under some kind of guard? She could not quite see, but a man who did look uncommonly like Fist was standing next to him.
‘And now,’ said the Middleburg on screen, ‘and now, pray silence for the signing of the document by our birthday girl.’
Screen-Marie sat down at the small table that was on the stage, com
plete with pen and blotter. A man who looked like a company accountant – no, it was Brickville – approached the table with a document, which he presented with a bow, and Marie’s screen double took up the pen and signed. This was the signal for universal acclaim and a bombshell burst of clapping.
‘There’s more,’ said the Middleburg on screen, and the crowd fell silent. ‘As if that wasn’t enough on her birthday, I am happy to announce the forthcoming marriage of our shareholder colleague and birthday princess to Mr David Drummond who is with us today. Although not a German…’