When I reported this to Edwin, he thought for a moment, then suggested, “Keep your eyes on the Cabot house, and deliver that note soon.”
“I’ll do some watching,” I told him, but avoided mentioning the note. On a Wednesday night in January I walked down, without any expectations. Yet before I came within two blocks of where King William begins, I saw Cabot’s car turn west on Durango. Walking down Presa, I got a good view of the automobile from the side. There was no mistaking it. I grabbed the first taxi I could find, and instructed the driver simply, “Go over to Durango as quick as you can.” The driver gave me a questioning glance, then sped on. Luckily this time I had more money in my bag. I’d just gotten paid, and had not yet handed the bulk of the money over to my landlord. Watching from the window, I kept thinking, Cabot’s supposed to be gone … what’s he doing here?
We were nearly to the South Loop before his car came back into view and I leaned forward eagerly. “Slow down,” I said frantically. I didn’t want to overtake him. The driver gave me a suspicious glance, so I added, “The place I’m looking for is along here somewhere, I think.”
“You sure, miss? There isn’t much out here except the asylum, and I think there’s one of them tent meetings going on out here.”
We were too far out to be headed for the red-light district by now, and I thought, it would be just my luck Cabot’s headed out of town. Finally we approached a big canvas tent off to the left, lit up like an amusement park on Saturday night. I saw Cabot’s car turn off and enter the field close by in a line of other automobiles. After that I couldn’t see it anymore, but it was clear we’d reached his destination.
“Stop here.”
The driver turned around, eyes wide. “I can’t leave you here. You sure this is where you want to go?”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Let’s see … fifty cents. You want me to wait?”
“No, I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“I’ll come back. It’s a slow night downtown.”
I considered for a moment. “All right. It’s seven-thirty. Come back right here at nine. I don’t know how long these things last, do you?”
“Honey, why don’t you go to one of them big churches downtown? These things aren’t for people like—”
“Be back at nine,” I said, and hopped out.
21
I had never been in a gathering of so many people.
Throngs converged on the big tent, and I could hear the sound of gospel tunes being pumped out of an organ within. I was soon lost in the crowd, and I realized Cabot was just as likely to find me as I was to spot him. It seemed the people appeared from all directions. I saw many on crutches and in wheel chairs, being helped along by others. Old men, toothless and unshaven; younger men with searching, frightened eyes like escaped convicts, or even inmates from the asylum—perhaps some were; blind figures who depended upon companions to substitute for their eyesight; women, young and old, some dressed in rags, some dressed to the hilt and wearing thick rouge, their hair wiry from dye applications. I thought of Electra. Surely she could never have been a part of such a class of people. Then I thought, suppose she’s here too? I pulled my collar up around my ears and looked both ways.
It was very hard to avoid becoming mesmerized by the milieu of faces and bodies clustering so near that at times the stench was unbearable. Just outside the tent opening a big banner had been driven into the ground with stakes. “Brother Billy Sanblack—Revival—January 7 through 13.” The words billowed out in the stiff winter wind. I must be crazy, I decided. I’ll never find Cabot in all this.
Inside the tent seemed even larger than from outside. Wooden benches lined the sawdust floors. Kerosene lanterns hung from above. Up the big center aisle a platform with a lectern awaited. The music had stopped, replaced now by the sound of a bass drum being pounded by a big woman in a dark coat and bonnet. I took a seat near the back and looked around again for Cabot. No sign of him. The bench soon filled, and the woman on my right shifted closer as still more people edged in. The man on my left smelled so strongly of whiskey I nearly fell faint.
At eight o’clock the booming on the drum ceased, and the audience hushed. A woman wearing a mound of white flowers on one shoulder approached the lectern and introduced Brother Billy. When he came across the floor the people jumped up and cheered, whistled and wailed. I had never seen anything like it. The woman on my right, her face a study in deep ridges and age spots, pulled on my elbow. “Stand up, honey. It’s Brother Billy.” He was a monumental figure in a dark suit, with a shock of silver hair. We were still standing as he raised his arms, Bible in hand, and began a round of robust hymns. He threw out his chest and reared his head back. His voice was deep and compelling. He carried his audience like a forceful wave in the surf. He walked around and smiled into faces, like a coach inciting his team to victory against impossible odds. They swayed and nodded, croaking at the top of their lungs. The sound rose and fell in mighty discordance. I looked at the lady next to me. Her eyes were raised to the ceiling; the veins in her neck stood out and quivered. Perspiration rolled down her face. If he has them this stirred up by Wednesday, think what a state they’ll be in by Saturday, I decided.
As the hymns came to an end, and the big collection baskets appeared, it seemed as though my own mission was not to be completed. I glanced at my watch. Eight-thirty. The sermon was about to begin. Then, I suspected, there would follow a coming forward of poor lost souls hoping to be saved. If I waited out the whole process, my taxi driver would leave and I’d have no way to get home. Then I looked to my right, and there, several rows ahead, sat Nathan. I craned my neck to get a better look, and was immediately nudged back by my neighbor on the right. She wanted to get a full view of Brother Billy as he preached.
I knew then I couldn’t leave, even if I missed my taxi and had to walk home. I was able to see there was no one familiar to me beside Nathan. My neighbor’s hat kept obstructing my view of him, so finally I asked her if we could switch places. This she was glad to do. When she moved over, I noticed she was missing her right arm. Now, oblivious of the words belted out with so much conviction by Brother Billy, I watched Nathan closely. Throughout the sermon he sat with eyes closed, head inclined upward slightly, rocking back and forth with his palms between his knees. He looked very odd, and as I continued to scrutinize him I began to feel nauseated. It was the closeness of the people around me, the stench in the air of unwashed bodies, I thought dizzily. Yet I knew I would have been far less affected by these things if not for the fact I was seeing someone I knew in what appeared to be an almost catatonic state. Before that time I had never actually pitied Nathan. Now all the troubles he suffered inside were being paraded before me even as they were concealed. For the first time I removed myself from the situation which had forced my attention on him originally, and wondered what else might be bothering him. In trying so hard to ferret out the information required by the BNA, I had become totally blind to any other facet of Nathan’s life that caused him to be as he was. Though I was not aware then, I know now that in all the melting pot of people present during that revival, there was not a soul more lost than he.…
I left just before the last of the individuals who’d gone forward to confess their sins returned to their seats. Nathan had not moved from his chair to join them. Outside the cold air was so invigorating I took several deep breaths before I looked for my taxi. After ten o’clock. I didn’t think the driver would be around, yet he was. I couldn’t imagine anyone worrying more over a person he didn’t know, but as he explained on the way back to town, he had a daughter my age and he was by habit cautious. He also had at one time driven a streetcar in San Antonio. “I’ve seen my share of mischief,” he told me. “Young ladies belong at home after dark.”
He let me out at a cafe, where I ducked inside to phone Edwin and report. He didn’t seem to believe it meant anything, as indeed it did not, in terms of espionage. By that time he was able to recognize Na
than, however, and offered to attend the revival if I thought he should.
“I suppose not. I heard someone talking about a group baptismal service down at San Pedro Creek on Saturday, though. I’m kind of curious as to whether he’ll go. I’ll just continue to shadow the Cabot house all week, and go down there early Saturday morning to see if he leaves in the car. One of the peculiar things about this is that he has always been so reluctant to use Cabot’s car.”
“Sounds like he’s becoming a little on the sly side, doesn’t it.”
“Yes—that’s unusual for him.”
“Well, be careful.”
I replaced the phone receiver. Lately Edwin was always cautioning me.
Very early on Saturday morning, I was stationed not far from the Cabot house, awaiting the appearance of Nathan in the Overland. My gloved hands thrust deep into my coat pockets, my breath corning out in icy puffs, I was wishing for an invitation into any warm parlor and chastising myself for being such an eager spy. Eventually, Nathan did round the corner in the Overland, and I thought, so what does that prove? Almost everybody gets baptized at some point in their lives.
There was no longer any question our country was tooling up for war. Draft age had been set between eighteen and forty-five years. The Army was buying more property to expand Fort Sam, and opening a school for chauffeurs and mechanics to maintain the legion of new Army motor trucks arriving. Keith could hardly study for midterm exams, his mind was so involved in the prospect of military duty, and Nathan would not even look up at me from his desk.
Edwin was picking up a huge zero from Allan at the telegraph office, and his only question for me was regarding delivery of the note to Electra. I was about ready to start biting my nails, wishing something would happen, yet afraid it would, and grasping for something to tell Edwin to divert his interest from Electra.
Toward the end of the month an interesting development came about. Tetzel brought a group of four men into his office, none of whom I had ever seen, and when the door was closed I hurried to the machine and turned it on. It was obvious they had been discussing the possibility of the sale of the bank, apparently for some time. Why this should have so astonished me, I can’t tell. Regardless of the way things turned out, Tetzel would probably wind up divesting himself of San Antonio interests and going—where?—to Mexico? Back to Germany?
Edwin was called out of town for a couple of weeks, so it was not until his return that I was able to tell him about the news. What he had to tell me, however, was far more important and a great deal more startling.
22
The German Foreign Office had made two choices: first of all, they intended to begin unrestricted submarine warfare on February 1. Yet officially they still hoped to keep the United States neutral. In the event that was impossible, they intended to seek out the Mexican President for an alliance under the terms that Germany would give general financial support, and the promise that Mexico would reconquer lost territory in Mexico, Arizona, and Texas.
Further, the President of Mexico was to be encouraged to communicate with Japan regarding a triple alliance among the countries.
“Reconquer part of the United States—are they serious?” I squealed.
“They’re not playing tiddlywinks.”
“And Japan—where does it come in?”
“Your ‘third party.’ We assumed they referred to a person.”
“How did you get this information?”
“A cable from Zimmermann, transmitted in code to the German ambassador at Washington, for forwarding to von Eckhardt in Mexico, was discovered and deciphered by the British. There is only one reason for you and me to be in on this little surprise. We have to find out if Tetzel plays a part in it.
“I’ve checked the telegraph office. There have been no wires sent by him, or received lately. What do you find?”
“Nothing. Except, he’s trying to sell the bank.”
“Keep a close watch. It looks as though Tetzel is possibly being kicked … out.”
“Why do you think Tetzel was so against Japan?”
“Exactly the reasons he named. They’re as fickle as a southern belle, although they’ve been disgruntled with the United States since the trouble out in California, and that leads some of the Germans to think they might be willing to side with them.”
“But not Tetzel.”
“Right; anyhow, they’re not industrialized enough to be of much help as an ally.”
“‘Industry,’” I repeated. “We always thought it referred to a personal trait.”
“Just goes to show you the power of words.”
“Do you think they shoved him out because of that quibble?”
“More than likely it was just so much political backbiting. In my opinion Tetzel is smarter than the rest of ’em.”
“They’re also going against his wishes in dealing with Carranza.”
“They’re selling arms to Carranza now, and dispatching German and Austrian reservists below the border.”
“Does that mean he’s co-operating?”
“No. It just means they’re confident he will.”
“Golly.”
“Oh yes, I’ve got something for you from someone high up in the organization.” He felt around in his pockets, then brought out a small envelope from one and stuffed it in my hand. When he was gone I opened it up to find fifteen dollars.
We had both been mistaken that Tetzel’s corner of the triangle had been chopped off, however, as we soon found out. Though no copy of the wire for von Eckhardt followed from the German Foreign Office to Tetzel, there came a brief wire dispatching Tetzel to Mexico City for a meeting with von Eckhardt. On the morning of January 25, the day which marked the beginning of Pershing’s troop withdrawal from Mexico, he walked in brusquely and said, “I have to leave town on business today … I should be back by late next week.”
“Anything you’ll need to take along?” I asked.
“No. I believe I have everything I need. If I should receive a call from a James Parker, tell him I’ll return it next week.”
I’d overheard the name Parker during the meeting so recently conducted about the sale of the bank. Mr. Tetzel looked tired and drawn that morning. I offered to bring him a cup of coffee, and he gave me a sort of wistful smile—or so it seemed to me—and said, “You take such good care of me, Camille.” I knew it was not right to feel sorry for him, yet I did.
He returned right on schedule the following week, and Allan in the telegraph office reported that on the day of Tetzel’s return, he promptly sent a wire to Mortimer Krantz in the Foreign Office. “I believe I have persuaded V.E. to hold off a bit longer on that which concerns us. However, there is of course nothing that can be done about the other. The edict has been signed.” Tetzel’s spirits were undeniably brighter.
“So he’s still in the game,” I told Edwin. “You know, when I think of the times I’ve wondered why you didn’t just round up the evidence and pick him up, I feel ridiculous.”
“Yes … the plot is gettin’ thicker than molasses.”
“And the German Government has no idea the secret’s already out.”
“The decoded message from Zimmermann is sitting on President Wilson’s desk, like a death warrant.”
“While they continue talking ‘officially’ about peace terms.”
On the thirty-first of January, Wilson was handed Germany’s official announcement of their intention to conduct unrestricted submarine warfare, briefly stating that since their efforts at peace had been declined by the Allies, they would establish a U-Boat blockade along a line twenty miles from the coasts of Allied countries across which no one would pass, in order to bring an end to the war by the use of a “starvation blockade” of England.
Their only concession to us was the permission of one ship per week to pass unharmed between Falmouth, England, and the United States, plus the guaranteed safety of our ships already en route from neutral to Allied countries.
Wilson i
mmediately broke off diplomatic relations with Germany, sent the German ambassador his passport to go home, and ordered our ambassador, Gerard, to return from Germany to this country. Still, the public did not know about Zimmermann’s telegram, and many people wondered why the President took such drastic steps over what surely was an understandable measure on the part of Germany. People in the office chatted incessantly about the prospects of going to war, their views toward President Wilson’s action divided almost equally. I stayed out of the conversations altogether, pretending to be terribly busy.
News releases began appearing in the papers from Zimmermann himself, expressing surprise at our reaction to the “starvation blockade,” not knowing that the telegram over his signature, proving his country’s betrayal of us, had been unmasked a couple of weeks earlier.
Tetzel went about his work much as usual, except that he did begin sifting through old mail and directing memos to be sent now and then. He held another meeting with the men interested in buying the bank, and from this meeting I got clear indications he was holding out for a higher price, stock options less attractive than cold cash. I believe he was trying to appear to be a hard bargainer. Should he rush through too quickly, he might arouse suspicion at such unorthodox terms. He wanted to work them into a corner where they would be obliged to come to his terms, before time ran out and he was forced to disclose his impatience at ridding himself of the bank so he could flee the country with his pockets full. I am sure this was why he began negotiations so many months in advance.
On the evening of Monday, February 5, Edwin contacted me. Another telegram for Tetzel had been picked up: “Come at once,” from someone at the German Embassy in Mexico City called “Toto.” Neither of us knew the reason for the sudden summons, and doubtless Tetzel was puzzled by it, too. He phoned the office Tuesday morning to tell me he had to leave town again, with obvious irritation in his voice, and he said he would be back by the first of next week.
Keeping Secrets Page 37