Fear of Mirrors

by Tariq Ali

  Nothing more was said. They were sure that Felix, even though he asked very few questions, took in much more than they ever realized. He was no longer an infant and so, over the last few years, their conversations in his presence had become more and more coded.

  Lisa leaned over and stroked Ludwik’s face. His eyes smiled. He took her hand and kissed it. They had been in Vienna for just over a year and had scrupulously avoided old haunts and most of their old political friends. But it was impossible to seal off the past so completely. Too many old memories lay hidden in Vienna. Both of them were thinking of the old days and smiling. Felix brought them back to the present.

  ‘Mama, can I have another ice-cream?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied his father, ‘today is your day. Eat whatever you like.’

  ‘Ludwik,’ said Lisa, ‘did I ever tell you why I used to sip coffee at the Landtmann?’

  ‘Because it was near the university, because you were not interested in politics, because your stupid boyfriend insisted, because you wanted to study how Alma Mahler preserved her beauty?’

  Felix laughed.

  ‘No, you fool,’ Lisa rapped Ludwik lightly on the knuckles with a dessert spoon. ‘It was to catch a glimpse of Sigmund Freud.’

  ‘At the Zentrale, my boy,’ Ludwik told his son, ‘we could watch something of far greater interest than Dr Freud. We used to watch Adler and Trotsky playing chess!’

  ‘Who won?’ inquired Felix.

  Later that night, after Felix was sound asleep, Ludwik unburdened himself. He told Lisa that the situation in Germany was irretrievable in the immediate future. ‘We have suffered a defeat that will change the map of Europe. Of that I’m sure. It could have been avoided if those fools in Moscow had understood that …’

  ‘Trotsky was right.’ There was anger in Lisa’s voice.

  ‘Yes, that too. It’s too late now. Communists and Social Democrats are being taken in trucks to prison camps. Now they will unite against Hitler. A unity imposed by the graveyard.’

  ‘And Gertrude? Is she still in Berlin?’

  ‘No. I sent her to Munich, to find out if our organization was intact. I got one message from her before I left. Our people are still in place, but her father is losing most of his non-Jewish patients, even though he supports Hitler.’

  ‘Ludo …?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You and Gertrude. Did you …?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s obvious she finds you very attractive. I just thought you might …’

  ‘You thought what? You big idiot. Do you think she’s my type? You might as well ask if I’ve been making love to an aubergine with spectacles!’

  ‘It’s not a question of types, Ludo. Comradeship. Loneliness. Many other things suddenly become important for our people. You know that well. I just want to know the truth.’

  Realizing that she was serious, Ludwik changed his tone. ‘By now you should know me better. I’m not Richard Sorge. Or am I?’ Lisa smiled. Sorge’s promiscuity was the subject of never-ending gossip in the Fourth Department headquarters in Moscow. The intelligence chiefs regarded Sorge as their most capable agent, but were worried that his sexual delinquency coupled with his vodka habit might one day let in the enemy.

  ‘Ludwik, don’t play games.’

  ‘She made me a proposition.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘I refused.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it would have meant much more to her than to me. And there is no physical attraction on my part. None whatsoever. Is that clear? Or do you wish to carry on the interrogation? If so, I suggest you call in two other Ls. They’re better at it than you.’

  ‘I love you, Ludwik.’

  ‘I know, so please stop this business now.’

  Later still, after they had made love and Ludwik, exhausted and happy, was half asleep, Lisa returned to the subject.

  ‘Wake up, Ludo. I haven’t seen you for weeks. You can sleep as long as you like in the morning.’

  He groaned and opened his eyes, protest written all over his face. Pleased that he had obeyed her, Lisa asked in her most innocent and beguiling fashion, ‘If someone is in a strange land, working very hard, and suddenly feels thirsty, surely a glass of water is permissible.’

  ‘Oh, not all that again.’

  ‘Answer!’

  ‘Yes, it is permissible.’

  ‘For women as well as men.’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘No restrictions.’

  ‘A few. If the water is polluted, the use of a filter is essential.’

  She laughed. ‘That’s all?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘What if drinking from the same glass regularly becomes a habit?’

  ‘Then one has to ask whether the drinker is satisfying a thirst or whether he has become addicted to the glass.’

  ‘Thank you, Herr Ludwik. Let me know if ever you become addicted to a glass. Agreed?’

  ‘I vow to thee, comrade Lisa,’ said Ludwik mimicking Stalin.

  ‘Stop. You’re not in a state to discuss anything serious tonight. Let’s go to sleep.’

  ‘I was asleep,’ moaned Ludwik.

  After Felix had been despatched to school the next morning, Ludwik sat down at his typewriter, his code book in front of him, and began to tap out a detailed but controlled report on the situation in Germany. He restricted himself to the bare facts, avoiding the temptation to savage the crazed sectarianism unleashed by Moscow at the Sixth Congress of the Comintern. The leaders of the world revolution had declared social democracy to be the principal enemy and called for an unremitting struggle against its organizations.

  And fascism? ‘First Hitler, then our turn’ had been the flip response. Even a hint of how he felt would have led to his recall, disgrace, perhaps even execution. There was work to be done in Europe, especially now that Hitler was in power. Austrian independence was likely to be the first casualty. The situation was getting worse. Ludwik knew they would have to move to another city before the end of the year.

  The sky was cloudless and there was no breeze; the warmth of the sun indicated that spring was not far behind. The report safely delivered to the Soviet Embassy for immediate transmission, Ludwik breathed the crisp mid-morning air and walked briskly towards the Zentrale to keep an appointment. Teddy, one of his Hungarians stationed in Vienna, had sounded excited.

  ‘You’d better meet him for yourself, Ludo. He’ll be working under you. If we’re about to make a mistake, it had better be your mistake. Otherwise Bortnotsky will say: “You mean you took the Hungarians at their word?”’

  Ludwik smiled. The rivalry between the Poles and the Hungarians working for the Fourth Department had given rise to jokes on both sides. He wondered about the Englishman. Why were they all so impressed?

  As he walked into the Zentrale he saw them sitting at a corner table. Ludwik ignored them and went and sat at a distance from where he could observe them without being seen himself. The woman was clearly a Hungarian. She had those slightly wild Magyar eyes and was probably one of Teddy’s mistresses. Most men had glasses of water. Teddy believed in drinking straight from the jug till it was drained. This jug still seemed to be half full. The affair was not over.

  He examined the Englishman closely and was instinctively pleased with what he saw: a conventional type, properly dressed in a three-piece suit. He didn’t seem to be saying very much, which was also good. Was this the famous English reserve or was he of a withdrawn and introvert temperament? How ridiculous, Ludwik told himself. Instincts are notoriously wrong. This fellow may be none of these things. He may be a loud-mouthed drunk on his best behaviour. Impossible to tell at a first sighting, but the appearance is positive.

  When Teddy looked at him, Ludwik nodded and walked towards their table. The two men embraced.

  ‘I’m Ludwik,’ he said, shaking hands with the woman and staring straight into the Englishman’s eyes.

  ‘Hannah,�
� said the woman with a smile which revealed a set of perfect teeth.

  ‘Philby,’ said the Englishman with a slight stammer, as he proffered his hand to Ludwik.

  Eleven

  ‘THEY WERE SO YOUNG,’ a middle-aged woman from Hanoi kept repeating. ‘So much hate written on their faces. So young, so evil.’

  A pregnant woman, barely twenty-five years old, told Sao of how she had been kicked in the belly.

  ‘And all the time he kept talking about the old days. “All you foreigners should be gassed, just like the Jews.” They haven’t forgotten the past, you know. They think of it all the time, with affection.’

  The voices kept reverberating in his head.

  Sao was sipping tea in Vlady’s kitchen. His relaxed and well-groomed face was tense; he had been listening to horror stories for one whole day. His cousin, her friends, women old and young, schoolboys, had told him in great detail what had happened on that night over a year ago, when their hostel had been set on fire by a fascist mob. Sao had read about the affair in Le Monde, but that had not prepared him for the tales they had told him in Rostock yesterday.

  ‘I can’t tell you any more, Vlady. You talk.’

  Vlady looked at his friend. ‘Why are you surprised? You were almost castrated in Dresden one night and that was during the DDR days. What a strange sound. DDR days. If they could do it then, it was only a matter of time before the explosion. Rostock is by no means the worst. At least no one was killed. In Sollingen they burnt the Turks.’

  Sao shouted at him, his voice becoming squeaky, a sure sign that he was both tired and losing control. ‘What are you trying to say, you deluded arsehole? That the Westies are more beastly than the Easties? It was pure luck that nobody was killed in Rostock. Our sense of solidarity saved us! Everyone helped each other.’

  ‘I know – and not just Vietnamese. German families gave shelter. Calm down, Sao. Please. You come here after a long absence and are shocked. I live here. Of course it’s horrible, but no worse than France or Italy. There they burn Africans. The new fascists are a European phenomenon. The pattern is the same in England and in Sweden. That doesn’t mean it’s less nasty here, but please don’t join in the chorus of Germany on the brink of a Fourth Reich. We are not a few decades away from fascism. They don’t need it any more. History repeats itself the second time as farce.’

  ‘That’s a joke in itself. A clever but thoughtless remark by the old philosopher, Karl Marx trying to be Oscar Wilde. A stray sentence transformed into an eternal truth by the party faithful. Spare me your homilies, Vlady, as my uncle in Louisiana is forever telling me. Not today. Let’s talk about something else.’

  For a minute neither of them spoke. Vlady sighed, but did not say anything.

  ‘Do you miss lecturing?’ Sao asked him.

  ‘There were times when I found it more wearying to give a single lecture than making love three times over.’

  ‘What if you had made love four times or five or six, would you still have felt less tired? Surely the tongue is busy in both cases. It’s the signals from the brain that are different. Sometimes I just don’t understand you at all, Vlady.’

  Vlady laughed. Normal service had been resumed. Sao was his usual self again. And yet the visit to Rostock had clearly unnerved him. ‘What was it that really upset you, Sao?’

  ‘The fire.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘No, you don’t Vlady. When I was sixteen years old I had a sweetheart, a girl called Dua. She was a year older than me. Her father was fighting in the south. We had been evacuated from Hanoi to a small village, twenty kilometres from Haiphong. When we had finished our work in the village, Dua and I would walk a few kilometres and sit on a rock. Below us we could see the sun set on Halong Bay. The dragon-shaped rocks reflected the sun for a few magical moments. It was as if they had become a real dragon. And then the sun disappeared and for a few minutes we basked in the twilight as the water changed colours. “Nature’s paintings,” Dua would whisper, and we would hold each other tight.

  ‘It was the height of the war, but it was the most beautiful moment of my life. Everything seemed pure. After the war, I used to say to myself, I will travel the world with her.’ Sao became silent, overpowered by the memory. Then he resumed his story.

  ‘I went to Hanoi for the New Year that February to see my father. There was a two-day ceasefire. On my way back I heard the bombers. For two whole days I couldn’t approach the village. We were hiding in caves. The third, I managed to get back. There was nothing left, Vlady. Nothing except the charred remains of our homes and friends. Dua had been burnt alive. She had been sitting in a jeep with some friends. The human cinder was still there and recognizable. Her flesh was petrified, but I recognized her, Vlady. I recognized her.’

  Vlady wanted to hug his friend, console him, tell him about how Gertrude’s entire family had perished in the camps. Sao and I have more in common than he imagines, thought Vlady, but he could not speak. His eyes filled with tears. He rose and walked slowly to the window. The faithful old gnarled pear tree was still there. As a child, when he was feeling upset, Vlady had found the old tree strangely reassuring. The memory brought a smile to his face and he returned to the table. Sao was smiling again. He was in a more philosophical mood.

  ‘I don’t think the gods ever intended humanity to be happy.’

  ‘Is it really as bad as that, Sao?’

  ‘It’s worse, Vlady, much worse. Look at me. I have wealth, a beautiful French wife, two children. I can go where I please and do what I want. Money is my global passport. I am content, but am I happy? No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You of all people ask me that?’

  ‘Yes. You were never a very political person. Can’t you see that your life is a paradise for the majority of our citizens, East and West? If they had even a tiny percentage of what you possess, there would not be burnings in Rostock. And another thing, Sao. You’re looking much better than ever before. This new life suits you. All your complaints are nothing – just superstition. You’re an old fraud, Sao. You think if you admit what a good time you’re having some balancing force will strike you dead.’

  Sao laughed. ‘Then let me offer you some of my money and apply these perceptive remarks to yourself.’

  ‘Wrong, my friend. You haven’t got the Marxist-Lutheran vision of sin to contend with like I have. Different traditions.’

  ‘You are a materialist still, Vlady, and a fool. I am a realist with a vision. That’s the difference. I’ve offered you everything to make you happy. If you were to launch a publishing house, it would even make me marginally less unhappy.’

  ‘Conscience money!’

  ‘Call it what you will, Vlady. What would you rather have instead?’

  ‘A father!’

  Both of them were taken aback by the fierceness of the tone. Vlady was surprised by his own reply to Sao’s question. Sao was touched. In all their years of friendship, they had discussed many things, including their sexual relationships, but never anything that went as deep as what Vlady had just told him. Sao tried to catch him with an intense stare, but Vlady averted his eyes, half embarrassed, half ashamed.

  ‘I don’t know why I said that … I suppose deep down it hurts. Not knowing one’s father is a terrible weight.’

  ‘In my country the experience is universal – almost. I’m one of the lucky few. Three wars orphaned our people. Nice little soldier boys, all of them marching bravely to their deaths. Except the last time. Then you just had to wait and death came like thunderbolts from the sky. Zapping the Cong! Remember? Sometimes the memory is more important than the actual person.’

  ‘Not for me. The strange thing is that, for me, the father I never knew became an object of worship. Gertrude talked about him as if he were a god. I think I’ve told you this before, but there was always something odd about the manner in which she referred to him. A strange look would come over her face. Perhaps I’m imagining things, but I felt she wa
s lying.’

  ‘You mean she didn’t love your father.’

  ‘No, I think she loved him very much, but was he real?’

  ‘What?’

  Vlady shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I once asked her whether Ludwik was his real name. She said she didn’t know. She was telling the truth, and it was this that convinced me of his existence. One night she came back quite drunk from some Party meeting or the other. She was in an expansive mood. Ultra critical of Honecker and the regime. Encouraging me to form a clandestine network of socialist dissidents. Talking about the old days and the Comintern.

  ‘Encouraged by her tone, I questioned her that night, and in some detail. It was about three years before she died. It must have been ’81. It was then that she told me that Ludwik had been in love with someone else and that she, Gertrude, had never lived with him. Again I felt she was telling the truth, and this time it made sense. If I was the outcome of a one-night fiasco, so be it. I wasn’t shocked. A bit disappointed, perhaps, but nothing more.’

  ‘So there’s no real mystery?’ inquired Sao in his gentle voice.

  ‘I think there is, Sao,’ said Vlady. He went to the next room, took down Ludwik’s photograph and deposited it on Sao’s lap. The photograph was a faded black-and-white reproduction showing a man and a woman huddled under an umbrella in a crowded street. Another thinner-looking man is sitting at a cafe table smoking a cigar.

  ‘I can barely recognize Gertrude, let alone see myself in Ludwik.’

  Sao studied Ludwik’s face closely and laughed, then looked up at his friend. He shook his head. ‘You’re right, but this is a stupid photograph. The man could be my father. Ridiculous. This picture proves nothing. Absolutely nothing.’

  ‘Or absolutely everything?’

  Sao smiled. ‘And you’re convinced that the truth, whatever it is, lies buried in the KGB archives?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In that case you won’t have long to wait. I’m going to Moscow next month on business. If the files exist, you shall have them. I’ve got to visit Ulan Bator and Beijing as well, so give me two months.’