The Mirror of Present Events

by Brian Stableford

  As soon as I went in he offered me a chair politely and held out an open box of cigars. I declined the offer, not being a smoker, which he knew very well.

  “I had the advantage of seeing you at the theater in Neustadt, where I too went to hear the French artistes. I adore French artistes. Ah, Paris!” He sighed. “I regret, however, that I haven’t asked you to come to my office to talk about agreeable things, alas, but only matters of business.”

  I nodded my head slightly.

  “We have, my dear Monsieur, another position to offer you. Yes, you’re going now into the chemistry laboratories. The director of those laboratories will tell you what he expects from you.”

  “But I’m here in the capacity of an engineer, not a chemist,” I said.

  He raised his arms, as if surprised by my response. “You think so? It’s inconceivable, however, that those Messieurs are mistaken on that point. Let’s see…let’s see.…”

  He opened a drawer, from which he took a document that I recognized as the duplicate of my contract. He pretended for a full minute to be perusing the document.

  “Oh, I thought so—you’ve made an error, Monsieur Ménestin; I read here that you’re engaged in the quality of chemical engineer”—he emphasized the word chemical. “So you see, those Messieurs have thought, as is the habit here, that they have bound themselves with you for the exploitation of your intrinsic…if I might put it thus, mercantile…commercial, in sum…value. Yesterday, they needed an engineer, today they need a chemist, and have sent out the call. I ought to tell you, moreover, that an associate of the laboratory has fallen ill and is in default. However, Monsieur, if you refuse, I’ll inform the Messieurs.”

  “I had forgotten the form of my contract, Monsieur; I apologize, and I have no reason to refuse the task that you wish to confide to me.”

  “Ah! That’s perfect, and you see me delighted!” He rubbed his pale hands together. “I’ll have you escorted.”

  He rang; an office-boy appeared and saluted—the military salute was the only one used throughout the exploitation.

  “Take Monsieur to the chemistry laboratories, to Herr Hainermann. Au revoir, Monsieur Ménestin, until we meet again.”

  In the chemistry laboratories I was received by Herr Hainermann, a tall, bony fellow with an exceedingly long neck, who wore a gold-rimmed pince-nez. He too had a sly gaze.

  “Monsieur,” he said, “I’ll be brief, for I’m unfamiliar with the diplomatic resources of the language; I’m frank by nature and always get straight to the point I’m pursuing. This is it: France has recently discovered a formula that we need.”

  “Which one?” I asked.

  The man, who must have been nervous and impatient, cracked his knuckles. “I’ve just told you, Monsieur Ménestin, that France, which has made no mystery of the fact, has discovered a composite substance from which a gas can be extracted that we want to manufacture on a large scale in our establishments.”

  “I still don’t follow you, Monsieur.”

  “It’s a matter of toxic gases with the aid of which your country wants to purge its colonies of the vermin that infest them.”

  That was very nearly what I had replied to Karl when he had mentioned the discovery in question.

  “If, as you say, Monsieur, and as I believe, France has made no mystery of that discovery, nothing is easier than to obtain the formula from her.”

  “We don’t like to ask for it; in any case, she probably wouldn’t give it to us in its entirety.”

  “That’s possible.”

  “Do you know that formula?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve said, however, that it would be easy to reconstitute.”

  “Have I said that?”

  “Yes. When the reflection was made to you that there was a fortune to be made—which is true—you replied that you wouldn’t like to enrich yourself at that price.”

  “I haven’t changed my opinion, but will you permit me to ask you a question in my turn, Monsieur?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Is this an interrogation to which you’re subjecting me?”

  The man seemed momentarily embarrassed; he sensed that his so-called frankness was not hiding the veritable sense of his questions very well. He avoided replying to my question directly.

  “However, Monsieur Ménestin, you have said yourself that France would not think of making a weapon out of these new gases; you would therefore not be betraying your country in giving us a formula that our chemists might equally discover. We need that gas in order to purify, ourselves, unhealthy regions infested with malaria. Besides which, the work would be remunerated in addition to your salary but a substantial bonus.”

  “I have no bonus to receive, Monsieur, and I repeat to you that I don’t know the formula.”

  “You have, however, said that you could easily reconstitute it.”

  “I did say that, in fact, and I see that you’re perfectly informed of everything I say, but if the doses of the substances that enter into the composition of the gas are easy to find, it doesn’t follow that I’ll consent to search for them.”

  “We can, I repeat, find them without you, and your refusal would not be taken kindly.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  He cracked his knuckles again, and took a step sideways, as if to give himself time to think of better arguments; then he turned toward me again.

  “Come on, Monsieur Ménestin, render us this service; we’re in rather a hurry to utilize the regions that I mentioned to you, and thus render them appropriate for habitation. On the other hand, we’ve obtained information, and we know you have a sufficient competence in this matter of gases. Germany has made an honorable peace with France; furthermore, she’s ruined, completely ruined—there’s nothing more to fear from poor Germany.”

  For some time I had seen things as they were; it was more necessary than ever to play a tight game. I also knew that I was incapable of being as cunning as the people who surrounded me and that on that terrain I would surely be beaten. I resolved, therefore, to cut the matter short.

  “It’s possible that the branch of chemistry in question is sufficiently familiar to me,” I said, “but to my great regret, that would be all the more reason for me to believe that I am not authorized to carry out the task that you’re requesting of me.”

  “You’re going to find yourself in a difficult situation.”

  “What, pray?”

  “Breach of contract. Anticipated forfeit.”

  “In that case, Monsieur, I’m ready to pay the stipulated penalty.”

  The man hesitated momentarily, drumming his fingertips on his desk.

  “That’s your final word?” he said, eventually.

  “That’s my final word. However, Monsieur, you can write to Paris to request the formula, or for authorization to carry out research here under my supervision.”

  “We’ll see, Monsieur; I’ll inform the Council of your refusal.”

  “You have no further need of my presence here, Monsieur Director?”

  “No, Monsieur; you can return to your occupations.”

  We saluted one another and I returned to my office, where I found myself almost isolated. I remained alone with my thoughts, wondering what would result from that interview and the refusal I had opposed to the strange proposition—a refusal that I did not intend to take back.

  Leaving momentarily the plans of a combine harvester, I concluded a letter for Paris—a letter in which I could say a little more about things than usual, a French aviator being in Neustadt for the moment, retained by a slight engine fault; I wanted to ask him to take the letter with him. That way, it would escape the gaze of an occult censor of whose existence I was sure.

  An hour later, I received a visit informing me that the management had abandoned its plans, out of respect for my scruples, of which it approved, but that I was designated to make a tour of inspection in a mining district whose yield left something to be desired; I
was to depart the next morning for Lignitz.

  That tranquilized me completely. Could I believe in so much duplicity? Could I suppose that all those men were planning to deliver me to the most frightful and longest of tortures?

  Poor insensate that I was!

  I went to Neustadt, gave my letter to the aviator who was kind enough to take charge of it, and went back to the town. I went into a restaurant and went to sit down next to Karl, as if nothing had happened.

  There was nothing unusual in his attitude, and we separated in the usual way. Having returned home, I jotted down a few notes on my pad, which I then enclosed in its hiding place.

  And, fool that I was, I went to sleep, content to see things turning to my satisfaction and cradling the hope that my annoyances were over.

  How long did I sleep? I don’t know. I was suddenly woken up by a sentiment of anguish, like that one experiences after a nightmare. However, I had no memory of any dream at all.

  I was trying to go back to sleep and to chase away the painful impression, when I became certain that someone was moving in the house.

  Footsteps had just paused outside my door.

  Footsteps? No, a scarcely perceptible rustle—but I had heard it, though.

  Was I the victim of a hallucination, or had I been duped by some noise from outside?

  No; I had the intimate conviction of not being mistaken about the cause of my awakening.

  I listened carefully, holding my breath.

  Nothing was moving any longer; I could no longer hear anything—but I was certain nevertheless that there was someone behind the door.

  So convinced was I of the reality of a presence that I could have counted the nocturnal visitor’s heartbeats, as I could also have noted the regular sound of his muffled respiration.

  In the distance, a clock chimed one.

  VI. A Strange Court Martial

  I surprised myself, while listening attentively, calculating how much time had passed since that moment I had gone to sleep and my abrupt awakening.

  I knew all the sounds that occur in a dormant house: an item of furniture creaking; an insect scratching in a wall; the wind gently shaking a door; the thousand frictions on which the nocturnal silence confers an extraordinary intensity. I had heard them many a time, and it was none of those that had woken me up. Only a mysterious divination had warned me that someone else was there, separated from me by a wall or a door: and the idea that he might appear, from one moment to the next, terrible and murderous, had overexcited my nerves.

  I was lying on my bed, my eyes fixed on the door behind which the unknown visitor was standing. An irrational fear was beginning to grip my throat.

  My awakening must have made some sound, and, by scarcely perceptible signs, I divined that the man had paused anxiously, listening and hesitating between action and flight.

  Gently, I disengaged an arm from the covers, slowly opened the drawer of my night table and took out my automatic pistol. I had the habit of sleeping in pajamas, so I did not have to get dressed. I turned the commutator of the electric light, but there was no current. Then I reached for my pocket torch, and lowered my feet to the floor.

  Then I had a very clear perception of a hasty flight. I leapt toward the door, but when I opened it I heard the one downstairs closing. I had not been duped by an illusion, for when I went downstairs in my turn I perceived, by the light of my torch, the damp trace of a human foot.

  It was still raining. I went rapidly to the door opening on to the street. It was only on the latch, although I was sure that I had locked it with the key. I opened it and took a step over the threshold. To the right, the street was absolutely deserted, but on turning my head to the left I almost fell over in surprise. Karl was standing before me.

  I shone the light of my torch in his face; it was tragically pale.

  He took a step backwards. “You’re blinding me, damn it!” he exclaimed.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

  “I’m going home. What about you?”

  “I’m running after a burglar. Didn’t you see him running away?”

  I had the conviction that he had just been in my house, but I did not want to let him know that.

  “I haven’t seen anyone.”

  “That’s surprising—but it appears that the police are every efficient here; they’ll find the burglar. I’ll ask them to do so in the morning.”

  He uttered something like a stifled snigger, and as I was going back in he said: “Good night.”

  I stood there considering my lock. It had not been forced. When I went back upstairs I examined the footprint on the step; it was still visible. It was that of a big heavy man—like Karl.

  When I was lying on my bed again, with the intimate conviction that I would be undisturbed for the rest of the night, I reflected on what had just happened. Two hypotheses immediately presented themselves to my mind: someone had wanted to rob me, or to kill me. Rob me of what? Documents? I had never let it be known that I had any in my possession. Murder? Yes, that was it. I was now almost certain of it, and Karl, whose lividity had struck me, must be certain of it too.

  Following the chain of events that had unfolded since the morning, I arrived logically at the conclusion that, having refused the mission they wanted to give me, they had every interest in rendering me mute forever regarding the strange proposition of which I had been the object.

  Admitting that, I sensed that my life remained in constant danger and that it was necessary for me to take measures to safeguard it, but I was exhausted by fatigue and put off until later the examination of what I ought to do. With that, I went to sleep.

  The next morning, I went to the factory as usual, leaving my notepad in the hiding-place as a precaution. I was wary. At the factory gate a guard I did not know informed we that I was wanted in the administration.

  I followed the man. After taking a few steps in the first courtyard I noticed that instead of taking me to the technical director’s office, as I expected, the guard was taking a different route.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  “To the Administrative Council, as I was ordered.”

  “I thought I was going to see the technical director.”

  “No.”

  “Damn it, friend, you’re not very talkative.”

  “I’m not your friend, and, as you say, I’m not talkative—here, only the imprudent are.”

  I was on the point of reprimanding his insolence hotly, but I did nothing. I had been wrong to speak to the man; it served as a lesson, and I shut up.

  It was the first time I had penetrated into that part of the factory. The man opened a low door, took me up the steps of a short staircase, and then introduced me into a vestibule where there was no other furniture than benches attached to the walls on three faces. One might have taken it for the antechamber of a dispensary.

  The man disappeared through a door opposite the one that had let me in and I went, while waiting, to a narrow window that only opened with the aid of a key. That opening, through which a man could not pass, overlooked a courtyard closed by an iron door.

  I did not have time to see any more; the man reappeared and, holding the door open, said to me: “This way, if you please.”

  I obeyed, and went into a strange room. It was painted entirely in dull gray, lit from the left by two windows. On the far wall was a portrait of Wilhelm II in the full dress uniform of a field marshal, and above it, the two-headed eagle. Beneath the portrait there was a long table draped in black cloth; the German heraldic bird was embroidered on its face. Behind the table were three chairs in which the three directors of the factory were sitting, in the uniforms of colonels in the German army. Finally, facing the table, there was a wooden stool, which my guide indicated to me.

  I went to the stool but remained standing. My guide, a colossus, stationed himself behind me. I stood there, in the expectation of what was about to happen, determined to defend myself, if necessary, unti
l the end.

  The technical director, who was sitting in the center of the table, looked at me silently for a minute, his forearms placed on the table, his eyelids half-closed. One of the assessors got ready to write down what was said.

  Finally, the president spoke. “Monsieur Ménestin,” he said, in a curt voice. “You have been engaged in the capacity of a chemical engineer in the Neustadt Steelworks, not in the quality of a spy.”

  Immediately, I saw that I was doomed, but that affirmed me in my resolution to sell my life at the price I estimated its worth, and I held my position, wanting to know, before anything else, to what extent they were informed.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Please speak clearly.”

  “I shall. On the night of Saturday and Sunday last, after having cleverly given the man charged with your surveillance the slip, you penetrated into the forbidden zones and explored the ravine.”

  I merely made a gesture of vague significance.

  “You deny it?”

  “I’m waiting for your evidence.”

  The president allowed something resembling a smile to show on his tight lips; then, very solely, managing his effect, he lifted a piece of paper and uncovered two objects on the table that I recognized immediately. They were the belt-loop from my waxed coat and my notepad.

  “This is yours, is it not?”

  “It’s mine.”

  “Then you no longer deny it?”

  “I never denied it; I was waiting. Yes, I penetrated into the zones that you qualify as forbidden, because it was my duty to do so. You have betrayed the solemn engagements that you signed in order to obtain peace, and in consequence, my country is under threat. That, I had divined, but I needed certainty; I went to search for it at the bottom of the ravine. I acted as any Frenchman would have done in my place, as you would have done yourselves if the roles had been reversed.”

  “We do not have to judge what we would have done in similar circumstances, but we do have to judge you.”

  There was a brief pause, in which the president seemed to collect himself. Then, still with the same smile, he continued: “You might believe, Monsieur Ménestin, that we have been punished because we have sinned and, as you say in your country, we have introduced the wolf into the fold by permitting you to draw, from a good source and easily, information that you consider precious.”