Lanny nodded. He thought: “A miller instead of a village magistrate,” that being the meaning of the name Schultz.
The stranger continued: “Frau Mueller and I are associated with others in some work of the utmost importance, and we have one rule, we do not reveal anything about it except in case of absolute necessity. I hope that you will not question me too much, and will not take offense if I say: I cannot answer this or that. It is not merely our own lives that are at stake.”
“I understand,” replied Lanny.
“We do not under any circumstances name any other person. I know the names of those with whom I deal, she knows the names of those with whom she deals, but I do not know her associates, and so on. We keep nothing in writing, anywhere. So, if we are captured, our enemies have only us; and even if they torture us, and we should break down and wish to betray others, we cannot do much.”
“I understand,” responded Lanny, again.
“It is my hope that you will trust me on the basis of what you know about Frau Mueller, who gave me your name and sent me to you. She has told me about you, and assured me that you are a comrade and a man of honor; also that you have had experiences which enable you to know what our enemies are and how serious a matter it is to us if we are betrayed or even talked about in a careless way. I ask that you will not mention this meeting to anyone under any circumstances. May I count upon that?”
“You may do so. Of course I can’t say how far I might go along with you.”
“We need friends outside our own country, and we hope that you will help us and perhaps find others to help us. We can accomplish very important work if we can get help. We represent a people’s movement, for the deliverance of our people from a slavery which is intolerable to them and at the same time is a deadly danger to the outside world. I take it you agree with that, and do not require any proofs or discussion.”
“Quite so, Herr Monck.”
“You know what Frau Mueller was in the old days. I was the same and still am. Secrecy and intrigue are not of our choice; they are forced upon us by brutal tyranny. Our work is educational; we are not terrorists, and are determined not to become such under any circumstances. A great civilized people is being blindfolded, and we are trying to strip the bandages from their eyes. We take that as our duty, and are willing if need be to give our lives, and to risk torture in order to do it. What methods we are using to spread information is our secret, and we are sure you will understand that we do not speak any unnecessary word about them.”
“I understand everything that you say.”
“You know Frau Mueller and trust her as a comrade. There are reasons why she could not come. My position is such that I can enter and leave the country, and so I am serving as her messenger. I hope you will accept me as you would accept her.”
Lanny had been studying the face so close to his own, weighing every tone of the voice and trying to make up his mind concerning the personality behind them. He said: “It will be necessary for us to speak with entire frankness, now and in our future dealings, if we are to have any.”
“Quite so, Herr—what shall I say?”
“Schmidt,” suggested Lanny—adding one more occupation to the miller and the village magistrate.
“Einverstanden. Herr Schmidt.”
“The woman you speak of is one I would trust without question. But I cannot forget the possibility that cunning enemies might have seized her and her papers, and might have sent one of their well-trained agents to me, knowing exactly how to pose as a member of her group.”
“You are entirely right, and I expect you to question me and do whatever you find necessary to satisfy yourself. But if I prefer not to answer some questions, do not take it as a sign of guilt. If I were an agent of the enemy, I would answer freely.”
Lanny couldn’t help smiling. “An enemy might be more subtle,” he remarked.
X
The grandson of Budd’s didn’t fail to realize that this was an important moment in his life. He had been expecting something like this ever since he had come out of Germany, and he had thought hard about how he was going to meet it. Now he said: “There are many things already known to me about Frau Mueller, and if you possess detailed knowledge about these, it will help to convince me that you really know her well and are her friend.”
“I will tell you all that I can think of,” replied the stranger. Speaking slowly and carefully, like one searching his memory, he began: “Frau Mueller is what is called a blond Aryan. She is, I should say, under thirty, and rather tall for a woman. Her voice is deep in tone. I have only known her about a year, and do not know how she used to look, but she is now thin and pale; her features are extremely delicate and you feel that she is a consecrated person. She has a strong sense of duty, and lays more stress upon personal qualities than most Marxists do. She has fair hair, rather wavy—naturally so, for she concerns herself very little with her appearance. She draws quickly and with accuracy; since I know nothing about art, I can only wonder at it. Also I might mention that she has a strawberry mark just above her right knee.”
“I am sorry, I do not know her well enough to confirm that.” Again Lanny couldn’t keep from smiling.
The other replied, gravely: “Last summer her friends perceived that she was working and worrying too hard, and would persuade her to go to one of the lakes for a few days, and go in swimming; that is how I came to see the mark. She is utterly devoted to the memory of her husband and clings stubbornly to the idea that he is still alive and that she will some day help to set him free.”
“You have not been able to find out about him?”
“No one has heard a word since he was taken away. We are all sure that he was murdered and secretly disposed of.”
“You might tell me about this arrest, if you can.”
“He was arrested with the young relative of yours, the Jew who played the clarinet and who had come to the Mueller home because of sudden illness—he had eaten some food which must have poisoned him. Frau Mueller went out to do some marketing, and when she returned she found that the home had been raided and her husband and your relative had been taken away.”
“That is in accord with what she told me. Let me ask, did she tell you about her last meeting with me?”
“She was coming out of a tailor-shop carrying a bundle of clothing, when you came up to her and insisted on recognizing her in spite of her not wishing to be known. You told her that your relative was in Dachau and promised to try to find out whether her husband was there also. But she never heard from you.”
“Did she tell you how she expected to communicate with me?”
“You were to come to a certain street corner, and she went there at noon every Sunday for quite a while, but you did not appear.”
“Did she say I gave her anything?”
“You gave her six one-hundred-mark notes, and she wishes you to know that they were turned over to the group and used for our work.”
“I never had any doubts about that,” replied the American. “That is all convincing, Herr Monck; and now tell me what you wish me to do.”
“We need more of those notes, Herr Schmidt. You understand that in the old days the workers’ movements were strong because they could collect dues from millions of members; but now our group is small, and every time we make a new contact we risk our lives. It is hard for workers in our country now to earn enough to buy food, to say nothing of saving anything for literature. We must have help from comrades abroad, and it is the hope of Frau Mueller that you will consent to act as our collection agency.”
Lanny hadn’t needed to ask his last question; he had known what was coming, and his conscience had begun to ache, as it had done many times before. People expected so much of Mr. Irma Barnes, who drove expensive cars, dressed in the height of fashion, and lived in elegant villas in the most delightful parts of the earth!
Doubtless Comrade Monck also knew what was going on in that well-shaped and well-cared-for hea
d. He went on quickly: “We have a cause, for which we are risking not merely death, but the most cruel torture which fiends in human form have been able to devise. It is not merely our cause, but yours; for if these fiends whom you know well are able to turn the resources of the country to armaments, you will be in just as great danger as we. Therefore we have a right to claim the support of decent and right-thinking men. I have taken a long and dangerous journey here and I do not feel embarrassed to put it up to you. I am not a beggar, I am a comrade, and I present it as a matter of honor, of duty which a man cannot refuse without shame. You have seen innocent blood shed, and the blood of your murdered friend calls-out to you—not for vengeance, but for justice, for the truth to be spoken, for a long and hard and dangerous job of truth-telling to be done.”
XI
There it was: a voice from outside Lanny Budd, speaking the same words which his inner voice had been speaking day and night, haunting him and tormenting him, not letting him rest even in the most fashionable society, even in the arms of the ardent young Juno who influenced him so deeply. It was a commanding voice, and he thought: “If this rough working-man is an agent of the Gestapo, they certainly have a first-class school of elocution and dramatics!”
Poor Lanny! He had to begin the “spiel” which he had repeated so many times that he had got tired of hearing himself. “Genosse Monck, I don’t know whether Tru—that is, Frau Mueller realizes it or not, but my money resources are not what people think. I have to earn what I spend; and while I spend a good deal, it is because I earn my money from the rich, and there is no way to go among them unless you live as they do. I have a wealthy wife, but I do not have the spending of her money; she does not share my political beliefs, and it is a matter of pride with me to keep my independence.”
“I accept what you say, Genosse; but I cannot have any pride, because I am a hunted man, and I have not only my own fears, but those of millions of working people, whose need is so great that no one can exaggerate it. I am not using wild words, but telling you the plain truth when I say that to take my country out of the hands of the bandits is the most important cause in all the world today. Nothing else matters; literature, art, civilization itself—everything is gone if we fail. Surely what you have been through and seen must make it impossible for you to escape that truth!”
“How do you know what I have seen?” asked Lanny, with sudden curiosity.
“That is one of the questions I ought not answer. People wear masks in my country today, and they speak in whispers, but these whispers keep going all the time, and news spreads with great speed. That is why a few pieces of flimsy paper, which cost so little in money, can do such a tremendous work; they can start a fire which will never be put out. Believe me, I know the state of mind of our workers, and what can be done. Give us what money you can spare, and go out and help raise more for us.”
“I have many rich friends”—Lanny was continuing his “spiel”—but few who would put up money for the cause we are talking about. I fear that what I give you I shall first have to earn.”
“Do what you can—that is all we ask. We balance our lives against your time.”
“This is what I will do,” said Lanny. “I will give you five hundred dollars today—it is all I can spare at the moment; but I will give you a thousand or two now and then, as I am able to earn it by selling pictures. I ask only one condition as to future amounts: I shall have to see your friend Frau Mueller and hear her tell me that this is what she wishes me to do.”
“That will be very hard to arrange, Genosse.”
“Not so hard, I believe. I am willing to come to your country. An hour ago I would have said that nothing could induce me to re-enter it; but I will come for the sake of this work.”
“Will you be permitted to enter?”
“I feel quite sure there will be no interference with my movements. I have my business, which is bevorzugt—it brings foreign exchange to your country. I have been careful to preserve my status, and I know important and influential persons. Let me add this: I am keeping your secrets, and I expect you to keep mine. You may tell Frau Mueller about me, but no one else.”
“I would not think of doing otherwise.”
“Sehr gut, abgemacht! Let Frau Mueller write me a little note; in her handwriting, which I think I know, and signed ‘Mueller.’ Let her set a time, day or night, to be at the place where she was previously to meet me. I remember it well and have no doubt that she does. Tell her to set it a week ahead, which will give me time to make my plans and arrive there. You may assure her that I will take every precaution and make certain that no one is following me. She does not have to walk or drive with me, if she thinks it unwise; it will suffice if I see her clearly, to be sure of her identity, and hear her voice say two words: ‘Trust Monck.’ Surely that is not an excessive demand.”
“Das wird sich tun lassen!” declared the visitor, with decision. “And let me add, Herr Schmidt, that I admire your way of doing business.”
XII
So here was Lanny “putting his foot in it” again; indulging that vice, displaying that weakness which was the despair of his three families; that inability to say No to persons who prated about “social justice” and promised compensation to the poor at the expense of the rich. What did Lanny really know about this tough-looking customer? He used the language of revolutionary idealism with genuine-seeming eloquence; but what did that mean? The British Museum contained thousands of books filled with such language, and any day you might see bespectacled individuals, drably dressed and in need of haircuts, poring over these volumes, storing these ideas in their minds. They were repeated in thousands of pamphlets which might be bought for a few pence at bookstalls in working-class districts. Anybody could learn this lingo—just as anybody could learn to make explosives and to construct bombs!
Lanny argued the question with his wife and his mother—a silent, mental argument as he drove away from the redezvous in Limehouse. Lanny wasn’t at all sure of his own position, and was exposed to the assaults of these two persons and others who had claims upon him: Irma’s mother, Emily Chattersworth, Sophie, Margy, all the other fashionable friends. “Why on earth should you give your trust to this man?” they would demand. “He says he isn’t a terrorist; but what a small lie that would seem to him if he was! You say that Trudi Schultz is a Socialist; but a year and several months have passed since you saw her, and how do you know she hasn’t changed under the stress of persecution? You say you wouldn’t die of grief if they made a bomb and killed Hitler; but would you be prepared to have the Gestapo wring the truth out of them, and have the newspapers of the whole world publish the story that the grandson of Budd Gunmakers, otherwise known as Mr. Irma Barnes, had put up the money for the bomb? And what do you think will be our feelings when we are named as the mother, the wife, the mother-in-law, the friend, of this starry-eyed comrade of assassins? Have the rich no rights that a young Pink is bound to respect?”
Thus the ladies who surrounded Lanny; and then the men, better informed as to politics, would take up the argument. “Even granting that this powerful self-educated sailor or roustabout who calls himself your ‘Genosse,’ your devoted comrade in Socialism, is really what you believe, what then? Maybe he will be the Ebert of the coming revolution, but again, maybe he’ll be the Kerensky—the Socialist lawyer who took power in Russia, but couldn’t hold it and was ousted by the Bolsheviks. Are you prepared to see that pattern repeated in Germany? If so, let us know, so that we may understand what sort of son, or half-brother, or in-law we have got!”
All this clamor, this tumult in Lanny’s mind while he drove to the fashionable hotel where he had stayed on various occasions. It was after banking-hours, but the hotel management knew that his check was good and had no hesitation in handing him out ten ten-pound and two one-pound banknotes. From there he went to a near-by establishment which offered European and American currencies at a slight discount, and changed the notes for twelve one-hundred-mark and
five ten-mark notes. With these rolled up and safely stowed in his breast pocket he went for a stroll along the Strand, where presently he was approached by a roughly dressed working-man who walked by his side and might have been saying: “Please, Mister, will yer give a poor bloke tuppence for a bite to eat?”—but he wasn’t. Lanny slipped him something which might have been a pack of cigarettes, but wasn’t. Genosse Monck presumably set out for Germany, and Lanny set out for the nearest art dealer’s, so that he would be able to say to his wife with perfect truth: “Well, I saw another Sir Joshua, and it can be bought for something less than ten thousand pounds.”
4
WHEN DUTY WHISPERS
I
The day after Lanny’s return from London he drove to the home of the Pomeroy-Nielsons to tell a lame ex-aviator as much as he was free to tell about his plans and his uncertainties. The Reaches, as the place was called; was on the Thames River, a small stream at an early stage of its career, but good for swimming and punting, and for-tow-boats on the other side where there was a path. The Pomeroy-Nielson home was old, and built of red brick, added to through the years, with many gables and dormer windows and one battery after another of chimney-pots. Even so it was chilly, and American visitors shivered from early autumn to late spring. Lanny, having been raised in Europe, didn’t mind.
The head of the household was Sir Alfred, a crotchety but sociable old baronet with white hair, and mustaches still dark, who had difficulty in paying his debts but was happy collecting materials on the twentieth-century English drama. (This, he said, was something everybody else would overlook until it was too late.) His children had gone out into the world, all except the eldest son, whose family lived in his parents’ home; an arrangement not always successful, but this was a big rambling place, difficult to keep up, and Rick’s mother, who wasn’t well, leaned more and more on his wife for help in carrying the burden. The crippled son had had his parents’ support through the years while he was struggling to be a writer, and now that he had made good as a dramatist he helped pay the family debts and tried to keep his father from spending more than he would ever have.
Wide Is the Gate Page 7