David John - Flight from Berlin

Eleanor had had enough.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said coolly, ‘but it sounds like total garbage.’

‘Madam, I am sorry, but you are naive.’

‘You want to know something?’ she said, pointing her finger at him. ‘You’re one of the most annoying people I’ve met.’ And with that she turned on her heels.

As she walked away she heard Martha slurring, ‘Say, now she’s gone how about a dance?’

Eleanor slipped among clusters of people, trying to find a way out of the crowd. Voices were talking freely now, lubricated by champagne.

She made it to the edge of the lawn without anyone buttonholing her and went in search of a place where she could be alone. A garden path circled the lawn and led back towards the grove they’d entered earlier. The chattering groups of guests petered out; just a few couples were strolling. She followed the path along a garden wall.

Damn that guy, she thought, wishing she was home in New York.

Turning a corner she suddenly spotted Brundage striding away down the path some distance ahead of her. Last chance, she thought. Feeling that she had nothing to lose, she was hurrying to catch up with him when he turned sharply right and entered a low pergola set into a dense beech hedge. Where on earth was he going? She followed him into a darkened tunnel of vines that emerged into a circular arbour. Roses burgeoned over trellises, and small, intimate benches were set into secluded nooks.

She’d lost him. His black tailcoat had vanished in the shadows beneath the trellises. Treading with caution she moved along the arbour path. Crickets chirped, and a keening cry from one of the island’s peacocks made her jump. A scent of roses was heavy in the air; the noise of the party a background murmur.

Then she heard men’s voices only a few feet away, and quickly stepped into a nook where she couldn’t be seen.

‘… I’m grateful for an opportunity to speak with you,’ came a voice with a mild German accent. ‘May I call you Avery? Please, let’s sit. There’s no one here.’

The men sat in a recessed bench about twenty feet away, separated from her only by vines and rosebushes. The voice continued in impeccable English.

‘Your friendly attitude towards German sport has been noted in the highest circles here. As such I am emboldened to broach with you a matter of some considerable delicacy…’

‘I’m listening.’

There was a pause as the speaker seemed to gather his thoughts. In the stillness beneath the trellis, Eleanor could hear her heart beating.

‘The United States is a new power in the world, Avery,’ the voice began, ‘a power that, happily, does not feel threatened by enemies. Perhaps because it feels so assured, so safe, it has not seen the need to strengthen its national fibre through policy…’

‘I’m not sure that I follow.’

‘You are a loose body of amateur sports organisations, are you not? What you need is training through a national organisation on the German model…’

‘I wholeheartedly agree, sir. That is exactly what I’ve been advocating-’

‘… and that means a more scientific approach to athletics, and to the-how shall I put it? — the biology of your athletes.’

Brundage fell silent. She heard a match being struck and the German inhale.

‘Success in the Olympic Games reflects the moral and racial quality of the competing nations, Avery-nations whose help Germany may one day need in fighting the threat of Judeo-Bolshevism. Communism.’

Eleanor leaned her head farther into the roses.

Brundage seemed to hesitate. ‘It’s true that I believe the United States must take steps to stamp out communism, but-’

‘I knew we would see, how do you say, “eye to eye.”’ The voice sounded pleased. ‘So perhaps as a small token of your solidarity with me on this matter… you might reconsider the selection of certain athletes-on your relay team, for example.’

The man’s voice had dropped so low that Eleanor strained to hear.

There was a baffled silence from Brundage before he spoke. ‘On our relay team?’

‘Yes. Let’s say it may not be helpful to our cause if your two Jewish athletes should win.’

Brundage was silent, at an apparent loss. ‘Marty Glickman and Sam Stoller?’

‘We Germans have had to allow one Jew on the German team, of course, to show the world we’re being fair, but with the pressure she’s under I doubt she’ll win. Your two Jews on the relay team, however, seem certain to win. We’ve been watching them train at the Olympic village.’

Eleanor winced. Was he being serious?

‘Mr von Halt-Karl-I don’t understand. We have Negroes running on our team. Why object to the Jewish athletes?’

‘Oh-ho, the niggers, yes. I watched your Jesse Owens win today. Quite a spectacle, and he had the crowd with him. But there you are cheating.’

‘Cheating?’

‘Of course! The blacks have an enlarged heel bone, like jungle animals. They have an unfair advantage. You may as well enter racehorses.’

‘Sir-’

‘But the Fuhrer does not care about the blacks, Avery.’ Again the voice lowered to a hush, like a supplicant in a confessional box. ‘It is the Jews that concern him.’

Eleanor felt the nape of her neck crawl. Another long pause, and she pictured this man, this von Halt, looking straight into Brundage’s eyes.

‘To him the threat of the Jews to our lifeblood, to all that is vital in our folk community, has a… spiritual significance. You understand that the prospect of Jews winning races, breaking records, receiving medals on the podium in front of the German people, has a most unfortunate symbolism…’

‘Karl, I want to help but I don’t see how I can simply-’

‘He has spoken lately of his vision for the Olympiad. We will send our athletes in Zeppelins to Tokyo for the 1940 Games, but thereafter it is his desire that the Games should take place in Germany for all time to come. Germany is the only nation willing to give the resources the Games are due… the only nation with the strength to lead the world’s struggle against Judeo-Bolshevism. It is a vision of the future, Avery. Think about it. The British Empire grows old and weakens. It is America’s help that Germany will need to stop the Jews from Bolshevising the earth, and the fight starts here’-there was a smack as a fist hit a palm-‘with the selection and training of our finest men and women. In this fight I foresee that you, my friend, will have an important role to play… To begin with, I can tell you in confidence that you are our preferred candidate for the presidency of the IOC.’

About a minute seemed to pass without either man speaking. Jesus Christ, Avery Brundage, don’t do it, Eleanor thought.

‘The two Jews,’ Brundage said at length. She heard him inhale as he made his decision.

‘Thank you, Avery. I assure you that I will mention this gesture of friendship to the Fuhrer in person. Now let’s drink to it. This is a party after all…’

Eleanor caught a glimpse of the man slapping Brundage on the shoulder as they departed across the arbour.

She lifted her heels onto the nook’s stone bench, drew her knees up to her chin, and began to rock backwards and forwards. She did not look up from her knees because of a sickening feeling that the arbour had begun to spin.

She did not snap out of it even when the first explosion split the sky. A bloom of fuchsia-red light lit the arbour like a ship’s flare, casting fast-moving shadows through the trees. Rockets whistled upwards, with one burst overlapping the next into bouquets of coloured sparks. The crowd on the lawn applauded as the display became louder and more lavish. She felt each detonation reverberate like a mortar in the hollow of her chest.