Ken Follett - Fall of Giants

“If you’re worried about the Bolsheviks, tell people not to vote for them. And what is this obsession with Jews?”

“They are a pernicious influence.”

“There are Jews in Britain. Father, don’t you remember how Lord Rothschild in London tried his best to prevent the war? There are Jews in France, in Russia, in America. They’re not conspiring to betray their governments. What makes you think ours are peculiarly evil? Most of them only want to earn enough to feed their families and send their children to school-just the same as everyone else.”

Robert surprised Maud by speaking up. “I agree with Uncle Otto,” he said. “Democracy is enfeebling. Germany needs strong leadership. Jörg and I have joined the National Socialists.”

“Oh, Robert, for God’s sake!” said Walter disgustedly. “How could you?”

Maud stood up. “Would anyone like a piece of birthday cake?” she said brightly.

Maud left the party at nine to go to work. “Where’s your uniform?” said her mother-in-law as she said good-bye. Susanne thought Maud was a night nurse for a wealthy old gentleman.

“I keep it there and change when I arrive,” Maud said. In fact she played the piano in a nightclub called Nachtleben. However, it was true that she kept her uniform at work.

She had to earn money, and she had never been taught to do much except dress up and go to parties. She had had a small inheritance from her father, but she had converted it to marks when she moved to Germany, and now it was worthless. Fitz refused to give her money because he was still angry with her for marrying without his permission. Walter’s salary at the Foreign Office was raised every month, but it never kept pace with inflation. In partial compensation, the rent they paid for their house was now negligible, and the landlord no longer bothered to collect it. But they had to buy food.

Maud got to the club at nine thirty. The place was newly furnished and decorated, and looked good even with the lights up. Waiters were polishing glasses, the barman was chipping ice, and a blind man was tuning the piano. Maud changed into a low-cut evening dress and fake jewelry, and made up her face heavily with powder, eyeliner, and lipstick. She was at the piano when the place opened at ten.

It rapidly filled up with men and women in evening clothes, dancing and smoking. They bought champagne cocktails and discreetly sniffed cocaine. Despite poverty and inflation, Berlin’s nightlife was hot. Money was no problem to these people. Either they had income from abroad, or they had something better than money: stocks of coal, a slaughterhouse, a tobacco warehouse, or, best of all, gold.

Maud was part of an all-female band playing the new music called jazz. Fitz would have been horrified to see it, but she liked the job. She had always rebelled against the restrictions of her upbringing. Doing the same tunes every night could be tedious, but despite that it released something repressed within her. She wiggled on her piano stool and batted her eyelashes at the customers.

At midnight she had a spot of her own, singing and playing songs made popular by Negro singers such as Alberta Hunter, which she learned from American discs played on a gramophone that belonged to Nachtleben’s owner. She was billed as Mississippi Maud.

Between numbers a customer staggered up to the piano and said: “Play ‘Downhearted Blues,’ will you?”

She knew the song, a big hit for Bessie Smith. She started to play blues chords in E flat. “I might,” she said. “What’s it worth?”

He held out a billion-mark note.

Maud laughed. “That won’t buy you the first bar,” she said. “Haven’t you got any foreign currency?”

He handed her a dollar bill.

She took the money, stuffed it into her sleeve, and played “Downhearted Blues.”

Maud was overjoyed to have a dollar, which was worth about a trillion marks. Nevertheless she felt a little down, and her heart was really in the blues. It was quite an achievement for a woman of her background to have learned to hustle tips, but the process was demeaning.

After her spot, the same customer accosted her on her way back to her dressing room. He put his hand on her hip and said: “Would you like to have breakfast with me, sweetheart?”

Most nights she was pawed, although at thirty-three she was one of the oldest women there: many were girls of nineteen and twenty. When this happened the girls were not allowed to make a fuss. They were supposed to smile sweetly, remove the man’s hand gently, and say: “Not tonight, sir.” But this was not always sufficiently discouraging, and the other girls had taught Maud a more effective line. “I’ve got these tiny insects in my cunt hair,” she said. “Do you think it’s anything to worry about?” The man disappeared.

Maud spoke German effortlessly after four years there, and working at the club she had learned all the vulgar words too.

The club closed at four in the morning. Maud took off her makeup and changed back into her street clothes. She went to the kitchen and begged some coffee beans. A cook who liked her gave her a few in a twist of paper.

The musicians were paid in cash every night. All the girls brought large bags in which to carry the bundles of banknotes.

On the way out, Maud picked up a newspaper left behind by a customer. Walter would read it. They could not afford to buy papers.

She left the club and went straight to the bakery. It was dangerous to hold on to money: by evening your wages might not buy a loaf. Several women were already waiting outside the shop in the cold. At half past five the baker opened the door and chalked up his prices on a board. Today a loaf of black bread was 127 billion marks.

Maud bought four loaves. They would not eat it all today, but that did not matter. Stale bread could be used to thicken soup: banknotes could not.

She got home at six. Later she would dress the children and take them to their grandparents’ house for the day, so that she could sleep. Right now she had an hour or so with Walter. It was the best part of the day.

She prepared breakfast and took a tray into the bedroom. “Look,” she said. “New bread, coffee… and a dollar!”

“Clever girl!” He kissed her. “What shall we buy?” He shivered in his pajamas. “We need coal.”

“No rush. We can keep it, if you want. It will be worth just as much next week. If you’re cold, I’ll warm you.”

He grinned. “Come on, then.”

She took off her clothes and got into bed.

They ate the bread, drank the coffee, and made love. Sex was still exciting, even though it did not take as long as it had when first they were together.

Afterward, Walter read the newspaper she had brought home. “The revolution in Munich is over,” he said.

“For good?”

Walter shrugged. “They’ve caught the leader. It’s Adolf Hitler.”

“The head of the party Robert joined?”

“Yes. He’s been charged with high treason. He’s in jail.”

“Good,” said Maud with relief. “Thank God that’s over.”

Earl Fitzherbert got up on a platform outside Aberowen town hall at three o’clock in the afternoon on the day before the general election. He wore formal morning dress and a top hat. There was a burst of cheering from the Conservatives at the front, but most of the crowd booed. Someone threw a crumpled newspaper, and Billy said: “None of that, now, boys, let him speak.”

Low clouds darkened the winter afternoon, and the streetlights were already lit. It was raining, but there was a big crowd, two or three hundred people, mostly miners in their caps, with a few bowler hats at the front and a scatter of women under umbrellas. At the edges of the crowd, children played on the wet cobblestones.