Upton Sinclair - Dragons’s teeth

Of the four beaters, the one who was working on the victim’s shoulders apparently held the post of honor, and it was his duty to keep count. Each time he struck he called aloud, and when he said "Zehn" they all stopped. Forty strokes had been ordered, and the leader signed to the civilian in spectacles, who proved to be a doctor; the high scientific function of this disciple of Hippocrates was to make sure how much the victim could stand. He put a stethoscope to the raw flesh of the old Jew’s back, and listened. Then he nodded and said: "Noch eins."

The leader was in the act of moving his finger to give the signal when there came an interruption to the proceedings; a voice speaking loud and clear: "You dirty dogs!" It rushed on: "Ihr dreckigen Schweinehunde, Ihr seid eine Schandfleck der Menschheit!"

For a moment everybody in the room seemed to be paralyzed. It was utterly unprecedented, unprovided for in any military regulations. But not for long. The officer shouted: " 'Rrraus mit ihm!" and the two statues besides Lanny came suddenly to life and led him away. But not until he had repeated loudly and clearly: "I say that you dishonor the form of men!"

Back in his cell, Lanny thought: "Now I’ve cooked my goose!" He thought: "They’ll invent something special for me." He discovered that his frenzy, his inspiration, whatever it was, had passed quickly; in darkness and silence he realized that he had done something very foolish, something that could do no good to the poor old banker and could do great harm to himself. But there was no undoing it, and no good lamenting, no good letting his bones turn to pulp again. He had to get back that mood of rage and determination, and learn to hold it, no matter what might come. It was a psychological exercise, a highly difficult one. Sometimes he thought he was succeeding, but then he would hear with his mind’s ears the whistle of those terrible steel rods, and he would find that a disgraceful trembling seized him.

Waiting was the worst of all; he actually thought he would feel relief when his cell door was opened. But when he heard the steps coming, he found that he was frightened again, and had to start work all over. He must not let them think that they could cow an American. He clenched his hands tightly, set his teeth, and looked out into the corridor. There in the dim light was the S.S. man to whom he had been handcuffed for a whole night—and behind that man, looking over his shoulder, the deeply concerned face of Ober-leutnant Furtwaengler!

"Well, well, Herr Budd!" said the young staff officer. "What have they been doing to you?"

Lanny had to change his mood with lightning speed. He was busily hating all the Nazis; but he didn’t hate this naive and worshipful young social climber. "Herr Oberleutnant!" he exclaimed, with relief that was like a prayer.

"Come out," said the other, and looked his friend over as if to see if he showed any signs of damage. "What have they done to you?"

"They have made me rather uncomfortable," replied the prisoner, resuming the Anglo-Saxon manner.

"It is most unfortunate!" exclaimed the officer. "Seine Exzellenz will be distressed."

"So was I," admitted the prisoner.

"Why did you not let us know?"

"I did my best to let somebody know; but I was not successful."

"This is a disgraceful incident!" exclaimed the other, turning to the S.S. man. "Some one will be severely disciplined."

" Zu Befehl, Herr Oberleutnant!" replied the man. It conveyed the impression: "Tell me to shoot myself and I am ready."

"Really, Herr Budd, I don’t know how to apologize."

"Your presence is apology enough, Herr Oberleutnant. You are, as we say in America, a sight for sore eyes."

"I am sorry indeed if your eyes are sore," declared the staff officer, gravely.

It was like waking up suddenly from a nightmare, and discovering that all those dreadful things had never happened. Lanny followed his friend up the narrow stone stairway, and discovered that there were no more formalities required for his release than had been required for his arrest. Doubtless the officer’s uniform bore insignia which gave him authority. He said: "I assume responsibility for this gentleman," and the S.S. man repeated: "At command, Herr Oberleutnant."

They went out to the official car which was waiting. Rain was falling, but never had a day seemed more lovely. Lanny had to shut his eyes from the light, but he managed to get inside unassisted. Sinking back in the soft seat he had to struggle to make up his mind which was real—these cushions or that dungeon! Surely both couldn’t exist in the same city, in the same world!

LANNY was living in a kaleidoscope; one of those tubes you look into and observe a pattern, and then you give it a slight jar, and the pattern is gone, and there is an utterly different one. He was prepared for anything, literally anything. But when he heard his friend give the order: "Seine Exzellenz’s residence," he came to with a start, and became what he had been all his life, a member of the beau monde, to whom the proprieties were instinctive and inescapable. "Surely," he protested, "you’re not taking me to Seine Exzellenz in this condition! Look at my clothes! And my beard!" Lanny ran his hand over it, wondering again if it was gray.

"Where are your clothes, Herr Budd?"

"When last heard from they were in a hotel in Munich."

"A most preposterous affair! I will telephone for them this morning."

"And my money?" added the other. "That was taken from me in Stadelheim. But if you will drive me to the Adlon, I am sure they will cash my check."

The orders were changed, and the young staff officer entered with amusement into the enterprise of making his friend presentable by the magic of modern hotel service. While the guest bathed himself, a valet whisked his clothes away to sponge and press them, and a bellboy sped to the nearest haberdashers for a shirt, tie, and handkerchief. A barber came and shaved him—and collected no gray hairs. In half an hour by the Oberleutnant’s watch—Lanny had none—he was again the picture of a young man of fashion, ready to meet all the world and his wife.

It was truly comical, when they were motored to the official residence of the Minister-Präsident of Prussia and escorted up to his private apartments. This mighty personage had all the sartorial appurtenances of his office: blue trousers with a broad white stripe; a coat of lighter blue with a white belt and broad white sash from one shoulder crossing his chest; numerous gold cords and stars, epaulets and insignia of his rank—but it was a blazing hot day in mid-July, and all this honorificabilitudinitatibus had become intolerable to a fat man. He had it hung on a chair near-by, and was sitting at his desk in his shorts and that large amount of soft white skin with which nature had endowed him. Beads of perspiration stood out on the skin, and before Lanny’s mind flashed the vision of a Jewish banker. Impossible to keep from imagining this still larger mass of flesh and fat laid out on a blood-soaked and slimy bench, bottom up!

It was the General’s intention to take Lanny Budd’s misadventure as a comic opera divertissement in the midst of very grave business; and it was up to Lanny to be a good sport and do the same. "Ja aber, mein lieber Herr Budd!" cried Seine Exzellenz, and caught Lanny’s hand in a grip that showed he was by no means all fat. "Was ist Ihnen denn passiert?"— he insisted upon hearing all about a playboy’s misadventures. "Were you afraid?" he wanted to know; and Lanny said: "Wait until your turn comes, Exzellenz, and see if you’re not afraid."