Upton Sinclair - Dragons’s teeth

So the old Puritan armorer was gone! Lanny had thought of him for so long as going that the news brought no shock. He had to keep his mind on his Berlin job, and without delay he wrote notes to Seine Hochgeboren the General Graf Stubendorf, to Oberst Emil Meissner, and to Heinrich Jung. Irma, at his suggestion, wrote to several of the ladies of prominence whom she had met. No Jews, no Schieberfrauen, but the socially untainted!

By that time the afternoon papers were on the street, making known Lanny’s arrival, and he had reason to expect a telephone call. It came, and he heard a voice saying: "I understand that you are interested in the paintings of Alexander Jacovleff." Lanny replied without hesitation that he was greatly interested, and the voice informed him: "There is some of his work at the Dubasset Galleries which you should see."

"Very well," said Lanny. "Should I come at once?"

"If you please."

He had agreed with Irma that hotel rooms might have ears; so all he said to her was: "Come." She looked at him, and he nodded. Without another word she got up and slipped on a freshly pressed spring costume. Lanny ordered his car, and in a short time they were safe from prying ears. "Yes, it’s Freddi," he said.

The art dealer’s place was on Friedrichstrasse, only a short way from the Adlon. Lanny drove slowly by, and there was a tall, dark young Jew strolling. The Mercedes slowed up at the curb and he stepped in; they went on down the street, and around several corners, until they were certain that no car was following.

"Oh, I am so glad to see you!" Freddi’s voice broke and he buried his face in his hands and began to weep. "Oh, thank you, Lanny! Thank you, Irma!" He knew he oughtn’t to behave like that, but evidently he had been under a heartbreaking strain.

"Forget it, kid," said the "Aryan." He had to drive, and keep watch in the mirror of the car. "Tell us—have you heard from Papa?"

"Not a word."

"Has anything been published?"

"Nothing."

"You have no idea where he’s been taken?"

"No idea. We dare not go to the authorities, you know."

"Are Mama and Rahel and the baby all right?"

"They were when I left them."

"You’re not staying together?"

"We’re afraid of attracting attention. Mama is staying with one of our old servants. Rahel and the baby with her father’s family."

"And you?"

"I slept in the Tiergarten last night."

"Oh, Freddi!" It was Irma’s cry of dismay.

"It was all right—not cold."

"You don’t know anyone who would shelter you?"

"Plenty of people—but I might get them into trouble as well as myself. The fact that a Jew appears in a new place may suggest that he’s wanted—and you can’t imagine the way it is, there are spies everywhere—servants, house-wardens, all sorts of people seeking to curry favor with the Nazis. I couldn’t afford to let them catch me before I had a talk with you."

"Nor afterward," said Lanny. "We’re going to get all of you out of the country. It might be wiser for you and the others to go at once—because it’s plain that you can’t do anything to help Papa."

"We couldn’t go even if we were willing," replied the unhappy young man. "Papa had our exit permits, and now the Nazis have them."

He told briefly what had happened. The family with several servants had gone to Bremerhaven by the night train and to the yacht by taxis. Just as they reached the dock a group of Brownshirts stopped them and told Papa that he was under arrest. Papa asked, very politely, if he might know why, and the leader of the troop spat directly in his face and called him a Jew-pig. They pushed him into a car and took him away, leaving the others standing aghast. They didn’t dare go on board the yacht, but wandered along the docks, carrying their bags. They talked it over and decided that they could do no good to Papa by getting themselves arrested. Both Freddi and Rahel were liable to be sent to concentration camps on account of their Socialist activities; so they decided to travel separately to Berlin and stay in hiding until they could get word to their friends.

Freddi said: "I had only a little money when I was going on board the yacht, and I had to pay my fare back here."

Lanny took out his billfold and wanted to give him a large sum, but he said no, it might be stolen, or, if he was arrested, the Nazis would get it; better a little bit at a time. He started to say that Papa would make it all good, but Lanny told him not to be silly; whatever he needed was his.

"Where are you going to stay?" asked Irma, and he said he would join the crowd in die Palme, a refuge for the shelterless; it would be pretty bad, but it wouldn’t hurt him, and no one would pay any attention to him there, no one would call him a Jew-pig. He hoped the wait wouldn’t be too long.

Lanny had to tell him it might be quite a while. His activities would be in the higher circles, and things did not move rapidly there; you had to apply the social arts. Freddi said: "I hope poor Papa can stand it."

"He will be sure that we are doing our best," replied Lanny; "so at least he will have hope."

The American didn’t go into detail concerning his plans, because he feared that Freddi might be tempted to impart some of it to his wife or his mother; then, too, there was the fearful possibility that the Nazis might drag something out of him by torture—and he surely wouldn’t tell what he didn’t know. Lanny said: "You can always write or call me at the hotel and make an appointment to show me some art."

They contrived a private code. Pictures by Bouguereau would mean that everything was all right, whereas Goya would mean danger. Lanny said: "Think of something to say about a painting that will convey whatever you have in mind." He didn’t ask the addresses of the other members of the family, knowing that in case of need they, too, could write him or phone him about paintings. Freddi advised that they should meet as seldom as possible, because an expensive automobile driven by foreigners was a conspicuous object, and persons who got into it or out of it might be watched.

They stopped for a while on a quiet residence street and talked. Freddi’s mind was absorbed by the subject of concentration camps; he had heard so many horrible stories, some of which he couldn’t repeat in Irma’s presence. He said: "Oh, suppose they are doing such things to Papa!" Later he said: "Have you thought what you would do if you had to stand such things?"

Lanny had to answer no, he hadn’t thought much about it. "I suppose one stands what one has to."

Freddi persisted: "I can’t help thinking about it all the time. No Jew can help it now. They mean it to break your spirit; to wreck you for the rest of your life. And you have to set your spirit against theirs. You have to refuse to be broken."

"It can be done," said Lanny, but rather weakly. He didn’t want to think of it, at least not while Irma was there. Irma was afraid enough already. But the Jewish lad had two thousand years of it in his blood.

"Do you believe in the soul, Lanny? I mean, something in us that is greater than ourselves? I have had to think a lot about it. When they take you down into the cellar, all alone, with nobody to help you—you have no party, no comrades—it’s just what you have in yourself. What I decided is, you have to learn to pray."

"That’s what Parsifal has been trying to tell us."

"I know, and I think he is right. He’s the one they couldn’t conquer. I’m sorry I didn’t talk more about it with him while I had the chance."

"You’ll have more chances," said Lanny, with determination.

Parting is a serious matter when you have thoughts like that. Freddi said: "I oughtn’t to keep you from whatever you’re planning to do. Put me off near a subway entrance and I’ll ride to die Palme."