Malcolm Bradbury - Doctor Criminale

‘Maybe that was not exactly the point of it,’ said Cosima, ‘Those Swiss accounts were interesting to very many people. Why?’ ‘Because they had a lot of cash in them?’ I suggested. ‘But also because perhaps they were not quite what they seemed,’ said Cosima. ‘Like the people in this restaurant,’ I said. ‘Think, a man like Criminale,’ said Cosima, ‘With a Hungarian address, an Austrian passport, a Swiss bank account. A great philosopher, a man everywhere trusted. He can travel everywhere, go between East and West. He is a friend of the great, he can go even where diplomats cannot. He is not observed, no one suspects him. The ideal cover, don’t you think?’ ‘Probably,’ I said, ‘But cover for what?’ ‘You don’t know, really?’ asked Cosima. ‘Of course I don’t know,’ I said, ‘I don’t know anything.’ ‘Why do the Hungarian authorities let him hold such accounts in the West?’ asked Cosima, ‘Of course, because they can be used for other things. Putting in Party funds. Making big secret deals. Buying technologies. Other people could use them.’

‘Like Ildiko,’ I said. ‘We think she was probably a bag lady,’ said Cosima. ‘I don’t think so, unless the bags came from Harrods or Gucci,’ I said. ‘You understand, a female bagman,’ said Cosima, ‘Europe is an equal opportunity employer. She was the one who could bring it in, also take it out. We think that is why she came to Lausanne. Perhaps those two did not think it was Criminale money at all.’ ‘Missing millions,’ I said, ‘That’s what you thought I was a part of.’ ‘You must admit your actions were most suspicious,’ said Cosima. ‘And now?’ I asked. ‘Now we think you probably are almost but not quite what you say you are,’ said Cosima. ‘From you that’s a terrific compliment,’ I said. ‘You must understand, in my job this is highly unusual,’ said Cosima, ‘Look, here is the lobster.’ ‘Good,’ I said, relieved. Because frankly I was now beginning to realize there was no end to the trouble you could get yourself into, once you had entered the complex world of Bazlo Criminale.

There are a good many reasons why I shall not forget the evening I spent in that luxurious restaurant in the Grand’ Place, head to head with Cosima Bruckner. Beyond its windows the Belgian people went about their usual lives: eating chocolates, crashing their fine cars, and wondering whether Belgium was really a country at all. Inside the splendid Eurocrats ate and pondered the future of us all. To the side of our quiet table in the window, a silver cart laden with huge pink crustaceans was rolled. Skilled deferential surgeons appeared with complex instruments and reduced the creatures to rubble. Other black-coated minions came, handed us silver weaponry, and tied plastic bibs around our necks. The surgeons stacked the crustaceous flesh on crested plates and capped them with silver covers. Then Armand, the maître d’, one hand behind his back, put the plates reverently before us, and, with a flourish, lifted off the covers – to reveal, like some failed magician, that what was underneath was exactly what we had seen was underneath. ‘Wunderbar,’ said Cosima Bruckner.

It was the thought that certain other covers were coming off that excited and worried me. It was not easy to be back in the strange, conspiratorial world of Fräulein Bruckner, with her gift for making a mystery out of everything, of finding plots where I hadn’t. I was not sure (I’m still not) whether I believed a word she ever said. But I had to admit her version of what happened in Lausanne did have a strange consistency. I liked Ildiko greatly (I still do), and I think she liked me; but I could see how likely it was she had teased and used me. I admired Criminale deeply (I still do), and found his absences and wanderings consistent with his life in a high mode of thought; but his actions also fitted the life of a man who was being pursued and persecuted. I couldn’t quite accept the world of Cosima Bruckner, but I couldn’t quite deny it either. After all, she had been remarkably shrewd about myself, and I wasn’t off the hook yet either.

‘I can’t believe it, Cosima,’ I said, when the waiters had gone, ‘Surely Criminale was far above money.’ ‘Oh yes, they paid him to be,’ said Cosima, sitting there in her bib. ‘Why would the Communists want to put their money in the West?’ I asked. ‘Naturally, it was the only way Communism could survive in the East,’ said Cosima. ‘Come on, you’re not telling me capitalism was handing out mortgages to Communism,’ I said. ‘Why not?’ asked Cosima, ‘Communism never had a proper economy, Lenin forgot to invent one. It all worked by bribes, barter, and black market. If you made some money, would you keep it in a Russian bank? The Party people needed the West to be their bankers. And to get it here they needed people like Criminale.’

‘In that case, why did we need a Cold War?’ I asked. ‘How else could we have unified Europe?’ said Cosima, ‘It was the Russians who did it for us.’ ‘All right, then, why was there détente ?’ I asked. ‘Why not?’ asked Cosima, ‘Maybe it is okay to nuke another country, but a bit crazy to bomb your own bank account, I think.’ ‘You certainly have an original vision of modern history,’ I said, ‘How is it I only hear these conspiracy theories when I talk to you?’ ‘It is because you are not European,’ said Cosima, ‘The North Sea is a big problem for you, I think. Don’t you realize West Germany paid to keep the DDR in existence?’ ‘It did what?’ I asked. ‘Of course,’ said Cosima, ‘And when the DDR needed money, it picked up some political prisoners and sold them for hard currency to the West. You see there was always unification, even before there was unification.’

‘But why keep all this money in the West?’ ‘Why?’ asked Cosima, ‘Many reasons. For one, economic espionage. The Stasi had a whole division devoted to economic blackmail. They had to have patents, buy forbidden military technologies, weapons and computers, yes? Then to pay all the agents. Remember, half the middle-aged secretaries in the Bundestag found a little romance by selling photocopies to the East. But the money went everywhere, for blackmail, for influence. To politicians, businessmen, Western bureaucrats, even some in this room.’ ‘Oh, come on, Cosima,’ I said, poking at my lobster anxiously. ‘Of course the money was there for other reasons also,’ said Cosima, ‘All those Eastern Party officials needed their nice little accounts in the West. Maybe they liked a German car or a villa in Cannes, or just liked to feel safe when things changed. Maybe they are keeping it there to pay for a coup one day. Some was just for good investment, some of them had very nice portfolios, you know. So money was coming here all the time.’

‘And it was coming in through the accounts of Criminale?’ I asked. ‘Oh, there were many ways, many accounts,’ said Cosima, ‘But we traced quite a lot of things to him.’ ‘He knew all about it, then?’ I asked. ‘It would not be necessary,’ said Cosima, ‘It was more useful if he just did his philosophy and let his accounts be used by some others. He had his freedom, they had their way to the West.’ ‘And Ildiko was the bag lady?’ I asked. ‘She was a publisher, she moved book money around, she had access to those accounts, you saw that very well,’ said Cosima. ‘So she was working all the time for the Communist Party,’ I said, ‘And Hollo too.’ ‘It’s possible,’ said Cosima, ‘But these things were much more complicated.’ I’ll say,’ I said. ‘She could be on that side, or the other,’ said Cosima.

‘What other?’ I asked. ‘Naturally since the Wende everyone has been after this money,’ said Cosima, ‘It still comes in, and it is billions, you know.’ ‘Billions?’ ‘Like the Nazi billions after the war, you remember. Everyone wants it. The Party people say it is theirs. The new regimes say it was robbed from the people and really it is theirs. The apparatchiks who hid it want it back to pay for their nice villas or start up new lives. There are those in the West who smuggled it, and like their share. There are politicians and people in governments who need it hidden, now the security files are opening in the East. Then there are the fraud investigators who want to know what has been hidden, how it was used.’ ‘So a lot of people are fighting over the same cash,’ I said. ‘Yes, and you saw quite a lot of them at Barolo,’ said Cosima.