Unknown - Isherwood, Christopher (The Berlin Stories - The Last of Mr Norris - Goodbye to Berlin) (TXT)

“Won’t he be able to get out at the back?” Arthur inquired nervously.

“You can set your mind at rest, Herr Norris. The kitchen door’s locked.” Frl. Schroeder turned menacingly upon the invisible Schmidt. “Be quiet, you scoundrel! I’ll attend to you in a minute!”

“All the same …” Arthur was on pins and needles, “I think we ought to be going …”

“How are you going to get rid of him?” I asked Frl. Schroeder.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, Herr Bradshaw. As soon as you’re gone, I’ll get the porter’s son up. Hell go quietly enough, I promise you. If he doesn’t, he’ll be sorry… .”

We said goodbye hurriedly. Frl. Schroeder was too excited and triumphant to be emotional. Arthur kissed her on both cheeks. She stood waving to us from the top of the stairs. A fresh outburst of muffled knocking was audible behind her.

We were in the taxi, and half-way to the station before Arthur recovered his composure sufficiently to be able to talk.

“Dear me … I’ve seldom made such an exceedingly unpleasant exit from any town, I think …”

“What you might call a rousing send-off ” I glanced behind me to make sure that the other taxi, with the tall detective, was still following us.

“What do you think he’ll do, William? Perhaps he’ll go straight to the police?”

“I’m pretty sure he won’t. As long as he’s drunk, they won’t listen to him, and by the time he’s sober, he’il see himself that it’s no good. He hasn’t the least idea where you’re going, either. For all he knows, you’ll be out of the country tonight.”

“You may be right, dear boy. I hope so, I’m sure. I must

176

say I hate to leave you exposed to his malice. You will be most careful, won’t you?”

“Oh, Schmidt won’t bother me. I’m not worth it, from his point of view. He’ll probably find another victim easily enough. I dare say he’s got plenty on his books.”

“While he was in my employ he certainly had opportunities,” Arthur agreed thoughtfully. “And I’ve no doubt he made full use of them. The creature had talents—of a perverted kind … Oh, unquestionably … Yes… .”

At length it was all over. The misunderstanding with the cloakroom official, the fuss about the luggage, the finding of a corner seat, the giving of the tip. Arthur leant out of the carriage window; I stood on the platform. We had five minutes to spare.

“You’ll remember me to Otto, won’t you?”

“I will.”

“And give my love to Anni?”

“Of course.”

“I wish they could have been here.”

“It’s a pity, isn’t it?”

“But it would have been unwise, under the circumstances. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

I longed for the train to start. There was nothing more to say, it seemed, except the things which must never be said now, because it was too late. Arthur seemed aware of the vacuum. He groped about uneasily in his stock of phrases.

“I wish you were coming with me, William … I shall miss you terribly, you know.”

“Shall you?” I smiled awkwardly, feeling exquisitely uncomfortable.

“I shall, indeed… . You’ve always been such a support to me. From the first moment we met… .”

I blushed. It was astonishing what a cad he could make me feel. Hadn’t I, after all, misunderstood him? Hadn’t I misjudged him? Hadn’t I, in some obscure way, behaved very badly? To change the subject, I asked:

177

“You remember that journey? I simply couldn’t understand why they made such a fuss at the frontier. I suppose they’d got their eye on you already?”

Arthur didn’t care much for this reminiscence.

“I suppose they had… . Yes.”

Another silence. I glanced at the clock, despairingly. One more minute to go. Fumblingly, he began again.

“Try not to think too hardly of me, William. … I should hate that… .”

“What nonsense, Arthur. …” I did my best to pass it off lightly. “How absurd you are!”

“This life is so very complex. If my behaviour hasn’t always been quite consistent, I can truly say that I am and always shall be loyal to the Party, at heart… . Say you believe that, please?”

He was outrageous, grotesque, entirely without shame. But what was I to answer? At that moment, had he demanded it, I’d have sworn that two and two make five.

“Yes, Arthur, I do believe it.”

“Thank you, William… . Oh dear, now we really are off. I do hope all my trunks are in the van. God bless you, dear boy. I shall think of you always. Where’s my mackintosh? Ah, that’s all right. Is my hat on straight? Goodbye. Write often, won’t you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

The train, gathering speed, drew his manicured hand from mine. I walked a little way down the platform and stood waving until the last coach was out of sight.

As I turned to leave the station, I nearly collided with a man who had been standing just behind me. It was the detective.

“Excuse me, Herr Kommissar” I murmured.

But he did not even smile.

178

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Early in March, after the elections, it turned suddenly mild and warm. “Hitler’s weather,” said the porter’s wife; and her son remarked jokingly that we ought to be grateful to van der Lubbe, because the burning of the Reichstag had melted the snow. “Such a nice-looking boy,” observed Frl. Schroeder, with a sigh. “However could he go and do a dreadful thing like that?” The porter’s wife snorted.

Our street looked quite gay when you turned into it and saw the black-white-red flags hanging motionless from windows against the blue spring sky. On the Nollendorfplatz people were sitting out of doors before the café in their overcoats, reading about the coup d’état in Bavaria. Goring spoke from the radio horn at the corner. Germany is awake, he said. An ice-cream shop was open. Uniformed Nazis strode hither and thither, with serious, set faces, as though on weighty errands. The newspaper readers by the café turned their heads to watch them pass and smiled and seemed pleased.

They smiled approvingly at these youngsters in their big, swaggering boots who were going to upset the Treaty of Versailles. They were pleased because it would soon be summer, because Hitler had promised to protect the small tradesmen,‘because their newspapers told them that the good times were coming. They were suddenly proud of being blond. And they thrilled with a furtive, sensual pleasure, like schoolboys, because the Jews, their business rivals, and the Marxists, a vaguely defined minority of people who didn’t concern them, had been satisfactorily found guilty of the defeat and the inflation, and were going to catch it.

179

The town was full of whispers. They told of illegal midnight arrests, of prisoners tortured in the S.A. barracks, made to spit on Lenin s picture, swallow castor-oil, eat old socks. They were drowned by the loud, angry voice of the Government, contradicting through its thousand mouths. But not even Goring could silence Helen Pratt. She had decided to investigate the atrocities on her own account. Morning, noon and night, she nosed round the city, ferreting out the victims or their relations, crossexamining them for details. These unfortunate people were reticent, of course, and deadly scared. They didn’t want a second dose. But Helen was as relentless as their torturers. She bribed, cajoled, pestered. Sometimes, losing her patience, she threatened. What would happen to them afterwards frankly didn’t interest her. She was out to get facts.

It was Helen who first told me that Bayer was dead. She had absolutely reliable evidence. One of the office staff, since released, had seen his corpse in the Spandau barracks. “It’s a funny thing,” she added, “his left ear was torn right off … God knows why. It’s my belief that some of this gang are simply loonies. Why, Bill, what’s the matter? You’re going green round the gills.”