Chapter 13

"That's one difference between leasing and buying. You just walk away. You don't bother your head about what happens to the place. I must say they urged me to lease. I should have listened to them. But the purchase rice was so cheap!" p Byron said, "Well, sir, if you think there's any danger, your skin comes first." "I have no such fears. Neither have they. For them it's a matter of business. We'll have our coffee in the lemon house." With a peevish toss of his head, he lapsed into silence. The lemon house, a long glassed-in structure with a dirt floor, full of small potted citrus trees, looked out on a grand panorama of the town and the rounded brown hills. Sheltered here from cold winds that swept up the ravine, the trees throve in the pouring sunlight, and all winter long blossomed and bore fruit. Jastrow believed, contrary to every medical opinion, that the sweet heavy scent of the orange and lemon blooms was good for the asthma that hit him when he was nervous or angry. Possibly because he believed this, it tended to work. His wheezing stopped while they drank their coffee. The warm sun cheered him up. He said, "I predict they'll sneak back in short order with their tails between their legs, and three vans of furniture toiling up the hill. They remind me of the people who used to go fleeing off Martha's Vineyard at the first news of a hurricane. I sat through four hurricanes and thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle." Natalie said after he left, "He's badly shaken." "I hope he gets shaken loose from here." "Dear, this house will go to rack and ruin if A.J. leaves it." "So what?" "You've never owned anything, have you, Briny? Or saved any money. Once you have, you may understand." "Look, Natalie, A.J. had a windfall late in life and got carried away and bought himself a big Italian villa for a song, in a lonesome mountain town. All right. Suppose he walks away now? If he offers it for sale he'll get something for it. Otherwise he can return after the war and put it back in shape. Or he can just forget it, and Ict it fall down. Easy come, easy go." "You see things so simply, she said. They were sitting side by side on a white wicker couch. He started to put his arm around her. "Stop that," she said, catching her breath and L deflecting his arm. "That's too simple, too. Listen carefully, Byron. FloN, old are you? Are you twenty-five yet? I'm twenty-seven." "I'm old enough for you, Natalie." "Old enough for what? To sleep with me? Don't talk rubbish. The question is, what are you doing with yourself? I can teach at a university anytime. I've got my M.A. thesis almost finished. What have you got? A smile that drives me mad and a handsome head of hair.
You ) re brave, you're gentle, but you just drifted here. You only stayed because of me. You're killing time and you're trained for nothing." "Natalie, how would you like to be married to a banker?" "A what? A ha?" He told her about his relatives and their bank in Washington. Hands folded in her lap, she beamed at him, her face aglow in the sunshine. "How does that sound?" he said. "Oh, fine," she said. "You're really facing up to life at last. A stern, serious business, isn't it? Tell me one thing." "What?" "Tell me when you decided you liked me. "Don't you want to discuss this bank idea?" 'Of course, dear. All in good time. When was it?" "All right, I'll tell You. When you took off your sunglasses. "My sunglasses? When was that?" "Why, that first day, when we came into the villa with Slote. Don't You remember You had big ? these dark glasses on in the car, but then you took them off, and I could see your eyes." "So?" u "But it's so absurd. Like everything else you say and do. What did "You asked me when I fell in love with you. I'm telling you. YOu know about me? Anyhow, my eyes must have been totally bloodshot. I'd been up four, having till one hellish row with Leslie. You struck me as nothing at all, dear, so i didn't give a damn. Now look, you don't really 'want to be a banker, do you?" He said with an abashed grin, "Well, I did think of one other thing. But don't laugh at me." "I won't." "I thought of the Foreign Service. it's interesting and it's serving the country." "You and Leslie in the same service," she said. "That would be a ho, one." She took his hand in a maternal way that depressed Byron.
"This isn't much fun for you, Briny dear, all this serious talk." "That's okay," Byron said. "Let's go right on with it." For a moment she sat pondering, holding his hand in her lap, as she had in the Swedish ambassador's limousine. "I'd better tell you what I really think. The trouble is you are trained for something. You're a naval officer." "That's the one thing I'm not, and that I've made a career of not being." "You already have a commission." "I'm just a lowly reserve. That's nothing." "If the war goes on, you'll be called up. You'll stay in for years. That's what you'll probably be in the end, from sheer inertia, and family custom, and the passing of time." "I can resign my reserve commission tomorrow. Shall I?" 'But suppose we get in the war? What then? Wouldn't you fight?" "There's nothing else to do then." She put her hand in his hair, and yanked it. "Yes, that's how your mind works. Well, I love you for that and for other things, but Byron, I'm not going to be the wife of a naval officer. I can't think of a more ridiculous and awful existence for me. I wouldn't marry a test pilot either, or an actor, don't you understand?" "It's no issue, I tell you, I'll never be a naval officer-what the devil? Now what? Why are you crying?" She dashed the sudden tears from her face with the back of her hand, smiling. "Oh, shut up. This is an insane conversation. The more I try to make sense, the wilder it all gets. All I know is that I'm crazy about you. If it's a dead end, who cares? I obviously thrive on dead ends. No, not now, love, really, no-" She gasped the last words as he firmly took her in his arms. There was nobody in sight. Beyond the glass there was only the panorama of hills and town, and inside the lemon house silence and the heavy sweet scent of the blossoms. They kissed and kissed, touching and holding and gripping each other. Soon Natalie happened to glance up and there stood the gardener Giuseppe outside the glass, leaning on a wheelbarrow full of cuttings, watching. With a squinting inebriated leer, he wiped a sleeve of his sweater across his knobbed nose, and obscenely winked. "Oh, Jesus Christ," she said, yanking angrily at her skirt. The gardener showed sparse foul teeth in a grin and trundled the wheelbarrow away. Byron sat flushed, dazed, and dishevelled, looking after him. "Well, there goes our little secret, sweetheart. Kissing and smooching under gsl What's happened to me? This whole thing is a plain brute attraction between two people isolated together too long."She leaped to her feet and pulled at his hand. "But I love you. I can't help it. I don't want to help it. Oh, that son of a bitch Giuseppe! Come, let's get back to the rock pile. We must." Jastrow called from his study as they came into the house, "Natalie, where is your letter? May I read it?" "What letter, A.J.? I didn't get any mail." "Are you sure? I have one from your mother. She says she's written you another and much longer one. Come read this. It's important." He waved a flimsy airmail sheet as Byron went upstairs. There were only half a dozen lines in her mother's neat featureless writing, a Manhattan public school script: Dear Aaron: We would both appreciate it if you would urge Natalie to come home. Louis took that story of her trip to Poland very hard. The doctor even thinks that it may have been the cause of this attack. I've written Natalie all about it. You MaY as well read that letter, there's no sense in my repeating the whole terrible story. In ret"spect, we were very lucky. Louis seems in no immediate danger, but that's all the doctor will tell us. We're all wondering how long you yourself intend to stay on in Italy. Don't you feel it's dangerous? I know that you and Louis have been out of touch all these years, but still he does worry about you. You're his one brother. Love, Sophie and Louis Natalie checked the mail piled on her desk in the library, but there was only one letter for her, from Slote. Looking up from his work, Byron saw her somber expression. ('What is it, Natalie?" "It's my father. I may have to leave." The letter from her two rnve later. Meantime Natalie resumed a certain aloofness toward Byron, though she still wore the brooch, and looked at him with changed eyes. She took the long and somewhat frantic account of her father's heart attack to Jastrow, who having his tea by the fire in the study, wrapped in a shawl. He shook his head sym(was) pathetically over it and handed it back to her. Gazing at the fire and sipping tea, he said, 'You had better go." "Oh, I think so. I'm practically packed." "What was Louis's trouble last time? Was it this bad?"The brothers were deeply estranged-Natalie did not know exactly why-and this breaking of their long tacit silence about her father gave her ai awkward, unpleasant sensation. I was in love "No, not really. The trouble was my announcement that with e. Papa got awfully weak and had breathing difficulty and a blackout episode. But he wasn't hospitalized that time." Jastrow pensively fingered his beard. 'He's only sixty-one. You know, it gets to be suspenseful, Natalie, this question of whose heredity you've got. Our mother's family mostly popped off in their fifties. But Father's two brothers both made it past ninety and he reached eighty-eight. My teeth are like my father's. I have excellent teeth. Louis always had a lot of trouble with his teeth, the way Mama did." Jastrow became aware of the girl's dark watchful regard. He made a little apologetic gesture with both hands. "You're thinking what a self-centered old horror A.J. is." "But I wasn't thinking that at all." Jastrow put on cotton gloves to poke at the fire and throw on a fresh log. He was vain about his small finely shaped hands. "You won't come back. I know that. Life will get difficult here. Possibly I could go to New Mexico or Arizona. But they're such dull, arid, zero-culture places! The thought of trying to write there!" He gave a deep sigh, almost a groan. "No doubt my books aren't that important. Still, the work is what keeps me going." 'Your books are important, A.J." "Are they? Why?" Natalie sat leaning her chin on a fist, groping for an honest and precise answer. She said after a pause, "Of course they're extremely readable, and often brilliant, but that's not their distinction. Their originality lies in the spirit. The books are very Jewish. In a creditable, unsentimental way, in substance and in attitude. They've made me, at least, rehlize how very much Christendom owes this bizarre little folk we belong to. It's surprising how much of that you've gotten even into the Constantine book." Her words had a remarkable effect on Aaron Jastrow. He smiled tremulously, his eyes misted, and he all at once did look strikingly Jewish -the mouth, the nose, the expression, the soft white hand at his beard, were all features of a badess little rabbi. He spoke in a soft shaky voice. "Of course you know exactly what to say to please me." "That's what I think, Aaron." "Well, bless you. I've evolved into a pagan, a materialist, and a hedonist-and I fell in love with the grandeur of Christianity and of Jesus long long ago-but none of that has made me less Jewish. Nobody else in the family will accept that, your father least of all. I'm so grateful that you can. I truly think that the books on Constantine and Luther will round out the picture. I want to get them done. In my way I'm bearing witness, as my rabbinic forebears did in theirs. Though no doubt they'd be horrified by me." He studied her face. He smiled, and his eyes began to twinkle.
"How long after you left would Byron remain? He gives me such a secure feeling, just by being here." "Give him a raise in salary. That'll convince him more than anything. He's never earned a penny before." Jastrow pursed his lips, rounded his eyes, and tilted his head. Many years of living in Italy showed in the mannerism. "I have to watch my money now. We'll see. My strong impression is, actually, that you'll marry Leslie once you get back there, and-oh, stop blushing and looking so coy. Have I hit it?" "Never mind, A.J." "I'm sure if Byron were aware of that, he'd be more likely to stay on." Jastrow stroked his beard, smiling at her. -Good COd, Aaron! Do you expect me to tell Byron Henry I'm going to marry Slote, just to make him stay with you?" "Why, my dear, whoever suggested such a thing? Wait-my point is-" Jastrow stretched out a hand and looked after her, utterly astonished at her abrupt walkout. Holy cow!" Byron exclaimed. 'There's my father, or his double." "Where?" said Natalie. Her flight was delayed, and they were drinking coffee in the Rome airport at a table outside a little cafe; the same cafe where they had lunched before setting off for Warsaw. "Inside that ring of carabinieri over there." He pointed to a group of men leaving the terminal, escorted by six deferential police officers. Some of the party wore the green uniform of the foreign ministry; the rest were in civilian clothes. The military bearing of a short broad-shouldered man, in a pepper-and-salt suit and soft hat, had caught Byron's eye. He stood, saying, "Can it be him? But why the devil didn't he write or wire me that he was coming to Italy? I'll take a look." "Briny!" He was starting to lope away; he stopped short. "Yes?" "If it is your father-I'm so tacky and sooty from that horrible train ride, and he's obviously busy." Natalie, usually so self-assured, suddenly looked confused and nervous, in an appealing, pathetic way. "I wasn't expecting this. I'd rather meet him another time." "Well, let's see if it's him." Victor Henry heard the voice behind him just as the party reached the exit doors. 'Dad! Dad! Wait up!" Recognizing the voice, Pug turned, waved, and asked his escort from the ministry to wait for him. 'D'accordo." The Italian smiled and bowed, eyeing sharply the young man who was hurrying up. "I wig see to your luggage, Commander, and meet you outside. There is plenty of time." The father and son clasped hands. "Well, how about this?" Victor Henry said, looking up at Byron's face, with affection he usually concealed when lesssurprised. "What's up, Dad? Couldn't you let me know you were coming?" 'It happened sudden-like. I intended to ring you tonight. What are you doing down here in Rome?" "Natalie's going home. Her father's sick." 'Oh? Has she left already?" "No. That's her, sitting over there." "That's the famous Natalie Jastrow? The one in gray?" "No, further over, in black. With the big hat." Victor Henry caught a new proprietary note in his son's voice. The listless, hangdog air of his Berlin days had given way to a confident glance and a straighter back. "You're looking mighty bright-eyed and bushytailed," Pug said. "I feel Marvelous." "I'd like to meet that girl." The father suddenly strode toward her, so fast that Byron had to take a running step or two to catch up. There was no stopping him. They came and faced Natalie, who remained seated, hands clasped in her lap. 'Natalie, this is Dad." With such a flat introduction these two people, the opposed poles in Byron's life, all at once confronted each other. Natalie offered her hand to Byron's father, looked him in the eye, and waited for him to speak. At first sight, Victor Henry was taken by this weary-looking travel-stained girl with the dark eyes and gaunt face. She was not the legendary adventurous Jewess he had built up in his imagination; she had an everyday American look; but withal there was a certain exotic aura, and a strong calm feminine presence. She must be feeling highly self-conscious, he thought, but there was no sign of it. In her slight smile as he took her hand, there was even a trace of reflected affection for Byron. He said, "I'm sorry to hear about your father." She nodded her thanks. "I don't know how bad it is. But they want me at home, and so I'm going." Her low voice was sweet, yet as firm as her look. "Are you coming back?" "I'm not sure. Dr. Jastrow may be returning to the States too, you see." "He'd be well advised to do that, fairly fast."Pug was looking keenly at her, and she was meeting his glance. When neither found more to say for the moment, it became a sort of staring contest. Soon Natalie smiled a broad, wry, puckish smile, as though to say-"All right, you're his father and I don't blame you for trying to see 'what's there. How do you like it?" This disconcerted Victor Henry. He seldom lost such eye-to-eye confrontations, but this time he shifted his glance to Byron, who was watching with lively interest, struck by Natalie's swift recovery of her poise. "Well, Briny," he almost growled, "I ought to mosey along, and not keep that foreign ministry type waiting." "Right, Dad." Natalie said, 'Byron told me that you became friendly with the Tudsburys in Berlin, Commander. I know Pamela." "You do?" Pug managed a smile. She was actually trying to put him at his ease with small talk, and he liked that. "Yes, in Paris she and I used to date two fellows who shared the same Hat. She's lovely." 'I agree, and very devoted to her father. Maniacal driver, though." 'Oh, did you find that out? I once drove with her from Paris to Chartres, and almost walked back. She scared me senseless." 'I'd guess it would take more than that to scare you." Pug held out his hand. "I'm glad I met you, even in this accidental way, Natalie." Awkwardly, in almost a mumble, he added, "It explains a lot. Happy landings. Flying all the way?" 'I've got a seat on the Thursday Clipper out of Lisbon. I hope I don't get bumped." "You shouldn't. Things are quiet now. But you're well out of this continent. Good-bye." 'Good-bye, Commander Henry." Victor Henry abruptly walked off, with Byron hurrying at his elbow. "Briny, what about you, now? You're staying on in Siena?" "For the time being." "Do you know that Warren's engaged?" "Oh,it's definite now?" "Yes. They've set a date for May twentieth, after he finishes his carrier training. I hope you'll count on getting back by then. You won't see any more brothers' weddings. I'm working on a leave for myself.""I'll certainly try. How's Mom?" "Off her feed. Berlin's getting her down." 'I thought she liked it." "It's becoming less likable." They stopped at the terminal's glass doors. "How long will you be in Rome?" "If I can see you, Dad, I'll just stay on till you're free." "Well, fine. Check in at the embassy with Captain Kirkwood. He's the naval attache. Could be we'll dine together tonight." "Great." "That's some girl." Byron smiled uncertainly. "Could you really tell anything?" What you never said is that she's so pretty." "What? I honestly don't think she is. Not pretty, exactly. I'm nuts about her, as you well know, but-" "She's got eyes you could drown in. She's stunning. However, what I wrote you about her long ago still goes. Even more so, now that I've seen her. She's a grown-up woman.") He put his hand for a moment on Byron's shoulder. "No offense." "I love her." "Well, we won't settle that question here and now. Go back to her, she's sitting there all alone. And call Kirkwood about tonight." "I Will." Natalie's face was tense and inquiring when Byron came back. He fell into the chair beside her. "Gad, that was a shock. I still can't quite believe it. It all went so fast. He looks tired." "Do you know why he's here?" Byron shook his head slowly. She said, 'I didn't picture him that way. He doesn't look severe; on the contrary, almost genial. But then when he talks he's scary." "He fell for you." "Byron, don't talk rot. Look at me. A soot-covered slattern." 'He said something sappy about your eyes." "I don't believe it. What did he say?" "I won't tell you. It's embarrassing- I never heard him say anything like it before. Wh I at uck!
He likes you. Say, my brother's getting married." "Oh? When?" "In May. She's the daughter of a congressman. She doesn't seem all that concerned about marrying a naval officer! Let's make it a double wedding." 'Why not? You'll be manager of a bank by then, no doubt." They were both smiling, but the unsettled questions between them put an edge in their tones. It was a relief when the droning loudspeaker announced her flight. Byron carried her hand luggage and some fragile gifts for her family into the mill of jabbering, weeping passengers and relatives at the gate. Natalie was clutching her ticket, and trying to understand the shouts of the uniformed attendants. He attempted to kiss her, but it wasn't much of a kiss. "I love you, Natalie," he said. She embraced him with one arm arrdd the jostling passengers, and spoke over the tumult. "It's as well that I'm going home just now, I think. Meantime I met your father! That was something. He did like me? Really?" "You bowled him over, I tell you. And why not? The crowd was starting to push through the gate. 'How will I ever carry all this stuff? Load me up, sweetheart." 'Promise me you'll cable if you decide not to come back," Byron said, poking bundles into her arms and under them. "Because I'll take the next plane home." "Yes, I'll cable." "And promise that you'll make no other decisions, do nothing drastic, before you see me again." "Oh, Byron, how young you are. All these damned words. Don't you know how I love you?" 'Promise!' Her dark eyes wet and huge, her hands and arms piled, the green and yellow ticket sticking out of her fingers, she shrugged, laughed, and said, "Oh, hell. it's a promise, but you know what Lenin said. Promises like piecrusts are made to be broken. Good-bye, my darling, my sweet. Good-bye, Byron." Her voice rose as the press of passengers dragged her away. After a couple of hours of troubled sleep at the hotel, Commander Henry put on a freshly pressed uniform, with shoes gleaming like black mirrors, and walked to the embassy. Under a low gray sky, in the rows of tables and chairs along the Via Veneto, only a few people were braving the December chill. The gasoline shortage had almost emptied the broad boulevard of traffic. Like Berlin, this capital city exuded penury and gloom.
Captain Kirkwood had left for the day. His yeoman handed Pug a long lumpy envelope. Two small objects clattered to the desk when he ripped it open: silver eagles on pins, the collar insignia of a captain. Captain William Kirkwood presents his compliments to Captain Victor Henry, and trusts he is free to dine at nine, at the Osteria dell' Orso. P.S. You're out of uniform. Four stripes, please. Clipped to the note was a strip of gold braid, and the Alnav letter Esting newly selected captains, on which Victor (none) Henry was ringed in heavy red lines. The yeoman's refreshing, freckled American face wore a wide grin. "Congratulations, Capon." "Thank you. Did my son call?" , suh. He's coming to dinner. That's all arranged. Ah've got fresh coffee going, suh, if you'd like a cup in the cap'n's office." "That'll be fine." Sitting in the attache's swivel chair, Pug drank one cup after another of the rich Navy brew, delightful after months of the German ersatz stuff. He ranged on the desk before him the eagles, the Alnav, the strip of gold braid. His seamed pale face looked calm, almost bored, as he swung the chair idly, contemplating the tokens of his new rank; but he was stirred, exalted, and above all relieved. He had long been dreading that the selection board, on this first round, might him over. E Pass xecs of battleships and cruisers, squadron commanders of submarines and destroyers, insiders in BuShips and BuOrd, could well crowd out an attache. The big hurdle of the race for flag rank was early promotion to captain. The few officers who became admirals had to make captain on the wing. This early promotion, this small dry irrevocable statistic in the record, was his guerdon for a quarter of a century of getting things done. It was his first promotion in ten years, and it was the crucial one. He wished he could share this cheering news at once with his restless wife. Perhaps when he got back to Berlin they could throw a wingding, he thought, for embassy people, correspondents, and friendly foreign attaches, and lighten the gloom lying heavy in the jemes mansion in Grunewald. Natalie Jastrow popped back into his mind, displacing even the promotion. Since the chance encounter, he kept thinking of her. In those few minutes he had sensed the powerful, perhaps unbreakable, bond between his son and the girl. Yet how could that be? Young women like Natalie Jastrow, if they went outside their natural age bracket, tended to marry a man almost his own age rather than to reach down and cradlesnatch a stripling like Byron. Natalie was more mature and accomplished than Janice, who was marrying Byron's older brother. It was mismatch enough for these reasons, and made him wonder about her sense and stability, butthe Jewish problem loomed above all. Victor Henry was no bigot, in his own best judgment. His narrowly bounded little had brought him into very little contact with Jews. He was an and realist and the whole thing spelled trouble. If he were to have halfJewish grandchildren, well, with such a mother they would probably be handsome and bright. But he thought his son was not man enough to handle the complications and might never be. The coolness and courage he had displayed in Warsaw were fine traits for an athletic or military career, but in daily life they meant little, compared to ambition, industry, and common sense. "Mr. Gianelli is here, sir." The yeoman's voice spoke through the squawk box. "Very well." Victor Henry swept up the tokens and put them in a trouser pocket, not nearly as happy as he had once thought promotion to captain would make him. The San Francisco banker had changed to an elegant doublebreasted gray suit with bold chalk stripes and outsize British lapels. The interior of his green Rolls Royce smelled of a strong cologne. "I trust you enjoyed your nap as much as I did mine," he said, lighting a very long cigar. All his gestures had the repose, and all the details of his personmanicure, rings, shirt, tie-the sleekness, of secure wealth. Withal, he appeared stimulated and slightly nervous. "Now I've already spoken to the foreign minister. You've met Count Ciano?" Pug shook his head. "I've known him well for many years. He's definitely coming to the reception, and from there will take me to the Palazzo Venezia. Now, what about you? What are your instructions?" 'To consider myself your aide as long as you're in Italy and Germany, sir, and to make myself useful in any way you desire." 'Do you understand Italian?" 'Poorly, to say the least. I can grope through a newspaper if I have to. "That's a pity." The banker smoked his cigar with calm relish, his drooping eyes sizing up Victor Henry. 'Still, the President said there might be value in having you along at both interviews, if these heads of state will stand for it. just another pair of eyes and ears. At Karinhall, of course, I can ask that you interpret for me. My German's a bit weak. I think we have to feel our way as we go. This whole errand is unusual and there's no protocol for it. Ordinarily I'd be accompanied by our ambassador." "Suppose I just come along, then, as though it's the natural thing, unless they stop me?" The banker's eyes closed for several seconds, then he nodded and opened them. "Ah, here's the Forum. You've been in Rome before? We're passing the Arch of Constantine. A lot of old history here! I suppose envoys came to Rome in those days on errands just as strange."Pug said, "This reception now, is it at your apartment?" "Oh no, I keep just a very small flat off the Via Veneto. My uncle and two cousins are bankers here. It is at their town house, and the reception is for me. Let us just see how this goes. If, when we're with Ciano, I touch my lapel so, you'll excuse yourself. Otherwise come along, in the way you suggest." These arrangements proved needless because Mussolini himself dropped in on the party. About half an hour after the arrival of the Americans, a commotion started up at the doorway of the enormous marblecolumned room, and Il Duce came walking bouncily in. He was not expected, judging by the excitement and confusion among the guests. Even Ciano, resplendent in green, white, and gold uniform, seemed taken aback. Mussolini was a surprisingly small man, shorter than Pug, dressed in a wrinkled tweed jacket, dark trousers, a sweater, and brown-and white saddle shoes. It struck Pug at once that with this casual apparel Mussolini was underlining-perhaps for its eventual effect on the Germans-his contempt for Roosevelt's informal messenger. Mussolini went to the buffet table, ate fruit, drank tea, and chatted jauntily with guests who crowded around. He moved through the room with a teacup, talking to one person and another. He glanced once at Luigi Gianelli as he passed Close by, but otherwise be ignored the two Americans. In this setting Mussolini hardly resembled the chin-jutting imperial bully with the demonic glare, His prominent eyes had an Italian softness, his t-.mile was wide, ironical, very worldly, and it seemed to Victor Henry that here was a smart little fellow who had gotten himself into the saddle and loved it, but whose bellicosity was a comedy. There was no comparing him with the ferocious Hitler. Mussolini left the while pug clumsily making talk with the banker's aunt, bejewelled,paintedcrone(room) withahaughtym(was) anner, a peppermint breath and almost no hearing.(a) Seeing the banker beckon to him and walk off after IDano, Pug excused himself and followed. The three men went through tall carved wooden doors into a princely high-ceilinged library, lined with volumes bound in gold-stamped brown, scarlet, or blue leather. Tall windows looked out over the city, which appeared so different from blacked-out Berlin, with electric lights twinklin and blazing in long crisscrossing lines and scattered clusters. Mussolini with a regal gesture invited them to sit. The banker came to the sofa beside bin4 while Ciano and Victor Henry faced them in armchairs. Mussolini coldly stared at Henry and turned the stare to Gianelli. The look at once changed Pug's impression of the Italian leader, and gave him a forcible sense that he was out of his depth and under suspicion. He felt junior and shaky, an ensign who had blundered into flag country. Ciano had given him no such feeling, and still didn't, sitting there gorgeous and wary, the son-in-law waiting for the powerful old man to talk.
At this close range Pug could see how white Mussolini's fringe of hair was, how deep the creases of decision were folded in his face, how vivid were the large eyes, which now had an opaque glitter. This man could readily order a hundred murders, Pug decided, if he had to. He was an Italian ruler. Pug could half follow the banker's clear, measured Italian as he rapidly explained that Franklin Roosevelt, his treasured friend, had appointed the Berlin naval attache as an aide for his few days in Europe; also that Henry would be acting as interpreter with Hitler. He said Henry could now remain or withdraw at Il Duce's pleasure. Mussolini gave the attache another glance, this time obviously weighing him as a Roosevelt appointee. His expression warmed. 'Do you speak Italian?" he said in good English, catching Henry unawares almost as though a statue had broken into speech. "Excellency, I can follow it in a fashion. I can't speak it. But then, I have nothing to say." Mussolini smiled, as Pug had seen him smile at people in the other room. "If we come to naval matters maybe we will talk English." He looked expectantly at the banker. i(, Luigi?), The banker talked for about a quarter of an hour. Since Pug already knew the substance, the banker did not altogether lose him. After some compliments, Gianelli said he was no diplomat and had neither the credentials nor the skill to discuss matters of state. He had come to put one question informally to Il Duce, on behalf of the President. Mr. Roosevelt had sent a private citizen who knew 11 Duce, so that a negative reply would not affect formal relations between the United States and Italy. The President was alarmed by the drift toward catastrophe in Europe. If fall-scale war broke out in the spring, horrors that nobody could foresee might engulf the whole world. Was it possible to do something, even at this late hour? Mr. Roosevelt had in mind a formal, urgent mission by a high United States diplomat, somebody on the order of Sumner Wefles (Ciano, drumming the tips of his fingers together, looked up at the mention of the name), to visit all the chiefs of the warring states, perhaps late in January, to explore the possible terms of a general European settlement. E Duce himself had made a last-minute call for a similar exploration on August 31, in vain. But if he would join the President now in bringing about such a settlement, he would hold a place in history as a savior of mankind. Mussolini deliberated for a minute or so, his face heavy, his shoulders bowed, his look withdrawn, one hand fiddling with his tweed lapels. Then he said-as nearly as Pug could follow him-that the foreign policy of Italy rested on the Pact of Steel, the unshakable tie with Germany. Any attempt, any maneuver, any trick designed to split off Italy from this alliancewould fail. A settlement in Europe was always possible. No one would welcome it more than he. As Mr. Roosevelt acknowledged, he himself had tried to the last to preserve the peace. But Hitler had offered a very reasonable settlement in October, and the Allies had spurned it. The American government in recent years had been openly hostile to Germany and Italy. Italy too had serious demands that had to be part of any settlement. These were not matters in Luigi ) s province, Mussolini said, but he was stating them to clarify his very pessimistic feeling about a mission by Sumner Welles. "You have put a question to me," he concluded. "Now, Luigi, I will put a question to you." "Yes, Duce." "Does this initiative come from President Roosevelt, or is he acting at the request of the Allies?" "Duce, the President has told me this is his own initiative." Ciano cleared his throat, leaned forward with his hands clasped, and said, "Do the British and French know and approve of this visit you are making?" "No, Excellency. The President said that he would be making informal inquiries of the same nature, at this same time, in London and Paris." Mussolini said, "The newspapers have no information on any of this, is that correct "What I have told you, Duce, is known outside this room only to the President and his Secretary of State. My trip is a matter of private business, of no interest to the press, and so it will remain forever." 'I have stated my deep reservations," said Mussolini, speaking slowly, in an extremely formal tone. "I have very little hope that such a mission would be to any useful purpose, in view of the maniacal hosdhty of the British and French ruling circles to the resurgent German nation and its great Fuhrer. But I share Mr. Roosevelt's sentiment about leaving no stone unturned." He took a long portentous pause, then spoke with a decisive nod. "If the President sends Sumner Welles on such a mission, I will receive him." Gianelli's fixed snile gave way to a real one of delight and pride. He gushed over Mussolini's wise and great decision, and his joy at the prospect of Italy and the United States, his two mother countries, joining to rescue the world from tragedy. Mussolini nodded tolerantly, seeming to enjoy the flood of flattery, though be waved a deprecating hand to calm down the banker. Victor Henry seized the first pause in the banker's speech to put in, "Duce, may I ask whether Signor Gianelli is permitted to tell the Fuhrer this? That you have consented to receive a formal mission by Sumner Welles?" Mussolini's eyes sparked, as sometimes an admiral's did when Victor Henry said somethingsharp. He looked to Ciano. The foreign minister said condescendingly in his perfect English, "The Fuhrer will know long before you have a chance to tell him." "Okay," said Henry. Mussolini rose, took Gianelli's elbow, and led him out through french doors to the balcony, letting a gust of cold air into the room. Ciano smoothed his thick black hair with both white hands. "Well, Commander, what do you think of the great German naval victory in the south Atlantic?" 'I hadn't heard of one." 'Really? It will be on Rome radio at seven o'clock. The battleship Graf Spee has caught a group of British cruisers and destroyers off Montevideo. The British have lost four or five ships and all the rest have been damaged. it's a British disaster that changes the whole balance of force in the Atlantic." Victor Henry was shocked, but skeptical. "What happened to Graf Spee?" 'Nfinor hits that will be repaired overnight. Graf Spee was much heavier than anything it faced." "The British have acknowledged this?" Count Ciano smiled. He was a good-looking young man, and obviously knew it; just a little too fat and proud, Pug thought, from living high on the hog. 'No, but the British took a little while to acknowledge the sinking of the Royal Oak." The dinner celebrating Victor Henries promotion began in gloom, because of the Graf Spee news. The two attaches sat talking over highballs, waiting for Byron to show up. Captain Kirkwood asserted that he believed the story; that in the twenty years since the last war, a deep rot had eaten out the heart of England. Kirkwood looked like an Englishman himself-long-jawed, ruddy, and big-toothed-but he had little use for Great Britain. The British politicians had stalled and cringed in the face of Hitler's rise, he declared, because they sensed their people no longer had a will to fight. The Limey navy was a shell. England and France were going to crumple under Hitler's onslaught in the spring. 'It's too bad, I suppose," Kirkwood said. "One's sentiments are with the Allies, naturally. But the world moves on. After all, Hitler halted Communism in its tracks. And don't worry, once he takes the fight out of the Allies, he'll settle Stalin's hash. The Russians are putting on one stumblebum performance in Finland, aren't they? They'll be a walkover for the Wehrmacht. In the end we'll have to make a deal with Hitler, that's becoming obvious. He holds all the cards on this side of the water." "Hi, Dad." Byron's sports jacket and slacks were decidedly out of place in this old luxurious restaurant, where half the people wore evening dress. Henry introduced him to the attache. "Where have you been? You're late." "I saw a movie, and then went to the Y.M.C.A to flake out for a little while." "Is that all you could find to do in Rome? See a movie? I Wish I had a few free hours in thiscity." "Well, see, I was tired." Byron appeared much more his old slack self. The waiter now brought champagne and Yirkwood proposed a toast to Captain Victor Henry. "Hey, Dad! Four stripes! Really?" Byron sprang to life, radiating surprised joy. He clasped his father's hand and lifted a brimming glass. "Well! I'm sure glad I came to Rome, just for this. Say, I know one doesn't mention such things, but the hell with it, doesn't this put you way out front, Dad?" Captain Kirkwood said, "He's been out front all along. That's what this means." "All it takes now is one false move," said Pug dryly, shaking his head, "one piece of bad luck, one mislaid dispatch, one helmsman doping off on the midwatch. You're never out front till you retire." 'What's your situation, by the way, Byron?" Kirkwood said. The young man hesitated. "He's ROTC," Pug quickly said. "He's got a yen for submarines. By the way, Briny, the New London sub school is doubling the enrollment in May and accepting any reserves that can pass the physical" Iirkwood smiled, examining Byron with a shade of curiosity. "Now's the time to get in on the ground floor, Byron. How)re your eyes? Got twenty-twenty vision?"I "My eyes are okay, but I have this job to do here." "What sort of job?" "Historical research," Kirkwood's face wrinkled. Pug said, "He's working for a famous author, Uron Jastrow. You know, the one who wrote A Jew's Jesus.)) "Oh, Jastrow, yes. That fellow up in Siena. I had lunch with him at the embassy once. Brilliant fellow. Having some trouble getting back home, isn't he?" Byron said, "He isn't having trouble, sir, he just doesn't want to leave." Kirkwood rubbed his chin. 'Are you sure? Seems to me that's why he was in Rome. There's a foul-up in his papers. He was born in Russia or Lithuania or somewhere, and-whatever it is, I guess something,can be worked out. Taught at Yale, didn't he?" "Yes, sir. "Well, he ought to make tracks while he can. Those Germans are just over the Alps. Not to mention old Benito's anti-Jew laws."Victor Henry was returning to Berlin that night by train, accompanying the banker. He said nothing about his mission in Rome to Kirkwood or his son, and they did not ask. After dinner Byron rode to the railroad station in the with him, in a prolonged silence. Natalie Jastrow was a heavy invisible presence in the cab, and neither one would start the topic. Pug said as they drove into the brilliantly lit empty square before the terminal, "Briny, if the British really took that shellacking off Montevideo, we won't stay out much longer. We can't let the Germans close the Atlantic. That's 1917 again. Why don't you put in for sub school? It won't start till May. By then Jastro'll be back in the States, if he isn't simpleminded." May's a long way off." "Well, I'm not going to argue." Pug got out of the cab. "Write to your mother a little more often. She's not happy." "Okay, Dad." "Don't miss Warren's wedding." "I'll try not to. Gosh, won't that be something, if this family finally gets together again?" "That's why I want you there. It'll be the last time in God knows how many years. Good-bye." "Good-bye. Listen, I'm real proud you made captain, Dad." Pug Henry gave his son a gloomy half-smile through the cab window and walked off to the train. And still not a word more had passed between them about the Jewish girl. So irascibly did Rhoda Henry greet her husband on his return that he began to think something might be wrong with her. the fall weather in Berlin stank, life stank, she was bored, German efficiency was a fiction, nobody understood how to do anything right, and there was no Service and no honesty an ore. She had "her pain," Yin an untreatable affliction that during previous Slumps had showed up in an arm and in her back, and now was behind an ear. She feared cancer, but it didn't really matter because everything good was all finished anyway. Rhoda had always come out of these sags before, and then could be contritely sweet. Pug had hoped when he suddenly left Berlin for Rome that he would find her better when he got back. She was worse. She wanted to go with him to Karinhall. In his absence an invitation engraved in gold on creamy thick stationery, addressed to Commander Victor Henry, had been delivered by a Luftwaffe staff officer. Pug hadn't been home ten minutes when she brought it out wanting to know why she hadn't been invited too. If he went to the Goerings' party at Karinhall and left her behind, she said, she could never face anybody in Berlin again.
Pug could not disclose that he was going along for secret state purposes, as a flunkey to an international financier. He couldn't take her into the snow-covered garden to soothe her with hints of this; it was almost midnight, and she was wearing a cloudy blue negligee, in which, indeed, she looked very pretty. "Listen, Rhoda, take my word for it that there are security reasons for all this. "Ha. Security reasons. That old chestnut, whenever you want to do anything your way." "I'd rather have you along. You know that" "Prove it. Call the Protocol officer at the air ministry tomorrow. Or if You're too bashful, I will." Pug was conducting this conversation in the library, while glancing down the letter through piled-up mail. He put staring at his wife, he said, "Are you well?" "I'm bored to death, otherwise I'm fine, why?" "Have you been taking the iron pills?" "Yes, but I don't need pills. What I need is a little fun. Maybe I should go on a bender." "You're not calling the air ministry! I hope that's understood." Rhoda made a mutinous noise, and sat pouting. 'Hullo. Here's a letter from that Kirby fellow. What's he got to say for himself?" "Read it. it's as dun as he is. All about how glad he is to be home, and how good the skiing is around Denver, and how much he enjoyed our hospitality. Three pages of nothing." Pug tossed the letter unread on the routine pile. 'Honestly, you're a riot, you're so predictable, Pug. For twenty-five years whenever you've come home you've gone straight for the mail. What are you expecting, a letter from a lost love?" He laughed, and shoved the letters aside. "Right you are. Let's have a drink. Let's have a couple of drinks. You look wonderful." 'I do not. That goddamned hairdresser baked my hair into shredded wheat again. I'm tired. I've been waiting up to talk to you. You were two hours late." 'There was trouble at the passport office." "I know. Well, I'm going to bed. Nothing to talk about, since Karinhall is out. I even bought a sensational dress. I was going to show it to you, but to hell with it. I'll send it back." 'Keep it. You might just find a use for it pretty soon." "Oh? Expect to be invited to the Goerings' again?" She went out without staying for an answer. Pug prepared a couple of highballs to toast the news of his promotion.
When he got upstairs, her light was out-an old unpleasant marital signal. He wanted very much to spend the night with his wife. Moreover, he had been saving the story of his encounter with Natalie Jastrow for their bedroom talk. He drank both highballs himself, and slept on the sofa in the library. The next day was brightened for him by the German announcement that the Graf Spee had heroically scuttled itself after its historic victory, and that its commanding officer had then nobly shot himself in a hotel room. He heard over the BBC that three much lighter British vessels had in fact beaten the German warship in a running sea fight and sent it limping into port before the scuttling. The German people didn't hear a word rs. After a minute of cold of this, and they were baffled by the revelation that the victorious pocket battleship had elected to blow itself up. The Nazi propagandists did not bother to explain, smothering the story instead with a whooping account of a vast fictitious air victory: twenty-five British bombers shot down over Heligoland. Pug knew that the chances of his ever meeting Count Ciano again were remote, but he would have given much to chat with him again about the Graf Spee. , when Rhoda learned of Pug's promotion she came out of her blues as though by shock. Not another peep did she utter about Karinhall. She proceeded to give well the honeymoon treatment, and they had a happy week or so. His account of Natalie Jastrow fascinated and appalled her. "Sounds to me as though our only hope is that she'll come to her senses and drop Briny," she said. Karinhall looked like a federal penitentiary built in the style of a hunting lodge. It sat in a game preserve about two hours' drive from Berlin, a wilderness of small bare trees and green firs mantled in snow. Off the autobahn, the approach ran through heavy gates electrically controlled, steel and concrete fences jagged with icicles, and a gauntlet of machinegun-bearing Luftwaffe sentinels whose breaths smoked as they shouted challenges. just as the car turned a corner and they caught a glimpse of the grandiose timber and stone building, a deer with big frightened eyes bounded across the road. The San Francisco banker no longer wore his automatic smile. His mouth was tightly pursed, and the soft brown Italian eyes were open wide and darting here and there, rather like the deer's. In the vaulted banquet room, amid a dazzling crush of uniformed Nazis and their white-shouldered women-some lovely, some grossly fat, all briuiandy gowned and heavily gemmed-Adolf Hitler was playing with the little Goering girl. A string orchestra lost in a corner of the marble-paved expanse was murmurin Mozart. Great logs flamed in a fireplace with a triangular stone pediment soaring to the ceiling, and on a carved heavy table stretching the entire length of the room an untouched banquet lay piled. Rich smells hung in the air: wood smoke, cigar smoke, roast meat, French perfume. The happy, excited crowd of eminent Germans were laughing, cooing, clapping hands, their eyes shining at their Leader in his Plain field-gray coat and black trousers as he held the beautiful whiteclad child in his arms, talking to her, teasing her with a cake. Goering and his statuesque wife, both ablaze in operatic fineryand jewelry, the man more showy than the woman, stood near, beaming with soft affectionate Pride. Suddenly the little girl kissed the Fuhrer on his big pale nose, and he laughed and gave her the cake. A cheer went up, everybody applauded, and women wiped their eyes. "The Fuhrer is so wonderful," said the Luftwaffe officer accompanying the two Americans, a small dark aviator wearing the diamond-studded cross of the Condor Legion. "Ach, if he could only marry! He loves children." And to Pug Henry, also, there was something appealing about Hitler: his shy smile acknowledging the applause, the jocular reluctance with which he handed the girl to her ecstatic mother, his wistful shrug as he slapped Goering's back, like any bachelor congratulating a luckier man. At this moment Hitler had a naive, almost mushy charm. The Goerings escorted Hitler to the table, and this signalled a general swarming toward the buffet. A troop of lackeys in blue and gold livery marched in, setting up gilt tables and chairs, helping the guests to food, pouring the wine, bowing and bowing. Guided by the Luftwaffe officer, he and Gianelb landed at a table with a banker named Wolf Stblier, who hailed the American financier as an old acquaintance: a slight Teuton in his fifties, with sandy hair plastered close to his head. The wife, an ashenhaired beauty, had eyes that glittered clear blue like the large diamonds on her neck, her arms, her fingers, and her ears. By chance, Victor Henry had just written a short report on Steller and knew a lot about him. Steller's bank was the chief conduit by which Goering was amassing his riches. Steller's specialty was acquiring Obiekte, the term in German business jargon for Jewish-owned companies forced to the wall. In the queer Germany of 1939, which Victor Henry was just beginning to understand, there was much stress on legality in looting the Jews. Outright confiscation or violence were rare. New codes of law dating from 1936 simply made it hard for them to do business; and month by month rulings came out making it ever harder. Jewish firms couldn't get import or export licenses or raw materials. Their use of railroads and shipping was restricted. Conditions kept tightening until they had no course but to sell out. A market flourished in such Obiekte, with many alert upperclass Germans bidding eagerly against each other. Wolf Steller's technique was to find and unite all the buyers interested in an Obiekt, and to make a single very low offer. The owners had the choice of taking it or going bankrupt. Steller's group then divided up the firm in shares. Tlrough Goering, Steller had access to the Gestapo's records, and was usually first on the scent of a major Jewish firm buckling to its knees. The big prizes Goering bought up himself-metal, banking, textiles-or took a large participation. Steller's bank got its broker's fees and also its own participations in the Obiekte. All this Pug had learned from the American radio commentator in Berlin, Fred Fearing, who had been at some pains to dig it up. Fearing recounted it to him with deep anger, the more soas he couldn't broadcast the story. The Germans claimed that any report of unfair treatment of the Jews was paid Allied propaganda. The Jewish laws aimed simply at restricting this minority, they said, to its due share in Germany's economy. Pug had more or less shut his mind to the Jewish problem, so as to focus on the military judgments which were his job. Jews had become all but invisible in Berlin, except in their special shopping hours, when, pamd and harried, they briefly filled the stores and then again faded from sight. The oppression was not a highly visible affair; Pug had never seen even the outside of a concentration camp. He had observed the signs on benches and restaurants, the white-faced worried wretches pulled off trains and airplanes, an occasional broken window or old charred synagogue, and once a bad business of a man beaten bloody in the zoo by three boys in Hitler Youth uniforms, while the man's wife wept and screamed and two policemen stood by laughing. But Fearing's account was his first technical insight into German anti-Semitism. At bottom its purpose, in Fearing's view, was just robbery, which was disgusting but at least rational. Pug felt a qualm when Wolf Steller with a cultured bow offered his hand, but of course he took it; and soon there they sat eating together and toasting each oerin Moselle, Riesling, and champagne. Steller was a cordial, clever German, in every way indistinguishable from the hundreds that Victor Henry had met in the military and industrial worlds and at social gatherings. He spoke a fine English. His countenance was open and hearty. He made bright jokes, including bold pleasantries about Goering's corpulence and theatrical uniforms. He expressed deep regard for the United States (he especially loved San Francisco) and melancholy regret that its relations with Germany were not better. In fact, could he not do something to improve them, he said, by inviting Gianelli and the Henrys for a weekend at his estate? It was no Karinhall, but he could promise them good company. Captain Henry might have the luck to shoot a deer. Game was outside the meat ration, and some venison might be very welcome to Mrs. Henry! The banker's wife, touching Pug's hand with her cool jewelled white fingers, crinkled her blue eyes at him in invitation. She had heard that Mrs. Henry was the most elegant and attractive wife in the American diplomatic mission, and she longed to meet her. Cianelli declined; he had to start his return journey in the morning. Officially there was every reason for Victor Henry to accept. Part of his job was to penetrate influential levels of Germans. He had no stomach for Steller, but it occurred to him that here was a chance to give Rhoda the kind of fun she complained of missing. There was no telling good Germans from bad Germans. Steller conceivably might be working for Goering under duress, though his wife in consequence dripped diamonds. Pug said he would come. The look the Stbllers exchanged convinced him that none of this was casual. They were cultivating him.
Steller took the two Americans on a tour of Karinhall. Again Pug had the feeling that Nazi grandeur usually woke in him: the Hollywood impression, the sense of ephemeral, flamboyant make-believe, which persisted no matter how vast and solid the structures, how high the ceilings, how elaborate the decorations, how costly the art. The corridors and rooms of Karinhall seemed to go on for miles. Glass cases by the dozens displayed solid gold objects crusted with gems-vases, crosses, maces, swords, busts, batons, medals, books, globes-tributes to the field marshal from steel corporations, cities, and foreign governments on his birthday, his wedding, the birth of a child, the return of the Condor Legion from Spain. Italian and Dutch old masters crowded the walls, interspersed with the vapid calendar nudes of living Nazi-approved painters. Other reception rooms with nobody in them, almost as vast and ornate as the banquet hall, were hung with tapestries and flags, walled in wood, filled with statuary and jewelled suits of armor. Yet it all might almost have been papier-machae and canvas. Even the food on the banquet table had looked like a Cecil B. deMille feast, and the pink meat inside the roast pig might instead have been wax or plaster. But Victor Henry well knew that he was looking at an immense treasure, mostly booty collected through Dr. Steller. Moral considerations aside, the vulgar edifice disappointed Pug because Goering was supposed to stem from an aristocratic family. Even the admiring comments of Luigi Gianelli had a strong tinge of irony. The Luftwaffe officer wearing the diamond cross caught up with them and whispered to Steller. P) 'Ah, what a pity, now you must go , said the German banker. "And you haven't begun to see the wonders of Karinhall. Captain Henry, my office will make all the arrangements to bring you and your dear wife on Friday to Abendruh, though I fear it will look rather pitiful after this. We will telephone you tomorrow. and Steller accompanied the two Americans through more rooms and corridors, stopped at double doors of dark wood heavily carved with hunting scenes, and opened them on a timbered room with log-and-plaster walls, hung with antlers, stuffed heads, and animal hides. The dusty smell of the dead creatures was strong in the air. On either side of a roaring fire sat Ribbentrop and Goering. Hitler was not in the room. A long, crudely made wooden table and two low benches took up most of the floor space. Pug thought at once that this must be the main room of the old hunting lodge, around which the field marshal had constructed the banal palace. Here was the heart of Karinhall-E-,ept for the glow from the fire, the room was dank, dark, and cold. Goering lolled on a settee with one thick white leather-booted leg off the floor, sipping coffee from a gold demitasse-part of a gold service on a low inlaid marble table. He nodded and smiled familiarly at Cianelli. Diamond rings bulged on three of the five fingers that held the cup. Ribbentrop stared at theceiling, hands interlaced across his stomach. The German banker introduced Victor Henry, backed out of the room, and closed the door. "You will have exactly seven Minutes of the Fijhre?s time to state your business," said Ribbentrop in German. Gianelli stammered, "Excellency, permit me to reply in English. I am here in a private capacity, and I regard that much time as an extraordinary courtesy to my country and my President." Ribbentrop sat with a blank face, looking at the ceiling, so Victor Henry ventured to translate. The foreign minister cut him off with a snapped sentence in perfect Oxford accents, "I understand English." Goering said to Gianelli, "You are welcome to Karinhall, Luigi. I have tried to invite you more than once. But this time you have come a long way for a short interview." "May I say, Field Marshal," the banker answered in broken German, that I have seen millions of money made and lost in a conference lasting a few minutes, and that world peace is worth any effort, however unpromising." "I am in complete agreement with that." Goering motioned them to chairs placed near him. Ribbentrop, seizing the arms of his chair and closing his eyes, burst out in high rapid tones, in German, "This peculiar visitation is another studied insult by your President to the German head of state. Whoever heard of sending a private citizen as an emissary in such matters? Between civilized countries the diplomatic structure is used. Germany did not withdraw its ambassador in Washington by choice. The United States first made the hostile gesture. The United States has allowed within its borders a boycott of German products and a campaign of hate propaganda against the German people. The United States has revised its so-called 'eutrality Act in blatant favor of the aggressors in this conflict. Germany did not declare war on England and France. They declared war on Germany." The foreign minister stopped talking and sat with his eyes closed, the long-jawed haggard face immobile, some strands of the graying blond hair falling over his face. The California banker looked first at Goering, then at Victor Henry, clearly shaken. Goering poured himself more coffee. Concentrating with all his might, Victor Henry translated the foreign minister's tirade. Ribbentrop did not correct or interrupt him. Gianelli started to talk, but Ribbentrop burst out again: "What purpose can be served by this maladroit approach, other than a further deliberate provocation, one more expression of yourPresident's highly dangerous contempt for the leader of a powerful nation of eighty million people?, With a trembling wave of his hand at Henry to indicate that he understood, Gianelli said, "May I respectfully reply that-" The bright blue eyes of Ribbentrop opened, closed again, and he said in still louder tones, 'The willingness of the Fuhrer to give you a beaning in these circumstances is a testimony to his desire for peace that history will so me day record. This is the sole value this peculiar interview possesses." Goering said to the banker in a milder, but no more friendly tone "What is your purpose here, Luigi?" "Field Marshal, I am an informal messenger of my President to your Fuhrer, and I have a single question to put to him, by my President's instructions. To ask it, and to answer it, should take very little time. But by God's grace it can lead to lasting historical results." Victor Henry put this into German. 'What is the question?" Goering said. The banker's face was going yellow. "Field Marshal, by my President's order, the question is for the Fuhrer," he said hoarsely in German. "It is for the Fuhrer to answer," Goering said, "but obviously we are going to hear it anyway. What is the question?" He raised his voice, ri)ting his gaze on the banker. Gianelli turned away from Grins eyes, which were lazily hard, licked his lips, and said to Henry, "Captain, I beg you to confirm my instructions to the great field marshal." Victor Henry was rapidly calculating the situation, including the trace of physical danger which had shadowed his mind since passing through the outer fences of Karinhall. Goering, for all his gross jolly facade, was a tough and ugly brute. If this monstrously fat German, with the rouge-red face, thin scarlet lips, and small jewelled hands, wanted to harm them, diplomatic immunity was a frail shield here. But Pug judged that his talk was cat-and-mouse fooling to kill time. He translated the banker's answer under the straight stare of Goering, and added, 'I confirm that the instructions are to put the question directly to the Fuhrer, as Herr Gianelli already has done to his good friend Il Duce in Italy, where in my presence 11 Duce gave him a favorable response." 'We know all that," Ribbentrop said. 'We know the question, too." Goering blinked at Henry and the tension broke. The banker brushed his fingers across his brow. The silence lasted for perhaps a minute. Adolf Hitler, pushing a lock of hair across his forehead, came into the room through a side door hung with a tiger skin. As quickly as the Americans, Goering and Ribbentrop rose, assuming very much the lackey look. Goering moved away from the comfortable settee to a chair, and Hitler took his place, gesturing to the others to sit. He did not shake hands. Seen at this close range the Fuhrer looked healthy and calm, thoughtoo fat and puffy-eyed. His dark hair was clipped to the bone at the sides like a common soldier's. Except for the famed mustache he had an ordinary face, the face of any small man of fifty or so wamng by on a German city street. Compared to this man of the people, the other two Nazis seemed bedizened grotesques. His gray coat with the single Iron Cross over his left breast contrasted remarkably with Ribbentrop's gold-braided dark blue uniform and the air marshal's extravaganza of colors, gems, and medals. Folding one hand over the other in his lap, he took in the Americans with a grave glance. "Luigi Gianelli, American banker. Captain Victor Henry, United States naval attache in Berlin," said Ribbentrop, in a sarcastic tone emphasizing the unimportance of the visitors. "Extraordinary informality emissaries, Mei F hr r, from the President of the United States. The banker cleared his throat, attempted an expression of gratitude for the interview in German, made a flustered apology, and shifted to English. The Fuhrer, his gaze steady on the banker while Henry translated, kept shifting in his chair and crossing and uncrossing his ankles. With the same prologue on world peace that he had addressed to Mussolini, Gianelli put to the Fuhrer the question about Sumner Welles. As it came out in English, a contemptuous smile appeared on Ribbentrop's face. Upon Henry's translation Hitler and Goering looked at each other, the Fuhrer impassive, Goering hoisting his shoulders, waving his thick-gemmed hands, and shaking his head, as though to say, "That's really it. Unbelievable!" Hitler meditated. The glance of his sunken, pallid blue eyes was straight ahead and far away. A bitter little smile moved his mustache and his mouth. He began to speak in quiet, very clear, Bavarianaccented German, 'Your esteemed President, Herr GianeEi, seems to feel a remarkable sense of responsibility for the whole present course of world history. It is all the more remarkable in that only the United States, among the great powers, failed to join the League of Nations, and in that your Congress and your people have repeatecey indicated that they want no foreign entanglements. "In my speech of April twenty-ninth, mainly addressed to your President, I acknowledged that your country has more than twice the population of our little land, more than fifteen times the living space, and infinitely more mineral resources. Perhaps therefore your President feels that he must approach me from time to time with stern fatherly admonitions. But of course I am giving my life for the renascence of my people, and I cannot help seeing everything from that limited point of view." Victor Henry did his best to translate, his heart pounding, his mouth dry. Hitler now began reminiscing garrulously about the Rhineland, Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland. He spoke at length and seemed to be enjoying himself, slowly waving his hands and using relaxed tones. The justifications were familiar stuff. He grew briefly loud and acid only over the Britishguarantee to Poland, which, he said, had encouraged a cruel reactionary regime to engage in atrocious measures against its German minority, in the illusion that it had become safe to do so. That was how the war had started. Since then England and France had over and over spurned his offers of a peace settlement and disarmament. What more could he do, as a responsible head of state, than arm his country to defend itself against these two great military empires, who between them controlled three-fifths of the habitable surface of the earth and almost half its population? German political aims were simple, open, moderate, and unchanging, he went on. Five centuries before Columbus discovered America, there had been a German empire at the heart of Europe, its boundaries roughly fixed by geography and the reproductive vigor of the people. War had come over and over to this European heartland through the attempts of many powers to fragment the German folk. These attempts had often had temporary success. But the German nation, with its strong instinct for survival and growth, had time and again rallied and thrown off foreign encirclements and yokes. In this part of his talk Hitler made references to Bismarck, Napoleon, Frederick the Great, the War of the Spanish Succession, and the Thirty Years' War, which were beyond Victor Henry. He translated them word for word as best he could. The Versailles Treaty, said the Fuhrer, had simply been the latest of these foreign efforts to mutilate the German heartland. Because it had been historically unsound and unjust it was now dead. The Rhineland was German. So was Austria. So was the Sudeteniand. So were Danzig and the Corridor. The manufactured monstrosity of Czechoslovakia, thrust like a spear into Germany's vitals, had now become once again the traditional Bohemian protectorate of the Reich. This restoration of normal Germany was now complete. He had done it almost without bloodshed. But for the absurd British guarantee, it would have all been finished in peace; the question of Danzig and the Corridor had been practically settled in July. Even now nothing substantial stood in the way of lasting peace. The other side simply had to recognize this restored normality in central Europe, and return to Germany her colonial territories. For the Reich, like other great modern states, had a natural right to the raw materials of the underdeveloped continents. Victor Henry was deeply struck by Hitler's steady manner, by his apparent moral conviction, by his identification of himself with the German nation-'. and so I restored the Rhineland to the-e Reich and so I brought back Austria to its historical origins... and so I normalized the Bohemian plateau..."-and by his broad visions of history. The ranting demagogue of the Party rallies was obviously nothing but a public image, such as the Germans, in Hitler's estimate, wanted. He radiated the personal force that Captain Henry had seen in only two or three admirals.
As for the journalistic picture-the carpet-chewing hysterical Charlie Chaplin politician-Pug now felt that it was a distortion of small things which had led the world into disaster. 'I share the President's desire for peace ' Hitler was saying. He was starting to gesture now as in his speeches, lough less broadly. His eyes had brightened astonishingly; Henry thought it must be an illusion, but they seemed eerily to glow. 'I hunger and yearn for peace. I was a simple soldier in the front lines for four years, while he, as a rich and wellborn man, had the privilege of serving as an Assistant Secretary of the Navy in a Washington office. I know war. I was born to create, not to destroy, and who can say how many years of life are left to me to fulfill my tasks of construction? But the British and French leaders call for the destruction of 'Hitm"-he brought out the foreign tenn with contemptfilled sarcasm-'as their price for peace. I can almost understand their hatred for me. I have made Germany strong again, and that did not suit them. But this hate, if persisted in, will doom Europe, because I and the German people cannot be separated. We are one. This is a simple truth, though I fear the English will need a test of fire to prove it. I believe Germany has the strength to emerge victorious. If not, we will all go down together, and historical Europe as we know it will cease to exist." He paused, his face tightened and changed, and the pitch of his voice all at once began to rise. 'How can they be so blind to realities? I achieved air parity in 1937 Since then I have never stopped building planes, planes, planes, U-boats, U-boats, U-boats!' He was screaming now, clenching his fists and waving his stiff outstretched arms. "I have piled bombs, bombs, bombs, tanks, tanks, tanks, to the sky! It has been a wasteful, staggering burden on my people, but what other language have great states ever understood? It is out of a sense of strength that I have offered peace. I have been rejected and scorned, and as the price of peace they have asked for my head. The German people only laugh at such pathetic nonsense!' On the shouted litany of "planes... bombs... U-boats' he swept both fists down again and again to strike the floor, bending far over so that the famous black lock of hair tumbled in his face, giving him his more usual newsreel look of the street agitator; and the red face and screeching tones had indeed something of the carpet chewer, after all. Suddenly, dramatically, as at a podium, he dropped into qtdet controlled tones. "Let the test of fire come. I have done my utmost, and my conscience is clear before the bar of history." Hitler fell silent, then stood with an air of dismissal, his eyes burning and distance his mouth a down-curved line. "Mein Fuhrer," Goering said, lumbering to his feet, his boots creaking, after this wonderfully clear presentation of the realities you offer no objection to this visit of Herr Sumner Welles, I take it, if the President persists." Hitler hesitated, appeared perplexed, and gave an impatient shrug. "I have no wish to return discourtesy for discourtesy, and petty treatment for petty treatment. Iwould do anything for peace. But until the British will to destroy me is itself destroyed, the only road to peace is through German victory. Anything else is irrelevant. I will continue to hope with all my heart for a last-minute signal of sanity from the other side, before the holocaust explodes." In a worked-up manner, with no gesture of farewell, he strode out through the carved double door. Victor Henry glanced at his wristwatch. The Fuhrer had spent an hour and ten minutes with them, and so far as Henry knew, President Roosevelt's question remained unanswered. He could see on Gianelli's pale, baffled face the same impression. Goering and Ribbentrop looked at each other. The fat man said, "President Roosevelt has his reply. The Fuhrer sees no hope in the Welles mission, but in his unending quest for a just peace he will not reject it." "That was not my understanding," said Ribbentrop in a quick, strained voice. "He called the mission irrelevant. "If you want to press the Fuhrer for clarification," Goering said satirically to him, gesturing at the double doors, 'go ahead. I understood him very well, and I think I know him." He turned again to the banker, and his voice moderated. 'In informing your President of this meeting, tell him that I said the Fuhrer will not refuse to receive Welles, but he sees no hope in it-and neither do I-unless the British and the French drop their war aim of removing the Fuhrer. That is no more possible than it is to move Mont Blanc. If they persist in it, the result will be a frightful hattie in the West, ending in a total German victory after the death of millions." "That will be the result in any case," said Ribbentrop, "and the die will be cast before Mr. Sumner Welles can arrange his papers and pack his belongings." miring took each of the two Americans by an elbow and said with a total change to geniality that brought to Victor Henry's mind the waiter at Wannsee, "Well, I hope you are not leaving so soon? We will have dancing a little later, and a bite of supper, and then some fine entertainers from Prague, artistic dancers." He mlled his eyes in jocose suggestiveness. "Your Excellency is Marvelously hospitable," Gianelli replied. "But a plane is waiting in Berlin to take me to Lisbon and connect with the Clipper." "Then I must let you go, but only if you promise to come to Karinhall again. I will walk out with you." Ribbentrop stood with his back to them, looking at the fire. When the banker besitandy spoke a word of farewell, he grunted and hitched a shoulder. Arm in arm with Goering, the Americans walked down the corridors of Karinhall. The air minister smelled of some strong bath oil. His hand lightly tapped Victor Henry's forearm. "Well, Captain Henry, you have been to Swinemonde and seen our U-boat setup. What is your opinion of our U-boat program?""Your industrial standards are as high as any in the world, Your Excellency-And with officers like Grohke and Prien you're in good shape. The U-boats are already making quite a record in the Atlantic." "It's only the beginning," Goering said. 'll-boats are coming off the ways now like sausages. I doubt that all of them will yen see action. The air will decide this war fast. I hope your attach for air, Colonel Powell, has been reporting the Luftwaffe's strength accurately to your president. We have been very open with Powell, on my orders." "Indeed he has made reports. He's very impressed." Goering looked pleased. "We have learned a lot from America. Curtis in particular has brilliant designers. Your Navy's dive-bombing was carefully studied by us and the Stuka was the result." He turned to the banker and speaking in slow, simple German, asked him questions about South American mining companies. They walking through an empty ballroom with huge crystal-and-gilt chandeliers,andtheirclic(were) king steps on the parquet floor echoed hollowly. The banker replied in easy German, which he had not displayed under pressure, and they talked finance all the way to the front doors. Guests walking in the halls stared at the sight of Goering between the two Americans. The banker's man-of-the-world smile reappeared and color returned to his face. It was snowing outside, and Goering stopped in the doorway to shake hands. Gianelli had so far recovered that he came out with something Victor Henry considered absolutely vital. Henry was trying to think of a way to hint it to him, when the banker said, shaking hands with the air minister in a slight whirl of snow, 'Excellency, I will have to tell the President that your foreign minister does not welcome the Welles mission and has stated the Fuhrer does not." Goering's face toughened. 'If Welles comes, the Fuhrer will see him. That is official." Goering glanced up at the sky and walked through the snow with the two Americans to their car, as a Luftwaffe officer drove it up to the entrance. "Remember this. Germany is like all countries. Not everybody here wants peace. But I do." Victor Henry sat up most of the night writing his report, so it could go back to the President in the banker's hands. It was a longhand account, poured out pell-mell. After a tale of the facts up to Goering's last words in the snow, Victor Henry wrote: The key question is, of course, whether or not a peace mission by Sumner Welles is now expected in the Third Reich. It seems inconceivable that in an interview with Hitler, Goering, and Ribbentrop, your emissary got no clear-cut answer. I believe that Sumner Welles will be received by Hitler. But I don't think the mission wig achieve anything, unless the Allies want to change their minds and accept some version of the "outstretched hand' formula. None of the three men seemed to take the interview very seriously.