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- 1
- For a week Mr. R. Childan had been anxiously watching the mail. But the valuable shipment from
- the Rocky Mountain States had not arrived. As he opened up his store on Friday morning and saw
- only letters on the floor by the mail slot he thought, I'm going to have an angry customer.
- Pouring himself a cup of instant tea from the five-cent wall dispenser he got a broom and began
- to sweep; soon he had the front of American Artistic Handcrafts Inc. ready for the day, all spick
- and span with the cash register full of change, a fresh vase of marigolds, and the radio playing
- background music. Outdoors along the sidewalk businessmen hurried toward their offices along
- Montgomery Street. Far off, a cable car passed; Childan halted to watch it with pleasure. Women in
- their long colorful silk dresses . . . he watched them, too. Then the phone rang. He turned to answer
- it.
- 'Yes,' a familiar voice said to his answer. Childan's heart sank. 'This is Mr. Tagomi. Did my Civil
- War recruiting poster arrive yet, sir? Please recall; you promised it sometime last week.' The fussy,
- brisk voice, barely polite, barely keeping the code. 'Did I not give you a deposit, sir, Mr. Childan,
- with that stipulation? This is to be a gift, you see. I explained that. A client.'
- 'Extensive inquiries,' Childan began, 'which I've had made at my own expense, Mr. Tagomi, sir,
- regarding the promised parcel, which you realize originates outside of this region and is therefore--'
- But Tagomi broke in, 'Then it has not arrived.'
- 'No, Mr. Tagomi, sir.'
- An icy pause.
- 'I can wait no furthermore,' Tagomi said.
- 'No sir.' Childan gazed morosely through the store window at the warm bright day and the San
- Francisco office buildings.
- 'A substitute, then. Your recommendation, Mr. Childan?' Tagomi deliberately mispronounced
- the name; insult within the code that made Childan's ears burn. Place pulled, the dreadful
- mortification of their situation. Robert Childan's aspirations and fears and torments rose up and
- exposed themselves, swamped him, stopping his tongue. He stammered, his hand sticky on the
- phone. The air of his store smelled of the marigolds; the music played on, but he felt as if he were
- falling into some distant sea.
- 'Well . . .' he managed to mutter. 'Butter churn. Icecream maker circa 1900.' His mind refused to
- think. Just when you forgot about it; just when you fool yourself. He was thirty-eight years old, and
- he could remember the prewar days, the other times. Franklin D. Roosevelt and the World's Fair;
- the former better world. 'Could I bring various desirable items out to your business location?' he
- mumbled.
- An appointment was made for two o'clock. Have to shut store, he knew as he hung up the phone.
- No choice. Have to keep goodwill of such customers; business depends on them.
- Standing shakily, he became aware that someone — a couple — had entered the store. Young
- man and girl, both handsome, well-dressed. Ideal. He calmed himself and moved professionally,
- easily, in their direction, smiling. They were bending to scrutinize a counter display, had picked up
- a lovely ashtray. Married, he guessed. Live out in City of the Winding Mists, the new exclusive
- apartments on Skyline overlooking Belmont.
- 'Hello,' he said, and felt better. They smiled at him without any superiority, only kindness. His
- displays — which really were the best of their kind on the Coast — had awed them a little; he saw
- that and was grateful. They understood.
- 'Really excellent pieces, sir,' the young man said.
- Childan bowed spontaneously.
- Their eyes, warm not only with human bond but with the shared enjoyment of the art objects he
- sold, their mutual tastes and satisfactions, remained fixed on him; they were thanking him for
- having things like these for them to see, pick up and examine, handle perhaps without even buying.
- Yes, he thought, they know what sort of store they are in; this is not tourist trash, not redwood
- plaques reading MUIR WOODS, MARIN COUNTY, PSA, or funny signs or girly rings or
- postcards or views of the Bridge. The girl's eyes especially, large, dark. How easily, Childan
- thought, I could fall in love with a girl like this. How tragic my life, then; as if it weren't bad
- enough already. The stylish black hair, lacquered nails, pierced ears for the long dangling brass
- handmade earrings.
- 'Your earrings,' he murmured. 'Purchased here, perhaps?'
- 'No,' she said. 'At home.'
- Childan nodded. No contemporary American art; only the past could be represented here, in a
- store such as his. 'You are here for long?' he asked. 'To our San Francisco?'
- 'I'm stationed here indefinitely,' the man said. 'With Standard of Living for Unfortunate Areas
- Planning Commission of Inquiry.' Pride showed on his face. Not the military. Not one of the gumchewing
- boorish draftees with their greedy peasant faces, wandering up Market Street, gaping at
- the bawdy shows, the sex movies, the shooting galleries, the cheap nightclubs with photos of
- middle-aged blondes holding their nipples between their wrinkled fingers and leering . . . the
- honkytonk jazz slums that made up most of the flat part of San Francisco, rickety tin and board
- shacks that had sprung up from the ruins even before the last bomb fell. No — this man was of the
- elite. Cultured, educated, even more so than Mr. Tagomi, who was after all a high official with the
- ranking Trade Mission on the Pacific Coast. Tagomi was an old man. His attitudes had formed in
- the War Cabinet days.
- 'Had you wished American traditional ethnic art objects as a gift?' Childan asked. 'Or to decorate
- perhaps a new apartment for your stay here?' If the latter . . . his heart picked up.
- 'An accurate guess,' the girl said. 'We are starting to decorate. A bit undecided. Do you think you
- could inform us?'
- 'I could arrange to arrive at your apartment, yes,' Childan said. 'Bringing several hand cases, I
- can suggest in context, at your leisure. This, of course, is our speciality.' He dropped his eyes so as
- to conceal his hope. There might be thousands of dollars involved. 'I am getting in a New England
- table, maple, all wood-pegged, no nails. Immense beauty and worth. And a mirror from the time of
- the 1812 War. And also the aboriginal art: a group of vegetable-dyed goat-hair rugs.'
- 'I myself,' the man said, 'prefer the art of the cities.'
- 'Yes,' Childan said eagerly. 'Listen, sir. I have a mural from WPA post-office period, original,
- done on board, four sections, depicting Horace Greeley. Priceless collector's item.'
- 'Ah,' the man said, his dark eyes flashing.
- 'And a Victrola cabinet of 1920 made into a liquor cabinet.'
- 'Ah.'
- 'And, sir, listen: framed signed picture of Jean Harlow.'
- The man goggled at him.
- 'Shall we make arrangements?' Childan said, seizing this correct psychological instant. From his
- inner coat pocket he brought his pen, notebook. 'I shall take your name and address, sir and lady.'
- Afterward, as the couple strolled from his store, Childan stood, hands behind his back, watching
- the street. Joy. If all business days were like this . . . but it was more than business, the success of
- his store. It was a chance to meet a young Japanese couple socially, on a basis of acceptance of him
- as a man rather than him as a yank or, at best, a tradesman who sold art objects. Yes, these new
- young people, of the rising generation, who did not remember the days before the war or even the
- war itself — they were the hope of the world. Place difference did not have the significance for
- them.
- It will end, Childan thought. Someday. The very idea of place. Not governed and governing, but
- people.
- And yet he trembled with fear, imagining himself knocking at their door. He examined his notes.
- The Kasouras. Being admitted, no doubt offered tea. Would he do the right thing? Know the proper
- act and utterance at each moment? Or would he disgrace himself, like an animal, by some dismal
- faux pas?
- The girl's name was Betty. Such understanding in her face, he thought. The gentle, sympathetic
- eyes. Surely, even in the short time in the store, she had glimpsed his hopes and defeats.
- His hopes — he felt suddenly dizzy. What aspirations bordering on the insane if not the suicidal
- did he have? But it was known, relations between Japanese and yanks, although generally it was
- between a Japanese man and yank woman. This. . . he quailed at the idea. And she was married. He
- whipped his mind away from the pageant of his involuntary thoughts and began busily opening the
- morning's mail.
- His hands, he discovered, were still shaking. And then he recalled his two o'clock appointment
- with Mr. Tagomi; at that, his hands ceased shaking and his nervousness became determination. I've
- got to come up with something acceptable, he said to himself. Where? How? What? A phone call.
- Sources. Business ability. Scrape up a fully restored 1929 Ford including fabric top (black). Grand
- slam to keep patronage forever. Crated original mint trimotor airmail plane discovered in barn in
- Alabama, etc. Produce mummified head of Mr. B. Bill, including flowing white hair; sensational
- American artifact. Make my reputation in top connoisseur circles throughout Pacific, not excluding
- Home Islands.
- To inspire himself, he lit up a marijuana cigarette, excellent Land-O-Smiles brand.
- In his room on Hayes Street, Frank Frink lay in bed wondering how to get up. Sun glared past
- the blind onto the heap of clothes that had fallen to the floor. His glasses, too. Would he step on
- them? Try to get to bathroom by other route, he thought. Crawl or roll. His head ached but he did
- not feel sad. Never look back, he decided. Time? The clock on the dresser. Eleven-thirty! Good
- grief. But still he lay.
- I'm fired, he thought.
- Yesterday he had done wrong at the factory. Spouted the wrong kind of talk to Mr. WyndamMatson,
- who had a dished-in face with Socrates-type nose, diamond ring, gold fly zipper. In other
- words, a power. A throne. Frink's thoughts wandered groggily.
- Yes, he thought, and now they'll blacklist me; my skill is no use — I have no trade. Fifteen years'
- experience. Gone.
- And now he would have to appear at the Laborers' Justification Commission for a revision of his
- work category. Since he had never been able to make out Wyndam-Matson's relationship to the
- pinocs — the puppet white government at Sacramento — he could not fathom his ex-employer's
- power to sway the real authorities, the Japanese. The LJC was pinoc run. He would be facing four
- or five middle-aged plump white faces, on the order of Wyndam-Matson's. If he failed to get
- justification there, he would make his way to one of the Import-Export Trade Missions which
- operated out of Tokyo, and which had offices throughout California, Oregon, Washington, and the
- parts of Nevada included in the Pacific States of America. But if he failed successfully to plead
- there . . .
- Plans roamed his mind as he lay in bed gazing up at the ancient light fixture in the ceiling. He
- could for instance slip across into the Rocky Mountain States. But it was loosely banded to the
- PSA, and might extradite him. What about the South? His body recoiled. Ugh. Not that. As a white
- man he would have plenty of place, in fact more than he had here in the PSA. But . . . he did not
- want that kind of place.
- And, worse, the South had a cat's cradle of ties, economic, ideological, and god knew what, with
- the Reich. And Frank Frink was a Jew.
- His original name was Frank Fink. He had been born on the East Coast, in New York, and in
- 1941 he had been drafted into the Army of the United States of America, right after the collapse of
- Russia. After the Japs had taken Hawaii he had been sent to the West Coast. When the war ended,
- there he was, on the Japanese side of the settlement line. And here he was today, fifteen years later.
- In 1947, on Capitulation Day, he had more or less gone berserk. Hating the Japs as he did, he had
- vowed revenge; he had buried his Service weapons ten feet underground, in a basement, wellwrapped
- and oiled, for the day he and his buddies arose. However, time was the great healer, a fact
- he had not taken into account. When he thought of the idea now, the great blood bath, the purging
- of the pinocs and their masters, he felt as if were reviewing one of those stained yearbooks from his
- high school days, coming upon an account of his boyhood aspirations. Frank 'Goldfish' Fink is
- going to be a paleontologist and vows to marry Norma Prout. Norma Prout was the class schones
- Mädchen, and he really had vowed to marry her. That was all so goddam long ago, like listening to
- Fred Allen or seeing a W. C. Fields movie. Since 1947 he had probably seen or talked to six
- hundred thousand Japanese, and the desire to do violence to any or all of them had simply never
- materialized, after the first few months. It just was not relevant any more.
- But wait. There was one, a Mr. Omuro, who had bought control of a great area of rental property
- in downtown San Francisco, and who for a time had been Frank's landlord. There was a bad apple,
- he thought. A shark who had never made repairs, had partitioned rooms smaller and smaller, raised
- rents . . . Omuro had gouged the poor, especially the nearly destitute jobless ex-servicemen during
- the depression years of the early 'fifties. However, it had been one of the Japanese trade missions
- which had cut off Omuro's head for his profiteering. And nowadays such a violation of the harsh,
- rigid, but just Japanese civil law was unheard of. It was a credit to the incorruptibility of the Jap
- occupation officials, especially those who had come in after the War Cabinet had fallen.
- Recalling the rugged, stoic honesty of the Trade Missions, Frink felt reassured. Even WyndamMatson
- would be waved off like a noisy fly. W-M Corporation owner or not. At least, so he hoped.
- I guess I really have faith in this Co-Prosperity Pacific Alliance stuff, he said to himself. Strange.
- Looking back to the early days . . . it had seemed such an obvious fake, then. Empty propaganda.
- But now.
- He rose from the bed and unsteadily made his way to the bathroom. While he washed and
- shaved, he listened to the midday news on the radio.
- 'Let us not deride this effort,' the radio was saying as he momentarily shut off the hot water.
- No, we won't, Frink thought bitterly. He knew which particular effort the radio had in mind. Yet,
- there was after all something humorous about it, the picture of stolid, grumpy Germans walking
- around on Mars, on the red sand where no humans had ever stepped before. Lathering his jowls,
- Frink began a chanting satire to himself. Gott, Herr Kreisleiter. Ist dies vielleicht der Ort wo man
- das Konzentrationslager bilden kann? Das Wetter ist so schon. Heiss, aben doch schon . . .
- The radio said: 'Co-Prosperity Civilization must pause and consider whether in our quest to
- provide a balanced equity of mutual duties and responsibilities coupled with remunerations . . .'
- Typical jargon from the ruling hierarchy, Frink noted. '. . . we have not failed to perceive the future
- arena in which the affairs of man will be acted out, be they Nordic, Japanese, Negroid . . .' On and
- on it went.
- As he dressed, he mulled with pleasure his satire. The weather is schon, so schon. But there is
- nothing to breathe . . .
- However, it was a fact; the Pacific had done nothing toward colonization of the planets. It was
- involved — bogged down, rather — in South America. While the Germans were busy bustling
- enormous robot construction systems across space, the Japs were still burning off the jungles in the
- interior of Brazil, erecting eight-floor clay apartment houses for ex-headhunters. By the time the
- Japs got their first spaceship off the ground the Germans would have the entire solar system sewed
- up tight. Back in the quaint old history-book days, the Germans had missed out while the rest of
- Europe put the final touches on their colonial empires. However, Frink reflected, they were not
- going to be last this time; they had learned.
- And then he thought about Africa, and the Nazi experiment there. And his blood stopped in his
- veins, hesitated, at last went on.
- That huge empty ruin.
- The radio said: '. . . we must consider with pride however our emphasis on the fundamental
- physical needs of peoples of all place, their subspiritual aspirations which must be . . .'
- Frink shut the radio off. Then, calmer, he turned it back on.
- Christ on the crapper, he thought. Africa. For the ghosts of dead tribes. Wiped out to make a land
- of — what? Who knew? Maybe even the master architects in Berlin did not know. Bunch of
- automatons, building and toiling away. Building? Grinding down. Ogres out of a paleontology
- exhibit, at their task of making a cup from an enemy's skull, the whole family industriously
- scooping out the contents — the raw brains — first, to eat. Then useful utensils of men's leg bones.
- Thrifty, to think not only of eating the people you did not like, but eating them out of their own
- skull. The first technicians! Prehistoric man in a sterile white lab coat in some Berlin university lab,
- experimenting with uses to which other people's skull, skin, ears, fat could be put to. Ja, Herr
- Doktor. A new use for the big toe; see, one can adapt the joint for a quick-acting cigarette lighter
- mechanism. Now, if only Herr Krupp can produce it in quantity . . .
- It horrified him, this thought: the ancient gigantic cannibal near-man flourishing now, ruling the
- world once more. We spent a million years escaping him, Frink thought, and now he's back. And
- not merely as the adversary . . . but as the master.
- '. . . we can deplore,' the radio, the voice of the little yellow-bellies from Tokyo was saying. God,
- Frink thought; and we called them monkeys, these civilized bandy-legged shrimps who would no
- more set up gas ovens than they would melt their wives into sealing wax. '. . . and we have deplored
- often in the past the dreadful waste of humans in this fanatical striving which sets the broader mass
- of men wholly outside the legal community.' They, the Japs, were so strong on law. '. . . To quote a
- Western saint familiar to all: 'What profit it a man if he gain the whole world but in this enterprise
- lose his soul?'' The radio paused. Frink, tying his tie, also paused. It was the morning ablution.
- I have to make my pact with them here, he realized. Black-listed or not; it'd be death for me if I
- left Japanese-controlled land and showed up in the South or in Europe — anywhere in the Reich.
- I'll have to come to terms with old Wyndam-Matson.
- Seated on his bed, a cup of lukewarm tea beside him, Frink got down his copy of the I Ching.
- From their leather tube he took the forty-nine yarrow stalks. He considered, until he had his
- thoughts properly controlled and his questions worked out.
- Aloud he said, 'How should I approach Wyndam-Matson in order to come to decent terms with
- him?' He wrote the question down on the tablet, then began whipping the yarrow stalks from hand
- to hand until he had the first line, the beginning. An eight. Half the sixty-four hexagrams eliminated
- already. He divided the stalks and obtained the second line. Soon, being so expert, he had all six
- lines; the hexagram lay before him, and he did not need to identify it by the chart. He could
- recognize it as Hexagram Fifteen. Ch'ien. Modesty. Ah. The low will be raised up, the high brought
- down, powerful families humbled; he did not have to refer to the text — he knew it by heart. A
- good omen. The oracle was giving him favorable council.
- And yet he was a bit disappointed. There was something fatuous about Hexagram Fifteen. Too
- goody-goody. Naturally he should be modest. Perhaps there was an idea in it, however. After all,
- he had no power over old W-M. He could not compel him to take him back. All he could do was
- adopt the point of view of Hexagram Fifteen; this was that sort of moment, when one had to
- petition, to hope, to await with faith. Heaven in its time would raise him up to his old job or
- perhaps even to something better.
- He had no lines to read, no nines or sixes; it was static. So he was through. It did not move into a
- second hexagram.
- A new question, then. Setting himself, he said aloud, 'Will I ever see Juliana again?'
- That was his wife. Or rather his ex-wife. Juliana had divorced him a year ago, and he had not
- seen her in months; in fact he did not even know where she lived. Evidently she had left San
- Francisco. Perhaps even the PSA. Either their mutual friends had not heard from her or they were
- not telling him.
- Busily he maneuvered the yarrow stalks, his eyes fixed on the tallies. How many times he had
- asked about Juliana, one question or another? Here came the hexagram, brought forth by the
- passive chance workings of the vegetable stalks. Random, and yet rooted in the moment in which
- he lived, in which his life was bound up with all other lives and particles in the universe. The
- necessary hexagram picturing in its pattern of broken and unbroken lines the situation. He, Juliana,
- the factory on Gough Street, the Trade Missions that ruled, the exploration of the planets, the
- billion chemical heaps in Africa that were now not even corpses, the aspirations of the thousands
- around him in the shanty warrens of San Francisco, the mad creatures in Berlin with their calm
- faces and manic plans — all connected in this moment of casting the yarrow stalks to select the
- exact wisdom appropriate in a book begun in the thirtieth century B.C. A book created by the sages
- of China over a period of five thousand years, winnowed, perfected, that superb cosmology — and
- science — codified before Europe had even learned to do long division.
- The hexagram. His heart dropped. Forty-four. Kou. Coming to Meet. Its sobering judgment. The
- maiden is powerful. One should not marry such a maiden. Again he had gotten it in connection
- with Juliana.
- Oy vey, he thought, settling back. So she was wrong for me; I know that. I didn't ask that. Why
- does the oracle have to remind me? A bad fate for me, to have met her and been in love — be in
- love — with her.
- Juliana — the best-looking woman he had ever married. Soot-black eyebrows and hair; trace
- amounts of Spanish blood distributed as pure color, even to her lips. Her rubbery, soundless walk;
- she had worn saddle shoes left over from high school. In fact all her clothes had a dilapidated
- quality and the definite suggestion of being old and often washed. He and she had been so broke so
- long that despite her looks she had had to wear a cotton sweater, cloth zippered jacket, brown
- tweed skirt and bobby socks, and she hated him and it because it made her look, she had said, like a
- woman who played tennis or (even worse) collected mushrooms in the woods.
- But above and beyond everything else, he had originally been drawn by her screwball
- expression; for no reason, Juliana greeted strangers with a portentous, nudnik, Mona Lisa smile that
- hung them up between responses, whether to say hello or not. And she was so attractive that more
- often than not they did say hello, whereupon Juliana glided by. At first he had thought it was just
- plain bad eyesight, but finally he had decided that it revealed a deep-dyed otherwise concealed
- stupidity at her core. And so finally her borderline flicker of greeting to strangers had annoyed him,
- as had her plantlike, silent, I'm-on-a-mysterious-errand way of coming and going. But even then,
- toward the end, when they had been fighting so much, he still never saw her as anything but a
- direct, literal invention of God's, dropped into his life for reasons he would never know. And on
- that account — a sort of religious intuition or faith about her — he could not get over having lost
- her.
- She seemed so close right now . . . as if he still had her. That spirit, still busy in his life, padding
- through his room in search of — whatever it was Juliana sought. And in his mind whenever he took
- up the volumes of the oracle.
- Seated on his bed, surrounded by lonely disorder, preparing to go out and begin his day, Frank
- Frink wondered who else in the vast complicated city of San Francisco was at this same moment
- consulting the oracle. And were they all getting as gloomy advice as he? Was the tenor of the
- Moment as adverse for them as it was for him?
- 2
- Mr. Nobusuke Tagomi sat consulting the divine Fifth Book of Confucian wisdom, the Taoist oracle
- called for centuries the I Ching or Book of Changes. At noon that day, he had begun to become
- apprehensive about his appointment with Mr. Childan, which would occur in two more hours.
- His suite of offices on the twentieth floor of the Nippon Times Building on Taylor Street
- overlooked the Bay. Through the glass wall he could watch ships entering, passing beneath the
- Golden Gate Bridge. At this moment a freighter could be seen beyond Alcatraz, but Mr. Tagomi
- did not care. Going to the wall he unfastened the cord and lowered the bamboo blinds over the
- view. The large central office became darker; he did not have to squint against the glare. Now he
- could think more clearly.
- It was not within his power, he decided, to please his client. No matter what Mr. Childan came
- up with: the client would not be impressed. Let us face that, he had said to himself. But we can
- keep him from becoming displeased, at least.
- We can refrain from insulting him by a moldy gift.
- The client would soon reach San Francisco airport by avenue of the high-place new German
- rocket, the Messerschmitt 9-E. Mr. Tagomi had never ridden on such a ship; when he met Mr.
- Baynes he would have to take care to appear blasé, no matter how large the rocket turned out to be.
- Now to practice. He stood in front of the mirror on the office wall, creating a face of composure,
- mildly bored, inspecting his own cold features for any giveaway. Yes, they are very noisy, Mr.
- Baynes, sir. One cannot read. But then the flight from Stockholm to San Francisco is only fortyfive
- minutes. Perhaps then a word about German mechanical failures? I suppose you heard the
- radio. That crash over Madagascar. I must say, there is something to be said for the old piston
- planes.
- Essential to avoid politics. For he did not know Mr. Baynes' views on leading issues of the day.
- Yet they might arise. Mr. Baynes, being Swedish, would be a neutral. Yet he had chosen Lufthansa
- rather than SAS. A cautious ploy . . . Mr. Baynes, sir, they say Herr Bormann is quite ill. That a
- new Reichs Chancellor will be chosen by the Partei this autumn. Rumor only? So much secrecy,
- alas, between Pacific and Reich.
- In the folder on his desk, clipping from New York Times of a recent speech by Mr. Baynes. Mr.
- Tagomi now studied it critically, bending due to slight failure of correction by his contact lenses.
- The speech had to do with need of exploring once more — ninety-eighth time? — for sources of
- water on the moon. 'We may still solve this heartbreaking dilemma,' Mr. Baynes was quoted. 'Our
- nearest neighbor, and so far the most unrewarding except for military purposes.' Sic! Mr. Tagomi
- thought, using high-place Latin word. Clue to Mr. Baynes. Looks askance at merely military. Mr.
- Tagomi made a mental note.
- Touching the intercom button Mr. Tagomi said, 'Miss Ephreikian, I would like you to bring in
- your tape recorder, please.'
- The outer office door slid to one side and Miss Ephreikian, today pleasantly adorned with blue
- flowers in her hair, appeared.
- 'Bit of lilac,' Mr. Tagomi observed. Once, he had professionally flower-raised back home on
- Hokkaido.
- Miss Ephreikian, a tall, brown-haired Armenian girl, bowed.
- 'Ready with Zip-Track Speed Master?' Mr. Tagomi asked.
- 'Yes, Mr. Tagomi.' Miss Ephreikian seated herself, the portable battery-operated tape recorder
- ready.
- Mr. Tagomi began, 'I inquired of the oracle, 'Will the meeting between myself and Mr. Childan
- be profitable?' and obtained to my dismay the ominous hexagram The Preponderance of the Great.
- The ridgepole is sagging. Too much weight in the middle; all unbalanced. Clearly away from the
- Tao.' The tape recorder whirred.
- Pausing, Mr. Tagomi reflected.
- Miss Ephreikian watched him expectantly. The whirring ceased.
- 'Have Mr. Ramsey come in for a moment, please,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'Yes, Mr. Tagomi.' Rising, she put down the tape recorder; her heels tapped as she departed from
- the office.
- With a large folder of bills-of-lading under his arm, Mr. Ramsey appeared. Young, smiling, he
- advanced, wearing the natty U.S. Midwest Plains string tie, checkered shirt and tight beltless blue
- jeans considered so high-place among the style-conscious of the day. 'Howdy, Mr. Tagomi,' he
- said. 'Right nice day, sir.'
- Mr. Tagomi bowed.
- At that, Mr. Ramsey stiffened abruptly and also bowed.
- 'I've been consulting the oracle,' Mr. Tagomi said, as Miss Ephreikian reseated herself with her
- tape recorder. 'You understand that Mr. Baynes, who as you know is arriving shortly in person,
- holds to the Nordic ideology regarding so-called Oriental culture. I could make the effort to dazzle
- him into a better comprehension with authentic works of Chinese scroll art or ceramics of our
- Tokugawa Period . . . but it is not our job to convert.'
- 'I see,' Mr. Ramsey said; his Caucasian face twisted with painful concentration.
- 'Therefore we will cater to his prejudice and graft a priceless American artifact to him instead.'
- 'Yes.'
- 'You, sir, are of American ancestry. Although you have gone to the trouble of darkening your
- skin color.' He scrutinized Mr. Ramsey.
- 'A tan achieved by a sun lamp,' Mr. Ramsey murmured. 'For merely acquiring vitamin D.' But his
- expression of humiliation gave him away. 'I assure you that I retain authentic roots with — ' Mr.
- Ramsey stumbled over the words. 'I have not cut off all ties with — native ethnic patterns.'
- Mr. Tagomi said to Miss Ephreikian: 'Resume, please.' Once more the tape recorder whirred. 'In
- consulting the oracle and obtaining Hexagram Ta Kuo, Twenty-eight, I further received the
- unfavorable line Nine in the fifth place. It reads:
- A withered poplar puts forth flowers.
- An older woman takes a husband.
- No blame. No praise.
- 'This clearly indicates that Mr. Childan will have nothing of worth to offer us at two.' Mr.
- Tagomi paused. 'Let us be candid. I cannot rely on my own judgment regarding American art
- objects. That is why a — ' He lingered over his choice of terms. 'Why you, Mr. Ramsey, who are
- shall I say native born, are required. Obviously we must do the best we can.'
- Mr. Ramsey had no answer. But, despite his efforts to conceal, his features showed hurt, anger, a
- frustrated and mute reaction.
- 'Now,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'I have further consulted the oracle. For purposes of policy, I cannot
- divulge to you, Mr. Ramsey, the question.' In other words, his tone meant, you and your pinoc kind
- are not entitled to share the important matters which we deal in. 'It is sufficient to say, however,
- that I received a most provocative response. It has caused me to ponder at length.'
- Both Mr. Ramsey and Miss Ephreikian watched him intently.
- 'It deals with Mr. Baynes,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- They nodded.
- 'My question regarding Mr. Baynes produced through the occult workings of the Tao the
- Hexagram Sheng, Forty-six. A good judgment. And lines Six at the beginning and Nine in the
- second place.' His question had been, Will I be able to deal with Mr. Baynes successfully? And the
- Nine in the second place had assured him that he would. It read:
- If one is sincere,
- It furthers one to bring even a small offering.
- No blame.
- Obviously, Mr. Baynes would be satisfied by whatever gift the ranking Trade Mission grafted to
- him through the good offices of Mr. Tagomi. But Mr. Tagomi, in asking the question, had had a
- deeper query in the back of his mind, one of which he was barely conscious. As so often, the oracle
- had perceived that more fundamental query and; while answering the other, had taken it upon itself
- to answer the subliminal one, too.
- 'As we know,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'Mr. Baynes is bringing us detailed account of new injection
- molds developed in Sweden. Were we successfully to sign agreement with his firm, we could no
- doubt replace many present metals, quite scarce, with plastics.'
- For years, the Pacific had been trying to get basic assistance in the synthetics field from the
- Reich. However, the big German chemical cartels, I. G. Farben in particular, had harbored their
- patents; had, in fact, created a world monopoly in plastics, especially in the development of the
- polyesters. By this means, Reich trade had kept an edge over Pacific trade, and in technology the
- Reich was at least ten years ahead. The interplanetary rockets leaving Festung Europa consisted
- mainly of heat-resistant plastics, very light in weight, so hard that they survived even major meteor
- impact. The Pacific had nothing of this sort; natural fibers such as wood were still used, and of
- course the ubiquitous pot metals. Mr. Tagomi cringed as he thought about it; he had seen at trade
- fairs some of the advanced German work, including an all-synthetic automobile, the D. S. S. — Der
- Schnelle Spuk — which sold, in PSA currency, for about six hundred dollars.
- But his underlying question, one which he could never reveal to the pinocs flitting about Trade
- Mission offices, had to do with an aspect of Mr. Baynes suggested by the original coded cable from
- Tokyo. First of all, coded material was infrequent, and dealt usually with matters of security, not
- with trade deals. And the cipher was the metaphor type, utilizing poetic allusion, which had been
- adopted to baffle the Reich monitors — who could crack any literal code, no matter how elaborate.
- So clearly it was the Reich whom the Tokyo authorities had in mind, not quasi-disloyal cliques in
- the Home Islands. The key phrase, 'Skim milk in his diet,' referred to Pinafore, to the eerie song
- that expounded the doctrine, '. . . Things are seldom what they seem — Skim milk masquerades as
- cream.' And the I Ching, when Mr. Tagomi had consulted it, had fortified his insight. Its
- commentary:
- Here a strong man is presupposed. It is true he does not
- fit in with his environment, inasmuch as he is too
- brusque and pays too little attention to form. But as he is
- upright in character, he meets with response.
- The insight was, simply, that Mr. Baynes was not what he seemed; that his actual purpose in
- coming to San Francisco was not to sign a deal for injection molds. That, in fact, Mr. Baynes was a
- spy.
- But for the life of him, Mr. Tagomi could not figure out what sort of spy, for whom or for what.
- At one-forty that afternoon, Robert Childan with enormous reluctance locked the front door of
- American Artistic Handcrafts Inc. He lugged his heavy cases to the curb, hailed a pedecab, and told
- the chink to take him to the Nippon Times Building.
- The chink, gaunt-faced, hunched over and perspiring, gasped a place-conscious acknowledgment
- and began loading Mr. Childan's bags aboard. Then, having assisted Mr. Childan himself into the
- carpet-lined seat, the chink clicked on the meter, mounted his own seat and pedaled off along
- Montgomery Street, among the cars and buses.
- The entire day had been spent finding the item for Mr. Tagomi, and Childan's bitterness and
- anxiety almost overwhelmed him as he watched the buildings pass. And yet — triumph. The
- separate skill, apart from the rest of him: he had found the right thing, and Mr. Tagomi would be
- mollified and his client, whoever he was, would be overjoyed. I always give satisfaction, Childan
- thought. To my customers.
- He had been able to procure, miraculously, an almost mint copy of Volume One, Number One of
- Tip Top Comics. Dating from the 'thirties, it was a choice piece of Americana; one of the first funny
- books, a prize collectors searched for constantly. Of course, he had other items with him, to show
- first. He would lead up gradually to the funny book, which lay well-protected in a leather case
- packed in tissue paper at the center of the largest bag.
- The radio of the pedecab blared out popular tunes, competing with the radios of other cabs, cars
- and buses. Childan did not hear; he was used to it. Nor did he take notice of the enormous neon
- signs with their permanent ads obliterating the front of virtually every large building. After all, he
- had his own sign; at night it blazed on and off in company with all the others of the city. What other
- way did one advertise? One had to be realistic.
- In fact, the uproar of radios, traffic noises, the signs and people lulled him. They blotted out his
- inner worries. And it was pleasurable to be peddled along by another human being, to feel the
- straining muscles of the chink transmitted in the form of regular vibrations; a sort of relaxing
- machine, Childan reflected. To be pulled instead of having to pull. And — to have, if even for a
- moment, higher place.
- Guiltily, he woke himself. Too much to plan; no time for a midday doze. Was he absolutely
- properly dressed to enter the Nippon Times Building? Possibly he would faint in the high-speed
- elevator. But he had motion-illness tablets with him, a German compound. The various modes of
- address . . . he knew them. Whom to treat politely, whom rudely. Be brusque with the doorman,
- elevator operator, receptionist, guide, any janitorial person. Bow to any Japanese, of course, even if
- it obliged him to bow hundreds of times. But the pinocs. Nebulous area. Bow, but look straight
- through them as if they did not exist. Did that cover every situation, then? What about a visiting
- foreigner? Germans often could be seen at the Trade Missions, as well as neutrals.
- And then, too, he might see a slave.
- German or South ships docked at the port of San Francisco all the time, and blacks occasionally
- were allowed off for short intervals. Always in groups of fewer than three. And they could not be
- out after nightfall; even under Pacific law, they had to obey the curfew. But also slaves unloaded at
- the docks, and these lived perpetually ashore, in shacks under the wharves, above the waterline.
- None would be in the Trade Mission offices, but if any unloading were taking place — for instance,
- should he carry his own bags to Mr. Tagomi's office? Surely not. A slave would have to be found,
- even if he had to stand waiting an hour. Even if he missed his appointment. It was out of the
- question to let a slave see him carrying something; he had to be quite careful of that. A mistake of
- that kind would cost him dearly; he would never have place of any sort again, among those who
- saw.
- In a way, Childan thought, I would almost enjoy carrying my own bags into the Nippon Times
- Building in broad daylight. What a grand gesture. It is not actually illegal; I would not go to jail.
- And I would show my real feelings, the side of a man which never comes out in public life. But . . .
- I could do it, he thought, if there weren't those damn black slaves lurking around; I could endure
- those above me seeing it, their scorn — after all, they scorn me and humiliate me every day. But to
- have those beneath see me, to feel their contempt. Like this chink peddling away ahead of me. if I
- hadn't taken a pedecab, if he had seen me trying to walk to a business appointment . . .
- One had to blame the Germans for the situation. Tendency to bite off more than they could chew.
- After all, they had barely managed to win the war, and at once they had gone off to conquer the
- solar system, while at home they had passed edicts which . . . well, at least the idea was good. And
- after all, they had been successful with the Jews and Gypsies and Bible Students. And the Slavs had
- been rolled back two thousand years' worth, to their heartland in Asia. Out of Europe entirely, to
- everyone's relief. Back to riding yaks and hunting with bow and arrow. And those great glossy
- magazines printed in Munich and circulated around to all the libraries and newsstands . . . one
- could see the full-page color pictures for oneself: the blue-eyed, blond-haired Aryan settlers who
- now industriously tilled, culled, plowed, and so forth in the vast grain bowl of the world, the
- Ukraine. Those fellows certainly looked happy. And their farms and cottages were clean. You
- didn't see pictures of drunken dull-wilted Poles any more, slouched on sagging porches or hawking
- a few sickly turnips at the village market. All a thing of the past, like rutted dirt roads that once
- turned to slop in the rainy season, bogging down the carts.
- But Africa. They had simply let their enthusiasm get the better of them there, and you had to
- admire that, although more thoughtful advice would have cautioned them to perhaps let it wait a bit
- until, for instance, Project Farmland had been completed. Now there the Nazis had shown genius;
- the artist in them had truly emerged. The Mediterranean Sea bottled up, drained, made into tillable
- farmland, through the use of atomic power — what daring! How the sniggerers had been set back
- on their heels, for instance certain scoffing merchants along Montgomery Street. And as a matter of
- fact, Africa had almost been successful . . . but in a project of that sort, almost was an ominous
- word to begin to hear. Rosenberg's well-known powerful pamphlet issued in 1958; the word had
- first shown up, then. As to the Final Solution of the African Problem, we have almost achieved our
- objectives. Unfortunately, however —
- Still, it had taken two hundred years to dispose of the American aborigines, and Germany had
- almost done it in Africa in fifteen years. So no criticism was legitimately in order. Childan had, in
- fact, argued it out recently while having lunch with certain of those other merchants. They expected
- miracles, evidently, as if the Nazis could remold the world by magic. No, it was science and
- technology and that fabulous talent for hard work; the Germans never stopped applying themselves.
- And when they did a task, they did it right.
- And anyhow, the flights to Mars had distracted world attention from the difficulty in Africa. So it
- all came back to what he had told his fellow store owners; what the Nazis have which we lack is —
- nobility. Admire them for their love of work or their efficiency . . . but it's the dream that stirs one.
- Space flights first to the moon, then to Mars; if that isn't the oldest yearning of mankind, our finest
- hope for glory. Now, the Japanese on the other hand. I know them pretty well; I do business with
- them, after all, day in and day out. They are — let's face it — Orientals. Yellow people. We whites
- have to bow to them because they hold the power. But we watch Germany; we see what can be
- done where whites have conquered, and it's quite different.
- 'We approach the Nippon Times Building, sir,' the chink said, his chest heaving from the exertion
- of the hill climbing. He slowed, now.
- To himself, Childan tried to picture Mr. Tagomi's client. Clearly the man was unusually
- important; Mr. Tagomi's tone on the telephone, his immense agitation, had communicated the fact.
- Image of one of Childan's own very important clients, or rather, customers, swam up into his mind,
- a man who had done a good deal to create for Childan a reputation among the high-placed
- personages residing in the Bay Area.
- Four years ago, Childan had not been the dealer in the rare and desirable which he was now; he
- had operated a small rather dimly lighted secondhand bookshop on Geary. His neighboring stores
- sold used furniture, or hardware, or did laundry. It was not a nice neighborhood. At night strongarm
- robberies and sometimes rape took place on the sidewalk, despite the efforts of the San
- Francisco Police Department and even the Kempeitai, the Japanese higher-ups. All store windows
- had iron gratings fitted over them once the business day had ended, this to prevent forcible entry.
- Yet, into this district of the city had come an elderly Japanese ex-Army man, a Major Ito Humo.
- Tall, slender, white-haired, walking and standing stiffly, Major Humo had given Childan his first
- inkling of what might be done with his line of merchandise.
- 'I am a collector,' Major Humo had explained. He had spent an entire afternoon searching among
- the heaps of old magazines in the store. In his mild voice he had explained something which
- Childan could not quite grasp at the time: to many wealthy, cultured Japanese, the historic objects
- of American popular civilization were of equal interest alongside the more formal antiques. Why
- this was so, the major himself did not know; he was particularly addicted to the collecting of old
- magazines dealing with U.S. brass buttons, well as the buttons themselves. It was on the order of
- coin or stamp collecting; no rational explanation could ever be given. And high prices were being
- paid by wealthy collectors.
- 'I will give you an example,' the major had said. 'Do you know what is meant by 'Horrors of War'
- cards?' He had eyed Childan with avidity.
- Searching his memory, Childan had at last recalled. The cards had been dispensed, during his
- childhood, with bubble gum. A cent apiece. There had been a series of them, each card depicting a
- different horror.
- 'A dear friend of mine,' the major had gone on, 'collects 'Horrors of War.' He lacks but one, now.
- The Sinking of the Panay. He has offered a substantial sum of money for that particular card.'
- 'Flip cards,' Childan had said suddenly.
- 'Sir?'
- 'We flipped them. There was a head and a tail side on each card.' He had been about eight years
- old. 'Each of us had a pack of flip cards. We stood, two of us, facing each other. Each of us dropped
- a card so that it flipped in the air. The boy whose card landed with the head side up, the side with
- the picture, won both cards.' How enjoyable to recall those good days, those early happy days of his
- childhood.
- Considering, Major Humo had said, 'I have heard my friend discuss his 'Horrors of War' cards,
- and he has never mentioned this. It is my opinion that he does not know how these cards actually
- were put to use.'
- Eventually, the major's friend had shown up at the store to hear Childan's historically firsthand
- account. That man, also a retired officer of the Imperial Army, had been fascinated,
- 'Bottle caps!' Childan had exclaimed without warning.
- The Japanese had blinked uncomprehendingly.
- 'We used to collect the tops from milk bottles. As kids. The round tops that gave the name of the
- dairy. There must have been thousands of dairies in the United States. Each one printed a special
- top.'
- The officer's eyes had glinted with the instinct. 'Do you possess any of your sometime collection,
- sir?'
- Naturally, Childan did not. But. . . probably it was still possible to obtain the ancient, longforgotten
- tops from the days before the war when milk had come in glass bottles rather than
- throwaway pasteboard cartons.
- And so, by stages, he had gotten into the business. Others had opened similar places, taking
- advantage of the evergrowing Japanese craze for Americana. . . .but Childan had always kept his
- edge.
- 'Your fare,' the chink was saying, bringing him out of his meditation, 'is a dollar, sir.' He had
- unloaded the bags and was waiting.
- Absentmindedly, Childan paid him. Yes, it was quite likely that the client of Mr. Tagomi
- resembled Major Humo; at least, Childan thought tartly, from my point of view. He had dealt with
- so many Japanese. . . but he still had difficulty telling them apart. There were the short squat ones,
- built like wrestlers. Then the druggist-like ones. The tree-shrubflower-gardener ones. . . he had his
- categories. And the young ones, who were to him not like Japanese at all. Mr. Tagomi's client
- would probably be portly, a businessman, smoking a Philippine cigar.
- And then, standing before the Nippon Times Building, with his bags on the sidewalk beside him,
- Childan suddenly thought with a chill: Suppose his client isn't Japanese! Everything in the bags had
- been selected with them in mind, their tastes —
- But the man had to be Japanese. A Civil War recruiting poster had been Mr. Tagomi's original
- order; surely only a Japanese would care about such debris. Typical of their mania for the trivial,
- their legalistic fascination with documents, proclamations, ads. He remembered one who had
- devoted his leisure time to collecting newspaper ads of American patent medicines of the 1900s.
- There were other problems to face. Immediate problems. Through the high doors of the Nippon
- Times Building men and women hurried, all of them well-dressed; their voices reached Childan's
- ears, and he started into motion. A glance upward at the towering edifice, the highest building in
- San Francisco. Wall of offices, windows, the fabulous design of the Japanese architects — and the
- surrounding gardens of dwarf evergreens, rocks, the karesansui landscape, sand imitating a driedup
- stream winding past roots, among simple, irregular flat stones . . .
- He saw a black who had carried baggage, now free. At once Childan called, 'Porter!'
- The black trotted toward him, smiling.
- 'To the twentieth floor,' Childan said in his harshest voice. 'Suite B. At once.' He indicated the
- bags and then strode on toward the doors of the building. Naturally he did not look back.
- A moment later he found himself being crowded into one of the express elevators; mostly
- Japanese around him, their clean faces shining slightly in the brilliant light of the elevator. Then the
- nauseating upward thrust of the elevator, the rapid click of floors passing; he shut his eyes, planted
- his feet firmly, prayed for the flight to end. The black, of course, had taken the bags up on a service
- elevator. It would not have been within the realm of reason to permit him here. In fact — Childan
- opened his eyes and looked momentarily — he was one of the few whites in the elevator.
- When the elevator let him off on the twentieth floor, Childan was already bowing mentally,
- preparing himself for the encounter in Mr. Tagomi's offices.
- 3
- At sunset, glancing up, Juliana Frink saw the dot of light in the sky shoot in an arc, disappear to the
- west. One of those Nazi rocket ships, she said to herself. Flying to the Coast. Full of big shots. And
- here I am down below. She waved, although the rocket ship of course had already gone.
- Shadows advancing from the Rockies. Blue peaks turning to night. A flock of slow birds,
- migratory, made their way parallel with the mountains. Here and there a car turned its headlights
- on; she saw the twin dots along the highway. Lights, too, of a gas station. Houses.
- For months now she had been living here in Canon City, Colorado. She was a judo instructor.
- Her workday had ended and she was preparing to take a shower. She felt tired. All the showers
- were in use, by customers of Ray's Gym, so she had been standing, waiting outdoors in the
- coolness, enjoying the smell of mountain air, the quiet. All she heard now was the faint murmur
- from the hamburger stand down the road by the highway's edge. Two huge diesel trucks had
- parked, and the drivers, in the gloom, could be seen moving about, putting on their leather jackets
- before entering the hamburger stand.
- She thought: Didn't Diesel throw himself out the window of his stateroom? Commit suicide by
- drowning himself on an ocean voyage? Maybe I ought to do that. But here there was no ocean. But
- there is always a way. Like in Shakespeare. A pin stuck through one's shirt front, and good-bye
- Frink. The girl who need not fear marauding homeless from the desert. Walks upright in
- consciousness of many pinched-nerve possibilities in grizzled salivating adversary. Death instead
- by, say, sniffing car exhaust in highway town, perhaps through long hollow straw.
- Learned that, she thought, from Japanese. Imbibed placid attitude toward mortality, along with
- money-making judo. How to kill, how to die. Yang and yin. But that's behind, now; this is
- Protestant land.
- It was a good thing to see the Nazi rockets go by overhead and not stop, not take any interest of
- any sort in Canon City, Colorado. Nor in Utah or Wyoming or the eastern part of Nevada, none of
- the open empty desert states or pasture states. We have no value, she said to herself. We can live
- out our tiny lives. If we want to. If it matters to us.
- From one of the showers, the noise of a door unlocking. A shape, large Miss Davis, finished with
- her shower, dressed, purse under her arm. 'Oh, were you waiting, Mrs. Frink? I'm sorry.'
- 'It's all right,' Juliana said.
- 'You know, Mrs. Frink, I've gotten so much out of judo. Even more than out of Zen. I wanted to
- tell you.'
- 'Slim your hips the Zen way,' Juliana said. 'Lose pounds through painless satori. I'm sorry, Miss
- Davis. I'm woolgathering.'
- Miss Davis said, 'Did they hurt you much?'
- 'Who?'
- 'The Japs. Before you learned to defend yourself.'
- 'It was dreadful,' Juliana said. 'You've never been out there, on the Coast. Where they are.'
- 'I've never been outside of Colorado,' Miss Davis said, her voice fluttering timidly.
- 'It could happen here,' Juliana said. 'They might decide to occupy this region, too.'
- 'Not this late!'
- 'You never know what they're going to do,' Juliana said. 'They hide their real thoughts.'
- 'What — did they make you do?' Miss Davis, hugging her purse against her body with both arms,
- moved closer, in the evening darkness, to hear.
- 'Everything,' Juliana said.
- 'Oh God. I'd fight,' Miss Davis said.
- Juliana excused herself and walked to the vacant shower; someone else was approaching it with
- a towel over her arm.
- Later, she sat in a booth at Tasty Charley's Broiled Hamburgers, listlessly reading the menu. The
- jukebox played some hillbilly tune; steel guitar and emotion-choked moaning . . . the air was heavy
- with grease smoke. And yet, the place was warm and bright, and it cheered her. The presence of the
- truck drivers at the counter, the waitress, the big Irish fry cook in his white jacket at the register
- making change.
- Seeing her, Charley approached to wait on her himself. Grinning, he drawled, 'Missy want tea
- now?'
- 'Coffee,' Juliana said, enduring the fry cook's relentless humor.
- 'Ah so,' Charley said, nodding.
- 'And the hot steak sandwich with gravy.'
- 'Not have bowl rat's-nest soup? Or maybe goat brains fried in olive oil?' A couple of the truck
- drivers, turning on their stools, grinned along with the gag, too. And in addition they took pleasure
- in noticing how attractive she was. Even lacking the fry cook's kidding, she would have found the
- truck drivers scrutinizing her. The months of active judo had given her unusual muscle tone; she
- knew how well she held herself and what it did for her figure.
- It all has to do with the shoulder muscles, she thought as she met their gaze. Dancers do it, too. It
- has nothing to do with size. Send your wives around to the gym and we'll teach them. And you'll be
- so much more content in life.
- 'Stay away from her,' the fry cook warned the truck drivers with a wink. 'She'll throw you on
- your can.'
- She said to the younger of the truck drivers, 'Where are you in from?'
- 'Missouri,' both men said.
- 'Are you from the United States?' she asked.
- 'I am,' the older man said. 'Philadelphia. Got three kids there. The oldest is eleven.'
- 'Listen,' Juliana said. 'Is it — easy to get a good job back there?'
- The younger truck driver said, 'Sure. If you have the right color skin.' He himself had a dark
- brooding face with curly black hair. His expression had become set and bitter.
- 'He's a wop,' the older man said.
- 'Well,' Juliana said, 'didn't Italy win the war?' She smiled at the young truck driver but he did not
- smile back. Instead, his somber eyes glowed even more intensely, and suddenly he turned away.
- I'm sorry, she thought. But she said nothing. I can't save you or anybody else from being dark.
- She thought of Frank. I wonder if he's dead yet. Said the wrong thing; spoke out of line. No, she
- thought. Somehow he likes Japs. Maybe he identifies with them because they're ugly. She had
- always told Frank that he was ugly. Large pores. Big nose. Her own skin was finely knit, unusually
- so. Did he fall dead without me? A fink is a finch, a form of bird. And they say birds die.
- 'Are you going back on the road tonight?' she asked the young Italian truck driver.
- 'Tomorrow.'
- 'If you're not happy in the U.S. why don't you cross over permanently?' she said. 'I've been living
- in the Rockies for a long time and it isn't so bad. I lived on the Coast, in San Francisco. They have
- the skin thing there, too.'
- Glancing briefly at her as he sat hunched at the counter, the young Italian said, 'Lady, it's bad
- enough to have to spend one day or one night in a town like this. Live here? Christ — if I could get
- any other kind of job, and not have to be on the road eating my meals in places like this — '
- Noticing that the fry cook was red, he ceased speaking and began to drink his coffee.
- The older truck driver said to him, 'Joe, you're a snob.'
- 'You could live in Denver,' Juliana said. 'It's nicer up there.' I know you East Americans, she
- thought. You like the big time. Dreaming your big schemes. This is just the sticks to you, the
- Rockies. Nothing has happened here since before the war. Retired old people, farmers, the stupid,
- slow, poor. . . and all the smart boys have flocked east to New York, crossed the border legally or
- illegally. Because, she thought, that's where the money is, the big industrial money. The expansion.
- German investment has done a lot . . . it didn't take long for them to build the U.S. back up.
- The fry cook said in a hoarse angry voice, 'Buddy, I'm not a Jew-lover, but I seen some of those
- Jew refugees fleeing your U.S. in '49, and you can have your U.S. If there's a lot of building back
- there and a lot of loose easy money it's because they stole it from those Jews when they kicked
- them out of New York, that goddam Nazi Nuremberg Law. I lived in Boston when I was a kid, and
- I got no special use for Jews, but I never thought I'd see that Nazi racial law get passed in the U.S.,
- even if we did lose the war. I'm surprised you aren't in the U.S. Armed Forces, getting ready to
- invade some little South American republic as a front for the Germans, so they can push the
- Japanese back a little bit more — '
- Both truck drivers were on their feet, their faces stark. The older man picked up a ketchup bottle
- from the counter and held it upright by the neck. The fry cook without turning his back to the two
- men reached behind him until his fingers touched one of his meat forks. He brought the fork out
- and held it.
- Juliana said, 'Denver is getting one of those heat-resistant runways so that Lufthansa rockets can
- land there.'
- None of the three men moved or spoke. The other customers sat silently.
- Finally the fry cook said, 'One flew over around sundown.'
- 'It wasn't going to Denver,' Juliana said. 'It was going west, to the Coast.'
- By degrees, the two truck drivers reseated themselves. The older man mumbled, 'I always forget;
- they're a little yellow out here.'
- The fry cook said. 'No Japs killed Jews, in the war or after. No Japs built ovens.'
- 'Too bad they didn't,' the older truck driver said. But, picking up his coffee cup, he resumed
- eating.
- Yellow, Juliana thought. Yes, I suppose it's true. We love the Japs out here.
- 'Where are you staying?' she asked, speaking to the young truck driver, Joe. 'Overnight.'
- 'I don't know,' he answered. 'I just got out of the truck to come in here. I don't like this whole
- state. Maybe I'll sleep in the truck.'
- 'The Honey Bee Motel isn't too bad,' the fry cook said.
- 'Okay,' the young truck driver said. 'Maybe I'll stay there. If they don't mind me being Italian.' He
- had a definite accent, although he tried to hide it.
- Watching him, Juliana thought, It's idealism that makes him that bitter. Asking too much out of
- life. Always moving on, restless and griped. I'm the same way; I couldn't stay on the West Coast
- and eventually I won't be able to stand it here. Weren't the old-timers like that? But, she thought,
- now the frontier isn't here; it's the other planets.
- She thought: He and I could sign up for one of those colonizing rocket ships. But the Germans
- would disbar him because of his skin and me because of my dark hair. Those pale skinny Nordic
- SS fairies in those training castles in Bavaria. This guy — Joe whatever — hasn't even got the right
- expression on his face; he should have that cold but somehow enthusiastic look, as if he believed in
- nothing and yet somehow had absolute faith. Yes, that's how they are. They're not idealists like Joe
- and me; they're cynics with utter faith. It's a sort of brain defect, like a lobotomy — that maiming
- those German psychiatrists do as a poor substitute for psychotherapy.
- Their trouble, she decided, is with sex; they did something foul with it back in the 'thirties, and it
- has gotten worse. Hitler started it with his — what was she? His sister? Aunt? Niece? And his
- family was inbred already; his mother and father were cousins. They're all committing incest, going
- back to the original sin of lusting for their own mothers. That's why they, those elite SS fairies,
- have that angelic simper, that blond babylike innocence; they're saving themselves for Mama. Or
- for each other.
- And who is Mama for them? she wondered. The leader, Herr Bormann, who is supposed to be
- dying? Or — the Sick One.
- Old Adolf, supposed to be in a sanitarium somewhere, living out his life of senile paresis.
- Syphilis of the brain, dating back to his poor days as a bum in Vienna. . . long black coat, dirty
- underwear, flophouses.
- Obviously, it was God's sardonic vengeance, right out of some silent movie. That awful man
- struck down by an internal filth, the historic plague for man's wickedness.
- And the horrible part was that the present-day German Empire was a product of that brain. First a
- political party, then a nation, then half the world. And the Nazis themselves had diagnosed it,
- identified it; that quack herbal medicine man who had treated Hitler, that Dr. Morell who had dosed
- Hitler with a patent medicine called Dr. Koester's Antigas Pills — he had originally been a
- specialist in venereal disease. The entire world knew it, and yet the Leader's gabble was still sacred,
- still Holy Writ. The views had infected a civilization by now, and, like evil spores, the blind blond
- Nazi queens were swishing out from Earth to the other planets, spreading the contamination.
- What you get for incest: madness, blindness, death.
- Brrr. She shook herself.
- 'Charley,' she called to the fry cook. 'You about ready with my order?' She felt absolutely alone;
- getting to her feet she walked to the counter and seated herself by the register.
- No one noticed her except the young Italian truck driver; his dark eyes were fixed on her. Joe, his
- name was. Joe what? she wondered.
- Closer to him, now, she saw that he was not as young as she had thought. Hard to tell; the
- intensity all around him disturbed her judgment. Continually he drew his hand through his hair,
- combing it back with crooked, rigid fingers. There's something special about this man, she thought.
- He breathes — death. It upset her, and yet attracted her. Now the older truck driver inclined his
- head and whispered to him. Then they both scrutinized her, this time with a look that was not the
- ordinary male interest.
- 'Miss,' the older one said. Both men were quite tense, now. 'Do you know what this is?' He held
- up a flat white box, not too large.
- 'Yes,' Juliana said. 'Nylon stockings. Synthetic fiber made only by the great cartel in New York,
- I. G. Farben. Very rare and expensive.'
- 'You got to hand it to the Germans; monopoly's not a bad idea.' The older truck driver passed the
- box to his companion, who pushed it with his elbow along the counter toward her. -
- 'You have a car?' the young Italian asked her, sipping his coffee.
- From the kitchen, Charley appeared; he had her plate.
- 'You could drive me to this place.' The wild, strong eyes still studied her, and she became
- increasingly nervous, and yet increasingly transfixed. 'This motel, or wherever I'm supposed to stay
- tonight. Isn't that so?'
- 'Yes,' she said. 'I have a car. An old Studebaker.'
- The fry cook glanced from her to the young truck driver, and then set her plate before her at the
- counter.
- The loudspeaker at the end of the aisle said, 'Achtung, meine Damen und Herren. 'In his seat, Mr.
- Baynes started, opened his eyes. Through the window to his right he could see, far below, the
- brown and green of land, and then blue. The Pacific. The rocket, he realized, had begun its long
- slow descent.
- In German first, then Japanese, and at last English, the loudspeaker explained that no one was to
- smoke or to untie himself from his padded seat. The descent, it explained, would take eight
- minutes.
- The retro-jets started then, so suddenly and loudly, shaking the ship so violently, that a number
- of passengers gasped. Mr. Baynes smiled, and in the aisle seat across from him, another passenger,
- a younger man with close-cropped blond hair, also smiled.
- 'Sie furchten dass — ' the young man began, but Mr. Baynes said at once, in English:
- 'I'm sorry; I don't speak German.' The young German gazed at him questioningly, and so he said
- the same thing in German.
- 'No German?' the young German said, amazed, in accented English.
- 'I am Swedish,' Baynes said.
- 'You embarked at Tempelhof.'
- 'Yes, I was in Germany on business. My business carries me to a number of countries.'
- Clearly, the young German could not believe that anyone in the modern world, anyone who had
- international business dealings and rode — could afford to ride — on the latest Lufthansa rocket,
- could or would not speak German. To Baynes he said, 'What line are you in, mein Herr?'
- 'Plastics. Polyesters. Resins. Ersatz — industrial uses. Do you see? No consumers' commodities.'
- 'Sweden has a plastics industry?' Disbelief.
- 'Yes, a very good one. If you will give me your name I will have a firm brochure mailed to you.'
- Mr. Baynes brought out his pen and pad.
- 'Never mind. It would be wasted on me. I am an artist, not a commercial man. No offense.
- Possibly you have seen my work while on the Continent. Alex Lotze.' He waited.
- 'Afraid I do not care for modern art,' Mr. Baynes said. 'I like the old prewar cubists and
- abstractionists. I like a picture to mean something, not merely to represent the ideal.' He turned
- away.
- 'But that's the task of art,' Lotze said. 'To advance the spirituality of man, over the sensual. Your
- abstract art represented a period of spiritual decadence, of spiritual chaos, due to the disintegration
- of society, the old plutocracy. The Jewish and capitalist millionaires, the international set that
- supported the decadent art. Those times are over; art has to-go on — it can't stay still.'
- Baynes nodded, gazing out the window.
- 'Have you been to the Pacific before?' Lotze asked.
- 'Several times.'
- 'Not I. There is an exhibition in San Francisco of my work, arranged by Dr. Goebbels' office,
- with the Japanese authorities. A cultural exchange to promote understanding and goodwill. We
- must ease tensions between the East and West, don't you think? We must have more
- communication, and art can do that.'
- Baynes nodded. Below, beyond the ring of fire from the rocket, the city of San Francisco and the
- Bay could now be seen.
- 'Where does one eat in San Francisco?' Lotze was saying. 'I have reservations at the Palace
- Hotel, but my understanding is that one can find good food in the international section, such as the
- Chinatown.'
- 'True,' Baynes said.
- 'Are prices high in San Francisco? I am out of pocket for this trip. The Ministry is very frugal.'
- Lotze laughed.
- 'Depends on the exchange rate you can manage. I presume you're carrying Reichsbank drafts. I
- suggest you go to the Bank of Tokyo on Samson Street and exchange there.'
- 'Danke sehr,' Lotze said. 'I would have done it at the hotel.'
- The rocket had almost reached the ground. Now Baynes could see the airfield itself, hangars,
- parking lots, the autobahn from the city, the houses. . . very lovely view, he thought. Mountains and
- water, and a few bits of fog drifting in at the Golden Gate.
- 'What is that enormous structure below?' Lotze asked. 'It is half-finished, open at one side. A
- spaceport? The Nipponese have no spacecraft, I thought.'
- With a smile, Baynes said, 'That's Golden Poppy Stadium. The baseball park.'
- Lotze laughed. 'Yes, they love baseball. Incredible. They have begun work on that great structure
- for a pastime, an idle time-wasting sport — '
- Interrupting, Baynes said, 'It is finished. That's its permanent shape. Open on one side. A new
- architectural design. They are very proud of it.'
- 'It looks,' Lotze said, gazing down, 'as if it was designed by a Jew.'
- Baynes regarded the man for a time. He felt, strongly for a moment, the unbalanced quality, the
- psychotic streak, in the German mind. Did Lotze actually mean what he said? Was it a truly
- spontaneous remark?
- 'I hope we will see one another later on in San Francisco,' Lotze said as the rocket touched the
- ground. 'I will be at loose ends without a countryman to talk to.'
- 'I'm not a countryman of yours,' Baynes said.
- 'Oh, yes; that's so. But racially, you're quite close. For all intents and purposes the same.' Lotze
- began to stir around in his seat, getting ready to unfasten the elaborate belts.
- Am I racially kin to this man? Baynes wondered. So closely so that for all intents and purposes it
- is the same? Then it is in me, too, the psychotic streak. A psychotic world we live in. The madmen
- are in power. How long have we known this? Faced this? And — how many of us do know it? Not
- Lotze. Perhaps if you know you are insane then you are not insane. Or. you are becoming sane,
- finally. Waking up. I suppose only a few are aware of all this. Isolated persons here and there. But
- the broad masses . . . what do they think? All these hundreds of thousands in this city, here. Do they
- imagine that they live in a sane world? Or do they guess, glimpse, the truth . . . ?
- But, he thought, what does it mean, insane? A legal definition. What do I mean? I feel it, see it,
- but what is it?
- He thought, It is something they do, something they are. It is -their unconsciousness. Their lack
- of knowledge about others. Their not being aware of what they do to others, the destruction they
- have caused and are causing. No, he thought. That isn't it, I don't know; I sense it, intuit it. But —
- they are purposely cruel . . . is that it? No. God, he thought. I can't find it, make it clear. Do they
- ignore parts of reality? Yes. But it is more. It is their plans. Yes, their plans. The conquering of the
- planets. Something frenzied and demented, as was their conquering of Africa, and before that,
- Europe and Asia.
- Their view; it is cosmic. Not of a man here, a child there, but air abstraction: race, land. Volk.
- Land. Blut. Ehre. Not of honorable men but of Ehre itself, honor; the abstract is real, the actual is
- invisible to them. Die Güte, but not good, this good man. It is their sense of space and time. They
- see through the here, the now, into the vast black deep beyond, the unchanging. And that is fatal to
- life. Because eventually there will be no life; there was once only the dust particles in space, the hot
- hydrogen gases, nothing more, and it will come again. This is an interval, ein Augenblick. The
- cosmic process is hurrying on, crushing life back into the granite and methane; the wheel turns for
- all life. It is all temporary. And they — these madmen — respond to the granite, the dust, the
- longing of the inanimate; they want to aid Natur.
- And, he thought, I know why. They want to be the agents, not the victims, of history. They
- identify with God's power and believe they are godlike. That is their basic madness. They are
- overcome by some archetype; their egos have expanded psychotically so that they cannot tell where
- they begin and the godhead leaves off. It is not hubris, not pride; it is inflation of the ego to its
- ultimate — confusion between him who worships and that which is worshiped. Man has not eaten
- God; God has eaten man.
- What they do not comprehend is man's helplessness. I am weak, small, of no consequence to the
- universe. It does not notice me; I live on unseen. But why is that bad? Isn't it better that way?
- Whom the gods notice they destroy. Be small . . . and you will escape the jealousy of the great.
- As he unfastened his own belt, Baynes said, 'Mr. Lotze, I have never told anyone this. I am a
- Jew. Do you understand?'
- Lotze stared at him piteously.
- 'You would not have known,' Baynes said, 'because I do not in any physical way appear Jewish; I
- have had my nose altered, my large greasy pores made smaller, my skin chemically lightened, tife
- shape of my skull changed. In short, physically I cannot be detected. I can and have often walked in
- the highest circles of Nazi society. No one will ever discover me. And-' He paused, standing close,
- very close to Lotze and speaking in a low voice which only Lotze could hear. 'And there are others
- of us. Do you hear? We did not die. We still exist. We live on unseen.'
- After a moment Lotze stuttered, 'The Security Police — '
- 'The SD can go over my record,' Baynes said. 'You can report me. But I have very high
- connections. Some of them are Aryan, some are other Jews in top positions in Berlin. Your report
- will be discounted, and then, presently, I will report you. And through these same connections, you
- will find yourself in Protective Custody.' He smiled, nodded and walked up the aisle of the ship,
- away from Lotze, to join the other passengers.
- Everyone descended the ramp, onto the cold, windy field. At the bottom, Baynes found himself
- once more momentarily near Lotze.
- 'In fact,' Baynes said, walking beside Lotze, 'I do not like your looks, Mr. Lotze, so I think I will
- report you anyhow.' He strode on, then, leaving Lotze behind.
- At the far end of the field, at the concourse entrance, a large number of people were waiting.
- Relatives, friends of passengers, some of them waving, peering, smiling, looking anxious, scanning
- faces. A heavyset middle-aged Japanese man, well-dressed in a British overcoat, pointed Oxfords,
- bowler, stood -a little ahead of the others, with a younger Japanese beside him. On his coat lapel he
- wore the badge of the ranking Pacific Trade Mission of the Imperial Government. There he is,
- Baynes realized. Mr. N. Tagomi, come personally to meet me.
- Starting forward, the Japanese called, 'Herr Baynes — good evening.' His head tilted hesitantly.
- 'Good evening, Mr. Tagomi,' Baynes said, holding out his hand. They shook, then bowed. The
- younger Japanese also bowed, beaming.
- 'Bit cold, sir; on this exposed field,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'We shall begin return trip to downtown
- city by Mission helicopter. Is that so? Or do-you need to use the facilities, and so forth?' He
- scrutinized Mr. Baynes' face anxiously.
- 'We can start right now,' Baynes said. 'I want to check in at my hotel. My baggage, however — '
- 'Mr. Kotomichi will attend to that,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'He will follow. You see, sir, at this
- terminal it takes almost an hour waiting in line to claim baggage. Longer than your trip.'
- Mr. Kotomichi smiled agreeably.
- 'All right,' Baynes said.
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'Sir, I have a gift to graft.'
- 'I beg your pardon?' Baynes said.
- 'To invite your favorable attitude.' Mr. Tagomi reached into his overcoat pocket and brought out
- a small box. 'Selected from among the finest objects d'art of America available.' He held out the
- box.
- 'Well,' Baynes said. 'Thanks.' He accepted the box.
- 'All afternoon assorted officials examined the alternatives,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'This is most
- authentic of dying old U.S. culture, a rare retained artifact carrying flavor of bygone halcyon day.'
- Mr. Baynes opened the box. In it lay a Mickey Mouse wristwatch on a pad of black velvet.
- Was Mr. Tagomi playing a joke on him? He raised his eyes, saw Mr. Tagomi's tense, concerned
- face. No, it was not a joke. 'Thank you very much,' Baynes said. 'This is indeed incredible.'
- 'Only few, perhaps ten, authentic 1938 Mickey Mouse watches in all world today,' Mr. Tagomi
- said, studying him, drinking in his reaction, his appreciation. 'No collector known to me has one,
- sir.'
- They entered the air terminal and together ascended the ramp.
- Behind them Mr. Kotomichi said, 'Harusame ni nuretsutsu yane no temari kana. . .'
- 'What is that?' Mr. Baynes said to Mr. Tagomi.
- 'Old poem,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'Middle Tokugawa Period.'
- Mr. Kotomichi said, 'As the spring rains fall, soaking in them, on the roof, is a child's rag ball.'
- 4
- As Frank Frink watched his ex-employer waddle down the corridor and into the main work area of
- W-M Corporation he thought to himself, The Strange thing about Wyndam-Matson is that he does
- not look like a man who owns a factory. He looks like a Tenderloin bum, a wino, who has been
- given a bath, new clothes, a shave, haircut, shot of vitamins, and set out into the world with five
- dollars to find a new life. The old man had a weak, shifty, nervous, even ingratiating manner, as if
- he regarded everyone as a potential enemy stronger than he, whom he had to fawn on and pacify.
- 'They're going to get me,' his manner seemed to say.
- And yet old W-M was really very powerful. He owned controlling interests in a variety of
- enterprises, speculations, real estate. As well as the W-M Corporation factory.
- Following after the old man, Frink pushed open the big metal door to the main work area. The
- rumble of machinery, which he had heard around him every day for so long — sight of men at the
- machines, air filled with flash of light, waste dust, movement. There went the old man. Frink
- increased his pace.
- 'Hey, Mr. W-M!' he called.
- The old man had stopped by the hairy-armed shop foreman, Ed McCarthy. Both of them glanced
- up as Frink came toward them.
- Moistening his lips nervously, Wyndam-Matson said, 'I'm sorry, Frank; I can't do anything about
- taking you back. I've already gone ahead and hired someone to take your place, thinking you
- weren't coming back. After what you said.' His small round eyes flickered with what Frink knew to
- be an almost hereditary evasiveness. It was in the old man's blood.
- Frink said, 'I came for my tools. Nothing else.' His own voice, he was glad to hear, was firm,
- even harsh.
- 'Well, let's see,' W-M mumbled, obviously hazy in his own mind as to the status of Frink's tools.
- To Ed McCarthy he said, 'I think that would be in your department, Ed. Maybe you can fix Frank
- here up. I have other business.' He glanced at his pocket watch. 'Listen, Ed. I'll discuss that invoice
- later; I have to run along.' He patted Ed McCarthy on the arm and then trotted off, not looking
- back.
- Ed McCarthy and Frink stood together.
- 'You came to get your job back,' McCarthy said after a time.
- 'Yes,' Frink said.
- 'I was proud of what you said yesterday.'
- 'So was I,' Frink said. 'But — Christ, I can't work it out anywhere else.' He felt defeated and
- hopeless. 'You know that.' The two of them had, in the past, often talked over their problems.
- McCarthy said, 'I don't know that. You're as good with that flex-cable machine as anybody on
- the Coast. I've seen you whip out a piece in five minutes, including the rouge polishing. All the way
- from the rough Cratex. And except for the welding — '
- 'I never said I could weld,' Frink said.
- 'Did you ever think of going into business on your own?'
- Frink, taken by surprise, stammered, 'What doing?'
- 'Jewelry.'
- 'Aw, for Christ's sake!'
- 'Custom, original pieces, not commercial.' McCarthy beckoned him over to a corner of the shop,
- away from the noise. 'For about two thousand bucks you could set up a little basement or garage
- shop. One time I drew up designs for women's earrings and pendants. You remember — real
- modern contemporary.' Taking scratch paper, he began to draw, slowly, grimly.
- Peering over his shoulder, Frink saw a bracelet design, an abstract with flowing lines. 'Is there a
- market?' All he had ever seen were the traditional — even antique — objects from the past.
- 'Nobody wants contemporary American; there isn't any such thing, not since the war.'
- 'Create a market,' McCarthy said, with an angry grimace.
- 'You mean sell it myself?'
- 'Take it into retail shops. Like that — what's it called? On Montgomery Street, that big ritzy art
- object place.'
- 'American Artistic Handcrafts,' Frink said. He never went into fashionable, expensive stores such
- as that. Few Americans did; it was the Japanese who had the money to buy from such places.
- 'You know what retailers like that are selling?' McCarthy said. 'And getting a fortune for? Those
- goddam silver belt buckles from New Mexico that the Indians make. Those goddam tourist trash
- pieces, all alike. Supposedly native art.'
- For a long time Frink regarded McCarthy. 'I know what else they sell,' he said finally. 'And so do
- you.'
- 'Yes,' McCarthy said.
- They both knew — because they had both been directly involved, and for a long time.
- W-M Corporation's stated legal business consisted in turning out wrought-iron staircases,
- railings, fireplaces, and ornaments for new apartment buildings, all on a mass basis, from standard
- designs. For a new forty-unit building the same piece would be executed forty times in a row.
- Ostensibly, W-M Corporation was an iron foundry. But in addition, it maintained another business
- from which its real profits were derived.
- Using an elaborate variety of tools, materials, and machines, W-M Corporation turned out a
- constant flow of forgeries of pre-war American artifacts. These forgeries were cautiously but
- expertly fed into the wholesale art object market, to join the genuine objects collected throughout
- the continent. As in the stamp and coin business, no one could possibly estimate the percentage of
- forgeries in circulation. And no one — especially the dealers and the collectors themselves —
- wanted to.
- When Frink had quit, there lay half-finished on his bench a Colt revolver of the Frontier period;
- he had made the molds himself, done the casting, and had been busy handsmoothing the pieces.
- There was an unlimited market for small arms of the American Civil War and Frontier period; WM
- Corporation could sell all that Frink could turn out. It was his specialty.
- Walking slowly over to his bench, Frink picked up the still-rough and burred ramrod of the
- revolver. Another three days and the gun would be finished. Yes, he thought, it was good work. An
- expert could have told the difference . . . but the Japanese collectors weren't authorities in - the
- proper sense, had no standards or tests by which to judge.
- In fact, as far as he knew, it had never occurred to them to ask themselves if the so-called historic
- art objects for sale in West Coast shops were genuine. Perhaps someday they would . . . and then
- the bubble would burst, the market would collapse even for the authentic pieces. A Gresham' 'S
- Law: the fakes would undermine the value of the real. And that no doubt was the motive for the
- failure to investigate; after all, everyone was happy. The factories, here and there in the various
- cities, which turned out the-pieces, they made their profits. The wholesalers passed them on, and
- the dealers displayed and advertised them. The collectors shelled out their money and carried their
- purchases happily home, to impress their associates, friends, and mistresses.
- Like postwar boodle paper money, it was fine until questioned. Nobody was hurt — until the day
- of reckoning. And then everyone, equally, would be ruined. But meanwhile, nobody talked about it,
- even the men who earned their living turning out the forgeries; they shut their own minds to what
- they made, kept their attention on the mere technical problems.
- 'How long since you tried to do original designing?' McCarthy asked.
- Frink shrugged. 'Years. I can copy accurately as hell. But — '
- 'You know what I think? I think you've picked up the Nazi idea that Jews can't create. That they
- can only imitate and sell. Middlemen.' He fixed his merciless scrutiny on Frink.
- 'Maybe so,' Frink said.
- 'Try it. Do some original designs. Or work directly on the metal. Play around. Like a kid plays.'
- 'No,' Frink said.
- 'You have no faith,' McCarthy said. 'You've completely lost faith in yourself — right? Too bad.
- Because I know you could do it.' He walked away from the workbench.
- It is too bad, Frink thought. But nevertheless it's the truth. It's a fact. I can't get faith or
- enthusiasm by willing it. Deciding to.
- That McCarthy, he thought, is a damn good shop foreman. He has the knack of needling a man,
- getting him to put out his best efforts, to do his utmost in spite of himself. He's a natural leader; he
- almost inspired me, for a moment, there. But — McCarthy had gone off, now; the effort had failed.
- Too bad I don't have my copy of the oracle here, Frink thought. I could consult it on this; take
- the issue to it for its five thousand years of wisdom. And then he recalled that there was copy of the
- I Ching in the lounge of the business office of W-M Corporation. So he made his way from the
- work area, along the corridor, hurriedly through the business office to the lounge. -
- Seated in one of the chrome and plastic lounge chairs, he wrote his question out on the back of
- an envelope: 'Should I attempt to go into the creative private business outlined to me just now?'
- And then he began throwing the coins.
- The bottom line was a Seven, and so was the second and then the third. The bottom trigam in
- Ch'ien, he realized. That sounded good; Ch'ien was the creative. Then line Four, an eight. Yin. And
- line Five, also eight, a yin line. Good lord, he thought excitedly; one more yin line and I've got
- Hexagram Eleven, T'ai, Peace. Very favorable judgment. Or — his hands trembled as he rattled the
- coins. A yang line and hence Hexagram Twenty-six, Ta Ch'u, the Taming Power of the Great. Both
- have favorable judgments, and it has to be one or the other. He threw the three coins.
- Yin. A six. It was Peace.
- Opening the book, he read the judgment.
- PEACE. The small departs.
- The great approaches.
- Good fortune. Success.
- So I ought to do as Ed McCarthy says. Open my little business. Now the six at the top, my one
- moving line. He turned the page. What was the text? He could not recall; probably favorable
- because the hexagram itself was so favorable. Union of heaven and earth — but the first and last
- lines were outside the hexagram always, so possibly the six at the top . . .
- His eyes picked out the line, read it in a flash.
- The wall falls back into the moat.
- Use no army now.
- Make your commands known within your own town.
- Perseverance brings humiliation.
- My busted back! he exclaimed, horrified. And the commentary.
- The change alluded to in the middle of the hexagram has begun to take place. The wall of the town
- sinks back into the moat from which it was dug. The hour of doom is at hand. . .
- It was, beyond doubt, one of the most dismal lines in the entire book, of more than three
- thousand lines. And yet the judgment of the hexagram was good.
- Which was he supposed to follow?
- And how could they be so different? It had never happened to him before, good fortune and
- doom mixed together in the Dracle's prophecy; what a weird fate, as if the oracle had scraped the
- bottom of the barrel, tossed up every sort of rag, bone, and turd of the dark, then reversed itself and
- poured in the light like a cook gone barmy. I must have pressed two buttons at once, he decided;
- jammed the works and got this schlimazl's eye view of reality. Just for a second — fortunately.
- Didn't last.
- Hell, he thought, it has to be one or the other; it can't be both. You can't have good fortune and
- doom simultaneously.
- Or . . . can you?
- The jewelry business will bring good fortune; the judgment refers to that. But the line, the
- goddam line; it refers to something deeper, some future catastrophe probably not even connected
- with the jewelry business. Some evil fate that's in store for me anyhow. . .
- War! he thought. Third World War! All frigging two billion of us killed, our civilization wiped
- out. Hydrogen bombs falling like hail.
- Oy gewalt! he thought. What's happening? Did I start it in motion? Or is someone else tinkering,
- someone I don't even know? Or — the whole lot of us. It's the fault of those physicists and that
- synchronicity theory, every particle being connected with every other; you can't fart without
- changing the balance in the universe. It makes living a funny joke with nobody around to laugh. I
- open a book and get a report on future events that even God would like to file and forget. And who
- am I? The wrong person; I can tell you that.
- I should take my tools, get my motors from McCarthy, open my shop, start my piddling business,
- go on despite the horrible line. Be working, creating in my own way right up to the end, living as
- best I can, as actively as possible, until the wall falls back into the moat for all of us, all mankind.
- That's what the oracle is telling me. Fate will poleax us eventually anyhow, but I have my job in the
- meantime; I must use my mind, my hands.
- The judgment was for me alone, for my work. But the line; it was for us all.
- I'm too small, he thought, I can only read what's written, glance up and then lower my head and
- plod along where I left off as if I hadn't seen; the oracle doesn't expect me to start running up and
- down the streets, squalling and yammering for public attention.
- Can anyone alter it? he wondered. All of us combined . . . or one great figure . . . or someone
- strategically placed, who happens to be in the right spot. Chance. Accident. And our lives, our
- world, hanging on it.
- Closing the book, he left the lounge and walked back to the main work area. When he caught
- sight of McCarthy, he waved him over to one side where they could resume talk.
- 'The more I think about it,' Frink said, 'the morel like your idea.'
- 'Fine,' McCarthy said. 'Now listen. Here's what you do. You have to get money from WyndamMatson.'
- - He winked, a slow, intense, frightened twitch of his eyelid. 'I figured out how. I'm going
- to quit and go in with you. My designs, see. What's wrong with that? I know they're good.'
- 'Sure,' Frink said, a little dazed.
- 'I'll see you after work tonight,' McCarthy said. 'At my apartment. You come over around seven
- and have dinner with Jean and me — if you can stand the kids.'
- 'Okay,' Frink said.
- McCarthy gave him a slap on the shoulder and went off.
- I've gone a long way, Frink said to himself. In the last ten minutes. But he did not feel
- apprehensive; he felt, now, excitement.
- It sure happened fast, he thought as he walked over to his bench and began collecting his tools. I
- guess that's how those kinds of things happen. Opportunity, when it comes —
- All my life I've waited for this. When the oracle says 'something must be achieved' — it means
- this. The time is truly great. What is the time, now? What is this moment? Six at the top in
- Hexagram Eleven changes everything to Twenty-six, Taming Power of the Great. Yin becomes
- yang; the line moves and a new Moment appears. And I was so off stride I didn't even notice! -
- I'll bet that's why I got that terrible line; that's the only way Hexagram Eleven can change to
- Hexagram Twenty-six, by that moving six at the top. So I shouldn't get my ass in such an uproar.
- But, despite his excitement and optimism, he could not get the line completely out of his mind.
- However, he thought ironically, I'm making a damn good try; by seven tonight maybe I'll have
- managed to forget it like it never happened.
- He thought, I sure hope so. Because this get-together with Ed is big. He's got some surefire idea;
- lean tell. And I don't intend to find myself left out.
- Right now I'm nothing, but if I can swing this, then maybe lean get Juliana back. I know what
- she wants — she deserves to be married to a man who matters, an important person in the
- community, not some meshuggener. Men used to be men, in the old days; before the war for
- instance. But all that's gone now.
- No wonder she roams around from place to place, from man to man, seeking. And not even
- knowing what it is herself, what her biology needs. But I know, and through this big-time action
- with McCarthy — whatever it is — I'm going to achieve it for her.
- At lunchtime, Robert Childan closed up American Artistic Handcrafts Inc. Usually he crossed
- the street and ate at the coffee shop. In any case he stayed away no more than half an hour, and
- today he was gone only twenty minutes. Memory of his ordeal with Mr. Tagomi and the staff of the
- Trade Mission still kept his stomach upset.
- As he returned to his store he said to himself, Perhaps new policy of not making calls. Do all
- business within store.
- Two hours showing. Much too long. Almost four hours in all; too late to reopen store. An entire
- afternoon to sell one item, one Mickey Mouse watch; expensive treasure, but — he unlocked the
- store door, propped it open, went to hang up his coat in the rear.
- When he re-emerged he found that he had a customer. A white man. Well, he thought. Surprise.
- 'Good day, sir,' Childan said, bowing slightly. Probably a pinoc. Slender, rather dark man. Welldressed,
- fashionable. But not at ease. Slight shine of perspiration.
- 'Good day,' the man murmured, moving around the store to inspect the displays. Then, all at
- once, he approached the counter. He reached into his coat, produced a small shiny leather cardcase,
- set down a multicolored, elaborately printed card.
- On the card, the Imperial emblem. And military insignia. The Navy. Admiral Harusha. Robert
- Childan examined it, impressed.
- 'The admiral's ship,' the customer explained, 'lies in San Francisco Bay at this moment. The
- carrier Syokaku.'
- 'Ah,' Childan said.
- 'Admiral Harusha has never before visited the West Coast,' the customer explained. 'He has
- many wishes while here, one of which is to pay personal visit to your famous store. All the time in
- the Home Islands he has heard of American Artistic Handcrafts Inc.'
- Childan bowed with delight.
- 'However,' the man continued, 'due to pressure of appointments, the admiral cannot pay personal
- visit to your esteemed store. But he has sent me; I am his gentleman.'
- 'The admiral is a collector?' Childan said, his mind working at top speed.
- 'He is a lover of the arts. He is a connoisseur. But not a collector. What he desires is for gift
- purposes; to wit: he wishes to present each officer of his ship a valuable historic artifact, a side arm
- of the epic American Civil War.' The man paused. 'There are twelve officers in. all.'
- To himself, Childan thought, Twelve Civil War side arms. Cost to buyer: almost ten thousand
- dollars. He trembled.
- 'As is well known,' the man continued, 'your shop sells such priceless antique artifacts from the
- pages of American history. Alas, all too rapidly vanishing into limbo of time.'
- Taking enormous care in his words-he could not afford to lose this, to make one single slip —
- Childan said, 'Yes, it is true. Of all the stores in PSA, I possess finest stock-imaginable of Civil
- War weapons. I will be happy to serve Admiral Harusha. Shall I gather superb collection of such
- and bring aboard the Syokaku? This afternoon, possibly?'
- The man said, 'No, I shall inspect them here.'
- Twelve. Childan computed. He did not possess twelve — in fact, he had only three. But he could
- acquire twelve, if luck were with him, through various channels within the week. Air express from
- the East, for instance. And local wholesale contacts.
- 'You, sir,' Childan said, 'are knowledgeable in such weapons?'
- 'Tolerably,' the man said. 'I have a small collection of hand weapons, including tiny secret pistol
- made to look like domino, Circa 1840.'
- 'Exquisite item,' Childan said, as he went to the locked safe to get several guns for Admiral
- Harusha's gentleman's inspection.
- When he returned, he found the man writing out a bank check. The man paused and said, 'The
- admiral desires to pay in advance. A deposit of fifteen thousand PSA dollars.'
- The room swam before Childan's eyes. But he managed to keep his voice level; he even made
- himself sound a trifle bored. 'If you wish. It is not necessary; a mere formality of business.' Laying
- down a leather and felt box he said, 'Here is exceptional Colt .44 of 1860.' He opened the box.
- 'Black powder and ball. This issued to U. S. Army. Boys in blue carried these into four instance
- Second Bull Run.'
- For a considerable time the man examined the Colt .44. Then, lifting his eyes, he said calmly,
- 'Sir, this is an imitation.'
- 'Eh?' Childan said, not comprehending.
- 'This piece is no older than six months. Sir, your offering is a fake. I am cast into gloom. But see.
- The wood here. Artificially aged by an acid chemical. What a shame.' He laid the gun down.
- Childan picked the gun up and stood holding it between his hands. He could think of nothing to
- say. Turning the gun over and over, he at last said, 'It can't be.' -
- 'An imitation of the authentic historic gun. Nothing more. I am afraid, sir, you have been
- deceived. Perhaps by some unscrupulous churl. You must report this to the San Francisco police.'
- The man bowed. 'It grieves me. You may have other imitations, too, in your shop. Is it possible, sir,
- that you, the owner, dealer, in such items, cannot distinguish the forgeries from the real?'
- There was silence.
- Reaching down, the man picked up the half-completed check which he had been making out. He
- returned it to his pocket, put his pen away, and bowed. 'It is a shame, sir, but I clearly cannot, alas,
- conduct my business with American Artistic Handcrafts Inc. after all. Admiral Harusha will be
- disappointed. Nevertheless, you can see my position.'
- Childan stared down at the gun.
- 'Good day, sir,' the man said. 'Please accept my humbly meant advice; hire some expert to
- scrutinize your acquisitions. Your reputation. . . I am sure you understand.'
- Childan mumbled, 'Sir, if you could please — '
- 'Be tranquil, sir. I will not mention this to anyone. I — shall tell the admiral that unfortunately
- your shop was closed today. After all — ' The man paused at the doorway. 'We are both, after all,
- white men.' Bowing once more, he departed.
- Alone, Childan stood holding the gun.
- It can't be, he thought.
- But it must be. Good God in heaven. I am ruined. I have lost a fifteen-thousand-dollar sale. And
- my reputation, if this gets out. If that man, Admiral Harusha's gentleman, is not discreet.
- I will kill myself, he decided. I have lost place. I cannot go on; that is a fact.
- On the other hand, perhaps that man erred.
- Perhaps he lied.
- He was sent by United States Historic Objects to destroy me. Or by West Coast Art Exclusives.
- Anyhow, one of my competitors.
- The gun is no doubt genuine.
- How can I find out? Childan racked his brains. Ah. I will have the gun analyzed at the University
- of California Penology Department. I know someone there, or at least I once did. This matter came
- up before once. Alleged non-authenticity of ancient breechloader.
- In haste, he telephoned one of the city's bonded messenger and delivery services, told them to
- send a man over at once. Then he wrapped the gun and wrote out a note to the University lab,
- telling them to make professional estimate of the gun's age at once and inform him by phone. The
- delivery man arrived; Childan gave him the note and parcel, the address, and told him to go by
- helicopter. The man departed, and Childan began pacing about his store, waiting . . . waiting.
- At three o'clock the University called.
- 'Mr. Childan,' the voice said, 'you wanted this weapon tested for authenticity, this l860 Army
- Model Colt .44.' A pause, while Childan gripped the phone with apprehension. 'Here's the lab
- report. It's a reproduction cast from plastic molds except for the walnut. Serial numbers all wrong.
- The frame not casehardened by the cyanide process. Both brown and blue surfaces achieved by a
- modem quick-acting technique, the whole gun artificially aged, given a treatment to make it appear
- old and worn.'
- Childan said thickly, 'The man who brought it to me for appraisal — '
- 'Tell him he's been taken,' the University technician said. 'And very taken. It's a good job. Done
- by a real pro. See, the authentic gun was given its — you know the bluemetal parts? Those were
- put in a box of leather strips, sealed, with cyanide gas, and heated. Too cumbersome, nowadays.
- But this was done in a fairly well-equipped shop. We detected particles of several polishing and
- finishing compounds, some quite unusual. Now we can't prove this, but we know there's a regular
- industry turning out these fakes. There must be. We've seen so many.'
- 'No,' Childan said. 'That is only a rumor. I can state that to you as absolute fact, sir.' His voice
- rose and broke screechingly. 'And I am in a position to know. Why do you think I sent it to you? I
- could perceive its fakery, being qualified by years of training. Such as this is a rarity, an oddity.
- Actually a joke. A prank.' He broke off, panting. 'Thank you for confirming my own observations.
- You will bill me. Thank you.' He rang off at once.
- Then, without pausing, he got out his records. He began tracing the gun. How had it come to
- him? From whom?
- It had come, he discovered, from one of the largest wholesale suppliers in San Francisco. Ray
- Calvin Associates, on Van Ness. At once he phoned them.
- 'Let me talk to Mr. Calvin,' he said. His voice had now become a trifle steadier. -
- Presently a gruff voice, very busy. 'Yes.'
- 'This is Bob Childan. At A.A.H. Inc. On Montgomery. Ray, I have a matter of delicacy. I wish to
- see you, private conference, sometime today in your office or et cetera. Believe me, sir. You had
- better heed my request.' Now, he discovered, he was bellowing into the phone.
- 'Okay,' Ray Calvin said.
- 'Tell no one. This is absolutely confidential.'
- 'Four o'clock?'
- 'Four it is,' Childan said. 'At your office. Good day.' He slammed the receiver down so furiously
- that the entire phone fell from the counter to the floor; kneeling, he gathered it up and replaced it in
- its spot.
- There was half an hour ahead before he should start; he had all that time to pace, helpless,
- waiting. What to do? An idea. He phoned the San Francisco office of the Tokyo Herald, on Market
- Street.
- 'Sirs,' he said, 'please tell me if the carrier Syokaku is in the harbor, and if so, how long. I would
- appreciate this information from your estimable newspaper.'
- An agonizing wait. Then the girl was back.
- 'According to our reference room, sir,' she said in a giggling voice, 'the carrier Syokaku is at the
- bottom of the Philippine Sea. It was sunk by an American submarine in 1945. Any more questions
- we can help you with, sir?' Obviously they, at the newspaper office, appreciated the wild-goose
- variety of prank that had been played on him.
- He hung up. No carrier Syokaku for seventeen years. Probably no Admiral Harusha. The man
- had been an imposter. And yet —
- The man had been right. The Colt .44 was a fake.
- It did not make sense.
- Perhaps the man was a speculator; he had been trying to corner the market in Civil War period
- side arms. An expert. And he had recognized the fake; he was the professional of professionals.
- It would take a professional to know. Someone in the business. Not a mere collector.
- Childan felt a tiny measure of relief. Then few others would detect. Perhaps no one else. Secret
- safe.
- Let matter drop?
- He considered. No. Must investigate. First of all, get back investment; get reimbursement from
- Ray Calvin. And — must have all other artifacts in stock examined by University lab.
- But — suppose many of them are non-authentic?
- Difficult matter.
- Only way is this, he decided. He felt grim, even desperate. Go to Ray Calvin. Confront him.
- Insist that he pursue matter back to source. Maybe he is innocent, too. Maybe not. In any case, tell
- him no more fakes or I will not buy through him ever again.
- He will have to absorb the loss, Childan decided. Not I. If he will not, then I will approach other
- retail dealers, tell them; ruin his reputation. Why should I be ruined alone? Pass it on to those
- responsible, hand hot potato back along line.
- But it must be done with utmost secrecy. Keep matter strictly between ourselves.
- 5
- The telephone call from Ray Calvin puzzled Wyndam-Matson. He could not make sense out of
- it, partly because of Calvin's rapid manner of speech and partly because at the moment the call
- came — eleven-thirty in the evening — Wyndam-Matson was entertaining a lady visitor in his
- apartment at the Muromachi Hotel.
- Calvin said, 'Look here, my friend, we're sending back that whole last shipment from you people.
- And I'd send back stuff before that, but we've paid for everything except the last shipment. Your
- billing date May eighteenth.'
- Naturally, Wyndam-Matson wanted to know why.
- 'They're lousy fakes,' Calvin said.
- 'But you knew that.' He was dumbfounded. 'I mean, Ray, you've always been aware of the
- situation.' He glanced around; the girl was off somewhere, probably in the powder room.
- Calvin said, 'I knew they were fakes. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the lousy part.
- Look, I'm really not concerned whether some gun you send us really was used in the Civil War or
- not; all I care about is that it's a satisfactory Colt .44, item whatever-it-is in your catalog: It has to
- meet standards. Look, do you know who Robert Childan is?'
- 'Yes.' He had a vague memory, although at the moment he could not quite pin the name down.
- Somebody important.
- 'He was in here today. To my office. I'm calling from my office, not home; we're still going over
- it. Anyhow, he came in and rattled off some long account. He was mad as hell. Really agitated.
- Well, evidently some big customer of his, some Jap admiral, came in or had his man come in.
- Childan talked about a twenty-thousand-dollar order, but that's probably an exaggeration. Anyhow,
- what did happen — I have no cause to doubt this part — is that the Japanese came in, wanted to
- buy, took one look at one of those Colt .44 items you people turn out, saw it to be a fake, put his
- money back in his pants pocket, and left. Now. What do you say?'
- There was nothing that Wyndam-Matson could think of to say. But he thought to himself
- instantly. It's Frink and McCarthy. They said they'd do something, and this is it. But — he could
- not figure out what they had done; he could not make sense out of Calvin's account.
- A kind of superstitious fright filled him. Those two — how could they doctor an item made last
- February? He had presumed they would go to the police or the newspapers, or even the pinoc
- government at Sac, and of course he had all those taken care of. Eerie. He did not know what to tell
- Calvin; he mumbled on for what seemed an endless time and at last managed to wind up the
- conversation and get off the phone.
- When he hung up he realized, with a start, that Rita had come out of the bedroom and had
- listened to the whole conversation; she had been pacing irritably back and forth, wearing only a
- black silk slip, her blond hair falling loosely over her bare, slightly freckled shoulders.
- 'Tell the police,' she said.
- Well, he thought, it probably would be cheaper to offer them two thousand or so. They'd accept
- it; that was probably all they wanted. Little fellows like that thought small; to them it would seem
- like a lot. They'd put in their new business, lose it, be broke again inside a month.
- 'No,' he said.
- 'Why not? Blackmail's a crime.'
- It was hard to explain to her. He was accustomed to paying people; it was part of the overhead,
- like the utilities. If the sum was small enough. . . but she did have a point. He mulled it over.
- I'll give them two thousand, but I'll also get in touch with that guy at the Civic Center I know,
- that police inspector. I'll have them look into both Frink and McCarthy and see if there's anything
- of use. So if they come back and try again — I'll be able to handle them.
- For instance, he thought, somebody told me Frink's a kike. Changed his nose and name. All I
- have to do is notify the German consul here. Routine business. He'll request the Jap authorities for
- extradition. They'll gas the bugger soon as they get him across the Demarcation Line. I think
- they've got one of those camps in New York, he thought. Those oven camps.
- 'I'm surprised,' the girl said, 'that anyone could blackmail a man of your stature.' She eyed him.
- 'Well, I'll tell you,' he said. 'This whole damn historicity business is nonsense. Those Japs are
- bats. I'll prove it.' Getting up, he hurried into his study, returned at once with two cigarette lighters
- which he set down on the coffee table. 'Look at these. Look the same, don't they? Well, listen. One
- has historicity in it.' He grinned at her. 'Pick them up. Go ahead. One's worth, oh, maybe forty or
- fifty thousand dollars on the collectors' market.'
- The girl gingerly picked up the two lighters and examined them.
- 'Don't you feel it?' he kidded her. 'The historicity?'
- She said, 'What is 'historicity'?'
- 'When a thing has history in it. Listen. One of those two Zippo lighters was in Franklin D.
- Roosevelt's pocket when he was assassinated. And one wasn't. One has historicity, a hell of a lot of
- it. As much as any object ever had. And one has nothing. Can you feel it?' He nudged her. 'You
- can't. You can't tell which is which. There's no 'mystical plasmic presence,' no 'aura' around it.'
- 'Gee,' the girl said, awed. 'Is that really true? That he had one of those on him that day?'
- 'Sure. And I know which it is. You see my point. It's all a big racket; they're playing it on
- themselves. I mean, a gun goes through a famous battle, like the Meuse-Argonne, and it's the same
- as if it hadn't, unless you know. It's in here.' He tapped his head. 'In the mind, not the gun. I used to
- be a collector. In fact, that's how I got into this business. I collected stamps. Early British colonies.'
- The girl now stood at the window, her arms folded, gazing out at the lights of downtown San
- Francisco. 'My mother and dad used to say we wouldn't have lost the war if he had lived,' she said.
- 'Okay,' Wyndam-Matson went on. 'Now suppose say last year the Canadian Government or
- somebody, anybody, finds the plates from which some old stamp was printed. And the ink. And a
- supply of — '
- 'I don't believe either of those two lighters belonged to Franklin Roosevelt,' the girl said.
- Wyndam-Matson giggled. 'That's my point! I'd have to prove it to you with some sort of
- document. A paper of authenticity. And so it's all a fake, a mass delusion. The paper proves its
- worth, not the object itself!'
- 'Show me the paper.'
- 'Sure.' Hopping up, he made his way back into the study. From the wall he took the Smithsonian
- Institution's framed certificate; the paper and the lighter had cost him a fortune, but they were worth
- it — because they enabled him to prove that he was right, that the word 'fake' meant nothing really,
- since the word 'authentic' meant nothing really.
- 'A Colt .44 is a Colt .44,' he called to the girl as he hurried back into the living room. 'It has to do
- with bore and design, not when it was made. It has to do with — '
- She held out her hand. He gave her the document.
- 'So it is genuine,' she said finally.
- 'Yes. This one.' He picked up the lighter with the long scratch across its side.
- 'I think I'd like to go now,' the girl said. 'I'll see you again some other evening.' She set down the
- document and lighter and moved toward the bedroom, where her clothes were.
- 'Why?' he shouted in agitation, following after her.
- 'You know it's perfectly safe; my wife won't be back for weeks — I explained the whole
- situation to you. A detached retina.''
- 'It's not that.'
- 'What, then?'
- Rita said, 'Please call a pedecab for me. While I dress.'
- 'I'll drive you home,' he said grumpily.
- She dressed, and then, while he got her coat from the closet, she wandered silently about the
- apartment. She seemed pensive, withdrawn, even a little depressed. The past makes people sad, he
- realized. Damn it; why did I have to bring it up? But hell, she's so young — I thought she'd hardly
- know the name.
- At the bookcase she knelt. 'Did you read this?' she asked, taking a book out.
- Nearsightedly he peered. Lurid cover. Novel. 'No,' he said. 'My wife got that. She reads a lot.'
- 'You should read it.'
- Still feeling disappointed, he grabbed the book, glanced at it. The Grasshopper Lies Heavy. 'Isn't
- this one of those banned-in-Boston books?' he said.
- 'Banned through the United States. And in Europe, of course.' She had gone to the hall door and
- stood there now, waiting.
- 'I've heard of this Hawthorne Abendsen.' But actually he had not. All he could recall about the
- book was — what? That it was very popular right now. Another fad. Another mass craze. He bent
- down and stuck it back in the shelf. 'I don't have time to read popular fiction. I'm too busy with
- work.' Secretaries, he thought acidly, read that junk, at home alone in bed at night. It stimulates
- them. Instead of the real thing. Which they're afraid of. But of course really crave.
- 'One of those love stories,' he said as he sullenly opened the hall door.
- 'No,' she said. 'A story about war.' As they walked down the hail to the elevator she said, 'He says
- the same thing. As my mother and dad.'
- 'Who? That Abbotson?'
- 'That's his theory. If Joe Zangara had missed him, he would have pulled America out of the
- Depression and armed it so that — ' She broke off. They had arrived at the elevator, and other
- people were waiting.
- Later, as they drove through the nocturnal traffic in Wyndam-Matson's Mercedes-Benz, she
- resumed.
- 'Abendsen's theory is that Roosevelt would have been a terribly strong President. As strong as
- Lincoln. He showed it in the year he was President, all those measures he introduced. The book is
- fiction. I mean, it's in novel form. Roosevelt isn't assassinated in Miami; he goes on and is reelected
- in 1936, so he's President until 1940, until during the war. Don't you see? He's still President when
- Germany attacks England and France and Poland. And he sees all that. He makes America strong.
- Garner was a really awful President. A lot of what happened was his fault. And then in 1940,
- instead of Bricker, a Democrat would have been elected — '
- 'According to this Abelson,' Wyndam-Matson broke in. He glanced at the girl beside him. God,
- they read a book, he thought, and they spout on forever. -
- 'His theory is that instead of an Isolationist like Bricker, in 1940 after Roosevelt, Rexford
- Tugweii would have been President.' Her smooth face, reflecting the traffic lights, glowed with
- animation; her eyes had become large and she gestured as she talked. 'And he would have been
- very active in continuing the Roosevelt anti-Nazi policies. So Germany would have been afraid to
- come to Japan's help in 1941. They would not have honored their treaty. Do you see?' Turning
- toward him on the seat, grabbing his shoulder with intensity, she said, 'And so Germany and Japan
- would have lost the war!'
- He laughed.
- Staring at him, seeking something in his face — he could not tell what, and anyhow he had to
- watch the other cars — she said, 'It's not funny. It really would have been like that. The U.S. would
- have been able to lick the Japanese. And — '
- 'How?' he broke in.
- 'He has it all laid out.' For a moment she was silent. 'It's in fiction form,' she said. 'Naturally, it's
- got a lot of fictional parts; I mean, it's got to be entertaining or people wouldn't read it. It has a
- human-interest theme; there's these two young people, the boy is in the American Army. The girl
- — well, anyhow, President Tugwell is really smart. He understands what the Japs are going to do.'
- Anxiously, she said, 'It's all right to talk about this; the Japs have let it be circulated in the Pacific. I
- read that a lot of them are reading it. It's popular in the Home Islands. It's stirred up a lot of talk.'
- Wyndam-Matson said, 'Listen. What does he say about Pearl Harbor?'
- 'President Tugwell is so smart that he has all the ships out to sea. So the U.S. fleet isn't
- destroyed.' -
- 'I see.'
- 'So, there really isn't any Pearl Harbor. They attack, but all they get is some little boats.'
- 'It's called 'The Grasshopper something?' '
- 'The Grasshopper Lies Heavy. That's a quote from the Bible.'
- 'And Japan is defeated because there's no Pearl Harbor. Listen. Japan would have won anyhow.
- Even if there had been no Pearl Harbor.'
- 'The U.S. fleet — in his book — keeps them from taking the Philippines and Australia.'
- 'They would have taken them anyhow; their fleet was superior. I know the Japanese fairly well,
- and it was their destiny to assume dominance in the Pacific. The U.S. was on the decline ever since
- World War One. Every country on the Allied side was ruined in that war, morally and spiritually.'
- With stubbornness, the girl said, 'And if the Germans hadn't taken Malta, Churchill would have
- stayed in power and guided England to victory.'
- 'How? Where?'
- 'In North Africa — Churchill would have defeated Rommel finally.'
- Wyndam-Matson guffawed.
- 'And once the British had defeated Rommel, they could move their whole army back and up
- through Turkey to join remnants of Russian armies and make a stand-in the book, they halt the
- Germans' eastward advance into Russia at some town on the Volga. We never heard of this town,
- but it really exists because I looked it up in the atlas.'
- 'What's it called?'
- 'Stalingrad. And the British turn the tide of the war, there. So, in the book, Rommel never would
- have linked up with those German armies that came down from Russia, von Paulus' armies;
- remember? And the Germans never would have been able to go on into the Middle East and get the
- needed oil, or on into India like they did and link up with the Japanese. And — '
- 'No strategy on earth could have defeated Erwin Rommel,' Wyndam-Matson said. 'And no events
- like this guy dreamed up, this town in Russia very heroically called 'Stalingrad,' no holding action
- could have done any more than delay the outcome; it couldn't have changed it. Listen. I met
- Rommel. In New York, when I was there on business, in 1948.' Actually, he had only seen the
- Military Governor of the U.S.A. At a reception in the White House, and at a distance. 'What a man.
- What dignity and bearing. So I know what I'm talking about,' he wound up.
- 'It was a dreadful thing,' Rita said, 'when General Rommel was relieved of his post and that
- awful Lammers was appointed in his place. That's when that murdering and those concentration
- camps really began.'
- 'They existed when Rommel was Military Governor.'
- 'But — ' She gestured. 'It wasn't official. Maybe those SS hoodlums did those acts then . . . but he
- wasn't like the rest of them; he was more like those old Prussians. He was harsh — '
- 'I'll tell you who really did a good job in the U.S.A.,' Wyndam-Matson said, 'who you can look to
- for the economic revival. Albert Speer. Not Rommel and not the Organization Todt. Speer was the
- best appointment the Partei made in North America; he got all those businesses and corporations
- and factories — everything ! — going again, and on an efficient basis. I wish we had that out here
- — as it is, we've got five outfits competing in each field, and at terrific waste. There's nothing more
- foolish than economic competition.'
- Rita said, 'I couldn't live in those work camps, those dorms they have back East. A girl friend of
- mine; she lived there. They censored her mail — she couldn't tell me about it until she moved back
- out here again. They had to get up at six-thirty in the morning to band music.'
- 'You'd get used to it. You'd have clean quarters, adequate food, recreation, medical care
- provided. What do you want? Egg in your beer?'
- Through the cool night fog of San Francisco, his big German-made car moved quietly.
- On the floor Mr. Tagomi sat, his legs folded beneath him. He held a handleless cup of oolong
- tea, into which he blew now and then as he smiled up at Mr. Baynes.
- 'You have a lovely place here,' Baynes said presently. 'There is a peacefulness here on the Pacific
- Coast. It is completely different from — back there.' He did not specify.
- ''God speaks to man in the sign of the Arousing.'' Mr. Tagomi murmured.
- 'Pardon?'
- 'The oracle. I'm sorry. Fleece-seeking cortical response.'
- Woolgathering, Baynes thought. That's the idiom he means. To himself he smiled.
- 'We are absurd,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'because we live by a five-thousand-year-old book. We set it
- questions as if it were alive. It is alive. As is the Christian Bible; many books are actually alive. Not
- in metaphoric fashion. Spirit animates it. Do you see?' He inspected Mr. Baynes' face for his
- reaction.
- Carefully phrasing his words, Baynes said, 'I — just don't know enough about religion. It's out of
- my field. I prefer to stick to subjects I have some competence in.' As a matter of fact, he was not
- certain what Mr. Tagomi was talking about. I must be tired, Mr. Baynes thought. There has been,
- since I got here this evening, a sort of . . . gnomish quality about everything. A smaller-than-life
- quality, with a dash of the droll. What is this five-thousand-year-old book? The Mickey Mouse
- watch, Mr. Tagomi himself, the fragile cup in Mr. Tagomi's hand . . . and, on the wall facing Mr.
- Baynes, an enormous buffalo head, ugly and menacing.
- 'What is that head?' he asked suddenly.
- 'That,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'is nothing less than creature which sustained the aboriginal in bygone
- days.'
- 'I see.'
- 'Shall I demonstrate art of buffalo slaying?' Mr. Tagomi put his cup down on the table and rose to
- his feet. Here in his own home in the evening he wore a silk robe, slippers, and white cravat. 'Here
- am I aboard iron horse.' He squatted in the air. 'Across lap, trusty Winchester rifle 1866 issue from
- my collection.' He glanced inquiringly at Mr. Baynes. 'You are travel-stained, sir.'
- 'Afraid so,' Baynes said. 'It is all a little overwhelming for me. A lot of business worries And
- other worries, he thought. His head ached. He wondered if the fine I. G. Farben analgesics were
- available here on the Pacific Coast; he had become accustomed to them for his sinus headaches.
- 'We must all have faith in something,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'We cannot know the answers. We
- cannot see ahead, on our own.'
- Mr. Baynes nodded.
- 'My wife may have something for your head,' Mr. Tagomi said, seeing him remove his glasses
- and rub his forehead. 'Eye muscles causing pain. Pardon me.' Bowing, he left the room.
- What I need is sleep, Baynes thought. A night's rest. Or is it that I'm not facing the situation?
- Shrinking, because it is hard.
- When Mr. Tagomi returned — carrying a glass of water and some sort of pill — Mr. Baynes
- said, 'I really am going to have to say good night and get to my hotel room. But I want to find out
- something first. We can discuss it further tomorrow, if that's convenient with you. Have you been
- told about a third party who is to join us in our discussions?'
- Mr. Tagomi's face registered surprise for an instant; then the surprise vanished and he assumed a
- careless expression. 'There was nothing said to that effect. However — it is interesting, of course.'
- 'From the Home Islands.'
- 'Ah,' Mr. Tagomi said. And this time the surprise did not appear at all. It was totally controlled.
- 'An elderly retired businessman,' Mr. Baynes said. 'Who is journeying by ship. He has been on
- his way for two weeks, now. He has a prejudice against air travel.'
- 'The quaint elderly,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'His interests keep him informed as to the Home Islands markets. He will be able to give us
- information, and he was coming to San Francisco for a vacation in any case. It is not terribly
- important. But it will make our talks more accurate.'
- 'Yes,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'He can correct errors regarding home market. I have been away two
- years.'
- 'Did you want to give me that pill?'
- Starting, Mr. Tagomi glanced down, saw that he still held the pill and water. 'Excuse me. This is
- powerful. Called zaracaine. Manufactured by drug firm in District of China.' As he held his palm
- out, he added, 'Nonhabit-forming.'
- 'This old person,' Mr. Baynes said as he prepared to take the pill, 'will probably contact your
- Trade Mission direct. I will write down his name so that your people will know not to turn him
- away. I have not met him, but I understand he's a little deaf and a little eccentric. We want to be
- sure he doesn't become — miffed.' Mr. Tagomi seemed to understand. 'He loves rhododendrons.
- He'll be happy if you can provide someone to talk to him about them for half an hour or so, while
- we arrange our meeting. His name, I will write it down.'
- Taking his pill, he got out his pen and wrote.
- 'Mr. Shinjiro Yatabe,' Mr. Tagomi read, accepting the slip of paper. He dutifully put it away in
- his pocketbook.
- 'One more point.'
- Mr. Tagomi slowly picked at the rim of his cup, listening.
- 'A delicate trifle. The old gentleman — it is embarrassing. He is almost eighty. Some of his
- ventures, toward the end of his career, were not successful. Do you see?'
- 'He is not well-off any longer,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'And perhaps he draws a pension.'
- 'That is it. And the pension is painfully small. He therefore augments it by means here and there.'
- 'A violation of some petty ordinance,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'The Home Government and its
- bureaucratic officialdom. I grasp the situation. The old gentleman receives a stipend for his
- consultation with us, and he does not report it to his Pension Board. So we must not reveal his visit.
- They are only aware that he takes a vacation.'
- 'You are a sophisticate,' Mr. Baynes said.
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'This situation has occurred before. We have not in our society solved the
- problem of the aged, more of which persons occur constantly as medical measures improve. China
- teaches us rightly to honor the old. However, the Germans cause our neglect to seem close to
- outright virtue. I understand they murder the old.'
- 'The Germans,' Baynes murmured, again rubbing his forehead. Had the pill had an effect? He felt
- a little drowsy.
- 'Being from Scandinavia, you no doubt have had much contact with the Festung Europa. For
- instance, you embarked at Tempelhof. Can one take an attitude like this? You are a neutral. Give
- me your opinion, if you will.'
- 'I don't understand what attitude you mean,' Mr. Baynes said.
- 'Toward the old, the sick, the feeble, the insane, the useless in all variations. 'Of what use is a
- newborn baby?' some Anglo-Saxon philosopher reputedly asked. I have committed that utterance to
- memory and contemplated it many times. Sir, there is no use. In general.'
- Mr. Baynes murmured some sound or other; he made it the noise of noncommittal politeness.
- 'Isn't it true,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'that no man should be the instrument for another's needs?' He
- leaned forward urgently. 'Please give me your neutral Scandinavian opinion.'
- 'I don't know,' Mr. Baynes said.
- 'During the war,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'I held minor post in District of China. In Shanghai. There, at
- Hongkew, a settlement of Jews, interned by Imperial Government for duration. Kept alive by
- JOINT relief. The Nazi minister at Shanghai requested we massacre the Jews. I recall my superiors'
- answer. It was, 'Such is not in accord with humanitarian considerations.' They rejected the request
- as barbaric. It impressed me.'
- 'I see,' Mr. Baynes murmured. Is he trying to draw me out? he asked himself. Now he felt alert.
- His wits seemed to come together.
- 'The Jews,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'were described always by the Nazis as Asian and non-white. Sir,
- the implication was never lost on personages in Japan, even among the War Cabinet. I have not
- ever discussed this with Reich citizens whom I have encountered — '
- Mr. Baynes interrupted, 'Well, I'm not a German. So I can hardly speak for Germany.' Standing,
- he moved toward the door. 'I will resume the discussion with you tomorrow. Please excuse me. I
- cannot think.' But, as a matter of fact, his thoughts were now completely clear. I have to get out of
- here, he realized. This man is pushing me too far.
- 'Forgive stupidity of fanaticism,' Mr. Tagomi said, at once moving to open the door.
- 'Philosophical involvement blinded me to authentic human fact. Here.' He called something in
- Japanese, and the front door opened. A young Japanese appeared, bowing slightly, glancing at Mr.
- Baynes:
- My driver, Mr. Baynes thought.
- Perhaps my quixotic remarks on the Lufthansa flight, he thought suddenly. To that — whatever
- his name was. Lotze. Got back to the Japanese here, somehow. Some connection.
- I wish I hadn't said that to Lotze, he thought. I regret. But it's too late.
- I am not the right person. Not at all. Not for this.
- But then he thought. A Swede would say that to Lotze. It is all right. Nothing has gone wrong; I
- am being overly scrupulous. Carrying the habits of the previous situation into this. Actually I can
- do a good deal of open talking. That is the fact I have to adapt to.
- And yet, his conditioning was absolutely against it. The blood in his veins. His bones, his organs,
- rebelled. Open your mouth, he said to himself. Something. Anything. An opinion. You must, if you
- are to succeed.
- He said, 'Perhaps they are driven by some desperate subconscious archetype, In the Jungian
- sense.'
- Mr. Tagomi nodded. 'I have read Jung. I understand.'
- They shook hands. 'I'll telephone you tomorrow morning,' Mr. Baynes said. 'Good night, sir.' He
- bowed, and so did Mr. Tagomi.
- The young smiling Japanese, stepping forward, said something to Mr. Baynes which he could
- not understand.
- 'Eh?' Baynes said, as he gathered up his overcoat and stepped out onto the porch.
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'He is addressing you in Swedish, sir. He has taken a course at Tokyo
- University on the Thirty Years' War, and is fascinated by your great hero, Gustavus Adolphus.' Mr.
- Tagomi smiled sympathetically. 'However, it is plain that his attempts to master so alien a linguistic
- have been hopeless. No doubt he uses one of those phonograph record courses; he is a student, and
- such courses, being cheap, are quite popular with students.'
- The young Japanese, obviously not understanding English, bowed and smiled.
- 'I see,' Baynes murmured. 'Well, I wish him luck.' I have my own linguistic problems, he
- thought. Evidently.
- Good lord — the young Japanese student, while driving him to his hotel, would no doubt attempt
- to converse with him in Swedish the entire way. A language which Mr. Baynes barely understood,
- and then only when it was spoken in the most formal and correct manner, certainly not when
- attempted by a young Japanese who tried to pick it up from a phonograph record course.
- He'll never get through to me, Mr. Baynes thought. And he'll keep trying, because this is his
- chance; probably he will never see a Swede again. Mr. Baynes groaned inwardly. What an ordeal it
- was going to be, for both of them.
- 6
- Early in the morning, enjoying the cool, bright sunlight, Mrs. Juliana Frink did her grocery
- shopping. She strolled along the sidewalk, carrying the two brown paper bags, halting at each store
- to study the window displays. She took her time.
- Wasn't there something she was supposed to pick up at the drugstore? She wandered in. Her shift
- at the judo parlor did not begin until noon; this was her free time, today. Seating herself on a stool
- at the counter she put down her shopping bags and began to go over the different magazines.
- The new Life, she saw, had a big article called: TELEVISION IN EUROPE: GLIMPSE OF
- TOMORROW. Turning to it, interested, she saw a picture of a German family watching television
- in their living room. Already, the article said, there was four hours of image broadcast during the
- day from Berlin. Someday there would be television stations in all the major European cities. And,
- by 1970, one would be built in New York.
- The article showed Reich electronic engineers at the New York site, helping the local personnel
- with their problems. It was easy to tell which were the Germans. They had that healthy, clean,
- energetic, assured look. The Americans, on the other hand — they just looked like people. They
- could have been anybody.
- One of the German technicians could be seen pointing off somewhere, and the Americans were
- trying to make out what he was pointing at. I guess their eyesight is better than ours, she decided.
- Better diet over the last twenty years. As we've been told; they can see things no one else can.
- Vitamin A, perhaps?
- I wonder what it's like to sit home in your living room and see the whole world on a little gray
- glass tube. If those Nazis can fly back and forth between here and Mars, why can't they get
- television going? I think I'd prefer that, to watch those comedy shows, actually see what Bob Hope
- and Durante look like, than to walk around on Mars.
- Maybe that's it, she thought as she put the magazine back on the rack. The Nazis have no sense
- of humor, so why should they want television? Anyhow, they killed most of the really great
- comedians. Because most of them were Jewish. In fact, she realized, they killed off most of the
- entertainment field. I wonder how Hope gets away with what he says. Of course, he has to
- broadcast from Canada. And it's a little freer up there. But Hope really says things. Like the joke
- about Goring. . . the one where Goring buys Rome and has it shipped to his mountain retreat and
- then set up again. And revives Christianity so his pet lions will have something to — 'Did you
- want to buy that magazine, miss?' the little dried-up old man who ran the drugstore called, with
- suspicion.
- Guiltily, she put down the Reader's Digest which she had begun to thumb through.
- Again strolling along the sidewalk with her shopping bags, Juliana thought, Maybe Goring will
- be the new Fuhrer when that Bormann dies. He seems sort of different from the others. The only
- way that Bormann got it in the first place was to weasel in when Hitler realized how fast he was
- going. Old Göring was off in his mountain palace. Göring should have been Fuhrer after Hitler,
- because it was his Luftwaffe that knocked out those English radar stations and then finished off the
- RAF. Hitler would have had them bomb London, like they did Rotterdam.
- But probably Goebbels will get it, she decided. That was what everyone said. As long as that
- awful Heydrich doesn't. He'd kill us all. He's really bats.
- The one I like, she thought, is that Baldur von Schirach. He's the only one who looks normal,
- anyhow. But he hasn't got a chance.
- Turning, she ascended the steps to the front door of the old wooden building in which she lived.
- When she unlocked the door of her apartment she saw Joe Cinnadella still lying where she had
- left him, in the center of the bed, on his stomach, his arms dangling. He was still asleep.
- No, she thought. He can't still be here; the truck's gone. Did he miss it? Obviously.
- Going into the kitchen, she set her grocery bags on the table among the breakfast dishes.
- But did he intend to miss it? she asked herself. That's what I wonder.
- What a peculiar man . . . he had been so active with her, going on almost all night. And yet it had
- been as if he were not actually there, doing it but never being aware. Thoughts on something else,
- maybe.
- From habit, she began putting food away in the old G.E. turret-top refrigerator. And then she
- began clearing the breakfast table.
- Maybe he's done it so much, she decided. It's second nature; his body makes the motions, like
- mine now as I put these plates and silver in the sink. Could do it with three-fifths of his brain
- removed, like the leg of a frog in biology class.
- 'Hey,' she called. 'Wake up.'
- In the bed, Joe stirred, snorted.
- 'Did you hear the Bob Hope show the other night?' she called. 'He told this really funny joke, the
- one where this German major is interviewing some Martians. The Martians can't provide racial
- documentation about their grandparents being Aryan, you know. So the German major reports back
- to Berlin that Mars is populated by Jews.' Coming into the living room where Joe lay in the bed,
- she said, 'And they're about one foot tall, and have two heads . . . you know how Bob Hope goes
- on.'
- Joe had opened his eyes. He said nothing; he stared at her unwinkingly. His chin, black with
- stubble, his dark, achefilled eyes . . . she also became quiet, then.
- 'What is it?' she said at last. 'Are you afraid?' No, she thought; that's Frank who's afraid. This is
- — I don't know what.
- 'The rig went on,' Joe said, sitting up.
- 'What are you going to do?' She seated herself on the edge of the bed, drying her arms and hands
- with the dish towel.
- 'I'll catch him on the return. He won't say anything to anybody; he knows I'd do the same for
- him.'
- 'You've done this before?' she asked.
- Joe did not answer. You meant to miss it, Juliana said to herself. I can tell; all at once I know.
- 'Suppose he takes another route back?' she said.
- 'He always take Fifty. Never Forty. He had an accident on Forty once; some horses got out in the
- road and he plowed into them. In the Rockies.' Picking up his clothes from the chair he began to
- dress.
- 'How old are you, Joe?' she asked as she contemplated his naked body.
- 'Thirty-four.'
- Then, she thought, you must have been in the war. She saw no obvious physical defects; he had,
- in fact, quite a good, lean body, with long legs. Joe, seeing her scrutiny, scowled and turned away.
- 'Can't I watch?' she asked, wondering why not. All night with him, and then this modesty. 'Are we
- bugs?' she said. 'We can't stand the sight of each other in the daylight — we have to squeeze into
- the walls?'
- Grunting sourly, he started toward the bathroom in his underpants and socks, rubbing his chin.
- This is my home, Juliana thought. I'm letting you stay here, and yet you won't allow me to look
- at you. Why do you want to stay, then? She followed after him, into the bathroom; he had begun
- running hot water in the bowl, to shave.
- On his arm, she saw a tattoo, a blue letter C.
- 'What's that?' she asked. 'Your wife? Connie? Corinne?'
- Joe, washing his face, said, 'Cairo.'
- What an exotic name, she thought with envy. And then she felt herself flush. 'I'm really stupid,'
- she said. An Italian, thirty-four years old, from the Nazi part of the world-. . . he had been in the
- war, all right. But on the Axis side. And he had fought at Cairo; the tattoo was their bond, the
- German and Italian veterans of that campaign — the defeat of the British and Australian army
- under General Gott at the hands of Rommel and his Afrika Korps.
- She left the bathroom, returned to the living room and began making the bed; her hands flew.
- In a neat stack on the chair lay Joe's possessions, clothes and small suitcase, personal articles.
- Among them she noticed a velvet-covered box, a little like a glasses' case; picking it up, she opened
- it and peeked inside.
- You certainly did fight at Cairo, she thought as she gazed down at the Iron Cross Second Class
- with the word and the date — June 10, 1945 — engraved at its top. They didn't all get this; only the
- valiant ones. I wonder what you did . . . you were only seventeen years old, then.
- Joe appeared at the door of the bathroom just as she lifted the medal from its velvet box; she
- became aware of him and jumped guiltily. But he did not seem angry.
- 'I was just looking at it,' Juliana said. 'I've never seen one before. Did Rommel pin it on you
- himself?'
- 'Genefal Bayerlarn gave them out. Rommel had already been transferred to England, to finish up
- there.' His voice was calm. But his hand once more had begun the monotonous pawing at his
- forehead, fingers digging into his scalp in that combing motion which seemed to be a chronic
- nervous tic.
- 'Would you tell me about it?' Juliana asked, as he returned to the bathroom and his shaving.
- As he shaved and, after that, took a long hot shower, Joe Cinnadella told her a little; nothing like
- the sort of account she would have liked to hear. His two older brothers had served in the Ethiopian
- campaign, while he, at thirteen had been in a Fascist youth organization in Milan, his home town.
- Later, his brothers had joined a crack artillery battery, that of Major Ricardo Pardi, and when
- World War Two began, Joe had been able to join them. They had fought under Graziani. Their
- equipment, especially their tanks, had been dreadful. The British had shot them down, even senior
- officers, like rabbits. Doors of the tanks had to be held shut with sandbags during battle, to keep
- them from flying open. Major Pardi, however, had reclaimed discarded artillery shells, polished
- and greased them, and fired them; his battery had halted General Wavell' s great desperate tank
- advanced in '43.
- 'Are your brothers still alive?' Juliana asked.
- His brothers had been killed in '44, strangled with wire by British commandos, the Long Range
- Desert Group which had operated behind Axis lines and which had become especially fanatic
- during the last phases of the war when it was clear that the Allies could not win.
- 'How do you feel about the British now?' she asked haltingly.
- Joe said, 'I'd like to see them do to England what they did in Africa.' His tone was flat.
- 'But it's been — eighteen years,' Juliana said. 'I know the British especially did terrible things.
- But — '
- 'They talk about the things the Nazis did to the Jews,' Joe said. 'The British have done worse. In
- the Battle of London.' He became silent. 'Those fire weapons, phosphorus and oil; I saw a few of
- the German troops, afterward. Boat after boat burned to a cinder. Those pipes under the water —
- turned the sea to fire. And on civilian populations, by those mass fire-bombing raids that Churchill
- thought were going to save the war at the last moment. Those terror attacks on Hamburg and Essen
- and — '
- 'Let's not talk about it,' Juliana said. In the kitchen, she started cooking bacon; she turned on the
- small white plastic Emerson radio which Frank had given her on her birthday. 'I'll fix you
- something to eat.' She dialed, trying to find some light, pleasant music.
- 'Look at this,' Joe said. In the living room, he sat on the bed, his small suitcase beside him; he
- had opened it and brought out a ragged, bent book which showed signs of much handling. He
- grinned at Juliana. 'Come here. You know what somebody says? This man — ' He indicated the
- book. 'This is very funny. Sit down.' He took hold of her arm, drew her down beside him. 'I want to
- read to you. Suppose they had won. What would it be like? We don't have to worry; this man has
- done all the thinking for us.' Opening the book, Joe began turning pages slowly. 'The British
- Empire would control all Europe. All the Mediterranean. No Italy at all. No Germany, either.
- Bobbiesand those funny little soldiers in tall fur hats, and the king as far as the Volga.'
- In a low voice, Juliana said, 'Would that be so bad?'
- 'You read the book?'
- 'No,' she admitted, peering to see the cover. She had heard about it, though; a lot of people were
- reading it. 'But Frank and I — my former husband and I — often talked about how it would have
- been if the Allies had won the war.'
- Joe did not seem to hear her; he was staring down at the copy of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy.
- 'And in this,' he went on, 'you know how it is that England wins? Beats the Axis?'
- She shook her head, feeling the growing tension of the man beside her. His chin now had begun
- to quiver; he licked his lips again and again, dug at his scalp . . . when he spoke his voice was
- hoarse.
- 'He has Italy betray the Axis,' Joe said.
- ''Oh,' she said.
- 'Italy goes over to the Allies. Joins the Anglo-Saxons and opens up what he calls the 'soft
- underbelly' of Europe. But that's natural for him to think that. We all know the cowardly Italian
- Army that ran every time they saw the British. Drinking vino. Happy-go-lucky, not made for
- fighting. This fellow — ' Joe closed the book, turned it around to study the back cover. 'Abendsen. I
- don't blame him. He writes this fantasy, imagines how the world would be if the Axis had lost.
- How else could they lose except by Italy being a traitor?' His voice grated. 'The Duce — he was a
- clown; we all know that.'
- 'I have to turn the bacon.' She slid away from him and hurried back to the kitchen.
- Following after her, still carrying the book, Joe went on, 'And the U.S. comes in. After it licks
- the Japs. And after the war, the U.S. and Britain divide the world. Exactly like Germany and Japan
- did in reality.'
- Juliana said, 'Germany, Japan, and Italy.' He stared at her.
- 'You left out Italy.' She faced him calmly. Did you forget, too? she said to herself. Like
- everybody else? The little empire in the Middle East . . . the musical-comedy New Rome.
- Presently she served him a platter of bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade, coffee. He ate
- readily.
- 'What did they serve you in North Africa?' she asked as she, too, seated herself.
- Joe said, 'Dead donkey.'
- 'That's hideous.'
- With a twisted grin, Joe said, 'Asino Morte. The bully beef cans had the initials AM stamped on
- them. The Germans called it Alter Mann. Old Man.' He resumed his rapid eating.
- I would like to read this, Juliana thought as she reached to take the book from under Joe's arm.
- Will he be here that long? The book had grease on it; pages were torn. Finger marks all over it.
- Read by truck drivers on the long haul, she thought. In the one-arm beaneries late at night . . . I'll
- bet you're a slow reader, she thought. I'll bet you've been poring over this book for weeks, if not
- months.
- Opening the book at random, she read:
- now in his old age he viewed tranquillity, domain such as the ancients would have coveted but
- not comprehended, ships from the Crimea to Madrid, and all the Empire, all with the same coin,
- speech, flag. The great old Union Jack dipping from sunrise to sunset: it had been fulfilled at last,
- that about the sun and the flag.
- 'The only book I carry around,' Juliana said, 'isn't actually a book; it's the oracle, the I Ching —
- Frank got me hooked on it and I use it all the time to decide. I never let it out of my sight. Ever.'
- She closed the copy of The Grasshopper. 'Want to see it? Want to use it?'
- 'No,' Joe said.
- Resting her chin on her folded arms on the table surface and gazing at him sideways, she said,
- 'Have you moved in here permanently? And what are you up to?' Brooding over the insults, the
- slanders. You petrify me, she thought, with your hatred of life. But — you have something. You're
- like a little animal, not important but smart. Studying his limited, clever dark face she thought, How
- could I ever have imagined you as younger than me? But even that's true, your childishness; you
- are still the baby brother, worshiping your two older brothers and your Major Pardi and General
- Rommel, panting and sweating to break loose and get the Tommies. Did they actually garrote your
- brothers with loops of wire? We heard that, the atrocity stories and photos released after the war . . .
- She shuddered. But the British commandos were brought to trial and punished long ago.
- The radio had ceased playing music; there seemed to be a news program, racket of shortwave
- from Europe. The voice faded and became garbled. A long pause, nothing at all. Just silence. Then
- the Denver announcer, -very clear, close by. She reached to turn the dial, but Joe stopped her hand.
- ' . . . news of Chancellor Bormann's death shocked a stunned Germany which had been assured
- as recently as yesterday . . . '
- She and Joe jumped to their feet.
- '. . . all Reichs stations canceled scheduled programs and listeners, heard the solemn strains of
- the chorus of the SS Division Das Reich raised in the anthem of the Partei, the Horst Wessel Lied.
- Later, in Dresden, where the acting Partei Secretary and chiefs of the Sicherheitsdienst, the national
- security police which replaced the Gestapo following . . .'
- Joe turned the volume up.
- ' . . . reorganization of the government at the instigation of the late Reichsfuhrer Himmler, Albert
- Speer and others, two weeks of official mourning were declared, and already many shops and
- businesses have closed, it was reported. As yet no word has come as to the expected convening of
- the Reichstag, the formal parliament of the Third Reich, whose approval is required. . . '
- 'It'll be Heydrich,' Joe said.
- 'I wish it would be that big blond fellow, that Schirach,' she said. 'Christ, so he finally died. Do
- you think Schirach has a chance?'
- 'No,' Joe said shortly.
- 'Maybe there'll be a civil war now,' she said. 'But those guys are so old now. Göring and
- Goebbels — all those old Party boys.'
- The radio was saying, '. . . reached at his retreat in the Alps near Brenner
- Joe said, 'This'll be Fat Hermann.'
- '. . . said merely that he was grief-stricken by the loss not only of a soldier and patriot and faithful
- Partei Leader, but also, as he has said many times over, of a personal friend, whom, one will recall,
- he backed in the interregnum dispute shortly after the war when it appeared for a time that elements
- hostile to Herr Bormann's ascension to supreme authority — '
- Juliana shut the radio off.
- 'They're just babbling,' she said. 'Why do they use words like that? Those terrible murderers are
- talked about as if they were like the rest of us.'
- 'They are like us,' Joe said. He reseated himself and once more ate, 'There isn't anything they've
- done we wouldn't have done if we'd been in their places. They saved the world from Communism.
- We'd be living under Red rule now, if it wasn't for Germany. We'd be worse off.'
- 'You're just talking,' Juliana said. 'Like the radio. Babbling.'
- 'I been living under the Nazis,' Joe said. 'I know what it's like. Is that just talk, to live twelve,
- thirteen years — longer than that — almost fifteen years? I got a work card from OT; I worked for
- Organization Todt since 1947, in North Africa and the U.S.A. Listen-' He jabbed his finger at her. 'I
- got the Italian genius for earthworks; OT gave me a high rating. I wasn't shoveling asphalt and
- mixing concrete for the autobahns. I was helping design. Engineer. One day Doctor Todt came by
- and inspected what our work crew did. He sai4 to me, 'You got good hands.' That's a big moment,
- Juliana. Dignity of labor; they're not talking only words. Before them, the Nazis, everyone looked
- down on manual jobs; myself, too. Aristocratic. The Labor Front put an end to that. I seen my own
- hands for the first time.' He spoke so swiftly that his accent began to take over; she had trouble
- understanding him. 'We all lived out there in the woods, in Upper State New York, like brothers.
- Sang songs. Marched to work. Spirit of the war, only rebuilding, not breaking down. Those were
- the best days of all, rebuilding after the war — fine, clean, long-lasting rows of public buildings
- block by block, whole new downtown, New York and Baltimore. Now of course that work's past.
- Big cartels like New Jersey Krupp and Sohnen running the show. But that's not Nazi; that's just old
- European powerful. Worse, you hear? Nazis like Rommel and Todt a million times better men than
- industrialists like Krupp and bankers, all those Prussians; ought to have been gassed. All those
- gentlemen in vests.'
- But, Juliana thought, those gentlemen in vests are in forever. And your idols, Rommel and
- Doctor Todt; they just came in after hostilities, to clear the rubble, build the autobahns, start
- industry humming. They even let the Jews live, lucky surprise — amnesty so the Jews could pitch
- in. Until '49, anyhow. . . and then good-bye Todt and Rommel, retired to graze.
- Don't I know? Juliana thought. Didn't I hear all about it from Frank? You can't tell me anything
- about lifeunder the Nazis; my husband was — is — a Jew. I know that Doctor Todt was the most
- modest, gentle man that ever lived; I know all he wanted to do was provide work — honest,
- reputable work — for the millions of bleak-eyed, despairing American men and women picking
- through the ruins after the war. I know he wanted to see medical plans and vacation resorts and
- adequate housing for everyone, regardless of race; he was a builder, not a thinker. . . and in most
- cases he managed to create what he had wanted — he actually got it. But .
- A preoccupation, in the back of her mind, now rose decidedly. 'Joe. This Grasshopper book; isn't
- it banned in the East Coast?'
- He nodded.
- 'How could you be reading it, then?' Something about it worried her. 'Don't they still shoot
- people for reading — '
- 'It depends on your racial group. On the good old armband.'
- That was so. Slays, Poles, Puerto Ricans, were the most limited as to what they could read, do,
- listen to. The AngloSaxons had it much better; there was public education for their children, and
- they could go to libraries and museums and concerts. But even so. . . The Grasshopper was not
- merely classified; it was forbidden, and to everyone.
- Joe said, 'I read it in the toilet. I hid it in a pillow. In fact, I read it because it was banned.'
- 'You're very brave,' she said.
- Doubtfully he said, 'You mean that sarcastically?'
- 'No.'
- He relaxed a little. 'It's easy for you people here; you live a safe, purposeless life, nothing to do,
- nothing to worry about. Out of the stream of events, left over from the past; right?' His eyes
- mocked her.
- 'You're killing yourself,' she said, 'with cynicism. Your idols got taken away from you one by
- one and now you have nothing to give your love to.,, She held his fork toward him; he accepted it.
- Eat, she thought. Or give up even the biological processes.
- As he ate, Joe nodded at the book and said, 'That Abendsen lives around here, according to the
- cover. In Cheyenne. Gets perspective on the world from such a safe spot, wouldn't you guess? Read
- what it ways; read it aloud.'
- Taking the book, she read the back part of the jacket. 'He's an ex-service man. He was in the U.
- S. Marine Corps in World War Two, wounded in England by a Nazi Tiger tank. A sergeant. It says
- he's got practically a fortress that he writes in, guns all over the place.' Setting the book down, she
- said, 'And it doesn't say so here, but I heard someone say that he's almost a sort of paranoid;
- charged barbed wire around the place, and it's set in the mountains. Hard to get to.'
- 'Maybe he's right,' Joe said, 'to live like that, after writing that book. The German bigwigs hit the
- roof when they read it.'
- 'He was living that way before; he wrote the book there. His place is called — ' She glanced at
- the book jacket. 'The High Castle. That's his pet name for it.'
- 'They won't get him,' Joe said, chewing rapidly. 'He's on the lookout. Smart.'
- She said, 'I believe he's got a lot of courage to write that book. If the Axis had lost the war, we'd
- be able to say and write anything we wanted, like we used to; we'd be one country and we'd have a
- fair legal system, the same one for all of us.'
- To her surprise, he nodded reasonably to that.
- 'I don't understand you,' she said. 'What do you believe? What is it you want? You defend those
- monsters, those freaks who slaughtered the Jews, and then you — ' Despairing, she caught hold of
- him by the ears; he blinked in surprise and pain as she rose to her feet, tugging him up with her.
- They faced each other, wheezing, neither able to speak.
- 'Let me finish this meal you fixed for me,' Joe said at last.
- 'Won't you say? You won't tell me? You do know what it is, yourself; you understand and you
- just go on eating, pretending you don't have any idea what I mean.' She let go of his ears; they had
- been twisted until they were now bright red.
- 'Empty talk,' Joe said. 'It doesn't matter. Like the radio, what you said of it. You know the old
- brownshirt term for people who spin philosophy? Eierkopf. Egghead. Because the big doubledomed
- empty heads break so easily . . . in the street brawls.'
- 'If you feel like that about me,' Juliana said, 'why don't you go on? What are you staying here
- for?'
- His enigmatic grimace chilled her.
- I wish I had never let him come with me, she thought. And now it's too late; I know I can't get rid
- of him — he's too strong.
- Something terrible is happening, she thought. Coming out of him. And I seem to be helping it.
- 'What's the matter?' He reached out, chucked her beneath the chin, stroked her neck, put his
- fingers under her shirt and pressed her shoulders affectionately. 'A mood. Your problem — I'll
- analyze you free.'
- 'They'll call you a Jew analyst.' She smiled feebly. 'Do you want to wind up in an oven?'
- 'You're scared of men. Right?'
- 'I don't know.'
- 'It was possible to tell last night. Only because I — ' He cut his sentence off. 'Because I took
- special care to notice your wants.'
- 'Because you've gone to bed with so many girls,' Juliana said, 'that's what you started to say.'
- 'But I know I'm right. Listen; I'll never hurt you, Juliana. On my mother's body — I give you my
- word. I'll be specially considerate, and if you want to make an issue out of my experience — I'll
- give you the advantage of that. You'll lose your jitters; I can relax you and improve you, in not very
- much time, either. You've just had bad luck.'
- She nodded, cheered a bit. But she still felt cold and sad, and she still did not know quite why.
- To begin his day, Mr. Nobusuke Tagomi took a moment to be alone. He sat in his office in the
- Nippon Times Building and contemplated.
- Already, before he had left his house to come to his office, he had received Ito's report on Mr.
- Baynes. There was no doubt in the young student's mind; Mr. Baynes was not a Swede. Mr. Baynes
- was most certainly a German national.
- But Ito's ability to handle Germanic languages had never impressed either the Trade Missions or
- the Tokkoka, the Japanese secret police. The fool possibly has sniffed out nothing to speak of, Mr.
- Tagomi thought to himself. Maladroit enthusiasm, combined with romantic doctrines. Detect,
- always with suspicion.
- Anyhow, the conference with Mr. Baynes and the elderly individual from the Home Islands
- would begin soon, in due course, whatever national Mr. Baynes was. And Mr. Tagomi liked the
- man. That was, he decided, conceivably the basic talent of the man highly placed — such as
- himself. To know a good man when he met him. Intuition about people. Cut through all ceremony
- and outward form. Penetrate to the heart. -
- The heart, locked within two yin lines of black passion. Strangled, sometimes, and yet, even
- then, the light of yang, the flicker at the center. I like him, Mr. Tagomi said to himself. German or
- Swede. I hope the zaracaine helped his headache. Must recall to inquire, first off the bat.
- His desk intercom buzzed.
- 'No,' he said brusquely into it. 'No discussion. This is moment for Inner Truth. Introversion.'
- From the tiny speaker Mr. Ramsey's voice: 'Sir, news has just come from the press service
- below. The Reichs Chancellor is dead. Martin Bormann.' Ramsey's voice popped off. Silence.
- Mr. Tagomi thought, Cancel all business for today. He rose from his desk and paced rapidly back
- and forth, pressing his hands together. Let me see. Dispatch at once formal note to Reichs Consul.
- Minor item; subordinate can accomplish. Deep sorrow, etc. All Japan joins with German people in
- this sad hour. Then? Become vitally receptive. Must be in position to receive information from
- Tokyo instantly.
- Pressing the intercom button he said, 'Mr. Ramsey, be sure we are through to Tokyo. Tell the
- switchboard girls, be alert. Must not miss communication.'
- 'Yes, sir,' Mr. Ramsey said.
- 'I will be in my office from now on. Thwart all routine matters. Turn back any and all callers
- whose business is customary.'
- 'Sir?'
- 'My hands must be free in case sudden activity is needed.'
- 'Yes sir.'
- Half an hour later, at nine, a message arrived from the highest-ranking Imperial Government
- official on the West Coast, the Japanese Ambassador to the Pacific States of America, the
- Honorable Baron L. B. Kaelemakule. The Foreign Office had called an extraordinary session at the
- embassy building on Sutter Street, and each Trade Mission was to send a highly placed personage
- to attend. In this case, it meant Mr. Tagomi himself.
- There was no time to change clothes. Mr. Tagomi hurried to the express elevator, descended to
- the ground floor, and a moment later was on his way by Mission limousine, a black 1940 Cadillac
- driven by an experienced uniformed Chinese chauffeur.
- At the embassy building he found other dignitaries' cars parked roundabout, a dozen in all.
- Highly placed worthies, some of whom he knew, some of whom were strangers to him, could be
- seen ascending the wide steps of the embassy building, filing on inside. Mr. Tagomi's chauffeur
- held the door open, and he stepped out quickly, gripping his briefcase, it was empty, because he
- had no papers to bring — but it was essential to avoid appearance of being mere spectator. He
- strode up the steps in a manner suggesting a vital role in the happenings, although actually he had
- not even been told what this meeting would cover.
- Small knots of personages had gathered; murmured discussions in the lobby. Mr. Tagomi joined
- several individuals whom he knew, nodding his head and looking — with them — solemn.
- An embassy employee appeared presently and directed them into a large hall. Chairs setup,
- folding type. All persons filed in, seated themselves silently except for coughing and shuffling.
- Talk had ceased.
- Toward the front a gentleman with handful of papers, making way up to slightly raised table.
- Striped pants: representative from Foreign Office.
- Bit of confusion. Other personages, discussing in low tones; heads bowed together.
- 'Sirs,' the Foreign Office person said in loud, commanding voice. All eyes fixed then on him. 'As
- you know, the Reichskanzler is now confirmed as dead. Official statement from Berlin. This
- meeting, which will not last long — you will soon be able to go back to your offices — is for
- purposes of informing you of our evaluation of several contending factions in German political life
- who can now be expected to step forth and engage in no-holds-barred disputation for spot
- evacuated by Herr Bormann.
- 'Briefly, the notables. The foremost, Hermann Göring. Bear with familiar details, please.
- 'The Fat One, so-called, due to body, originally courageous air ace in First World War, founded
- Gestapo and held post in Prussian Government of vast power. One of the most ruthless early Nazis,
- yet later sybaritic excesses gave rise to misguiding picture of amiable wine-tippling disposition
- which our government urges you to reject. This man although said to be unhealthy, possibly even
- morbidly so in terms of appetites, resembles more the self-gratifying ancient Roman Caesars whose
- power grew rather than abated as age progressed. Lurid picture of this person in toga with pet lions,
- owning immense castle filled with trophies and art objects, is no doubt accurate. Freight trains of
- stolen valuables made way to his private estates over military needs in wartime. Our evaluation:
- this man craves enormous power, and is capable of obtaining it. Most self-indulgent of all Nazis,
- and is in sharp contrast to late H. Himmler, who lived in personal want at low salary. Herr Göring
- representative of spoils mentality, using power as means of acquiring personal wealth. Priinitive
- mentality, even vulgar, but quite intelligent man, possibly most intelligent of all Nazi chiefs. Object
- Of his drives; self-glorification in ancient emperor fashion.
- 'Next. Herr J. Goebbels. Suffered polio in youth. Originally Catholic. Brilliant orator, writer,
- flexible and fanatic mind, witty, urbane, cosmopolitan. Much active with ladies. Elegant. Educated.
- Highly capable. Does much work; almost frenzied managerial drive. Is said never to rest.
- Muchrespected personage. Can be charming, but is said to have rabid streak unmatched by other
- Nazi's. Ideological orientation suggesting medieval Jesuitic viewpoint exacerbated by postRomantic
- Germanic nihilism. Considered sole authentic intellectual of the Partei. Had ambitions to
- be playwright in youth. Few friends. Not liked by subordinates, but nevertheless highly polished
- product of many best elements in European culture. Not self-gratification, is underlying ambition,
- but power for its use purely. Organizational attitude in classic Prussian State sense.
- 'Herr R. Heydrich.'
- The Foreign Office official paused, glanced up and around at them all. Then resumed.
- 'Much younger individual than above, who helped original Revolution in 1932. Career man with
- elite SS. Subordinate of H. Himmler, may have played role in Himmler's not yet fully explained
- death in 1948. Officially eliminated other contestants within police apparatus such as A. Eichinann,
- W. Schellenberg, et al. This man said to be feared by many Partei people. Responsible for
- controlling Wehrmacht elements after close of hostilities in famous clash between police and army
- which led to reorganization of governmental apparatus, out of all this the NSDAP emerging victor.
- Supported M. Bormann throughout. Product of elite training and yet anterior to so-called SS Castle
- system. Said to be devoid of affective mentality in traditional sense. Enigmatic in terms of drive.
- Possibly may be said to have view of society which holds human struggle to be series of games;
- peculiar quasiscientific detachment found also in certain technological circles. Not party to
- ideological disputes. Summation: can be called most modem in mentality; post-enlightenment type,
- dispensing with so-called necessary illusions such as belief in God, etc. Meaning of this so-called
- realistic mentality cannot be fathomed by social scientists in Tokyo, so this man must be considered
- a question mark. However, notice of resemblance to deterioration of affectivity in pathological
- schizophrenia should be made.'
- Mr. Tagomi felt ill as he listened.
- 'Baldur von Schirach. Former head of Hitler Youth. Considered idealist. Personally attractive in
- appearance, but considered not highly experienced or competent. Sincere believer in goals of
- Partei. Took responsibility for draining Mediterranean and reclaiming of huge areas of farmland.
- Also mitigated vicious policies of racial extermination in Slavic lands in early 'fifties. Pled case
- directly to German people for remnant of Slavic peoples to exist on reservationlike closed regions
- in Heartland area. Called for end of certain forms of mercy killings and medical experimentation,
- but failed here.
- 'Doctor Seyss-Inquart. Former Austrian Nazi, now in charge of Reich colonial areas, responsible
- for colonial policies. Possibly most hated man in Reich territory. Said to have instigated most if not
- all repressive measures dealing with conquered peoples. Worked with Rosenberg for ideological
- victories of most alarming grandiose type, such as attempt to sterilize entire Russian population
- remaining after close of hostilities. No facts for certain on this, but considered to be one of several
- responsible for decision to make holocaust of African continent thus creating genocide conditions
- for Negro population. Possibly closest in temperament to original Fuhrer, A. Hitler.'
- The Foreign Office spokesman ceased his dry, slow recitation.
- Mr. Tagomi thought, I think I am going mad.
- I have to get out of here; I am having an attack. My body is throwing up things or spurting them
- out — I am dying. He scrambled to his feet, pushed down the aisle past other chairs and people. He
- could hardly see. Get to lavatory. He ran up the aisle.
- Several heads turned. Saw him. Humiliation. Sick at important meeting. Lost place. He ran on,
- through the open door held by embassy employee.
- At once the panic ceased. His gaze ceased to swim; he saw objects once more. Stable floor,
- walls.
- Attack of vertigo. Middle-ear malfunction, no doubt.
- He thought, Diencephalon, ancient brainstem, acting up.
- Some organic momentary breakdown.
- Think along reassuring lines. Recall order of world. What to draw on? Religion? He thought,
- Now a gavotte perform sedately. Capital both, capital both; you've caught it nicely. This is the style
- of thing precisely. Small form of recognizable world, Gondoliers. G.&S. He shut his eyes, imagined
- the D'Oyle Carte Company as he had seen them on their tour after the war. The finite, finite world .
- An embassy employee, at his elbow, saying, 'Sir, can I give you assistance?'
- Mr. Tagomi bowed, 'I am recovered.'
- The other's face, calm, considerate. No derision. They are all laughing at me, possibly? Mr.
- Tagomi thought. Down underneath?
- There is evil! It's actual like cement.
- I can't believe it. I can't stand it. Evil is not a view. He wandered about the lobby, hearing the
- traffic on Sutter Street, the Foreign Office spokesman addressing the meeting. All our religion is
- wrong. What'll I do? he asked himself. He went to the front door of the embassy; an employee
- opened it, and Mr. Tagomi walked down the steps to the path. The parked cars. His own.
- Chauffeurs standing.
- It's an ingredient in us. In the world. Poured over us, filtering into our bodies, minds, hearts, into
- the pavement itself.
- Why?
- We're blind moles. Creeping through the soil, feeling with our snouts. We know nothing. I
- perceived this . . . now I don't know where to go. Screech with fear, only. Run away.
- Pitiful.
- Laugh at me, he thought as he saw the chauffeurs regarding him as he walked to his car. Forgot
- my briefcase. Left it back there, by my chair. All eyes on him as he nodded to his chauffeur. Door
- held open; he crept into his car.
- Take me to the hospital, he thought. No, take me back to the office. 'Nippon Times Building.' he
- said aloud. 'Drive slowly.' He watched the city, the cars, stores, tall buildings, now, very modern.
- People. All the men and women, going on their separate businesses.
- When he reached his office he instructed Mr. Ramsey to contact one of the other Trade Missions,
- the Non-Ferrous Ores Mission, and to request that their representative to the Foreign Office
- meeting contact him on his return.
- Shortly before noon, the call came through.
- 'Possibly you noticed my distress at meeting,' Mr. Tagomi said into the phone. 'It was no doubt
- palpable to all, especially my hasty flight.'.
- 'I saw nothing,' the Non-Ferrous man said. 'But after the meeting I did not see you and wondered
- what had become of you.'
- 'You are tactful,' Mr. Tagomi said bleakly.
- 'Not at all. I am sure everyone was too wrapped up in the Foreign Office lecture to pay heed to
- any other consideration. As to what occurred after your departure — did you stay through the
- rundown of aspirants in the power struggle? That comes first.'
- 'I heard to the part about Doctor Seyss-Inquart.'
- 'Following that, the speaker dilated on the economic situation over there. The Home Islands take
- the view that Germany's scheme to reduce the populations of Europe and Northern Asia to the
- status of slaves — plus murdering all intellectuals, bourgeois elements, patriotic youth and what not
- — has been an economic catastrophe. Only the formidable technological achievements of German
- science and industry have saved them. Miracle weapons, so to speak.'
- 'Yes,' Mr. Tagomi said. Seated at his desk, holding the phone with one hand, he poured himself a
- cup of hot tea. 'As did their miracle weapons V-one and V-two and their jet fighters in the war.'
- 'It is a sleight-of-hand business,' the Non-Ferrous Ores man said. 'Mainly, their uses of atomic
- energy have kept things together. And the diversion of their circus-like rocket travel to-Mars and
- Venus. He pointed out that for all their thrilling import, such traffic have yielded nothing of
- economic worth.'
- 'But they are dramatic,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'His prognosis was gloomy. He feels that most high-placed Nazis are refusing to face facts vis-à-
- vis their economic plight. By doing so, they accelerate the tendency toward greater tour de force
- adventures, less predictability, less stability in general. The cycle of manic enthusiasm, then fear,
- then Partei solutions of a desperate type — well, the point he got across was that all this tends to
- bring the most irresponsible and reckless aspirants to the top.'
- Mr. Tagomi nodded.
- 'So we must presume that the worst, rather than the best, choice will be made, The sober and
- responsible elements will be defeated in the present clash.'
- 'Who did he say was the worst?' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'R. Heydrich. Doctor Seyss-Inquart. H. Göring. In the Imperial Government's opinion.'
- 'And the best?'
- 'Possibly B. von Schirach and Doctor Goebbels. But on that he was less explicit.'
- 'Anything more?'
- 'He told us that we must have faith in the Emperor and the Cabinet at this time more than ever.
- That we can look toward the Palace with confidence.'
- 'Was there a moment of respectful silence?'
- 'Yes.'
- Mr. Tagomi thanked the Non-Ferrous Ores man and rang off.
- As he sat drinking his tea, the intercom buzzed. Miss Ephreikian's voice came: 'Sir, you had
- wanted to send a message to the German consul.' A pause. 'Did you wish to dictate it to me at this
- time?'
- That is so, Mr. Tagomi realized. I had forgotten. 'Come into the office,' he said.
- Presently she entered, smiling at him hopefully. 'You are feeling better, sir?'
- 'Yes. An injection of vitamins has helped.' He considered. 'Recall to me. What is the German
- consul's name?'
- 'I have that, sir. Freiherr Hugo Reiss.'
- 'Mein Herr,' Mr. Tagomi began. 'Shocking news has arrived that your leader, Herr Martin
- Bormann, has succumbed. Tears rise to my eyes as I write these words. When I recall the bold
- deeds perpetrated by Herr Bormann in securing the salvation of the German people from her
- enemies both at home and abroad, as well as the soul-shaking measures of sternness meted out to
- the shirkers and traitors who would betray all mankind's vision of the cosmos, into which now the
- blond-haired blue-eyed Nordic races have after aeons plunged in their — ' He stopped. There was
- no way to finish. Miss Ephreikian stopped her tape recorder, waiting.
- 'These are great times,' he said.
- 'Should I record that, sir? Is that the message?' Uncertainly she started up her machine.
- 'I was addressing you,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- She smiled.
- 'Play my utterances back,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- The tape transport spun. Then he heard his voice, tiny and metallic, issuing from the two-inch
- speaker. '. . . perpetrated by Herr Bormann in securing the salvation. . .' He listened to the insectlike
- squeak as it rambled on. Cortical flappings and scrapings, he thought.
- 'I have the conclusion,' he said, when the transport ceased turning. 'Determination to exhalt and
- immolate themselves and so obtain a niche in history from which no life form can cast them, no
- matter what may transpire.' He paused. 'We are all insects,' he said to Miss Ephreikian. 'Groping
- toward something terrible or divine. Do you not agree?' He bowed. Miss Ephreikian, seated with
- her tape recorder, made a slight bow back.
- 'Send that,' he told her. 'Sign it, et cetera. Work the sentences, if you wish, so that they will mean
- something.' As she started from the office he added, 'Or so that they mean nothing. Whichever you
- prefer.'
- As she opened the office dour she glanced at him curiously.
- After she had left he began work on routine matters of the day. But almost at once Mr. Ramsey
- was on the intercom. 'Sir, Mr. Baynes is calling.'
- Good, Mr. Tagomi thought. Now we can begin important discussion. 'Put him on,' he said,
- picking up the phone.
- 'Mr. Tagomi,' Mr. Baynes' voice came.
- 'Good afternoon. Due to news of Chancellor Bormann's death I was unexpectedly out of my
- office this morning. However — '
- 'Did Mr. Yatabe get in touch with you?'
- 'Not yet,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'Did you tell your staff to keep an eye open for him?' Mr. Baynes said. He sounded agitated.
- 'Yes,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'They will usher him in directly he arrives.' He made a mental note to tell
- Mr. Ramsey; as yet he had not gotten around to it. Are we not to begin discussions, then, until the
- old gentleman puts in his appearance? He felt dismay. 'Sir,' he began. 'I am anxious to begin. Are
- you about to present your injection molds to us? Although we have been in confusion today — '
- 'There has been a change,' Mr. Baynes said. 'We'll wait for Mr. Yatabe. You're sure he hasn't
- arrived? I want you to give me your word that you'll notify me as soon as he calls you. Please exert
- yourself, Mr. Tagomi.' Mr. Baynes' voice sounded strained, jerky.
- 'I give you my word.' Now he, too, felt agitation. The Bormann death; that had caused the
- change. 'Meanwhile,' he said rapidly, 'I would enjoy your company, perhaps at lunch today. I not
- having had opportunity to have my lunch, yet.' Improvising, he continued. 'Although we will wait
- on specifics, perhaps we could ruminate on general world conditions, in particular — '
- 'No,' Mr. Baynes said.
- No? Mr. Tagomi thought. 'Sir,' he said, 'I am not well today. I had a grievous incident; it was my
- hope to confide it to you.'
- 'I'm sorry,' Mr. Baynes said. 'I'll ring you back later.' The phone clicked. He had abruptly hung
- up.
- I offended him, Mr. Tagomi thought. He must have gathered correctly that I tardily failed to
- inform my staff about the old gentleman. But it is a trifle; he pressed the intercom button and said,
- 'Mr. Ramsey, please come into my office.' I can correct that immediately. More is involved, he
- decided. The Bormann death has shaken him.
- A trifle — and yet indicative of my foolish and feckless attitude. Mr. Tagomi felt guilt. This is
- not a good day. I should have consulted the oracle, discovered what Moment it is. I have drifted far
- from the Tao; that is obvious.
- Which of the sixty-four hexagrams, he wondered, am I laboring under? Opening his desk drawer
- he brought out the I Ching and laid the two volumes on the desk. So much to ask the sages. So
- many questions inside me which I can barely articulate. . .
- When Mr. Ramsey entered the office, he had already obtained the hexagram. 'Look, Mr.
- Ramsey.' He showed him the book.
- The hexagram was Forty-Seven. Oppression — Exhaustion.
- 'A bad omen, generally,' Mr. Ramsey said. 'What is your question, sir? If I'm not offending you
- to ask.'
- 'I inquired as to the Moment,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'The Moment for us all. No moving lines. A
- static hexagram.' He shut the book.
- At three o'clock that afternoon, Frank Frink, still waiting with his business partner for WyndamMatson's
- decision about the money, decided to consult the oracle. How are things going to turn
- out? he asked, and threw the coins.
- The hexagram was Forty-seven. He obtained one moving line, Nine in the fifth place.
- His nose and feet are cut off.
- Oppression at the hands of the man with the purple knee bands.
- Joy comes softly.
- It furthers one to make offerings and libations.
- For a long time — at least half an hour — he studied the line and the material connected with it,
- trying to figure out what it might mean. The hexagram, and especially the moving line, disturbed
- him. At last he concluded reluctantly that the money would not be forthcoming.
- 'You rely on that thing too much,' Ed McCarthy said.
- At four o'clock, a messenger from W-M Corporation appeared and handed Frink and McCarthy a
- manila envelope. When they opened it they found inside a certified check for two thousand dollars.
- 'So you were wrong,' McCarthy said.
- Frink thought, Then the oracle must refer to some future consequence of this. That is the trouble;
- later on, when it has happened, you can look back and see exactly what it meant. But now — 'We
- can start setting up the shop,' McCarthy said. 'Today? Right now?' He felt weary.
- 'Why not? We've got our orders made out; all we have to do is stick them in the mail. The sooner
- the better. And the stuff we can get locally we'll pick up ourselves.' Putting on his jacket. Ed moved
- to the door of Frink's room.
- They had talked Frink's landlord into renting them the basement of the building. Now it was used
- for storage. Once the cartons were out, they could build their bench, put in wiring, lights, begin to
- mount their motors and belts. They had drawn up sketches, specifications, parts lists. So they had
- actually already begun.
- We're in business, Frank Frink realized. They had even agreed on a name.
- EDFRANK CUSTOM JEWELERS
- 'The most I can see today,' he said, 'is buying the wood for the bench, and maybe electrical parts.
- But no jewelry supplies.'
- They went, then, to a lumber supply yard in south San Francisco. By the end of an hour they had
- their wood.
- 'What's bothering you?' Ed McCarthy said as they entered a hardware store that dealt on a
- wholesale basis.
- 'The money. It gets me down. To finance things that way.'
- 'Old W-M understands,' McCarthy said.
- I know, Frink thought. That's why it gets me down. We have entered the world. We're like him.
- Is that a pleasant thought?
- 'Don't look back,' McCarthy said. 'Look ahead. To the business.'
- I am looking ahead, Frink thought. He thought of the hexagram. What offerings and libations can
- I make? And — to whom?
- 7
- The handsome young Japanese couple who had visited Robert Childan's store, the Kasouras,
- telephoned him toward the end of the week and requested that he come to their apartment for
- dinner. He had been waiting for some further word from them, and he was delighted.
- A little early he shut up American Artistic Handcrafts Inc. and took a pedecab to the exclusive
- district where the Kasouras lived. He knew the district, although no white people lived there. As the
- pedecab carried him along the winding streets with their lawns and willow trees, Childan gazed up
- at the modern apartment buildings and marveled at the grace of the designs. The wrought-iron
- balconies, the soaring yet modern columns, the pastel colors, the uses of varied textures . . . it all
- made up a work of art. He could remember when this had been nothing but rubble from the war.
- The small Japanese children out playing watched him without comment, then returned to their
- football or baseball. But, he thought, not so the adults; the well-dressed young Japanese, parking
- their cars or entering the apartment buildings, noticed him with greater interest. Did he live here?
- they were perhaps wondering. Young Japanese businessmen coming home from their offices. . .
- even the heads of Trade Missions lived here. He noticed parked Cadillacs. As the pedecab took him
- closer to his destination, he became increasingly nervous.
- Very shortly, as he ascended the stairs to the Kasouras' apartment, he thought, Here I am, not
- invited in a business context, but a dinner guest. He had of course taken special pains with his
- attire; at least he could be confident of his appearance. My appearance, he thought. Yes, that is it.
- How do I appear? There is no deceiving anyone; I do not belong here. On this land that white men
- cleared and built one of their finest cities. I am an outsider in my own country.
- He came to the proper door along the carpeted hall, rang the bell. Presently the door opened.
- There stood young Mrs. Kasoura, in a silk kimono and obi, her long black hair in shining tangle
- down her neck, smiling in welcome. Behind her in the living room, her husband, with drink in
- hand, nodding.
- 'Mr. Childan. Enter.'
- Bowing, he entered.
- Tasteful in the extreme. And — so ascetic. Few pieces. A lamp here, table, bookcase, print on
- the wall. The incredible Japanese sense of wabi. It could not be thought in English. The ability to
- find in simple objects a beauty beyond that of the elaborate or ornate. Something to do with the
- arrangement.
- 'A drink?' Mr. Kasoura asked. 'Scotch and soda?'
- 'Mr. Kasoura — ' he began.
- 'Paul,' the young Japanese said. Indicating his wife. 'Betty. And you are — '
- Mr. Childan murmured, 'Robert.'
- Seated on the soft carpet with their drinks, they listened to a recording of koto, Japanese thirteenstring
- harp. It was newly released by Japanese HMV, and quite popular. Childan noticed that all
- parts of the phonograph were concealed, even the speaker. He could not tell where the sound came
- from.
- 'Not knowing your appetites in dining,' Betty said, 'we have played safe. In kitchen electric oven
- is broiling T-bone 'steak. Along with this, baked potato with sauce of sour cream and chives.
- Maxim utters: no one can err in serving steak to new-found guest first time.'
- 'Very gratifying,' Childan said. 'Quite fond of steak.' And that certainly was so. He rarely had it.
- The great stockyards from the Middle West did not send out much to the West Coast any more. He
- could not recall when he had last had a good steak.
- It was time for him to graft guest gift.
- From his coat pocket he brought small tissue-paperwrapped thing. He laid it discreetly on the
- low table. Both of them immediately noticed, and this required him to say, 'Bagatelle for you. To
- display fragment of the relaxation and enjoyment I feel in being here.'
- His hand opened the tissue paper, showing them the gift. Bit of ivory carved a century ago by
- whalers from New England. Tiny ornamented art object, called a scrimshaw. Their faces
- illuminated with knowledge of the scrimshaws which the old sailors had made in their spare time.
- No single thing could have summed up old U.S. culture more.
- Silence.
- 'Thank you,' Paul said.
- Robert Childan bowed.
- There was peace, then, for a moment, in his heart. This offering, this — as the I Ching put it —
- libation. It had done what needed to be done. Some of the anxiety and oppression which he had felt
- lately began to lift from him.
- From Ray Calvin he had received restitution for the Colt .44, plus many written assurances of no
- second recurrence. And yet it had not eased his heart. Only now, in this unrelated situation, had he
- for a moment lost the sense that things were in the constant process of going askew. The wabi
- around him, radiations of harmony . . . that is it, he decided. The proportion. Balance. They are so
- close to the Tao, these two young Japanese. That is why I reacted to them before. I sensed the Tao
- through them. Saw a glimpse of it myself.
- What would it be like, he wondered, to really know the Tao? The Tao is that which first lets the
- light, then the dark. Occasions the interplay of the two primal forces so that there is always
- renewal. It is that which keeps it all from wearing down. The universe will never be extinguished
- because just when the darkness seems to have smothered all, to be truly transcendent, the new seeds
- of light are reborn in the very depths. That is the Way. When the seed falls, it falls into the earth,
- into the soil. And beneath, out of sight, it comes to life.
- 'An hors d'oeuvre,' Betty said. She knelt to hold out a plate on which lay small crackers of
- cheese, et cetera. He took two gratefully.
- 'International news much in notice these days.' Paul said as he sipped his drink. 'While I drove
- home tonight I heard direct broadcast of great pageant-like State Funeral at Munich, including rally
- of fifty thousand, flags and the like. Much 'Ich hatte einen Kamerad' singing. Body now lying in
- state for all faithful to view.''
- 'Yes, it was distressing,' Robert Childan said. 'The sudden news earlier this week.'
- 'Nippon Times tonight saying reliable sources declare B. von Schirach under house arrest,' Betty
- said. 'By SD instruction.'
- 'Bad,' Paul said, shaking his head.
- 'No doubt the authorities desire to keep order,' Childan said. 'Von Schirach noted for hasty,
- headstrong, even halfbaked actions. Much similar to R. Hess in past. Recall mad flight to England.'
- 'What else reported by Nippon Times?' Paul asked his wife.
- 'Much confusion and intriguing. Army units moving from hither to yon. Leaves canceled. Border
- stations closed. Reichstag in session. Speeches by all.'
- 'That recalls fine speech I heard by Doctor Geobbels,' Robert Childan said. 'On radio, year or so
- ago. Much witty invective. Had audience in palm of hand, as usual. Ranged throughout gamut of
- emotionality. No doubt; with original Adolf Hitler out of things, Doctor Goebbels A-one Nazi
- speaker.'
- 'True,' both Paul and Betty agreed, nodding.
- 'Doctor Goebbels also has fine children and wife,' Childan went on. 'Very high-type individuals.'
- 'True,' Paul and Betty agreed. 'Family man, in contrast to number of other grand moguls there,'
- Paul said. 'Of questionable sexual mores.'
- 'I wouldn't give rumors time of day.' Childan said. 'You refer to such as E. Roehm? Ancient
- history. Long since obliterated.'
- 'Thinking more of H. Göring,' Paul said, slowly sipping his drink and scrutinizing it. 'Tales of
- Rome-like orgies of assorted fantastic variety. Causes flesh to crawl even hearing about.'
- 'Lies,' Childan said.
- 'Well, subject not worth discussing,' Betty said tactfully, with a glance at the two of them.
- They had finished their drinks, and she went to refill.
- 'Lot of hot blood stirred up in political discussion.' Paul said. 'Everywhere you go. Essential to
- keep head.'
- 'Yes,' Childan agreed. 'Calmness and order. So things return to customary stability.'
- 'Period after death of Leader critical in totalitarian society,' Paul said. 'Lack of tradition and
- middle-class institutions combine — ' He broke off. 'Perhaps better drop politics.' He smiled. 'Like
- old student days.'
- Robert Childan felt his face flush, and he bent over his new drink to conceal himself from the
- eyes of his host. What a dreadful beginning he had made. In a foolish and loud manner he had
- argued politics; he had been rude in his disagreeing, and only the adroit tact of his host had sufficed
- to save the evening. How much I have to learn, Childan thought. They're so graceful and polite.
- And I — the white barbarian. It is true.
- For a time he contented himself with sipping his drink and keeping on his face an artificial
- expression of enjoyment. I must follow their leads entirely, he told himself. Agree always.
- Yet in a panic he thought, My wits scrambled by the drink. And fatigue and nervousness. Can I
- do it? I will never be invited back anyhow; it is already too late. He felt despair.
- Betty, having returned from the kitchen, had once more seated herself on the carpet. How
- attractive, Robert Childan thought again. The slender body. Their figures are so superior; not fat,
- not bulbous. No bra or girdle needed. I must conceal my longing; that at all costs. And yet now and
- then he let himself steal a glance at her. Lovely dark colors of her skin, hair, and eyes. We are halfbaked
- compared to them. Allowed out of the kiln before we were fully done. The old aboriginal
- myth; the truth, there.
- I must divert my thoughts. Find social item, anything. His eyes strayed about, seeking some
- topic. The silence reigned heavily, making his tension sizzle. Unbearable. What the hell to say?
- Something safe. His eyes made out a book on a low black teak cabinet.
- 'I see you're reading The Grasshopper Lies Heavy,' he said. 'I hear it on many lips, but pressure
- of business prevents my own attention.' Rising, he went to pick it up, carefully consulting their
- expressions; they seemed to acknowledge this gesture of sociality, and so he proceeded. 'A
- mystery? Excuse my abysmal ignorance.' He turned the pages.
- 'Not a mystery,' Paul said. 'On contrary, interesting form of fiction possibly within genre of
- science fiction.'
- 'Oh no,' Betty disagreed. 'No science in it. Nor set in future. Science fiction deals with future, in
- particular future where science has advanced over now. Book fits neither premise.'
- 'But,' Paul said, 'it deals with alternate present. Many well-known science fiction novels of that
- sort.' To Robert he explained, 'Pardon my insistence in this, but as my wife knows, I was for a long
- time a science fiction enthusiast. I began that hobby early in my life; I was merely twelve. It was
- during the early days of the war.'
- 'I see,' Robert Childan said, with politeness.
- 'Care to borrow Grasshopper?' Paul asked. 'We will soon be through, no doubt within day or so.
- My office being downtown not far from your esteemed store, I could happily drop it off at
- lunchtime.' He was silent, and then — possibly, Childan thought, due to a signal from Betty —
- continued, 'You and I, Robert, could eat lunch together, on that occasion.'
- 'Thank you,' Robert said. It was all he could say. Lunch, in one of the downtown businessmen's
- fashionable restaurants. He and this stylish modem high-place young Japanese. It was too much; -
- he felt his gaze blur. But he went on examining the book and nodding. 'Yes,' he said, 'this does look
- interesting. I would very much like to read it. I try to keep up with what's being discussed.' Was
- that proper to say? Admission that his interest lay in book's modishness. Perhaps that was lowplace.
- He did not know, and yet he felt that it was. 'One cannot judge by book being best seller,' he
- said. 'We all know that. Many best sellers are terrible trash. This, however — ' He faltered.
- Betty said, 'Most true. Average taste really deplorable.'
- 'As in music,' Paul said. 'No interest in authentic American folk jazz, as example. Robert, are you
- fond of say Bunk Johnson and Kid Ory and the like? Early Dixieland jazz? I have record library of
- old such music, original Genet recordings.'
- Robert said, 'Afraid I know little about Negro music.' They did not look exactly pleased at his
- remark. 'I prefer classical. Bach and Beethoven.' Surely that was acceptable. He felt now a bit of
- resentment. Was he supposed to deny the great masters of European music, the timeless classics in
- favor of New Orleans jazz from the honky-tonks and bistros of the Negro quarter?
- 'Perhaps if I play selection by New Orleans Rhythm Kings,' Paul began, starting from the room,
- but Betty gave him a warning look. He hesitated, shrugged.
- 'Dinner almost ready,' she said.
- Returning, Paul once more seated himself. A little sulkily, Robert thought, he murmured, 'Jazz
- from New Orleans most authentic American folk music there is. Originated on this continent. All
- else came from Europe, such as corny English-style lute ballads.'
- 'This is perpetual argument between us,' Betty said, smiling at Robert. 'I do not share his love of
- original jazz.'
- Still holding the copy of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, Robert said, 'What sort of alternate
- present does this book describe?'
- Betty, after a moment, said, 'One in which Germany and Japan lost the war.'
- They were all silent.
- 'Time to eat,' Betty said, sliding to her feet. 'Please come, two hungry gentleman businessmen.'
- She cajoled Robert and Paul to the dining table, already set with white tablecloth, silver, china,
- huge rough napkins in what Robert recognized as Early American bone napkin rings. The silver,
- too, was sterling silver American. The cups and saucers were Royal Albert, deep blue and yellow.
- Very exceptional; he could not help glancing at them with professional admiration.
- The plates were not American. They appeared to be Japanese; he could not tell, it being beyond
- his field.
- 'That is Imari porcelain.' Paul said, perceiving his interest. 'From Arita. Considered a first-place
- product. Japan.'
- They seated themselves.
- 'Coffee?' Betty asked Robert.
- 'Yes,' he said. 'Thanks.'
- 'Toward end of meal,' she said, going to get the serving cart.
- Soon they were all eating. Robert found the meal delicious. She was quite an exceptional cook.
- The salad in particular pleased him. Avocados, artichoke heart, some kind of blue cheese dressing .
- . . thank God they had not presented him with a Japanese meal, the dishes of mixed greens and
- meats of which he had eaten so much since the war.
- And the unending seafoods. He had gotten so that he could no longer abide shrimp or any other
- shellfish.
- 'I would like to know,' Robert said, 'what he supposes it would be like in world where Germany
- and Japan lost the war.'
- Neither Paul nor Betty answered for a time. Then Paul said at last, 'Very complicated
- differences. Better to read the book. It would spoil it for you, possibly, to hear.'
- 'I have strong convictions on the subject,' Robert said. 'I have frequently thought it over. The
- world would be much worse.' He heard his voice sound out firm, virtually harsh. 'Much worse.'
- They seemed taken by surprise. Perhaps it was his tone.
- 'Communism would rule everywhere,' Robert continued.
- Paul nodded. 'The author, Mr. H. Abendsen, considers that point, as to unchecked spread of
- Soviet Russia. But same as in First World War, even on winning side, second-rate mostly peasant
- Russia naturally takes pratfall. Big Laughingstock, recalling Japan War with them, when — '
- 'We have had to suffer, to pay the cost,' Robert said. 'But we did it for a good cause. To stop
- Slavic world inundation.'
- Betty said in a low voice, 'Personally, I do not believe any hysterical talk of 'world inundation' by
- any people, Slavic or Chinese or Japanese.' She regarded Robert placidly. She was in complete
- control of herself, not carried away; but she intended to express her feeling. A spot of color, deep
- red, had appeared in each of her cheeks.
- They ate for a time without conversing.
- I did it again, Robert Childan informed himself. Impossible to avoid the topic. Because it's
- everywhere, in a book I happen to pick up or a record collection, in these bone napkin rings — loot
- piled up by the conquerors. Pillage from my people.
- Face facts. I'm trying to pretend that these Japanese and I are alike. But observe: even when I
- burst out as to my gratification that they won the war, that my nation lost — there's still no
- common ground. What words mean to me is sharp contrast vis-à-vis them. Their brains are
- different. Souls likewise. Witness them drinking from English bone china cups, eating with U.S.
- silver, listening to Negro style of music. It's all on the surface. Advantage of wealth and power
- makes this available to them, but it's ersatz as the day is long.
- Even the I Ching, which they've forced down our throats; it's Chinese. Borrowed from way back
- when. Whom are they fooling? Themselves? Pilfer customs right and left, wear, eat, talk, walk, as
- for instance consuming with gusto baked potato served with sour cream and chives, old-fashioned
- American dish added to their haul. But nobody fooled, I can tell you; me least of all.
- Only the white races endowed with creativity, he reflected. And yet I, blood member of same,
- must bump head to floor for these two. Think how it would have been had we won! Would have
- crushed them out of existence. No Japan today, and the U.S.A. gleaming great sole power in entire
- wide world.
- He thought: I must read that Grasshopper book. Patriotic duty, from the sound of it.
- Betty said softly to him, 'Robert, you're not eating. Is the food misprepared?'
- At once he took a forkful of salad. 'No,' he said. 'It is virtually the most delicious meal I have had
- in years.'
- 'Thank you,' she said, obviously pleased. 'Doing my best to be authentic . . . for instance,
- carefully shopping in teeny-tiny American markets down along Mission Street. Understand that's
- the real McCoy.'
- You cook the native foods to perfection, Robert Childan thought. What they say is true: your
- powers of imitation are immense. Apple pie, Coca-Cola, stroll after the movie, Glenn Miller . . .
- you could paste together out of tin and rice paper a complete artificial America. Rice-paper Mom in
- the kitchen, rice-paper Dad reading the newspaper. Rice-paper pup at his feet. Everything.
- Paul was watching him silently. Robert Childan, suddenly noticing the man's attention, ceased
- his line of thought and applied himself to his food. Can he read my mind? he wondered. See what
- I'm really thinking? I know I did not show it. I kept the proper expression; he could not possibly
- tell.
- 'Robert,' Paul said, 'since you were born and raised here, speaking the U.S. idiom, perhaps I
- could get your help with a book which has given me certain trouble. Novel from the l930s by a U.S.
- author.'
- Robert bowed slightly.
- 'The book,' Paul said, 'which is quite rare, and which! possess a copy of nonetheless, is by
- Nathanael West. Title is Miss Lonelyhearts. I have read it with enjoyment, but do not totally grasp
- N. West's meaning.' He looked hopefully at Robert.
- Presently Robert Childan admitted. 'I — have never read that book, I fear.' Nor, he thought, even
- heard of it.
- Disappointment showed in Paul's expression. 'Too bad. It is a tiny book. Tells about man who
- runs column in daily paper; receives heartache problems constantly, until evidently driven mad by
- pain and has delusion that he is J. Christ. Do you recall? Perhaps read long ago.'
- 'No,' Robert said.
- 'Gives strange view about suffering,' Paul said. 'Insight of most original kind into meaning of
- pain for no reason, problem which all religions cope with. Religions such as Christian often declare
- must be sin to account for suffering. N. West seems to add more compelling view of this, over
- older notions. N. West possibly saw could be suffering without cause due to his being a Jew.'
- Robert said. 'If Germany and Japan had lost the war, the Jews would be running the world today.
- Through Moscow and Wall Street.'
- The two Japanese, man and wife, seemed to shrink. They seemed to fade, grow cold, descend
- into themselves. The room itself grew cold. Robert Childan felt alone. Eating by himself, no longer
- in their company. What had he done now? What had they misunderstood? Stupid inability on their
- part to grasp alien tongue, the Western thought. Eluded them and so they took umbrage. What a
- tragedy, he thought as he continued eating. And yet — what could be done?
- Former clarity — that of only a moment ago — had to be drawn on for all it was worth. Full
- extent not glimpsed until now. Robert Childan did not feel quite as badly as before, because the
- nonsensical dream had begun to lift from his mind. I showed up here with such anticipation, he
- recalled. Near-adolescent romantic haze befuddling me as I ascended stairs. But reality cannot be
- ignored; we must grow up.
- And this is the straight dope, right here. These people are not exactly human. They don the dress
- but they're like monkeys dolled up in the circus. They're clever and can learn, but that is all.
- Why do I cater to them? Due solely to their having won?
- Big flaw in my character revealed through this encounter. But such is the way it goes. I have
- pathetic tendency to . . . well, shall we say, unerringly choose the easier of two evils. Like a cow
- catching sight of the trough; I gallop without premeditation.
- What I've been doing is to go along with the exterior motions because it is safer; after all, these
- are the victors . . . they command. And I will go on doing it, I guess. Because why should I make
- myself unhappy? They read an American book and want me to explain it to them; they hope that I,
- a white man, can give them the answer. And I try? But in this case I can't, although had I read it, I
- no doubt could.
- 'Perhaps one day I'll have a look at that Miss Lonelyhearts book,' he said to Paul. 'And then I can
- convey to you its significance.'
- Paul nodded slightly.
- 'However, at present I am too busy with my work,' Robert said. 'Later on, perhaps . . . I am sure it
- wouldn't take me very long.'
- 'No,' Paul murmured. 'Very short book.' Both he and Betty looked sad, Robert Childan thought.
- He wondered if they, too, sensed the unbridgeable gap between themselves and him. Hope so, he
- thought. They deserve to. A shame — just have to ferret out book's message on their own.
- He ate with more enjoyment.
- No further friction marred the evening. When he left the Kasouras' apartment at ten o'clock,
- Robert Childan still felt the sense of confidence which had overtaken him during the meal.
- He meandered down the apartment house stairs with no genuine concern as to the occasional
- Japanese residents who, on their way to and from the communal baths, might notice him and stare.
- Out onto the dark evening sidewalk, then the hailing of a passing pedecab. And he was thereupon
- on his trip home.
- I always wondered what it would be like to meet certain customers socially. Not so bad after all.
- And, he thought, this experience may well help me in my business.
- It is therapeutic to meet these people who have intimidated you. And to discover what they are
- really like. Then the intimidation goes.
- Thinking along those lines, he arrived at his own neighborhood and finally at his own door. He
- paid the chink pedecab driver and ascended the familiar stairs.
- There, in his front room, sat a man he did not know. A white man wearing an overcoat, sitting on
- the couch reading the newspaper. As Robert Childan stood astonished in the doorway, the man put
- down his newspaper, leisurely rose, and reached into his breast pocket. He brought out a wallet and
- displayed it.
- 'Kempeitai.'
- He was a pinoc. Employee of Sacramento and its State Police installed by the Japanese
- occupation authorities. Frightening!
- 'You're R. Childan?'
- 'Yes, sir,' he said. His heart pounded.
- 'Recently,' the policeman said, consulting a clipboard of papers which he had taken from a
- briefcase on the couch, 'you were paid a visit by a man, a white, describing himself as representing
- an officer of the Imperial Navy. Subsequent investigation showed that this was not so. No such
- officer existed. No such ship.' He eyed Childan.
- 'That's correct,' Childan said.
- 'We have a report,' the policeman continued, 'of a racket being conducted in the Bay Area. This
- fellow evidently was involved. Would you describe him?'
- 'Small, rather dark-skinned,' Childan began.
- 'Jewish?'
- 'Yes!' Childan said. 'Now that I think about it. Although I overlooked it at the time.'
- 'Here's a photo.' The Kempeitai man passed it to him.
- 'That's him,' Childan said, experiencing recognition beyond any doubt. He was a little appalled
- by the Kempeitai's power of detection. 'How'd you find him? I didn't report it, but I telephoned my
- jobber, Ray Calvin, and told him — '
- The policeman waved him silent. 'I have a paper for you to sign, and that's all. You won't have to
- appear in court; this is a legal formality that ends your involvement.' He handed Childan the paper,
- plus pen. 'This states that you were approached by this man and that he tried to swindle you by
- misrepresenting himself and so forth. You read the paper.' The policeman rolled back his cuff and
- examined his watch as Robert Childan read the paper. 'Is that substantially correct?'
- It was — substantially. Robert Childan did not have time to give the paper thorough attention,
- and anyhow he was a little confused as to what had happened that day. But he knew that the man
- had misrepresented himself, and that some racket was involved; and, as the Kempeitai man had
- said,the fellow was a Jew. Robert Childan glanced at the name beneath the photo of the man. Frank
- Frink. Born Frank Fink. Yes, he certainly was a Jew. Anybody could tell, with a name like Fink.
- And he had changed it.
- Childan signed the paper.
- 'Thanks,' the policeman said. He gathered up his things, tipped his hat, wished Childan good
- night, and departed. The whole business had taken only a moment.
- I guess they got him, Childan thought. Whatever he was up to.
- Great relief. They work fast, all right.
- We live in a society of law and order, where Jews can't pull their subtleties on the innocent.
- We're protected.
- I don't know why I didn't recognize the racial characteristics when I saw him. Evidently I'm
- easily deceived.
- He decided, I'm simply not capable of deceit and that renders me helpless. Without law, I'd be at
- their mercy. He could have convinced me of anything. It's a form of hypnosis. They can control an
- entire society.
- Tomorrow I will have to go out and buy that Grasshopper book, he told himself. It'll be
- interesting to see how the author depicts a world run by Jews and Communists, with the Reich in
- ruins, Japan no doubt a province of Russia; in fact, with Russia extending from the Atlantic to the
- Pacific. I wonder if he — whatever his name is — depicts a war between Russia and the U.S.A.?
- Interesting book, he thought. Odd nobody thought of writing it before.
- He thought, it should help to bring home to us how lucky we are. In spite of the obvious
- disadvantages . . . we could be so much worse off. Great moral lesson pointed out by that book.
- Yes, there are Japs in power here, and we have to build. Out of this are coming great things, such as
- the colonization of the planets.
- There should be a news broadcast on, he realized. Seating himself, he turned on the radio. Maybe
- the new Reichs Chancellor has been picked. He felt excitement and anticipation. To me, that SeyssInquart
- seems the most dynamic. The most likely to carry out bold programs.
- I wish I was there, he thought. Possibly someday I'll be well enough to travel to Europe and see
- all that has been done. Shame to miss out. Stuck here on the West Coast, where nothing is
- happening. History is passing us by.
- 8
- At eight o'clock in the morning Freiherr Hugo Reiss, the Reichs Consul in San Francisco,
- stepped from his MercedesBenz 220-E and walked briskly up the steps of the consulate. Behind
- him came two young male employees of the Foreign Office. The door had been unlocked by Reiss'
- staff, and he passed inside, raising his hand in greeting to the two switchboard girls, the viceConsul
- — Herr Frank, and then, in the inner office, Reiss' secretary, Herr Pferdehuf.
- 'Freiherr,' Plerdehuf said, 'there is a coded radiogram coming in just now from Berlin. Preface
- One.'
- That meant removing his overcoat and giving it to Pferdehuf to hang up.
- 'Ten minutes ago Herr Kreuz vom Meere called. He would like you to return his call.'
- 'Thank you,' Reiss said. He seated himself at the small table by the window of his office,
- removed the cover from his breakfast, saw on the plate the roll, scrambled eggs and sausage,
- poured himself hot black coffee from the silver pot, then unrolled his morning newspaper.
- The caller, Kreuz vom Meere, was the chief of the Sicherheitsdienst in the PSA area; his
- headquarters were located, under a cover name, at the air terminal. Relations between Reiss and
- Kreuz vom Meere were rather strained. Their jurisdiction overlapped in countless matters, a
- deliberate policy, no doubt, of the higher-ups in Berlin. Reiss held an honorary commission in the
- SS, the rank of major, and this made him technically Kreuz vom Meere's subordinate. The
- commission had been bestowed several years ago, and at that time Reiss had discerned the purpose.
- But he could do nothing about it. Nonetheless, he chafed still.
- The newspaper, flown in by Lufthansa and arriving at six in the morning, was the Frankfurter
- Zeitung. Reiss read the front page carefully. Von Schirach under house arrest, possibly dead by
- now. Too bad. Göring residing at a Luftwaffe training base, surrounded by experienced veterans of
- the war, all loyal to the Fat One. No one would slip up on him. No SD hatchetmen. And what about
- Doctor Goebbels?
- Probably in the heart of Berlin. Depending as always on his own wit, his ability to talk his way
- out of anything. If Heydrich sends a squad to do him in, Reiss reflected, the Little Doctor will not
- only argue them out of it, he will probably persuade them to switch over. Make them employees of
- the Ministry for Propaganda and Public Enlightenment.
- He could imagine Doctor Goebbels at this moment, in the apartment of some stunning movie
- actress, disdaining the Wehrmacht units bumping through the streets below. Nothing frightened that
- Kerl. Goebbels would smile his mocking smile . . . continue stroking the lovely lady's bosom with
- his left hand, while writing his article for the day's Angriff with —
- Reiss' thoughts were interrupted by his secretary's knock. 'I'm sorry. Kreuz vom Meere is on the
- line again.'
- Rising, Reiss went to his desk and took the receiver. ''Reiss here.'
- The heavy Bavarian accents of the local SD chief. 'Any word on the Abwehr character?'
- Puzzled, Reiss tried to make out what Kreuz vom Meere was referring to. 'Hmmm,' he
- murmured. 'To my knowledge, there are three or four Abwehr 'characters' on the Pacific Coast at
- the moment.'
- 'The one traveling in by Lufthansa within the last week.'
- 'Oh,' Reiss said. Holding the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he took out his cigarette
- case. 'He never came in here.'
- 'What's he doing?'
- 'God, I don't know. Ask Canaris.'
- 'I'd like you to call the Foreign Office and have them call the Chancery and have whoever's on
- hand get hold of the Admiralty and demand that the Abwehr either take its people back out of here
- or give us an account of why they're here.'
- 'Can't you do that?'
- 'Everything's in confusion.'
- They've completely lost the Abwehr man, Reiss decided. They — the local SD — were told by
- someone on Heydrich's staff to watch him, and they missed a connection. And now they want me to
- bail them out.
- 'If he comes in here,' Reiss said, 'I'll have somebody stay on him. You can rely on that.' Of
- course, there was little or no chance that the man would come in. And they both knew that.
- 'He undoubtedly uses a cover name,' Kreuz vom Meere plodded on. 'We don't know it, naturally.
- He's an aristocratic-looking fellow. About forty. A captain. Actual name Rudolf Wegener. One of
- those old monarchist families from East Prussia. Probably supported von Papen in the Systemzeit.'
- Reiss made himself comfortable at his desk as Kreuz vom Meere droned away. 'The only answer as
- I see it to these monarchist hangers-on is to cut the budget of the Navy so they can't afford . .
- Finally Reiss managed to get off the phone. When he returned to his breakfast he found the roll
- cold. The coffee however was still hot; he drank it and resumed reading the newspaper.
- No end to it, he thought. Those SD people keep a shift on duty all night. Call you at three in the
- morning.
- His secretary, Pferdehuf, stuck his head into the office, saw that he was off the phone, and said,
- 'Sacramento called just now in great agitation. They claim there's a Jew running around the streets
- of San Francisco.' Both he and Reiss laughed.
- 'All right,' Reiss said. 'Tell them to calm down and send us the regular papers. Anything else?'
- 'You read the messages of condolence.'
- 'Are there more?'
- 'A few. I'll keep them on my desk, if you want them. I've already sent out answers.'
- 'I have to address that meeting today,' Reiss said. 'At one this afternoon. Those businessmen.'
- 'I won't let you forget,' Pferdehuf said.
- Reiss leaned back in his chair. 'Care to make a bet?'
- 'Not on the Partei deliberatons. If that's what you mean.'
- 'It'll be The Hangman.'
- Lingering, Pferdehuf said, 'Heydrich has gone as far as he can. Those people never pass over to
- direct Partei control because everyone is scared of them. The Partei bigwigs would have a fit even
- at the idea. You'd get a coalition in twenty-five minutes, as soon as the first SS car took off from
- Prinzalbrechtstrasse. They'd have all those economic big shots like Krupp and Thyssen — ' He
- broke off. One of the cryptographers had come up to him with an envelope.
- Reiss held out his hand. His secretary brought the envelope to him.
- It was the urgent coded radiogram, decoded and typed out.
- When he finished reading it he saw that Pferdehuf was waiting to hear. Reiss crumpled up the
- message in the big ceramic ashtray on his desk, lit it with his lighter. 'There's a Japanese general
- supposed to be traveling here incognito. Tedeki. You better go down to the public library and get
- one of those official Japanese military magazines that would have his picture. Do it discreetly, of
- course. I don't think we'd have anything on him here.' He started toward the locked filing cabinet,
- then changed his mind. 'Get what information you can. The statistics. They should all be available
- at the library.' He added, 'This General Tedeki was a chief of staff a few years ago. Do you recall
- anything about him?'
- 'Just a little,' Pferdehuf said. 'Quite a fire-eater. He should be about eighty, now. Seems to me he
- advocated some sort of crash program to get Japan into space.'
- 'On that he failed,' Reiss said.
- 'I wouldn't be surprised if he's coming here for medical purposes,' Pferdehuf said. 'There've been
- a number of old Japanese military men here to use the big U. C. Hospital. That way they can make
- use of German surgical techniques they can't get at home. Naturally they keep it quiet. Patriotic
- reasons, you know. So perhaps we should have somebody at the U.C. Hospital watching, if Berlin
- wants to keep their eye on him.'
- Reiss nodded. Or the old general might be involved in commercial speculations, a good deal of
- which went on in San Francisco. Connections he had made while in service would be of use to him
- now that he was retired. Or was he retired? The message called him General, not Retired General.
- 'As soon as you have the picture.' Reiss said, 'pass copies right on to our people at the airport and
- down at the harbor. He may have already come in. You know how long it takes them to get this sort
- of thing to us.' And of course if the general had already reached San Francisco, Berlin would be
- angry at the PSA consulate. The consulate should have been able to intercept him — before the
- order from Berlin had even been sent.
- Pferdehuf said, 'I'll stamp-date the coded radiogram from Berlin, so if any question comes up
- later on, we can show exactly when we received it. Right to the hour.'
- 'Thank you,' Reiss said. The people in Berlin were past masters at transferring responsibility, and
- he was weary of being stuck. It had happened too many times. 'Just to be on the safe side,' he said,
- 'I think I'd better have you answer that message. Say, 'Your instructions abysmally tardy. Person
- already reported in area. Possibility of successful intercept remote at this stage.' Put something
- along those lines into shape and send it. Keep it good and vague. You understand.'
- Pferdehuf nodded. 'I'll send it right off. And keep a record of the exact date and moment it was
- sent.' He shut the door after him.
- You have to watch out, Reiss reflected, or all at once you find yourself consul to a bunch of
- niggers on an island off the coast of South Africa. And the next you know, you have a black
- mammy for a mistress, and ten or eleven little pickaninnies calling you daddy.
- Reseating himself at his breakfast table he lit an Egyptian Simon Arzt Cigarette Number 70,
- carefully reclosing the metal tin.
- It did not appear that he would be interrupted for a little while now, so from his briefcase he took
- the book he had been reading, opened to his placemark, made himself comfortable, and resumed
- where he had last been forced to stop.
- . . . Had he actually walked streets of quiet cars, Sunday morning peace of the Tiergarten, so far away?
- Another life. Ice cream, a taste that could never have existed. Now they boiled nettles and were glad to get
- them. God, he cried out. Won't they stop? The huge British tanks came on. Another building, it might have
- been an apartment house or a store, a school or office; he could not tell — the ruins toppled, slid into
- fragments. Below in the rubble another handful of survivors buried, without even the sound of death. Death
- had spread out everywhere equally, over the living, the hurt, the corpses layer after layer that already had
- begun to smell. The stinking, quivering corpse of Berlin, the eyeless turrets still upraised, disappearing
- without protest like this one, this nameless edifice that man had once put up with pride.
- His arms, the boy noticed, were covered with the film of gray, the ash, partly inorganic, partly the burned
- sifting final produce of life. All mixed now, the boy knew, and wiped it from him. He did not think much
- further; he had another thought that captured his mind if there was thinking to be done over the screams and
- the hump hump of the shells. Hunger. For six days he had eaten nothing but the nettles, and now they were
- gone. The pasture of weeds had disappeared into a single vast crater of earth. Other dim, gaunt figures had
- appeared at the rim, like the boy, had stood silent and then drifted away. An old mother with a babushka tied
- about her gray head, basket — empty — under her arm. A one-armed man, his eyes empty as the basket. A
- girl. Faded now back into the litter of slashed trees in which the boy Eric hid.
- And still the snake came on.
- Would it ever end? the boy asked, addressing no one. And if it did, what then? Would they fill their bellies,
- these —
- 'Freiherr,' Pferdehuf's voice came. 'Sorry to interrupt you. Just one word.'
- Reiss jumped, shut his book. 'Certainly.'
- How that man can write, he thought. Completely carried me away. Real. Fall of Berlin to the
- British, as vivid as if it had actually taken place. Brrr. He shivered.
- Amazing, the power of fiction, even cheap popular fiction, to evoke. No wonder it's banned
- within Reich territory; I'd ban it myself. Sorry 1 started it. But too late; must finish, now.
- His secretary said, 'Some seamen from a German ship. They're required to report to you.'
- 'Yes,' Reiss said. He hopped to the door and out to the front office. There the three seamen
- wearing heavy gray sweaters, all with thick blond hair, strong faces, a trifle nervous. Reiss raised
- his right hand. 'Heil Hitler.' He gave them a brief friendly smile.
- 'Heil Hitler,' they mumbled. They began showing him their papers.
- As soon as he had certified their visit to the consulate, he hurried back into his private office.
- Once more, alone, he reopened The Grasshopper Lies Heavy.
- His eyes fell on a scene involving — Hitler. Now he found himself unable to stop; he began to
- read the scene out of sequence, the back of his neck burning.
- The trial, he realized, of Hitler. After the close of the war. Hitler in the hands of the Allies, good
- God. Also Goebbels, Göring, all the rest of them. At Munich. Evidently Hitler was answering the
- American prosecutor.
- . . . black, flaming, the spirit of old seemed for an instant once again to blaze up. The quivering, shambling
- body jerked taut; the head lifted. Out of the lips that ceaselessly drooled, a croaking half-bark, half-whisper.
- 'Deutsche, hier steh' Ich.' Shudders among those who watched and listened, the earphones pressed tightly,
- strained faces of Russian, American, British and German alike. Yes, Karl thought. Here he stands once
- more . . . they have beaten us — and more. They have stripped this superman, shown him for what he is.
- Only — a
- 'Freiherr.'
- Reiss realized that his secretary had entered the office. 'I'm busy,' he said angrily. He slammed
- the book shut. 'I'm trying to read this book, for God's sake!'
- It was hopeless. He knew it.
- 'Another coded radiogram is coming in from Berlin.' Pferdehuf said. 'I caught a glimpse of it as
- they started decoding it. It deals with the political situation.'
- 'What did it say?' Reiss murmured, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and fingers.
- 'Doctor Goebbels has gone on the radio unexpectedly. A major speech.' The secretary was quite
- excited. 'We're supposed to take the text — they're transmitting it out of code — and make sure it's
- printed by the press, here.'
- 'Yes, yes,' Reiss said.
- The moment his secretary had left once more. Reiss reopened the book. One more peek, despite
- my resolution . he thumbed the previous portion.
- . . . in silence Karl contemplated the flag-draped casket. Here he lay, and now he was gone, really gone. Not
- even the demon-inspired powers could bring him back. The man — or was it after all Uebermensch? —
- whom Karl had blindly followed, worshiped . . . even to the brink of the grave. Adolf Hitler had passed
- beyond, but Karl clung to life. I will not follow him, Karl's mind whispered. I will go on, alive. And rebuild. And
- we will all rebuild. We must.
- How far, how terribly far, the Leader's magic had carried him. And what was it, now that the last dot had
- been put on that incredible record, that journey from the isolated rustic town in Austria, up from rotting
- poverty in Vienna, from the nightmare ordeal of the trenches, through political intrigue, the founding of the
- Party, to the Chancellorship, to what for an instant had seemed near world domination?
- Karl knew. Bluff. Adolf Hitler had lied to them. He had led them with empty words.
- It is not too late. We see your bluff, Adolf Hitler. And we know you for what you are, at last. And the Nazi
- Party, the dreadful era of murder and megalomaniacal fantasy, for what it is. What it was.
- Turning, Karl walked away from the silent casket . . .
- Reiss shut the book and sat for a time. In spite of himself he was upset. More pressure should
- have been put on the Japs, he said to himself, to suppress this damn book. In fact, it's obviously
- deliberate on their part. They could have arrested this — whatever his name is. Abendsen. They
- have plenty of power in the Middle West.
- What upset him was this. The death of Adolf Hitler, the defeat and destruction of Hitler, the
- Partei, and Germany itself, as depicted in Abendsen's book . . . it all was somehow grander, more in
- the old spirit than the actual world. The world of German hegemony.
- How could that be? Reiss asked himself. Is it just this man's writing ability?
- They know a million tricks, those novelists. Take Doctor Goebbels; that's how he started out,
- writing fiction. Appeals to the base lusts that hide in everyone no matter how respectable on the
- surface. Yes, the novelist knows humanity, how worthless they are, ruled by their testicles, swayed
- by cowardice, selling out every cause because of their greed — all he's got to do is thump on the
- drum, and there's his response. And he laughing, of course, behind his hand at the effect he gets.
- Look how he played on my sentiments, Herr Reiss reflected, not on my intellect; and naturally
- he's going to get paid for it — the money's there. Obviously somebody put the Hundsfott up to it,
- instructed him what to write. They'll write anything if they know they'll get paid. Tell any bunch of
- lies, and then the public actually takes the smelly brew seriously when its dished out. Where was
- this published? Herr Reiss inspected the copy of the book. Omaha, Nebraska. Last outpost of the
- former plutocratic U.S. publishing industry, once located in downtown New York and supported by
- Jewish and Communist gold .
- Maybe this Abendsen is a Jew.
- They're still at it, trying to poison us. This jüdisches Buch — He slammed the covers of the
- Grasshopper violently together. Actual name probably Abendstein. No doubt the SD has looked
- into it by now.
- Beyond doubt, we ought to send somebody across into the RMS to pay Herr Abendstein a visit. I
- wonder if Kreuz vom Meere has gotten instructions to that effect. Probably hasn't, with all the
- confusion in Berlin. Everybody too busy with domestic matters.
- But this book, Reiss thought, is dangerous.
- If Abendstein should be found dangling from the ceiling some fine morning, it would be a
- sobering notice to anyone who might be influenced by this book. We would have had the last word.
- Written the postscript.
- It would take a white man, of course. I wonder what Skorzeny is doing these days.
- Reiss pondered, reread the dust jacket of the book. The kike keeps himself barricaded. Up in this
- High Castle. Nobody's fool. Whoever gets in and gets him won't get back out.
- Maybe it's foolish. The book after all is in print. Too late now. And that's Japanese-dominated
- territory . . . the little yellow men would raise a terrific fuss.
- Nevertheless, if it was done adroitly . . . if it could be properly handled.
- Freiherr Hugo Reiss made a notation on his pad. Broach subject with SS General Otto Skorzeny,
- or better yet Otto Ohlendorf at Amt III of the Reichssicherheitshauptamt. Didn't Ohlendorf head
- Einsatzgruppe D?
- And then, all at once, without warning of any kind, he felt sick with rage. I thought this was over,
- he said to himself. Does it have to go on forever? The war ended years ago. And we thought it was
- finished then. But that Africa Fiasco, that crazy Seyss-Inquart carrying out Rosenberg's schemes.
- That Herr Hope is right, he thought. With his joke about our contact on Mars. Mars populated by
- Jews. We would see them there, too. Even with their two heads apiece, standing one foot high.
- I have my routine duties, he decided. I don't have time for any of these harebrained adventures,
- this sending of Einsatzkommandos after Abendsen. My hands are full greeting German sailors and
- answering coded radiograms; let someone higher up initiate a project of that sort — it's their
- business.
- Anyhow, he decided, if I instigated it and it backfired, one can imagine where I'd be: in
- Protective Custody in Eastern General Gouvernement, if not in a chamber being squirted with
- Zyklon B hydrogen cyanide gas.
- Reaching out, he carefully scratched the notation on his pad out of existence, then burned the
- paper itself in the ceramic ashtray.
- There was a knock, and his office door opened. His secretary entered with a large handful of
- papers. 'Doctor Goebbels' speech. In its entirety.' Pferdehuf put the sheets down on the desk. 'You
- must read it. Quite good; one of his best.'
- Lighting another Simon Arzt Number 70 cigarette, Reiss began to read Doctor Goebbels' speech.
- 9
- After two weeks of nearly constant work, Edfrank Custom Jewelry had produced its first finished
- batch. There the pieces lay, on two boards covered with black velvet, all of which went into a
- square wicker basket of Japanese origin. And Ed McCarthy and Frank Frink had made business
- cards. They had used an artgun eraser carved out to form their name; they printed in red from this,
- and then completed the cards with a children's toy rotary printing set. The effect — they had used a
- high-quality Christmas-card colored heavy paper — was striking.
- In every aspect of their work they had been professional. Surveying their jewelry, cards, and
- display, they could see no indication of the amateur. Why should there be? Frank Frink thought.
- We're both pros; not in jewelry making, but in shopwork in general.
- The display boards held a good variety. Cuff bracelets made of brass, copper, bronze, and even
- hot-forged black iron. Pendants, mostly of brass, with a little silver ornamentation. Earrings of
- silver. Pins of silver or brass. The silver had cost them a good deal; even silver solder had set them
- back. They had bought a few semiprecious stones, too, for mounting in the pins: baroque pearls,
- spinneis, jade, slivers of fire opal. And, if things went well, they would try gold and possibly fiveor
- six-point diamonds.
- It was gold that would make them a real profit. They had already begun searching into sources of
- scrap gold, melted-down antique pieces of no artistic value — much cheaper to buy than new gold.
- But even so, an enormous expense was involved. And yet, one gold pin sold would bring more than
- forty brass pins. They could get almost any price on the retail market for a really well-designed and
- executed gold pin . . . assuming, as Frink had pointed out, that their stuff went over at all.
- At this point they had not yet tried to sell. They had solved what seemed to be their basic
- technical problems; they had their bench with motors, flex-cable machine, arbor of grinding and
- polishing wheels. They had in fact a complete range of finishing tools, ranging from the coarse wire
- brushes through brass brushes and Cratex wheels, to finer polishing buffs of cotton, linen, leather,
- chamois, which could be coated with compounds ranging from emery and pumice to the most
- delicate rouges. And of course they had their oxyacetylene welding outfit, their tanks, guages,
- hoses, tips, masks.
- And superb jewelers' tools. Pliers from Germany and France, micrometers, diamond drills, saws,
- tongs, tweezers, third-hand structures for soldering, vises, polishing cloths, shears, hand-forged tiny
- hammers . . . rows of precision equipment. And their supplies of brazing rod of various gauge,
- sheet metal, pin backs, links, earring clipbacks. Well over half the two thousand dollars had been
- spent; they had in their Edfrank bank account only two hundred and fifty dollars, now. But they
- were set up legally; they even had their PSA permits. Nothing remained but to sell.
- No retailer, Frink thought as he studied the displays, can give these a tougher inspection than we
- have. They certainly looked good, these few select pieces, each painstakingly gone over for bad
- welds, rough or sharp edges, spots of fire color . . . their quality control was excellent. The slightest
- dullness or wire brush scratch had been enough reason to return a piece to the shop. We can't afford
- to show any crude or unfinished work; one unnoticed black speck on a silver necklace — and we're
- finished.
- On their list, Robert Childan's store appeared first. But only Ed could go there; Childan would
- certainly remember Frank Frink.
- 'You got to do most of the actual selling,' Ed said, but he was resigned to approaching Childan
- himself; he had bought a good suit, new tie, white shirt, to make the right impression. Nonetheless,
- he looked ill-at-ease. 'I know we're good,' he said for the millionth time. 'But — hell.'
- Most of the pieces were abstract, whirls of wire, loops, designs which to some extent the molten
- metals had taken on their own. Some had a spider-web delicacy, an airiness; others had a massive,
- powerful, almost barbaric heaviness. There was an amazing range of shape, considering how few
- pieces lay on the velvet trays; and yet one store, Frink realized, could buy everything we have laid
- out here. We'll see each store once — if we fail. But if we succeed, if we get them to carry our line,
- we'll be going back to refill orders the rest of our lives.
- Together, the two of them loaded the velvet board trays into the wicker basket. We could get
- back something on the metal, Frink said to himself, if worse comes to worst. And the tools and
- equipment; we can dispose of them at a loss, but at least we'll get something.
- This is the moment to consult the oracle. Ask, How will Ed make out on this first selling trip?
- But he was too nervous to. It might give a bad omen, and he did not feel capable of facing it. In any
- case, the die was cast: the pieces were made, the shop set up — whatever the I Ching might blab
- out at this point.
- It can't sell our jewelry for us . . . it can't give us luck.
- 'I'll tackle Childan's place first,' Ed said. 'We might as well get it over with. And then you can try
- a couple. You're coming along, aren't you? In the truck. I'll park around the corner.'
- As they got into their pickup truck with their wicker hamper, Frink thought, God knows how
- good a salesman Ed is, or I am. Childan can be sold, but it's going to take a presentation, like they
- say.
- If Juliana were here, he thought, she could stroll in there and do it without batting an eye; she's
- pretty, she can talk to anybody on earth, and she's a woman. After all, this is women's jewelry. She
- could wear it into the store. Shutting his eyes, he tried to imagine how she would look with one of
- their bracelets on. Or one of their large silver necklaces. With her black hair and her pale skin,
- doleful, probing eyes
- wearing a gray jersey sweater, a little bit too tight, the silver resting against her bare flesh, metal
- rising and falling as she breathed .
- God, she was vivid in his mind, right now. Every piece they made, the strong, thin fingers picked
- up, examined; tossing her head back, holding the piece high. Juliana sorting, always a witness to
- what he had done.
- Best for her, he decided, would be earrings. The bright dangly ones, especially the brass. With
- her hair held back by a clip or cut short so that her neck and ears could be seen. And we could take
- photos of her for advertising and display. He and Ed had discussed a catalog, so they could sell by
- mail to stores in other parts of the world. She would look terrific . . . her skin is nice, very healthy,
- no sagging or wrinkles, and a fine color. Would she do it, if I could locate her? No matter what she
- thinks of me; nothing to do with our personal life. This would be a strictly business matter.
- Hell, I wouldn't even take the pictures. We'd get a professional photographer to do it. That would
- please her. Her vanity probably as great as always. She always liked people to look at her, admire
- her; anybody. I guess most women are like that. They crave attention all the time. They're very
- babyish that way.
- He thought, Juliana could never stand being alone; she had to have me around all the time
- complimenting her. Little kids are that way; they feel if their parents aren't watching what they do
- then what they do isn't real. No doubt she's got some guy noticing her right now. Telling her how
- pretty she is. Her legs. Her smooth, flat stomach .
- 'What's the matter?' Ed said, glancing at him. 'Losing your nerve?'
- 'No,' Frink said.
- 'I'm not just going to stand there,' Ed said. 'I've got a few ideas of my own. And I'll-tell you
- something else: I'm not scared. I'm not intimidated just because it's a fancy place and I have to put
- on this fancy suit. I admit I don't like to dress up. I admit I'm not comfortable. But that doesn't
- matter a bit. I'm still going in there and really give it to that poop-head.'
- Good for you, Frink thought.
- 'Hell, if you could go in there like you did,' Ed said, 'and give him that line about being a Jap
- admiral's gentleman, I ought to be able to tell him the truth, that this is really good creative original
- handmade jewelry, that — '
- 'Handwrought,' Frink said.
- 'Yeah. Hand wrought. I mean, I'll go in there and I won't come back out until I've given him a
- run for his money. He ought to buy this. If he doesn't he's really nuts. I've looked around; there isn't
- anything like ours for sale anywhere. God, when I think of him maybe looking at it and not buying
- it — it makes me so goddam mad I could start swinging.'
- 'Make sure you tell him it's not plated,' Frink said. 'That copper means solid copper and brass
- solid brass.'
- 'You let me work out my own approach,' Ed said, 'I got some really good ideas.'
- Frink thought, What I can do is this. I can take a couple of pieces — Ed'll never care — and box
- them up and send them to Juliana. So she'll see what I'm doing. The postal authorities will trace
- her; I'll send it registered to her last known address. What'll she say when she opens the box?
- There'll have to be a note from me explaining that I made it myself; that I'm a partner in a little new
- creative jewelry business. I'll fire her imagination, give her an account that'll make her want to
- know more, that'll get her interested. I'll talk about the gems and the metals. The places we're
- selling to, the fancy stores . . .
- 'Isn't it along here?' Ed said, slowing the truck. They were in heavy downtown traffic; buildings
- blotted out the sky. 'I better park.'
- 'Another five blocks,' Frink said.
- 'Got one of those marijuana cigarettes?' Ed said. 'One would calm me right about now.'
- Frink passed him his package of T'ien-lais, the 'Heavenly Music' brand he had learned to smoke
- at W-M Corporation.
- I know she's living with some guy, Frink said to himself. Sleeping with him. As if she was his
- wife. I know Juliana. She couldn't survive any other way; I know how she gets around nightfall.
- When it gets cold and dark and everybody's home sitting around the living room. She was never
- made for a solitary life. Me neither, he realized.
- Maybe the guy's a real nice guy. Some shy student she picked up. She'd be a good woman for
- some young guy who had never had the courage to approach a woman before. She's not hard or
- cynical. It would do him a lot of good. I hope to hell she's not with some older guy. That's what I
- couldn't stand. Some experienced mean guy with a toothpick sticking out of the side of his mouth,
- pushing her around.
- He felt himself begin to breathe heavily. Image of some beefy hairy guy stepping down hard on
- Juliana, making her life miserable . . . I know she'd finally wind up killing herself, he thought. It's
- in the cards for her, if she doesn't find the right man — and that means a really gentle, sensitive,
- kindly student type who would be able to appreciate all those thoughts she has.
- I was too rough for her, he thought. And I'm not so bad; there are a hell of a lot of guys worse
- than me. I could pretty well figure out what she was thinking, what she wanted, when she felt
- lonely or bad or depressed. I spent a lot of time worrying and fussing over her. But it wasn't
- enough. She deserved more. She deserves a lot, he thought.
- 'I'm parking,' Ed said. He had found a place and was backing the truck, peering over his
- shoulder.
- 'Listen,' Frink said, 'Can I send a couple of pieces to my wife?'
- 'I didn't know you were married.' Intent on parking, Ed answered him reflexively. 'Sure, as long
- as they're not silver.''
- Ed shut off the truck motor.
- 'We're here,' he said. He puffed marijuana smoke, then stubbed the cigarette out on the
- dashboard, dropped the remains to the cab floor. 'Wish me luck.'
- 'Luck,' Frank Frink said.
- 'Hey, look. There's one of those Jap waka poems on the back of this cigarette package.' Ed read
- the poem aloud, over the traffic noises.
- 'Hearing a cuckoo cry,
- I looked up in the direction
- Whence the sound came:
- What did I see?
- Only the pale moon in the dawning sky.'
- He handed the package of T'ien-lais back to Frink. 'Keeriiist!' he said, then slapped Frink on the
- back, grinned, opened the truck door, picked up the wicker hamper and stepped from the truck. 'I'll
- let you put the dime in the meter,' he said, starting off down the sidewalk.
- In an instant he had disappeared among the other pedestrians.
- Juliana, Frink thought. Are you as alone as I am? He got out of the truck and put a dime in the
- parking meter.
- Fear, he thought. This whole jewelry venture. What if it should fail? What if it should fail? That
- was how the oracle put it. Wailing, tears, beating the pot.
- Man faces the darkening shadows of his life. His passage to the grave. If she were here it would
- not be so bad. Not bad at all.
- I'm scared, he realized. Suppose Ed doesn't sell a thing. Suppose they laugh at us.
- What then?
- On a sheet on the floor of the front room of her apartment, Juliana lay holding Joe Cinnadella
- against her. The room was warm and stuffy with midafternoon sunlight. Her body and the body of
- the man in her arms were damp with perspiration. A drop, rolling down Joe's forehead, clung a
- moment to his cheekbone, then fell to her throat.
- 'You're still dripping,' she murmured.
- He said nothing. His breathing, long, slow, regular . . . like the ocean, she thought. We're nothing
- but water inside.
- 'How was it?' she asked.
- He mumbled that it had been okay.
- I thought so, Juliana thought. I can tell. Now we both have to get up, pull ourselves together. Or
- is that bad? Sign of subconscious disapproval?
- He stirred.
- 'Are you getting up?' She gripped him tight with both her arms. 'Don't. Not yet.'
- 'Don't you have to get to the gym?'
- I'm not going to the gym, Juliana said to herself. Don't you know that? We will go somewhere;
- we won't stay here too much longer. But it will be a place we haven't been before. It's time.
- She felt him start to draw himself backward and up onto his knees, felt her hands slide along his
- damp, slippery back. Then she could hear him walking away, his bare feet against the floor. To the
- bathroom, no doubt. For his shower.
- It's over, she thought. Oh well. She sighed.
- 'I hear you,' Joe said from the bathroom. 'Groaning. Always downcast, aren't you? Worry, fear
- and suspicion, about me and everything else in the world — ' He emerged, briefly, dripping with
- soapy water, face beaming. 'How would you like to take a trip?'
- Her pulse quickened. 'Where?'
- 'To some big city. How about north, to Denver? I'll take you out; buy you ticket to a show, good
- restaurant, taxi, get you evening dress or what you need. Okay?'
- She could hardly believe him, but she wanted to; she tried to.
- 'Will that Stude of yours make it?' Joe called.
- 'Sure,' she said.
- 'We'll both get some nice clothes,' he said. 'Enjoy ourselves, maybe for the first time in our lives.
- Keep you from cracking up.'
- 'Where'll we get the money?'
- Joe said, 'I have it. Look in my suitcase.' He shut the bathroom door; the racket of water shut out
- any further words.
- Opening the dresser, she got out his dented, stained little grip. Sure enough, in one corner she
- found an envelope; it contained Reichsbank bills, high value and good anywhere. Then we can go,
- she realized. Maybe he's not just stringing me along. I just wish I could get inside him and see
- what's there, she thought as she counted the money. .
- Beneath the envelope she found a huge, cylindrical fountain pen, or at least it appeared to be
- that; it had a clip, anyhow. But it weighed so much. Gingerly, she lifted it out, unscrewed the cap.
- Yes, it had a gold point. But .
- 'What is this?' she asked Joe, when he reappeared from the shower.
- He took it from her, returned it to the grip. How carefully he handled it . . . she noticed that,
- reflected on it, perplexed.
- 'More morbidity?' Joe said. He seemed lighthearted, more so than at any time since she had met
- him; with a yell of enthusiasm, he clasped her around the waist, then hoisted her up into his arms,
- rocking her, swinging her back and forth, peering down into her face, breathing his warm breath
- over her, squeezing her until she bleated.
- 'No,' she said. 'I'm just — slow to change.' Still a little scared of you, she thought. So scared I
- can't even say it, tell you about it.
- 'Out the window,' Joe cried, stalking across the room with her in his arms. 'Here we go.'
- 'Please,' she said.
- 'Kidding. Listen — we're going on a march, like the March on Rome. You remember that. The
- Duce led them, my Uncle Carlo for example. Now we have a little march, less important, not noted
- in the history books. Right?' Inclining his head, he kissed her on the mouth so hard that their teeth
- clashed. 'How nice we both'll look, in our new clothes. And you can explain to me exactly how to
- talk, deport myself; right? Teach me manners; right?'
- 'You talk okay,' Juliana said. 'Better than me, even.'
- 'No.' He became abruptly somber. 'I talk very bad. A real wop accent. Didn't you notice it when
- you first met me in the cafe?'
- 'I guess so,' she said; it did not seem important to her.
- 'Only a woman knows the social conventions,' Joe said, carrying her back and dropping her to
- bounce frighteningly on the bed. 'Without a woman we'd discuss racing cars and horses and tell
- dirty jokes; no civilization.'
- You're in a strange mood, Juliana thought. Restless and brooding, until you decide to move on;
- then you become hopped up. Do you really want me? You can ditch me, leave me here; it's
- happened before. I would ditch you, she thought, if I were going on.
- 'Is that your pay?' she asked as he dressed. 'You saved it up?' It was so much. Of course, there
- was a good deal of money in the East. 'All the other truck drivers I've talked to never made so — '
- 'You say I'm a truck driver?' Joe broke in. 'Listen; I rode that rig not to drive but keep off
- hijackers. Look like a truck driver, snoozing in the cab.' Flopping in a chair in the corner of the
- room he lay back, pretending sleep, his mouth open, body limp. 'See?'
- At first she did not see. And then she realized that in his hand was a knife, as thin as a kitchen
- potato skewer. Good grief, she thought. Where had it come from? Out of his sleeve; out of the air
- itself.
- 'That's why the Volkswagen people hired me. Service record. We protected ourselves against
- Haselden, those commandos; he led them.' The black eyes glinted; he grinned sideways at Juliana.
- 'Guess who got the Colonel, there at the end. When we caught them on the Nile — him and four of
- his Long Range Desert Group months after the Cairo campaign. They raided us for gasoline one
- night. I was on sentry duty. Haselden sneaked up, rubbed with black all over his face and body,
- even his hands; they had no wire that time, only grenades and submachine guns. All too noisy. He
- tried to break my larynx. I got him.' From the chair, Joe sprang up at her, laughing. 'Let's pack. You
- tell them at the gym you're taking a few days off; phone them.'
- His account simply did not convince her. Perhaps he had not been in North Africa at all, had not
- even fought in the war on the Axis side, had not even fought. What hijackers? she wondered. No
- truck that she knew of had come through Canon City from the East Coast with an armed
- professional ex-soldier as guard. Maybe he had not even lived in the U.S.A., had made everything
- up from the start; a line to snare her, to get her interested, to appear romantic.
- Maybe he's insane, she thought. Ironic . . . I may actually do what I've pretended many times to
- have done: use my judo in self-defense. To save my — virginity? My life, she thought. But more
- likely he is just some poor low-class wop laboring slob with delusions of glory; he wants to go on a
- grand spree, spend all his money, live it up — and then go back to his monotonous existence. And
- he needs a girl to do it.
- 'Okay,' she said. 'I'll call the gym.' As she went toward the hall she thought, He'll buy me
- expensive clothes and then take me to some luxurious hotel. Every man yearns to have a really
- well-dressed woman before he dies, even if he has to buy her the clothes himself. This binge is
- probably Joe Cinnadella's lifelong ambition. And he is shrewd; I'll bet he's right in his analysis of
- me — I have a neurotic fear of the masculine. Frank knew it, too. That's why he and I broke up;
- that's why I still feel this anxiety now, this mistrust.
- When she returned from the pay phone, she found Joe once more engrossed in the Grasshopper,
- scowling as he read, unaware of everything else.
- 'Weren't you going to let me read that?' she asked.
- 'Maybe while I drive,' Joe said, without looking up.
- 'You're going to drive? But it's my car!'
- He said nothing; he merely went on reading.
- At the cash register, Robert Childan looked up to see a lean, tall, dark-haired man entering the
- store. The man wore a slightly less-than-fashionable suit and carried a large wicker hamper.
- Salesman. Yet he did not have the cheerful smile; instead, he had a grim, morose look on his
- leathery face. More like a plumber or an electrician, Robert Childan thought.
- When he had finished with his customer, Childan called to the man, 'Who do you represent?'
- 'Edfrank Jewelry,' the man mumbled back. He had set his hamper down on one of the counters.
- 'Never heard of them.' Childan sauntered over as the man unfastened the top of the hamper and
- with much wasted motion opened it.
- 'Handwrought. Each unique. Each an original. Brass, copper, silver. Even hot-forged black iron.'
- Childan glanced into the hamper. Metal on black velvet, peculiar. 'No thanks. Not in my line.'
- 'This represents American artistry. Contemporary.'
- Shaking his head no, Childan walked back to the cash register.
- For a time the man stood fooling with his velvet display boards and hamper. He was neither
- taking the boards out nor putting them back; he seemed to have no idea what he was doing. His
- arms folded, Childan watched, thinking about various problems of the day. At two he had an
- appointment to show some early period cups. Then at three — another batch of items returning
- from the Cal labs, home from their authenticity test. He had been having more and more pieces
- examined, in the last couple of weeks. Ever since the nasty incident with the Colt .44.
- 'These are not plated,' the man with the wicker hamper said, holding up a cuff bracelet. 'Solid
- copper.'
- Childan nodded without answering. The man would hang around for a while, shuffle his samples
- about, but finally he would move on.
- The telephone rang. Childan answered it. Customer inquiring about an ancient rocking chair,
- very valuable, which Childan was having mended for him. It had not been finished, and Childan
- had to tell a convincing story. Staring through the store window at the midday traffic, he soothed
- and reassured. At last the customer, somewhat appeased, rang off.
- No doubt about it, he thought as he hung up the phone. The Colt .44 affair had shaken him
- considerably. He no longer viewed his stock with the same reverence. Bit of knowledge like that
- goes a long way. Akin to primal childhood awakening; facts of life. Shows, he ruminated, the link
- with ourearly years: not merely U.S. history involved, but our own personal. As if, he thought,
- question might arise as to authenticity of our birth certificate. Or our impression of Dad.
- Maybe I don't actually recall F.D.R. as example. Synthetic image distilled from hearing assorted
- talk. Myth implanted subtly in tissue of brain. Like, he thought, myth of Hepplewhite. Myth of
- Chippendale. Or rather more on lines of Abraham Lincoln ate here. Used this old silver knife, fork,
- spoon. You can't see it, but the fact remains.
- At the other counter, still fumbling with his displays and wicker hamper, the salesman said, 'We
- can make pieces to order. Custom made. If any of your customers have their own ideas.' His voice
- had a strangled quality; he cleared his throat, gazing at Childan and then down at a piece of jewelry
- which he held. He did not know how to leave, evidently. Childan smiled and said nothing.
- Not my responsibility. His, to get himself back out of here. Place saved or no.
- Tough, such discomfort. But he doesn't have to be salesman. We all suffer in this life. Look at
- me. Taking it all day from Japs such as Mr. Tagomi. By merest inflection manage to rub my nose in
- it, make my life miserable.
- And then an idea occurred to him. Fellow's obviously not experienced. Look at him. Maybe I can
- get some stuff on consignment. Worth a try.
- 'Hey,' Childan said.
- The man glanced up swiftly, fastened his gaze.
- Advancing toward him, his arms still folded, Childan said, 'Looks like a quiet half hour, here. No
- promises, but you can lay some of those things out. Clear back those racks of ties.' He pointed.
- Nodding, the man began to clear himself a space on the top of the counter. He reopened his
- hamper, once more fumbled with the velvet trays.
- He'll lay everything out, Childan knew. Arrange it painstakingly for the next hour. Fuss and
- adjust until he's got it all set up. Hoping. Praying. Watching me out of the corner of his eye every
- second. To see if I'm taking any interest. Any at all.
- 'When you have it out,' Childan said, 'if I'm not too busy I'll take a look.'
- The man worked feverishly, as if he had been stung.
- Several customers entered the store then, and Childan greeted them. He turned his attention to
- them and their wishes, and forgot the salesman laboring over his display. The salesman,
- recognizing the situation, became stealthy in his movements; he made himself inconspicuous.
- Childan sold a shaving mug, almost sold a hand-hooked rug, took a deposit on an afghan. Time
- passed. At last the customers left. Once more the store was empty except for himself and the
- salesman.
- The salesman had finished. His entire selection of jewelry lay arranged on the black velvet on the
- surface of the counter.
- Going leisurely over, Robert Childan lit a Land-O-Smiles and stood rocking back and forth on
- his heels, humming beneath his breath. The salesman stood silently. Neither spoke.
- At last Childan reached out and pointed at a pin. 'I like that.'
- The salesman said in a rapid voice, 'That's a good one. You won't find any wire brush scratches.
- All rouge-finished. And it won't tarnish. We have a plastic lacquer sprayed on them that'll last for
- years. It's the best industrial lacquer available.'
- Childan nodded slightly.
- 'What we've done here,' the salesman said, 'is to adapt tried and proven industrial techniques to
- jewelry making. As far as I know, nobody has ever done it before. No molds. All metal to metal.
- Welding and brazing.' He paused. 'The backs are hand-soldered.'
- Childan picked up two bracelets. Then a pin. Then another pin. He held them for a moment, then
- set them off to one side.
- The salesman's face twitched. Hope.
- Examining the price tag on a necklace, Childan said, 'Is this — '
- 'Retail. Your price is fifty percent of that. And i you buy say around a hundred dollars or so, we
- give you an additional two percent.'
- One by one Childan laid several more pieces aside. With each additional one, the salesman
- became more agitated; he talked faster and faster, finally repeating himself, even saying
- meaningless foolish things, all in an undertone and very urgently. He really thinks he's going to
- sell, Childan knew. By his own expression he showed nothing; he went on with the game of
- picking pieces.
- 'That's an especially good one,' the salesman was rambling on, as Childan fished out a large
- pendant and then ceased. 'I think you got our best. All our best.' The man laughed.
- 'You really have good taste.' His eyes darted. He was adding in his mind what Childan had
- chosen. The total of the sale.
- Childan said, 'Our policy, with untried merchandise, has to be consignment.'
- For a few seconds the salesman did not understand. He stopped his talking, but he stared without
- comprehension.
- Childan smiled at him.
- 'Consignment,' the salesman echoed at last.
- 'Would you prefer not to leave it?' Childan said.
- Stammering, the man finally said, 'You mean I leave it and you pay me later on when — '
- 'You get two-thirds of the proceeds. When the pieces sell. That way you make much more. You
- have to wait, of course, but — ' Childan shrugged. 'It's up to you. I can give it some window
- display, possibly. And if it moves, then possibly later on, in a month or so, with the next order —
- well, we might see our way clear to buy some outright.'
- The salesman had now spent well over an hour showing his wares, Childan realized. And he had
- everything out. All his displays disarranged and dismantled. Another hour's work to get it back
- ready to take somewhere else. There was silence. Neither man spoke.
- 'Those pieces you put to one side — ' the salesman said in a low voice. 'They're the ones you
- want?'
- 'Yes. I'll let you leave them all.' Childan strolled over to his office in the rear of the store. 'I'll
- write up a tag. So you'll have a record of what you've left with me.' As he came back with his tag
- book he added, 'You understand that when merchandise is left on a consignment basis the store
- doesn't assume liability in case of theft or damage.' He had a little mimeographed release for the
- salesman to sign. The store would never have to account for the items left. When the unsold portion
- was returned, if some could not be located — they must have been stolen, Childan declared to
- himself. There's always theft going on in stores. Especially small items like jewelry.
- There was no way that Robert Childan could lose. He did not have to pay for this man's jewelry;
- he had no investment in this kind of inventory. If any of it sold he made a profit, and if it did not, he
- simply returned it all — or as much as could be found — to the salesman at some vague later date.
- Childan made out the tag, listing the items. He signed it and gave a copy to the salesman. 'You
- can give me a call,' he said, 'in a month or so. To find out how it's been doing.'
- Taking the jewelry which he wanted he went off to the back of the store, leaving the salesman to
- gather up his remaining stuff.
- I didn't think he'd go along with it, he thought. You never know. That's why it's always worth
- trying.
- When he next looked up, he saw that the salesman was ready to leave. He had his wicker hamper
- under his arm and the counter was clear. The salesman was coming toward him, holding something
- out.
- 'Yes?' Childan said. He had been going over some correspondence.
- 'I want to leave our card.' The salesman put down an odd-looking little square of gray and red
- paper on Childan's desk. 'Edfrank Custom Jewelry. It has our address and phone number. In case
- you want to get in touch with us.'
- Childan nodded, smiledsilently, and returned to his work.
- When next he paused and looked up the store was empty. The salesman had gone.
- Putting a nickel into the wall dispenser, Childan obtained a cup of hot instant tea which he sipped
- contemplatively.
- I wonder if it will sell, he wondered. Very unlikely. But it is well made. And one never sees
- anything like it. He examined one of the pins. Quite striking design. Certainly not amateurs.
- I'll change the tags. Mark them up a lot higher. Push the handmade angle. And the uniqueness.
- Custom originals. Small sculptures. Wear a work of art. Exclusive creation on your lapel or wrist.
- And there was another notion circulating and growing in the back of Robert Childan's mind.
- With these, there's no problem of authenticity. And that problem may someday wreck the historic
- American artifacts industry. Not today or tomorrow — but after that, who knows.
- Better not to have all irons in one fire. That visit by that Jewish crook; that might be the
- harbinger. If I quietly build up a stock of nonhistoric objects, contemporary work with no
- historicity either real or imagined, I might find I have the edge over the competition. And as long as
- it isn't costing me anything .
- Leaning back his chair so that it rested against the wall he sipped his tea and pondered.
- The Moment changes. One must be ready to change with it. Or otherwise left high and dry.
- Adapt.
- The rule of survival, he thought. Keep eye peeled regarding situation around you. Learn its
- demands. And — meet them. Be there at the right time doing the right thing.
- Be yinnish. The Oriental knows. The smart black yinnish eyes.
- Suddenly he had a good idea; it made him sit upright instantly. Two birds, one stone. Ah. He
- hopped to his feet, excited. Carefully wrap best of jewelry pieces (removing tag, of course). Pin,
- pendant, or bracelet., Something nice, anyhow. Then — since have to leave shop, close up at two as
- it is — saunter over to Kasouras' apartment building. Mr. Kasouras, Paul, will be at work.
- However, Mrs. Kasoura, Betty, will very likely be home.
- Graft gift, this new original U.S. artwork. Compliments of myself personally, in order to obtain
- high-place reaction. This is how a new line is introduced. Isn't it lovely? Whole selection back at
- store; drop in, etc. This one for you, Betty.
- He trembled. Just she and I, midday in the apartment. Husband off at work. All on up and up,
- however; brilliant pretext.
- Airtight!
- Getting a small box plus wrapping paper and ribbon, Robert Childan began preparing a gift for
- Mrs. Kasoura. Dark, attractive woman, slender in her silk Oriental dress, high heels, and so on. Or
- maybe today blue cotton cooliestyle lounging pajamas, very light and comfortable and informal.
- Ah, he thought.
- Or is this too bold? Husband Paul becoming irked. Scenting out and reacting badly. Perhaps go
- slower; take gift to him, to his office? Give much the same story, but to him. Then let him give gift
- to her; no suspicion. And, Robert Childan thought, then I give Betty a call on the phone tomorrow
- or next day to get her reaction.
- Even more airtight!
- When Frank Frink saw his business partner coming back up the sidewalk he could tell that it had
- not gone well.
- 'What happened?' he said, taking the wicker hamper from Ed and putting it in the truck. 'Jesus
- Christ, you were gone an hour and a half. It took him that long to say no?'
- Ed said, 'He didn't say no.' He looked tired. He got into the truck and sat.
- 'What'd he say, then?' Opening the hamper, Frink saw that a good many of the pieces were gone.
- Many of their best. 'He took a lot. What's the matter, then?'
- 'Consignment,' Ed said.
- 'You let him?' He could not believe it. 'We talked it over — '
- 'I don't know how come.'
- 'Christ,' Frink said.
- 'I'm sorry. He acted like he was going to buy it. He picked a lot out. I thought he was buying.'
- They sat together silently in the truck for a long time.
- 10
- It had been a terrible two weeks for Mr. Baynes. From his hotel room he had called the Trade
- Mission every day at noon to ask if the old gentleman had put in an appearance. The answer had
- been an unvarying no. Mr. Tagomi's voice had become colder and more formal each day. As Mr.
- Baynes prepared to make his sixteenth call, he thought, Sooner or later they'll tell me that Mr.
- Tagomi is out. That he isn't accepting any more calls from me. And that will be that.
- What has happened? Where is Mr. Yatabe?
- He had a fairly good idea. The death of Martin Bormann had caused immediate consternation in
- Tokyo. Mr. Yatabe no doubt had been en route to San Francisco, a day or so offshore, when new
- instructions had reached him. Return to the Home Islands for further consultation.
- Bad luck, Mr. Baynes realized. Possibly even fatal.
- But he had to remain where he was, in San Francisco. Still trying to arrange the meeting for
- which he had come. Forty-five minutes by Lufthansa rocket from Berlin, and now this. A weird
- time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what?
- To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope. Falling into an interminable ennui. And
- meanwhile, the others are busy. They are not sitting helplessly waiting.
- Mr. Baynes unfolded the midday edition of the Nippon Times and once more read the headlines.
- DR. GOEBBELS NAMED REICHS CHANCELLOR
- Surprise solution to leadership problem by Partei Committee. Radio speech viewed decisive. Berlin
- crowds cheer. Statement expected. Göring may be named Police Chief over Heydrich.
- He reread the entire article. And then he put the paper once more away, took the phone, and gave
- the Trade Mission number.
- 'This is Mr. Baynes. May I have Mr. Tagomi?'
- 'A moment, sir.'
- A very long moment.
- 'Mr. Tagomi here.'
- Mr. Baynes took a deep breath and said, 'Forgive this situation depressing to us both, sir — '
- 'Ah. Mr. Baynes.'
- 'Your hospitality to me sir, could not be exceeded. Someday I know you will have understanding
- of the reasons which cause me to defer our conference until the old gentleman — '
- 'Regretfully, he has not arrived.'
- Mr. Baynes shut his eyes. 'I thought maybe since yesterday — '
- 'Afraid not, sir.' The barest politeness. 'If you will excuse me, Mr. Baynes. Pressing business.'
- 'Good day, sir.'
- The phone clicked. Today Mr. Tagomi had rung off without even saying good-bye. Mr. Baynes
- slowly hung the receiver.
- I must take action. Can wait no longer.
- It had been made very clear to him by his superiors that he was not to contact the Abwehr under
- any circumstances. He was simply to wait until he had managed to make connections with the
- Japanese military representative; he was to confer with the Japanese, and then he was to return to
- Berlin. But no one had forseen that Bormann would die at this particular moment. Therefore —
- The orders had to be superseded. By more practical advice. His own, in this case, since there was
- no one else to consult.
- In the PSA at least ten Abwehr persons were at work, but some of them — and possibly all —
- were known to the local SD and its competent senior regional chief, Bruno Kreuz vom Meere.
- Years ago he had met Bruno briefly at a Partei gathering. The man had had a certain infamous
- prestige in Police circles, inasmuch as it had been he, in 1943, who had uncovered the BritishCzech
- plot on Reinhard Heydrich's life, and therefore who might be said to have saved the
- Hangman from assassination. In any case, Bruno K.reuz vom Meere was already then ascending in
- authority within the SD. He was not a mere police bureaucrat.
- He was, in fact, a rather dangerous man.
- There was even a possibility that even with all the precautions taken, both on the part of the
- Abwehr in Berlin and the Tokkoka in Tokyo, the SD had learned of this attempted meeting in San
- Francisco in the offices of the Ranking Trade Mission. However, this was after all Japaneseadministered
- land. The SD had no official authority to interfere. It could see to it that the German
- principal — himself in this case — was arrested as soon as he set foot again on Reich territory; but
- it could hardly take action against the Japanese principal, or against the existence of the meeting
- itself.
- At least, so he hoped.
- Was there any possibility that the SD had managed to detain the old Japanese gentleman
- somewhere along the route? It was a long way from Tokyo to San Francisco, especially for a
- person so elderly and frail that he could not attempt air travel.
- What I must do, Mr. Baynes knew, is find out from those above me whether Mr. Yatabe is still
- coming. They would know. If the SD had intercepted him or if the Tokyo Government has recalled
- him — they would know that.
- And if they have managed to get to the old gentleman, he realized, they certainly are going to get
- to me.
- Yet the situation even in those circumstances was not hopeless. An idea had come to Mr. Baynes
- as he waited day after day alone in his room at the Abhirati Hotel.
- It would be better to give my information to Mr. Tagomi than to return to Berlin empty-handed.
- At least that way there would be a chance, even if it is rather slight, that ultimately the proper
- people will be informed. But Mr. Tagomi could only listen; that was the fault in his idea. At best,
- he could hear, commit to memory, and as soon as possible take a business trip back to the Home
- Islands. Whereas Mr. Yatabe stood at policy level. He could both hear — and speak.
- Still, it was better than nothing. The time was growing too short. To begin all over, to arrange
- painstakingly, cautiously, over a period of months once again the delicate contact between a faction
- in Germany and a faction in Japan . . .
- It certainly would surprise Mr. Tagomi, he thought acidly. To suddenly find knowledge of that
- kind resting on his shoulders. A long way from facts about injection molds. . .
- Possibly he might have a nervous breakdown. Either blurt out the information to someone
- around him, or withdraw; pretend, even to himself, that he had not heard it. Simply refuse to
- believe me. Rise to his feet, bow and excuse himself from the room, the moment I begin.
- Indiscreet. He could regard it that way. He is not supposed to hear such matters.
- So easy, Mr. Baynes thought. The way out is so immediate, so available, to him. He thought, I
- wish it was for me.
- And yet in the final anaylsis it is not possible even for Mr. Tagomi. We are no different. He can
- close his ears to the news as it comes from me, comes in the form of words. But later. When it is
- not a matter of words. If! can make that clear to him now. Or to whomever I finally speak —
- Leaving his hotel room, Mr. Baynes descended by elevator to the lobby. Outside on the
- sidewalk, he had the doorman call a pedecab for him, and soon he was on his way up Market Street,
- the Chinese driver pumping away energetically.
- 'There,' he said to the driver, when he made out the sign which he was watching for. 'Pull over to
- the curb.'
- The pedecab stopped by a fire hydrant. Mr. Baynes paid the driver and sent him off. No one
- seemed to have followed. Mr. Baynes set off along the sidewalk on foot. A moment later, along
- with several other shoppers, he entered the big downtown Fuga Department Store.
- There were shoppers everywhere. Counter after counter. Salesgirls, mostly white, with a
- sprinkling of Japanese as department managers. The din was terrific.
- After some confusion Mr. Baynes located the men's clothing department. He stopped at the racks
- of men's trousers and began to inspect them. Presently a clerk, a young white, came over, greeting
- him.
- Mr. Baynes said, 'I have returned for the pair of dark brown wool slacks which I was looking at
- yesterday.' Meeting the clerk's gaze he said, 'You're not the man I spoke to. He was taller. Red
- mustache. Rather thin. On his jacket he had the name Larry.'
- The clerk said, 'He is presently out to lunch. But will return.'
- 'I'll go into a dressing room and try these on,' Mr. Baynes said, taking a pair of slacks from the
- rack.
- 'Certainly, sir.' The clerk indicated a vacant dressing room, and then went off to wait on someone
- else.
- Mr. Baynes entered the dressing room and shut the door. He seated himself on one of the two
- chairs and waited.
- After a few minutes there was a knock. The door of the dressing room opened and a short
- middle-aged Japanese entered. 'You are from out of state, sir?' he said to Mr. Baynes. 'And I am to
- okay your credit? Let me see your identification.' He shut the door behind him.
- Mr. Baynes got out his wallet. The Japanese seated himself with the wallet and began inspecting
- the contents. He halted at a photo of a girl. 'Very pretty.'
- 'My daughter. Martha.'
- 'I, too, have a daughter named Martha,' the Japanese said. 'She at present is in Chicago studying
- piano.'
- 'My daughter,' Mr. Baynes said, 'is about to be married.'
- The Japanese returned the wallet and waited expectantly.
- Mr. Baynes said, 'I have been here two weeks and Mr. Yatabe has not shown up. I want to find
- out if he is still coming. And if not, what I should do.'
- 'Return tomorrow afternoon,' the Japanese said. He rose, and Mr. Baynes also rose. 'Good day.'
- 'Good day,' Mr. Baynes said. He left the dressing room, hung the pair of slacks back up on the
- rack, and left the Fuga Department Store.
- That did not take very long, he thought as he moved along the busy downtown sidewalk with the
- other pedestrians. Can he actually get the information by then? Contact Berlin, relay my questions,
- do all the coding and decoding — every step involved?
- Apparently so.
- Now I wish I had approached the agent sooner. I would have saved myself much worry and
- distress. And evidently no major risk was involved; it all appeared to go off smoothly. It took in
- fact only five or six minutes.
- Mr. Baynes wandered on, looking into store windows. He felt much better now. Presently he
- found himself viewing display photos of honky-tonk cabarets, grimy flyspecked utterly white nudes
- whose breasts hung like half-inflated volleyballs. That sight amused him and he loitered, people
- pushing past him on their various errands up and down Market Street.
- At least he had done something, at last.
- What a relief!
- Propped comfortably against the car door, Juliana read. Beside her, his elbow out the window,
- Joe drove with one hand lightly on the wheel, a cigarette stuck to his lower lip; he was a good
- driver, and they had covered a good deal of the distance from Canon City already.
- The car radio played mushy beer-garden folk music, an accordion band doing one of the
- countless polkas or schottishes; she had never been able to tell them one from another.
- 'Kitsch,' Joe said, when the music ended. 'Listen, I know a lot about music; I'll tell you who a
- great conductor was. You probably don't remember him. Arturo Toscanini.'
- 'No,' she said, still reading.
- 'He was Italian. But the Nazis wouldn't let him conduct after the war, because of his politics. He's
- dead, now. I don't like that von Karajan, permanent conductor of the New York Philharmonic. We
- had to go to concerts by him, our work dorm. What I like, being a wop — you can guess.' He
- glanced at her. 'You like that book?' he said.
- 'It's engrossing.''
- 'I like Verdi and Puccini. All we get in New York is heavy German bombastic Wagner and Orff,
- and we have to go every week to one of those corny U.S. Nazi Party dramatic spectacles at
- Madison Square Garden, with the flags and drums and trumpets and the flickering flame. History of
- the Gothic tribes or other educational crap, chanted instead of spoken, so as to be called 'art.' Did
- you ever see New York before the war?'
- 'Yes,' she said, trying to read.
- 'Didn't they have swell theater in those days? That's what I heard. Now it's the same as the movie
- industry; it's all a cartel in Berlin. In the thirteen years I've been in New York not one good new
- musical or play ever opened, only those — '
- 'Let me read,' Juliana said.
- 'And the same with the book business,' Joe said, unperturbed. 'It's all a cartel operating out of
- Munich. All they do in New York is print; just big printing presses — but before the war, New
- York was the center of the world's publishing industry, or so they say.'
- Putting her fingers in her ears, she concentrated on the page open in her lap, shutting his voice
- out. She had arrived at a section in The Grasshopper which described the fabulous television, and it
- enthralled her; especially the part about the inexpensive little sets for backward people in Africa
- and Asia.
- . . . Only Yankee know-how and the mass-production system — Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, the magic
- names ! — could have done the trick, sent that ceaseless and almost witlessly noble flood of cheap onedollar
- (the China Dollar, the trade dollar) television kits to every village and backwater of the Orient. And
- when the kit had been assembled by some gaunt, feverish-minded youth in the village, starved for a chance,
- for that which the generous Americans held out to him, that tinny little instrument with its built-in power
- supply no larger than a marble began to receive. And what did it receive? Crouching before the screen, the
- youths of the village — and often the elders as well — saw words. Instructions. How to read, first. Then the
- rest. How to dig a deeper well. Plow a deeper furrow. How to purify their water, heal their sick. Overhead,
- the American artificial moon wheeled, distributing the signal, carrying it everywhere . . . to all the waiting,
- avid masses of the East.
- 'Are you reading straight through?' Joe asked. 'Or skipping around in it?'
- She said, 'This is wonderful; he has us sending food and education to all the Asiatics, millions of
- them.'
- 'Welfare work on a worldwide scale,' Joe said.
- 'Yes. The New Deal under Tugwell; they raise the level of the masses — listen.' She read aloud
- to Joe:
- . . . What had China been? Yearning, one needful commingled entity looking toward the West, its great
- democratic President, Chiang Kai-shek, who had led the Chinese people through the years of war, now into
- the years of peace, into the Decade of Rebuilding. But for China it was not a rebuilding, for that almost
- supernaturally vast flat land had never been built, lay still slumbering in the ancient dream. Arousing; yes,
- the entity, the giant, had to partake at last of full consciousness, had to waken into the modern world with its
- jet airplanes and atomic power, its autobahns and factories and medicines. And from whence would come
- the crack of thunder which would rouse the giant? Chiang had known that, even during the struggle to defeat
- Japan. It would come from the United States. And, by 1950, American technicians and engineers, teachers,
- doctors, agronomists, swarming like some new life form into each province, each —
- Interrupting, Joe said, 'You know what he's done, don't you? He's taken the best about Nazism,
- the socialist part, the Todt Organization and the economic advances we got through Speer, and
- who's he giving the credit to? The New Deal. And he's left out the bad part, the SS part, the racial
- extermination and segregation. It's a utopia! You imagine if the Allies had won, the New Deal
- would have been able to revive the economy and make those socialist welfare improvements, like
- he says? Hell no; he's talking about a form of state syndicalism, the corporate state, like we
- developed under the Duce. He's saying, You would have had all the good and none of — '
- 'Let me read,' she said fiercely.
- He shrugged. But he did cease babbling. She read on at once, but to herself.
- . . . And these markets, the countless millions of China, set the factories in Detroit and Chicago to humming;
- that vast mouth could never be filled, those people could not in a hundred years be given enough trucks or
- bricks or steel ingots or clothing or typewriters or canned peas or clocks or radios or nose-drops. The
- American workman, by 1960, had the highest standard of living in the world, and all due to what they
- genteelly called 'the most favored nation' clause in every commercial transaction with the East. The U.S. no
- longer occupied Japan, and she had never occupied China; and yet the fact could not be disputed: Canton
- and Tokyo and Shanghai did not buy from the British; they bought American. And with each sale, the
- workingman in Baltimore or Los Angeles or Atlanta saw a little more prosperity.
- It seemed to the planners, the men of vision in the White House, that they had almost achieved their goal.
- The exploring rocket ships would soon nose cautiously out into the void from a world that had at last seen an
- end to its age-old griefs: hunger, plague, war, ignorance. In the British Empire, equal measures toward
- social and economic progress had brought similar relief to the masses in India, Burma, Africa, the Middle
- East. The factories of the Ruhr, Manchester, of the Saar, the oil of Baku, all flowed and interacted in intricate
- but effective harmony; the populations of Europe basked in what appeared . . .
- 'I think they should be the rulers,' Juliana said, pausing. 'They always were the best. The British.'
- Joe said nothing to that, although she waited. At last she went on reading.
- . . . Realization of Napoleon's vision: rational homogeneity of the diverse ethnic strains which had squabbled
- and balkanized Europe since the collapse of Rome. Vision, too, of Charlemagne: united Christendom, totally
- at peace not only with itself but with the balance of the world. And yet — there still remained one annoying
- sore.
- Singapore.
- The Malay States held a large Chinese population, mostly of the enterprising business class, and these
- thrifty, industrious bourgeois saw in American administration of China a more equitable treatment of what
- was called 'the native.' Under British rule, the darker races were excluded from the country clubs, the hotels,
- the better restaurants; they found themselves, as in archaic times, confined to particular sections of the train
- and bus and — perhaps worst of all — limited to their choice of residence within each city. These 'natives'
- discerned, and noted in their table conversations and newspapers, that in the U.S .A. the color problem had
- by 1950 been solved. Whites and Negroes lived and worked and ate shoulder by shoulder, even in the Deep
- South; World War Two had ended discrimination. . .
- 'Is there trouble?' Juliana asked Joe.
- He grunted, keeping his eyes on the road.
- 'Tell me what happens,' she said. 'I know! won't get to finish it; we'll be in Denver pretty soon.
- Do America and Britain get into a war, and one emerges as ruler of the world?'
- Presently Joe said, 'In some ways it's not a bad book. He works all the details out; the U.S. has
- the Pacific, about like our East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. They divide Russia. It works for around
- ten years. Then there's trouble — naturally.'
- 'Why naturally?'
- 'Human nature.' Joe added, 'Nature of states. Suspicion, fear, greed. Churchill thinks the U.S.A.
- is undermining British rule in South Asia by appealing to the large Chinese populations, who
- naturally are pro-U.S.A., due to Chiang Kai-shek. The British start setting up' ' — he grinned at her
- briefly — 'what are called 'detention preserves.' Concentration camps, in other words. For
- thousands of maybe disloyal Chinese. They're accused of sabotage and propaganda. Churchill is so
- — '
- 'You mean he's still in power? Wouldn't he be around ninety?'
- Joe said, 'That's where the British system has it over the American. Every eight years the U.S.
- boots out its leaders, no matter how qualified — but Churchill just stays on. The U.S. doesn't have
- any leadership like him, after Tugwell. Just nonentities. And the older he gets, the more autocratic
- and rigid he gets — Churchill, I mean. Until by 1960, he's like some old warlord out of Central
- Asia; nobody can cross him. He's been in power twenty years.'
- 'Good God,' she said, leafing through the last part of the book, searching for verification of what
- Joe was saying.
- 'On that I agree,' Joe said. 'Churchill was the one good leader the British had during the war; if
- they'd retained him they'd have been better off. I tell you; a state is no better than its leader.
- Fuhrerprinzip — Principle of Leadership, like the Nazis say. They're right. Even this Abendsen has
- to face that. Sure, the U.S.A. expands- economically after winning the war over Japan, because it's
- got that huge market in Asia that it's wrested from the Japs. But that's not enough; that's got no
- spirituality. Not that the British have. They're both plutocracies, rule by the rich. If they had won,
- all they'd have thought about was making more money, that upper class. Abendsen, he's wrong;
- there would be no social reform, no welfare public works plans — the Anglo-Saxon plutocrats
- wouldn't have permitted it.'
- Juliana thought, Spoken like a devout Fascist.
- Evidently Joe perceived by her expression what she was thinking; he turned toward her, slowing
- the car, one eye on her, one on the cars ahead. 'Listen, I'm not an intellectual — Fascism has no
- need of that. What is wanted is the deed. Theory derives from action. What our corporate state
- demands from us is comprehension of the social forces-of history. You see? I tell you; I know,
- Juliana.' His tone was earnest, almost beseeching. 'Those old rotten money-run empires, Britain and
- France and U.S.A., although the latter actually a sort of bastard sideshoot, not strictly empire, but
- money-oriented even so. They had no soul, so naturally no future. No growth. Nazis a bunch of
- street thugs; I agree. You agree? Right?'
- She had to smile; his Italian mannerisms had overpowered him in his attempt to drive and make
- his speech simultaneously.
- 'Abendsen talks like it's big issue as to whether U.S. or Britain ultimately wins out. Bull! Has no
- merit, no history to it. Six of one, dozen of other. You ever read what the Duce wrote? Inspired.
- Beautiful man. Beautiful writing. Explains the underlying actuality of every event. Real issue in
- war was: old versus new. Money — that's why Nazis dragged Jewish question mistakenly into it —
- versus communal mass spirit, what Nazis call Gemeinschaft — folkness. Like Soviet. Commune.
- Right? Only, Communists sneaked in Pan-Slavic Peter the Great empire ambitions along with it,
- made social reform means for imperial ambitions.'
- Juliana thought, Like Mussolini did. Exactly.
- 'Nazi thuggery a tragedy,' Joe stuttered away as he passed a slow-moving truck. 'But change's
- always harsh on the loser. Nothing new. Look at previous revolutions such as French. Or Cromwell
- against Irish. Too much philosophy in Germanic temperament; too much theater, too. All those
- rallies. You never find true Fascist talking, only doing — like me. Right?'
- Laughing, she said, 'God, you've been talking a mile a minute.'
- He shouted excitedly, 'I'm explaining Fascist theory of action!'
- She couldn't answer; it was too funny.
- But the man beside her did not think it was funny; he glowered at her, his face red. Veins in his
- forehead became distended and he began once more to shake. And again he passed his fingers
- clutchingly along his scalp, forward and back, not speaking, only staring at her.
- 'Don't get sore at me,' she said.
- For a moment she thought he was going to hit her; he drew his arm back . . . but then he grunted,
- reached and turned up the car radio.
- They drove on. Band music from the radio, static. Once more she tried to concentrate on the
- book.
- 'You're right,' Joe said after a long time.
- 'About what?'
- 'Two-bit empire. Clown for a leader. No wonder we got nothing out of the war.'
- She patted his arm.
- 'Juliana, it's all darkness,' Joe said. 'Nothing is true or certain. Right?'
- 'Maybe so,' she said absently, continuing to try to read.
- 'Britain wins,' Joe said, indicating the book. 'I save you the trouble. U.S. dwindles, Britain keeps
- needling and poking and expanding, keeps the initiative. So put it away.'
- 'I hope we have fun in Denver,' she said, closing the book. 'You need to relax. I want you to.' If
- you don't, she thought, you're going to fly apart in a million pieces. Like a bursting spring. And
- what happens tome, then? How do I get back? And — do I just leave you?
- I want the good time you promised me, she thought. I don't want to be cheated; I've been cheated
- too much in my life before, by too many people.
- 'We'll have it,' Joe said. 'Listen.' He studied her with a queer, introspective expression. 'You take
- to that Grasshopper book so much; I wonder — do you suppose a man who writes a best seller, an
- author like that Abendsen do people write letters to him? I bet lots of people praise his book by
- letters to him, maybe even visit.'
- All at once she understood. 'Joe — it's only another hundred miles!'
- His eyes shone; he smiled at her, happy again, no longer flushed or troubled.
- 'We could!' she said. 'You drive so good — it'd be nothing to go on up there, would it?'
- Slowly, Joe said, 'Well, I doubt a famous man lets visitors drop in. Probably so many of them.'
- 'Why not try? Joe — ' She grabbed his shoulder, squeezed him excitedly. 'All he could do is send
- us away. Please.'
- With great deliberation, Joe said, 'When we've gone shopping and got new clothes, all spruced
- up. . . that's important, to make a good impression. And maybe even rent a new car up in Cheyenne.
- Bet you can do that.'
- 'Yes,' she said. 'And you need a haircut. And let me pick your clothes; please, Joe. I used to pick
- Frank's clothes for him; a man can never buy his own clothes.'
- 'You got good taste in clothes,' Joe said, once more turning toward the road ahead, gazing out
- somberly. 'In other ways, too. Better if you call him. Contact him.'
- 'I'll get my hair done,' she said.
- 'Good.'
- 'I'm not scared at all to walk up and ring the bell,' Juliana said. 'I mean, you live only once. Why
- should we be intimidated? He's just a man like the rest of us. In fact, he probably would be pleased
- to know somebody drove so far just to tell him how much they liked his book. We can get an
- autograph on the book, on the inside where they do that. Isn't that so? We better buy a new copy;
- this one is all stained. It wouldn't look good.'
- 'Anything you want,' Joe said. 'I'll let you decide all the details; I know you can do it. Pretty girl
- always gets everyone; when he sees what a knockout you are he'll open the door wide. But listen;
- no monkey business.'
- 'What do you mean?'
- 'You say we're married. I don't want you getting mixed up with him — you know. That would be
- dreadful. Wreck everyone's existence; some reward for him to let visitors in, some irony. So watch
- it, Juliana.'
- 'You can argue with him,' Juliana said. 'That part about Italy losing the war by betraying them;
- tell him what you told me.'
- Joe nodded. 'That's so. We can discuss the whole subject.'
- They drove swiftly on.
- At seven o'clock the following morning, PSA reckoning, Mr. Nobusuke Tagomi rose from bed,
- started toward the bathroom, then changed his mind and went directly to the oracle.
- Seated cross-legged on the floor of his living room he began manipulating the forty-nine yarrow
- stalks. He had a deep sense of the urgency of his questioning, and he worked at a feverish pace
- until at last he had the six lines before him.
- Shock! Hexagram Fifty-one!
- God appears in the sign of the Arousing. Thunder and lightning. Sounds — he involuntarily put
- his fingers up to cover his ears. Ha-ha! Ho-ho! Great burst that made him wince and blink. Lizard
- scurries and tiger roars, and out comes God Himself!
- What does it mean? He peered about his living room. Arrival of — what? He hopped to his feet
- and stood panting, waiting.
- Nothing. Heart pounding. Respiration and all somatic processes, including all manner of
- diencephalic-controlled autonomic responses to crisis: adrenalin, greater heartbeat, pulse rate,
- glands pouring, throat paralyzed, eyes staring, bowels loose, et al. Stomach queasy and sex instinct
- suppressed.
- And yet, nothing to see; nothing for body to do. Run? All in preparation for panic flight. But
- where to and why? Mr. Tagomi asked himself. No clue. Therefore impossible. Dilemma of
- civilized man; body mobilized, but danger obscure.
- He went to the bathroom and began lathering his face to shave.
- The telephone rang.
- 'Shock,' he said aloud, putting down his razor. 'Be prepared.' He walked rapidly from the
- bathroom, back into the living room. 'I am prepared,' he said, and lifted the receiver. 'Tagomi, here.'
- His voice squeaked and he cleared his throat.
- A pause. And then a faint, dry, rustling voice, almost like old leaves far off, said, 'Sir. This is
- Shinjiro Yatabe. I have arrived in San Francisco.'
- 'Greetings from the Ranking Trade Mission,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'How glad I am. You are in good
- health and relaxed?'
- 'Yes, Mr. Tagomi. When may I meet you?'
- 'Quite soon. In half an hour.' Mr. Tagomi peered at the bedroom clock, trying to read it. 'A third
- party: Mr. Baynes. I must contact him. Possibly delay, but — '
- 'Shall we say two hours, sir?' Mr. Yatabe said.
- 'Yes,' Mr. Tagomi said, bowing.
- 'At your office in the Nippon Times Building.'
- Mr. Tagomi bowed once more.
- Click. Mr. Yatabe had rung off.
- Pleased Mr. Baynes, Mr. Tagomi thought. Delight on order of cat tossed piece of salmon, for
- instance fatty nice tail. He jiggled the hook, then dialed speedily the Adhirati Hotel.
- 'Ordeal concluded,' he said, when Mr. Baynes' sleepy voice came on the wire.
- At once the voice ceased to be sleepy. 'He's here?'
- 'My office,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'Ten-twenty. Goodbye.' He hung up and ran back to the bathroom
- to finish shaving. No time for breakfast; have Mr. Ramsey scuttle about after office arrival
- completed. All three of us perhaps can indulge simultaneously — in his mind as he shaved he
- planned a fine breakfast for them all.
- In his pajamas, Mr. Baynes stood at the phone, rubbing his forehead and thinking. A shame I
- broke down and made contact with that agent, he thought. If I had waited only one day more . .
- But probably no harm's been done. Yet he was supposed to return to the department store today.
- Suppose I don't show up? It may start a chain reaction; they'll think I've been murdered or some
- such thing. An attempt will be made to trace me.
- It doesn't matter. Because he's here. At last. The waiting is over.
- Mr. Baynes hurried to the bathroom and prepared to shave.
- I have no doubt that Mr. Tagomi will recognize him the moment he meets him, he decided. We
- can drop the 'Mr. Yatabe' cover, now. In fact, we can drop all covers, all pretenses.
- As soon as he had shaved, Mr. Baynes hopped into the shower. As water roared around him he
- sang at the top of his lungs:
- 'Wer reitet so spat,
- Durch Nacht und den Wind?
- Es ist der Vater
- Mit seinem Kind.'
- It is probably too late now for the SD to do anything, he thought. Even if they find out. So
- perhaps I can cease worrying; at least, the trivial worry. The finite, private worry about my own
- particular skin.
- But as to the rest — we can just begin.
- 11
- For the Reichs Consul in San Francisco, Freiherr Hugo Reiss, the first business of this particular
- day was unexpected and distressing. When he arrived at his office he found a visitor waiting
- already, a large, heavy-jawed, middle-aged man with pocked skin and disapproving scowl that
- drew his black, tangled eyebrows together. The man rose and made a Partei salute, at the same time
- murmuring, 'Heil.'
- Reiss said, 'Heil.' He groaned inwardly, but maintained a businesslike formal smile. 'Herr Kreuz
- vom Meere. I am surprised. Won't you come in?' He unlocked his inner office, wondering where
- his vice-consul was, and who had let the SD chief in. Anyhow, here the man was. There was
- nothing to be done.
- Following along after him, his hands in the pockets of his dark wool overcoat, Kreuz vom Meere
- said, 'Listen, Freiherr. We located this Abwehr fellow. This Rudolf Wegener. He showed up at an
- old Abwehr drop we have under surveillance.' Kreuz vom Meere chuckled, showing enormous gold
- teeth. 'And we trailed him back to his hotel.'
- 'Fine,' Reiss said, noticing that his mail was on his desk. So Pferdehuf was around somewhere.
- No doubt he had left the office locked to keep the SD chief from a little informal snooping.
- 'This is important,' Kruez vom Meere said. 'I notified Kaltenbrunner about it. Top priority. You'll
- probably be getting word from Berlin any time now. Unless those Unratfressers back home get it
- all mixed up.' He seated himself on the consul's desk, took a wad of folded paper from his coat
- pocket, unfolded the paper laboriously, his lips moving. 'Cover name is Baynes. Posing as a
- Swedish industrialist or salesman or something connected with manufacturing. Receivedphone call
- this morning at eight-ten from Japanese official regarding appointment at ten-twenty in the Jap's
- office. We're presently trying to trace the call. Probably will have it traced in another half hour.
- They'll notify me here.'
- 'I see,' Reiss said.
- 'Now, we may pick up this fellow,' Kreuz vom Meere continued. 'If we do, we'll naturally send
- him back to the Reich aboard the next Lufthansa plane. However, the Japs or Sacramento may
- protest and try to block it. They'll protest to you, if they do. In fact, they may bring enormous
- pressure to bear. And they'll run a truckload of those Tokkoka toughs to the airport.'
- 'You can't keep them from finding out?'
- 'Too late. He's on his way to this appointment. We may have to pick him up right there on the
- spot. Run in, grab him, run out.'
- 'I don't like that,' Reiss said. 'Suppose his appointment is with some extremely high-place Jap
- officials? There may be an Emperor's personal representative in San Francisco, right now. I heard a
- rumor the other day — '
- Kreuz vom Meere interrupted. 'It doesn't matter. He's a German national. Subject to Reichs law.'
- And we know what Reichs law is, Reiss thought.
- 'I have a Kommando squad ready,' Kreuz vom Meere went on. 'Five good men.' He chuckled.
- 'They look like violinists. Nice ascetic faces. Soulful. Maybe like divinity students. They'll get in.
- The Japs'll think they're a string quartet — '
- 'Quintet,' Reiss said.
- 'Yes. They'll walk right up to the door — they're dressed just right.' He surveyed the consul.
- 'Pretty much as you are.'
- Thank you, Reiss thought.
- 'Right in plain sight. Broad daylight. Up to this Wegener. Gather around him. Appear to be
- conferring. Message of importance.' Kreuz vom Meere droned on, while the consul began opening
- his mail 'No violence. Just, 'Herr Wegener. Come with us, please. You understand.' And between
- the vertebrae of his spine a little shaft. Pump. Upper ganglia paralyzed.'
- Reiss nodded.
- 'Are you listening?'
- 'Ganz bestimmt.'
- 'Then out again. To the car. Back to my office. Japs make a lot of racket. But polite to the last.'
- Kreuz vom Meere lumbered from the desk to pantomime a Japanese bowing.
- '"Most vulgar to deceive us, Herr Kruez vom Meere. However, good-bye, Herr Wegener — "'
- 'Baynes,' Reiss said. 'Isn't he using his cover name?'
- 'Baynes. 'So sorry to see you go. Plenty more talk maybe next time.' ' The phone on Reiss' desk
- rang, and Kreuz vom Meere ceased his prank. 'That may be for me.' He started to answer it; but
- Reiss stepped to it and took it himself.
- 'Reiss, here.'
- An unfamiliar voice said, 'Consul, this is the Ausland Fernsprechamt at Nova Scotia.
- Transatlantic telephone call for you from Berlin, urgent.'
- 'All right,' Reiss said.
- 'Just a moment, Consul.' Faint static, crackles. Then another voice, a woman operator. 'Kanzlei.'
- 'Yes, this is Ausland Fernsprechamt at Nova Scotia. Call for the Reichs Consul H. Reiss, San
- Francisco; I have the consul on the line.'
- 'Hold on.' A long pause, during which Reiss continued, with one hand, to inspect his mail. Kreuz
- vom Meere watched slackly. 'Herr Konsul, sorry to take your time.' A man's voice. The blood in
- Reiss' veins instantly stopped its motion. Baritone, cultivated, rolling-out-smooth voice familiar to
- Reiss. 'This is Doktor Goebbels.'
- 'Yes, Kanzler.' Across from Reiss, Kreuz vom Meere slowly showed a smile. The slack jaw
- ceased to hang.
- 'General Heydrich has just asked me to call you. There is an agent of the Abwehr there in San
- Francisco. His name is Rudolf Wegener. You are to cooperate fully with the police regarding him.
- There isn't time to give you details. Simply put your office at their disposal. Ich danke Ihnen sehr
- dabei.'
- 'I understand, Herr Kanzler,' Reiss said.
- 'Good day, Konsul.' The Reichskanzler rang off.
- Kreuz vom Meere watched intently as Reiss hung up the phone. 'Was I right?'
- Reiss shrugged. 'No dispute, there.'
- 'Write out an authorization for us to return this Wegener to Germany forcibly.'
- Picking up his pen, Reiss wrote out the authorization, signed it, handed it to the SD chief.
- 'Thank you,' Kreuz vorn Meere said. 'Now, when the Jap authorities call you and complain — '
- 'If they do.'
- Kreuz vom Meere eyed him. 'They will. They'll be here within fifteen minutes of the time we
- pick this Wegener up.' He had lost his joking, clowning manner.
- 'No string quintet violinists,' Reiss said.
- Kreuz vom Meere did not answer. 'We'll have him sometime this morning, so be ready. You can
- tell the Japs that he's a homosexual or a forger, or something like that. Wanted for a major crime
- back home. Don't tell them he's wanted for political crimes. You know they don't recognize ninety
- percent of National Socialist law.'
- 'I know that,' Reiss said. 'I know what to do.' He felt irritable and put upon. Went over my head,
- he said to himself. As usual. Contacted the Chancery. The bastards.
- His hands were shaking. Call from Doctor Goebbels; did that do it? Awed by the mighty? Or is it
- resentment, feeling of being hemmed in. . . goddam these police, he thought. They get stronger all
- the time. They've got Goebbels working for them already; they're running the Reich.
- But what can I do? What can anybody do?
- Resignedly he thought, Better cooperate. No time to be on the wrong side of this man; he can
- probably get whatever he wants back home, and that might include the dismissal of everybody
- hostile to him.
- 'I can see,' he said aloud, 'that you did not exaggerate the importance of this matter, Herr
- Polizeifuhrer. Obviously, the security of Germany herself hangs on your quick detection of this spy
- or traitor or whatever he is.' Inwardly, he cringed to hear his choice of words.
- However, Kreuz vom Meere looked pleased. 'Thank you, Consul.'
- 'You may have saved us all.'
- Gloomily Kreuz vom Meere said, 'Well, we haven't picked him up. Let's wait for that. I wish that
- call would come.'
- I'll handle the Japanese,' Reiss said. 'I've had a good deal of experience, as you know. Their
- complaints — '
- 'Don't ramble on,' Kreuz vom Meere interrupted. 'I have to think.' Evidently the call from the
- Chancery had bothered him; he, too, felt under pressure now.
- Possibly this fellow will get away, and it will cost you your job. Consul Hugo Reiss thought. My
- job, your job — we both could find ourselves out on the street any time. No more security for you
- than for me.
- In fact, he thought, it might be worth seeing how a little foot-dragging here and there could
- possibly stall your activities, Herr Polizeifuhrer. Something negative that could never be pinned
- down. For instance, when the Japanese come in here to complain, I might manage to drop a hint as
- to the Lufthansa flight on which this fellow is to be dragged away . . . or barring that, needle them
- into a bit more outrage by, say, just the trace of a contemptuous smirk — suggesting that the Reich
- is amused by them, doesn't take little yellow men seriously. It's easy to sting them. And if they get
- angry enough, they might carry it directly to Goebbels.
- All sorts of possibilities. The SD can't really get this fellow out of the PSA without my active
- cooperation. If I can only hit on precisely the right twist . . .
- I hate people who go over my head, Freiherr Reiss said to himself. It makes me too damn
- uncomfortable. It makes me so nervous that I can't sleep, and when I can't sleep I can't do my job.
- So lowe it to Germany to correct this problem. I'd be a lot more comfortable at night and in the
- daytime, too, for that matter, if this low-class Bavarian thug were back home writing up reports in
- some obscure Gau police station.
- The trouble is, there's not the time. While I'm trying to decide how to —
- The phone rang.
- This time Kreuz vom Meere reached out to take it and Consul Reiss did not bar the way. 'Hello,'
- Kreuz vom Meere said into the receiver. A moment of silence as he listened.
- Already? Reiss thought.
- But the SD chief was holding out the phone. 'For you.'
- Secretly relaxing with relief, Reiss took the phone.
- 'It's some schoolteacher,' Kreuz vom Meere said. 'Wants to know if you can give them scenic
- posters of Austria for their class.'
- Toward eleven o'clock in the morning, Robert Childan shut up his store and set off, on foot, for
- Mr. Paul Kasoura's business office.
- Fortunately, Paul was not busy. He greeted Childan politely and offered him tea.
- 'I will not bother you long,' Childan said after they had both begun sipping. Paul's office,
- although small, was mod. em and simply furnished. On the wall one single superb print: Mokkei's
- Tiger, a late-thirteenth-century masterpiece.
- 'I'm always happy to see you, Robert,' Paul said, in a tone that held — Childan thought —
- perhaps a trace of aloofness.
- Or perhaps it was his imagination. Childan glanced cautiously over his teacup. The man certainly
- looked friendly. And yet — Childan sensed a change.
- 'Your wife,' Childan said, 'was disappointed by my crude gift. I possibly insulted. However, with
- something new and untried, as I explained to you when I grafted it to you, no proper or final
- evaluation can be made — at least not by someone in the purely business end. Certainly, you and
- Betty are in a better position to judge than I.'
- Paul said, 'She was not disappointed, Robert. I did not give the piece of jewelry to her.' Reaching
- into his desk, he brought out the small white box. 'It has not left this office.'
- He knows, Childan thought. Smart man. Never even told her. So that's that. Now, Childan
- realized; let's hope he's not going to rave at me. Some kind of accusation about my trying to seduce
- his wife.
- He could ruin me, Childan said to himself. Carefully he continued sipping his tea, his face
- impassive.
- 'Oh?' he said mildly. 'Interesting.'
- Paul opened the box, brought out the pin and began inspecting it. He held it to the light, turned it
- over and around.
- 'I took the liberty of showing this to a number of business acquaintances,' Paul said, 'individuals
- who share my taste for American historic objects or for artifacts of general artistic, esthetic merit.'
- He eyed Robert Childan. 'None of course had ever seen such as this before. As you explained, no
- such contemporary work hithertofore has been known. I think, too, you informed that you are sole
- representative.''
- 'Yes, that is so,' Childan said.
- 'You wish to hear their reaction?'
- Childan bowed.
- 'These persons,' Paul said, 'laughed.'
- Childan was silent.
- 'Yet I, too, laughed behind my hand, invisible to you,' Paul said, 'the other day when you
- appeared and showed me this thing. Naturally to protect your sangfroid, I concealed that
- amusement; as you no doubt recall, I remained more or less noncommittal in my apparent reaction.'
- Childan nodded.
- Studying the pin, Paul went on. 'One can easily understand this reaction. Here is a piece of metal
- which has been melted until it has become shapeless. It represents nothing. Nor does it have design,
- of any intentional sort. It is merely amorphous. One might say, it is mere content, deprived of
- form.'
- Childan nodded.
- 'Yet,' Paul said, 'I have for several days now inspected it, and for no logical reason I feel a
- certain emotional fondness. Why is that? I may ask. I do not even now project into this blob, as in
- psychological German tests, my own psyche. I still see no shapes or forms. But it somehow
- partakes of Tao. You see?' He motioned Childan over. 'It is balanced. The forces within this piece
- are stabilized. At rest. So to speak, this object has made its peace with the universe. It has separated
- from it and hence has managed to come to homeostasis.'
- Childan nodded, studied the piece. But Paul had lost him.
- 'It does not have wabi,' Paul said, 'nor could it ever. But — ' He touched the pin with his nail.
- 'Robert, this object has wu.'
- 'I believe you are right,' Childan said, trying to recall what wu was; it was not a Japanese word —
- it was Chinese. Wisdom, he decided. Or comprehension. Anyhow, it was highly good.
- 'The hands of the artificer,' Paul said, 'had wu, and allowed that wu to flow into this piece.
- Possibly he himself knows only that this piece satisfies. It is complete, Robert. By contemplating it,
- we gain more wu ourselves. We experience the tranquility associated not with art but with holy
- things. I recall a shrine in Hiroshima wherein a shinbone of some medieval saint could be
- examined. However, this is an artifact and that was a relic. This is alive in the now, whereas that
- merely remained. By this meditation, conducted by myself at great length since you were last here,
- I have come to identify the value which this has in opposition to historicity. I am deeply moved, as
- you may see.'
- 'Yes,' Childan said.
- 'To have no historicity, and also no artistic, esthetic worth, and yet to partake of some ethereal
- value — that is a marvel. Just precisely because this a miserable, small, worthless-looking blob;
- that, Robert, contributes to its possessing wu. For it is a fact that wu is customarily found in least
- imposing places, as in the Christian aphorism, 'stones rejected by the builder.' One experiences
- awareness of wu in such trash as an old stick, or a rusty beer can by the side of the road. However,
- in those cases, the wu is within the viewer. It is a religious experience. Here, an artificer has put wu
- into the object, rather than merely witnessed the wu inherent in it.' He glanced up. 'Am I making
- myself clear?'
- 'Yes,' Childan said.
- 'In other words, an entire new world is pointed to, by this. The name for it is neither art, for it has
- no form, nor religion. What is it? I have pondered this pin unceasingly, yet cannot fathom it. We
- evidently lack the word for an object like this. So you are right, Robert. It is authentically a new
- thing on the face of the world.'
- Authentic, Childan thought. Yes, it certainly is. I catch that notion. But as to the rest —
- 'Having meditated to this avail,' Paul continued, 'I next called back in here the self same business
- acquaintances. I took it upon myself, as I have done with you just now, to deliver an expostulation
- devoid of tact. This subject carries authority which compels an abandonment of propriety, so great
- is the necessity of delivering the awareness itself. I required that these individuals listen.'
- Childan knew that for a Japanese such as Paul to fOrce his ideas on other persons was an almost
- incredible situation.
- 'The result,' Paul said, 'was sanguine. They were able to adopt under such duress my viewpoint;
- they perceived what I had delineated. So it was worth it. Having done that, I rested. Nothing more,
- Robert. I am exhausted.' He laid the pin back in the box. 'Responsibility with me has ended.
- Discharged.' He pushed the box to Childan.
- 'Sir, it's yours,' Childan said, feeling apprehensive; the situation did not fit any model he had ever
- experienced. A high-placed Japanese lauding to the skies a gift grafted to him — and then returning
- it. Childan felt his knees wobble. He did not have any idea what to do; he stood plucking at his
- sleeve, his face flushing.
- Calmly, even harshly, Paul said, 'Robert, you must face reality with more courage.'
- Blanching, Childan stammered, 'I'm confused by — '
- Paul stood up, facing him. 'Take heed. The task is yours. You are the sole agent for this piece and
- others of its ilk. Also you are a professional. Withdraw for a period into isolation. Meditate,
- possibly consult the Book of Changes. Then study your window displays, your ads, your system of
- merchandising.'
- Childan gaped at him.
- 'You will see your way,' Paul said. 'How you must go about putting these objects over in a big
- fashion.'
- Childan felt stunned. The man's telling me I'm obliged to assume moral responsibility for the
- Edfrank jewelry! Crackpot neurotic Japanese world view: nothing less than number-one spiritual
- and business relationship with the jewelry tolerable in the eyes of Paul Kasoura.
- And the worst part of it was that Paul certainly spoke with authority, right out of dead center of
- Japanese culture and tradition.
- Obligation, he thought bitterly. It could stick with him the rest of his life, once incurred. Right to
- the grave itself. Paul had — to his own satisfaction, anyhow — discharged his. But Childan's; ah,
- that regrettably had the earmark of being unending.
- They're out of their minds, Childan said to himself. Example: they won't help a hurt man up from
- the gutter due to the obligation it imposes. What do you call that? I say that's typical; just what
- you'd expect from a race that when told to duplicate a British destroyer managed even to copy the
- patches on the boiler as well as —
- Paul was eying him intently. Fortunately, long habit had caused Childan to suppress any show of
- authentic feelings automatically. He assumed a bland, sober expression, persona that correctly
- matched the nature of the situation. He could sense it there, the mask.
- This is dreadful, Childan realized. A catastrophe. Better Paul had thought I was trying to seduce
- his wife.
- Betty. There was no chance now that she would see the piece, that his original plan would come
- off. Wu was incompatible with sexuality; it was, as Paul said. solemn and holy, like a relic.
- 'I gave each of these individuals one of your cards,' Paul said.
- 'Pardon?' Childan said, preoccupied.
- 'Your business cards. So that they could come in and inspect other examples.'
- 'I see,' Childan said.
- 'There is one more thing,' Paul said. 'One of these individuals wishes to discuss this entire subject
- with you at his location. I have written out his name and address.' Paul handed Childan a folded
- square of paper. 'He wants his business colleagues to hear.' Paul added, 'He is an importer. He
- imports and exports on a mass basis. Especially to South America. Radios, cameras, binoculars,
- tape recorders, the like.'
- Childan gazed down at the paper.
- 'He deals, of course, in immense quantity.' Paul said. 'Perhaps tens of thousands of each item. His
- company controls various enterprises that manufacture for him at low overhead, all located in the
- Orient where there is cheaper labor.''
- 'Why is he — ' Childan began.
- Paul said, 'Pieces such as this. . .' He picked up the pin once more, briefly. Closing the lid, he
- returned the box to Childan. '. . . can be mass-produced. Either in base metal or plastic. From a
- mold. In any quantity desired.'
- After a time Childan said, 'What about wu? Will that remain in the pieces?'
- Paul said nothing.
- 'You advise me to see him?' Childan said.
- 'Yes,' Paul said.
- 'Why?'
- 'Charms,' Paul said.
- Childan stared.
- 'Good-luck charms. To be worn. By relatively poor people. A line of amulets to be peddled all
- over Latin America and the Orient. Most of the masses still believe in magic, you know. Spells.
- Potions. It's a big business, I am told.' Paul's face was wooden, his voice toneless.
- 'It sounds,' Childan said slowly, 'as if there would be a good deal of money in it.'
- Paul nodded.
- 'Was this your idea?' Childan said.
- 'No,' Paul said. He was silent, then.
- Your employer, Childan thought. You showed the piece to your superior, who knows this
- importer. Your superior — or some influential person over your head, someone who has power
- over you, someone rich and big — contacted this importer.
- That's why you're giving it back to me, Childan realized. You want no part of this. But you know
- what I know: that I will go to this address and see this man. I have to. I have no choice. I will lease
- the designs, or sell them on a percentage basis; some deal will be made between me and this party.
- Clearly out of your hands. Entirely. Bad taste on your part to presume to stop me or argue with
- me.
- 'There is a chance here for you,' Paul said, 'to become extremely wealthy.' He continued to gaze
- stoically ahead.
- 'The idea strikes me as bizarre,' Childan said. 'Making good-luck charms out of such art objects; I
- can't imagine it.'
- 'For it is not your natural line of business. You are devoted to the savored esoteric. Myself, I am
- the same. And so are those individuals who will shortly visit your store, those whom I mentioned.'
- Childan said, 'What would you do if you were me?'
- 'Don't under-evaluate the possibility suggested by the esteemed importer. He is a shrewd
- personage. You and I — we have no awareness of the vast number of uneducated. They can obtain
- from mold-produced identical objects a joy which would be denied to us. We must suppose that we
- have the only one of a kind, or at least something rare, possessed by a very few. And, of course,
- something truly authentic. Not a model or replica.' He continued to gaze past Childan, at empty
- space. 'Not something cast by the tens of thousands.'
- Has he stumbled onto correct notion, Childan wondered, that certain of the historic objects in
- stores such as mine (not to mention many items in his personal collection) are imitations? There
- seems a trace of hint in his words. As if in ironic undertone he is telling me a message quite
- different from what appears. Ambiguity, as one trips over in the oracle . . . quality, as they say, of
- the Oriental mind.
- Childan thought, He's actually saying: Which are you Robert? He whom the oracle calls 'the
- inferior man,' or that other for whom all the good advice is meant? Must decide, here. You may trot
- on one way or the other, but not both. Moment of choice now.
- And which way will the superior man go? Robert Childan inquired of himself. At least according
- to Paul Kasoura. And what we have before us here isn't a many-thousand-year-old compilation of
- divinely inspired wisdom; this is merely the opinion of one mortal — one young Japanese
- businessman.
- Yet, there's a kernel to it. Wu, as Paul would say. The wu of this situation is this: whatever our
- personal dislikes, there can be no doubt, the reality lies in the importer's direction. Too bad for what
- we had intended; we must adapt, as the oracle states.
- And after all, the originals can still be sold in my shop. To connoisseurs, as for example Paul's
- friends.
- 'You wrestle with yourself,' Paul observed. 'No doubt it is in such a situation that one prefers to
- be alone.' He had started toward the office door.
- 'I have already decided.'
- Paul's eyes flickered.
- Bowing, Childan said, 'I will follow your advice. Now I will leave to visit the importer.' He held
- up the folded slip of paper.
- Oddly, Paul did not seem pleased; he merely grunted and returned to his desk. They contain their
- emotions to the last, Childan reflected.
- 'Many thanks for your business help,' Childan said as he made ready to depart. 'Someday I will if
- possible reciprocate. I will remember.'
- But still the young Japanese showed no reaction. Too true, Childan thought, what we used to say:
- they are inscrutable.
- Accompanying him to the door, Paul seemed deep in thought. All at once he blurted, 'American
- artisans made this piece hand by hand, correct? Labor of their personal bodies?'
- 'Yes, from initial design to final polish.'
- 'Sir! Will these artisans play along? I would imagine they dreamed otherwise for their work.'
- 'I'd hazard they could be persuaded,' Childan said; the problem, to him, appeared minor.
- 'Yes,' Paul said. 'I suppose so.'
- Something in his tone made Robert Childan take sudden note. A nebulous and peculiar emphasis,
- there. And then it swept over Childan. Without a doubt he had split the ambiguity — he saw.
- Of course. Whole affair a cruel dismissal of American efforts, taking place before his eyes.
- Cynicism, but God forbid, he had swallowed hook, line and sinker. Got me to agree, step by step,
- led me along the garden path to this conclusion: products of American hands good for nothing but
- to be models for junky good-luck charms.
- This was how the Japanese ruled, not crudely but with subtlety, ingenuity, timeless cunning.
- Christ! We're barbarians compared to them, Childan realized. We're no more than boobs against
- such pitiless reasoning. Paul did not say — did not tell me — that our art was worthless; he got me
- to say it for him. And, as a final irony, he regretted my utterance. Faint, civilized gesture of sorrow
- as he heard the truth out of me.
- He's broken me, Childan almost said aloud — fortunately, however, he managed to keep it only a
- thought; as before, he held it in his interior world, apart and secret, for himself alone. Humiliated
- me and my race. And I'm helpless. There's no avenging this; we are defeated and our defeats are
- like this, so tenuous, so delicate, that we're hardly able to perceive them. In fact, we have to rise a
- notch in our evolution to know it ever happened.
- What more proof could be presented, as to the Japanese fitness to rule? He felt like laughing,
- possibly with appreciation. Yes, he thought, that's what it is, as when one hears a choice anecdote.
- I've got to recall it, savor it later on, even relate it. But to whom? Problem, there. Too personal for
- narration.
- In the corner of Paul's office a wastebasket. Into it! Robert Childan said to himself, with this
- blob, this wu-ridden piece of jewelry.
- Could I do it? Toss it away? End the situation before Paul's eyes?
- Can't even toss it away, he discovered as he gripped the piece. Must not — if you anticipate
- facing your Japanese fellowman again.
- Damn them, I can't free myself of their influence, can't give in to impulse. All spontaneity
- crushed . . . Paul scrutinized him, needing to say nothing; the man's very presence enough. Got my
- conscience snared, has run an invisible string from this blob in my hands up my arm to my soul.
- Guess I've lived around them too long. Too late now to flee, to get back among whites and white
- ways.
- Robert Childan said, 'Paul — ' His voice, he noted, croaked in sickly escape; no control, no
- modulation.
- 'Yes, Robert.'
- 'Paul, I . . . am . . . humiliated.'
- The room reeled.
- 'Why so, Robert?' Tones of concern, but detached. Above involvement.
- 'Paul. One moment.' He fingered the bit of jewelry; it had become slimy with sweat. 'I — am
- proud of this work. There can be no consideration of trashy good-luck charms. I reject.'
- Once more he could not make out the young Japanese man's reaction, only the listening ear, the
- mere awareness.
- 'Thank you, however,' Robert Childan said.
- Paul bowed.
- Robert Childan bowed.
- 'The men who made this,' Childan said, 'are American proud artists. Myself included. To suggest
- trashy good-luck charms therefore insults us and I ask for apology.'
- incredible prolonged silence.
- Paul surveyed him. One eyebrow lifted slightly and his thin lips twitched. A smile?
- 'I demand,' Childan said. That was all; he could carry it no further. He now merely waited.
- Nothing occurred.
- Please, he thought. Help me.
- Paul said, 'Forgive my arrogant imposition.' He held out his hand.
- 'All right,' Robert Childan said.
- They shook hands.
- Calmness descended in Childan's heart. I have lived through and out, he knew. All over. Grace
- of God; it existed at the exact moment for me. Another time — otherwise. Could I ever dare once
- more, press my luck? Probably not.
- He felt melancholy. Brief instant, as if I rose to the surface and saw unencumbered.
- Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete
- worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it. Here I stand But no longer. Taking
- the small box, he put the Edfrank jewelry piece away in his coat pocket.
- 12
- Mr. Ramsey said, 'Mr. Tagomi, this is Mr. Yatabe.' He retired to a corner of the office, and the
- slender elderly gentleman came forward.
- Holding out his hand, Mr. Tagomi said, 'I am glad to meet you in person, sir.' The light, fragile
- old hand slipped into his own; he shook without pressing and released at once. Nothing broken I
- hope, he thought. He examined the old gentleman's features, finding himself pleased. Such a stern,
- coherent spirit there. No fogging of wits. Certainly lucid transmission of all the stable ancient
- traditions. Best quality which the old could represent. . . and then he discovered that he was facing
- General Tedeki, the former Imperial Chief of Staff.
- Mr. Tagomi bowed low.
- 'General,' he said.
- 'Where is the third party?' General Tedeki said.
- 'On the double, he nears,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'Informed by self at hotel room.' His mind utterly
- rattled, he retreated several steps in the bowing position, scarcely able to regain an erect posture.
- The general seated himself. Mr. Ramsey, no doubt still ignorant of the old man's identity,
- assisted with the chair but showed no particular deference. Mr. Tagomi hesitantly took a chair
- facing.
- 'We loiter,' the general said. 'Regrettably but unavoidably.'
- 'True,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- Ten minutes passed. Neither man spoke.
- 'Excuse me, sir,' Mr. Ramsey said at last, fidgeting. 'I will depart unless needed.'
- Mr. Tagomi nodded, and Mr. Ramsey departed.
- 'Tea, General?' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'No, sir.''
- 'Sir,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'I admit to fear. I sense in this encounter something terrible.'
- The general inclined his head.
- 'Mr. Baynes, whom I have met,' Mr. Tagomisaid, 'and entertained in my home, declares himself
- a Swede. Yet perusal persuades one that he is in fact a highly placed German of some sort. I say
- this because — '
- 'Please continue.'
- 'Thank you. General, his agitation regarding this meeting causes me to infer a connection with
- the political upheavals in the Reich.' Mr. Tagomi did not mention another fact: his awareness of the
- general's failure to appear at the time anticipated.
- The general said, 'Sir, now you are fishing. Not informing.' His gray eyes twinkled in fatherly
- manner. No malice, there.
- Mr. Tagomi accepted the rebuke. 'Sir, is my presence in this meeting merely a formality to baffle
- the Nazi snoops?'
- 'Naturally,' the general said, 'we are interested in maintaining a certain fiction. Mr. Baynes is
- representative for Tor-Am industries of Stockholm, purely businessman. And I am Shinjiro
- Yatabe.'
- Mr. Tagomi thought, And I am Tagomi. That part is so.
- 'No doubt the Nazis have scrutinized Mr. Baynes' comings and goings,' the general said. He
- rested his hands on his knees, sitting bolt upright . . . as if, Mr. Tagomi thought, he were sniffing
- far-off beef tea odor. 'But to demolish the fiction they must resort to legalities. That is the genuine
- purpose; not to deceive, but to require the formalities in case of exposure. You see for instance that
- to apprehend Mr. Baynes they must do more than merely shoot him down . . . which they could do,
- were he to travel as — well, travel without this verbal umbrella.'
- 'I see,' Mr. Tagomi said. Sounds like a game, he decided. But they know the Nazi mentality. So I
- suppose it is of use.
- The desk intercom buzzed. Mr. Ramsey's voice. 'Sir, Mr. Baynes is here. Shall I send him on in?'
- 'Yes!' Mr. Tagomi cried.
- The door opened and Mr. Baynes, sleekly dressed, his clothes all quite pressed and masterfully
- tailored, his features composed, appeared.
- General Tedeki rose to face him. Mr. Tagomi also rose. All three men bowed.
- 'Sir,' Mr. Baynes said to the general, 'I am Captain R. Wegener of the Reichs Naval CounterIntelligence.
- As understood, I represent no one but myself and certain private unnamed individuals,
- no departments or bureaus of the Reich Government of any sort.'
- The general said, 'Herr Wegener, I understand that you in no way officially allege representation
- of any branch of the Reich Government. I am here as an unofficial private party who by virtue of
- former position with the Imperial Army can be said to have access to circles in Tokyo who desire to
- hear whatever you have to say.'
- Weird discourse, Mr. Tagomi thought. But not unpleasant. Certain near-musical quality to it.
- Refreshing relief, in fact.
- They sat down.
- 'Without preamble,' Mr. Baynes said, 'I would like to inform you and those you have access to
- that there is in advance stage in the Reich a program called Lowenzahn. Dandelion.'
- 'Yes,' the general said, nodding as if he had heard this before; but, Mr. Tagomi thought, he
- seemed quite eager for Mr. Baynes to go on.
- 'Dandelion,' Mr. Baynes said, 'consists of an incident on the border between the Rocky Mountain
- States and the United States.'
- The general nodded, smiling slightly.
- 'U.S. troops will be attacked and will retaliate by crossing the border and engaging the regular
- RMS troops stationed nearby. The U.S. troops have detailed maps showing Midwest army
- installations. This is step one. Step two consists of a declaration by Germany regarding the conflict.
- A volunteer detachment of Wehrmacht paratroopers will be sent to aid the U.S. However, this is
- further camouflage.'
- 'Yes,' the general said, listening.
- 'The basic purpose of Operation Dandelion,' Mr. Baynes said, 'is an enormous nuclear attack on
- the Home Islands, without advance warning of any kind.' He was silent then.
- 'With purpose of wiping out Royal Family, Home Defense Army, most of Imperial Navy, civil
- population, industries, resources,' General Tedeki said. 'Leaving overseas possessions for
- absorption by the Reich.'
- Mr. Baynes said nothing.
- The general said, 'What else?'
- Mr. Baynes seemed at a loss.
- 'The date, sir,' the general said.
- 'All changed,' Mr. Baynes said. 'Due to the death of M Bormann. At least, I presume. I am not in
- contact with the Abwehr now.'
- Presently the general said, 'Go on, Herr Wegener.'
- 'What we recommend is that the Japanese Government enter into the Reich's domestic situation.
- Or at least, that was what I came here to recommend. Certain groups in the Reich favor Operation
- Dandelion; certain others do not. It was hoped that those opposing it could come to power upon the
- death of Chancellor Bormann.'
- 'But while you were here,' the general said, 'Herr Bormann died and the political situation took
- its own solution. Doctor Goebbels is now Reichs Chancellor. The upheaval is over.' He paused.
- 'How does that faction view Operation Dandelion?'
- Mr. Baynes said, 'Doctor Goebbels is an advocate of Dandelion.'
- Unnoticed by them, Mr. Tagomi closed his eyes.
- 'Who stands opposed?' General Tedeki asked.
- Mr. Baynes' voice came to Mr. Tagomi. 'SS General Heydrich.'
- 'I am taken by surprise,' General Tedeki said. 'I am dubious. Is this legitimate information or only
- a viewpoint which you and your colleagues hold?'
- Mr. Baynes said, 'Administration of the East — that is, the area now held by Japan — would be
- by the Foreign Office. Rosenberg's people, working directly with the Chancery. This was a bitterly
- disputed issue in many sessions between the principals last year. I have photostats of notes made.
- The police demanded authority but were turned down. They are to manage the space colonization,
- Mars, Luna, Venus. That's to be their domain. Once this division of authority was settled, the police
- put all their weight behind the space program and against Dandelion.'
- 'Rivalry,' General Tedeki said. 'One group played against another. By the Leader. So he is never
- challenged.'
- 'True,' Mr. Baynes said. 'That is why I was sent here, to plead for your intervention . It would
- still be possible to intervene; the situation is still fluid. It will be months before Doctor Goebbels
- can consolidate his position. He will have to break the police, possibly have Heydrich and other top
- SS and SD leaders executed. Once that is done — '
- 'We are to give support to the Sicherheitsdienst?' General Tedeki interrupted. 'The most
- malignant portion of German society?'
- Mr. Baynes said, 'That is right.'
- 'The Emperor,' General Tedeki said, 'would never tolerate that policy. He regards the Reichs elite
- corps, wherever the black uniform is worn, the death's head, the Castle System — all, to him, is
- evil.''
- Evil, Mr. Tagomi thought. Yes, it is. Are we to assist it in gaining power, in order to save our
- lives? Is that the paradox of our earthly situation?
- I cannot face this dilemma, Mr. Tagomi said to himself. That man should have to act in such
- moral ambiguity. There is no Way in this; all is muddled. All chaos of light and dark, shadow and
- substance.
- 'The Wehrmacht,' Mr. Baynes said, 'the military, is sole possessor in the Reich of the hydrogen
- bomb. Where the blackshirts have used it, they have done so only under Army supervision. The
- Chancery under Bormann never allowed any nuclear armament to go to the police. In Operation
- Dandelion, all will be carried out by 0KW. The Army High Command.'
- 'I am aware of that,' General Tedeki said.
- 'The moral practices of the black shirts exceed in ferocity that of the Wehrmacht. But their power
- is less. We should reflect solely on reality, on actual power. Not on ethical intentions.'
- 'Yes, we must be realists,' Mr. Tagomi said aloud.
- Both Mr. Baynes and General Tedeki glanced at him.
- To Mr. Baynes the general said, 'What specifically do you suggest? That we establish contact
- with the SD here in the Pacific States? Directly negotiate with — I do not know who is SD chief
- here. Some repellent character, I imagine.'
- 'The local SD knows nothing,' Mr. Baynes said. 'Their chief here, Bruno Kruez vom Meere, is an
- old-time Partei hack. Em Altparteigenosse. An imbecile. No one in Berlin would think of telling
- him anything; he merely carries out routine assignments.'
- 'What, then?' The general sounded angry. 'The consul, here, or the Reichs Ambassador in
- Tokyo?'
- This talk will fail, Mr. Tagomi thought. No matter what is at stake. We cannot enter the
- monstrous schizophrenic morass of Nazi internecine intrigue; our minds cannot adapt.
- 'It must be handled delicately,' Mr. Baynes said. 'Through a series of intermediaries. Someone
- close to Heydrich who is stationed outside of the Reich, in a neutral country. Or someone who
- travels back and forth between Tokyo and Berlin.'
- 'Do you have someone in mind?'
- 'The Italian Foreign Minister, Count Ciano. An intelligent, reliable, very brave man, completely
- devoted to international understanding. However — his contact with the SD apparatus is
- nonexistent.- But he might work through someone else in Germany, economic interests such as the
- Krupps or through General Speidel or possibly even through Waffen-SS personages. The WaffenSS
- is less fanatic, more in the mainstream of German society.'
- 'Your establishment, the Abwehr — it would be futile to attempt to reach Heydrich through you.'
- 'The blackshirts utterly revile us. They've been trying for twenty years to get Partei approval for
- liquidating us in toto.'
- 'Aren't you in excessive personal danger from them?' General Tedeki said. 'They are active here
- on the Pacific Coast, I understand.'
- 'Active but inept,' Mr. Baynes said. 'The Foreign Office man, Reiss, is skillful, but opposed to the
- SD.' He shrugged.
- General Tedeki said, 'I would like your photostats. To turn over to my government. Any material
- you have pertaining to these discussions in Germany. And — ' He pondered. 'Proof. Of objective
- nature.'
- 'Certainly,' Mr. Baynes said. He reached into his coat and took out a flat silver cigarette case.
- 'You will find each cigarette to be a hollow container for microfilm.' He passed the case to General
- Tedeki.
- 'What about the case itself?' the general said; examining it. 'It seems too valuable an object to
- give away.' He started to remove the cigarettes from it.
- Smiling, Mr. Baynes said, 'The case, too.'
- 'Thank you.' Also smiling, the general put the case away in his topcoat pocket.
- The desk intercom buzzed. Mr. Tagomi pressed the button.
- Mr. Ramsey's voice came: 'Sir, there is a group of SD men in the downstairs lobby; they are
- attempting to take over the building . The Times guards are scuffling with them.' In the distance,
- noise of a siren; outside the building from the street below Mr. Tagomi's window. 'Army MPs are
- on the way, plus San Francisco Kempeitai.'
- 'Thank you, Mr. Ramsey,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'You have done an honorable thing, to report
- placidly.' Mr. Baynes and General Tedeki were listening, both rigid. 'Sirs,' Mr. Tagomi said to
- them, 'we will no doubt kill the SD thugs before they reach this floor.' To Mr. Ramsey he said,
- 'Turn off the power to the elevators.'
- 'Yes, Mr. Tagomi.' Mr. Ramsey broke the connection.
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'We will wait.' He opened his desk drawer and lifted out a teakwood box;
- unlocking it, he brought forth a perfectly preserved U.S. 1860 Civil War Colt .44, a treasured
- collector's item. Taking out a box of loose powder, ball and cap ammunition, he began loading the
- revolver. Mr. Baynes and General Tedeki watched wide-eyed.
- 'Part of personal collection,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'Much fooled around in vainglorious swift-draw
- practicing and firing, in spare hours. Admit to compare favorably with other enthusiasts in contesttiming.
- But mature use heretofore delayed.' Holding the gun in correct fashion he pointed it at the
- office door. And sat waiting.
- At the bench in their basement workshop, Frank Frink sat at the arbor. He held a half-finished
- silver earring against the noisily turning cotton buff; bits of rouge spattered his glasses and
- blackened his nails and hands. The earring, shaped in a snail-shell spiral, became hot from friction,
- but Frink grimly bore down even more.
- 'Don't get it too shiny,' Ed McCarthy said. 'Just hit the high spots; you can even leave the lows
- completely.'
- Frank Frink grunted.
- 'There's a better market for silver if it's not polished up too much,' Ed said. 'Silverwork should
- have that old look.'
- Market, Frink thought.
- They had sold nothing. Except for the consignment at American Artistic Handcrafts, no one had
- taken anything, and they had visited five retail shops in all.
- We're not making any money, Frink said to himself. We're making more and more jewelry and
- it's just piling up around us.
- The screw-back of the earring caught in the wheel; the piece whipped out of Frink's hands and
- flew to the polish shield, then fell to the floor. He shut off the motor.
- 'Don't let those pieces go,' McCarthy said, at the welding torch.
- 'Christ, it's the size of a pea. No way to get a grip.'
- 'Well, pick it up anyhow.'
- The hell with the whole thing, Frink thought.
- 'What's the matter?' McCarthy said, seeing him make no move to fish up the earring.
- Frink said, 'We're pouring money in for nothing.'
- 'We can't sell what we haven't made.'
- 'We can't sell anything,' Frink said. 'Made or unmade.'
- 'Five stores. Drop in the bucket.'
- 'But the trend,' Frink said. 'It's enough to know.'
- 'Don't kid yourself.'
- Frink said, 'I'm not kidding myself.'
- 'Meaning what?'
- 'Meaning it's time to start looking for a market for scrap.'
- 'All right,' McCarthy said, 'quit, then.'
- 'I have.'
- 'I'll go on by myself.' McCarthy lit the torch again.
- 'How are we going to split the stuff?'
- 'I don't know. But we'll find a way.'
- 'Buy me out,' Frink said.
- 'Hell no.'
- Frink computed. 'Pay me six hundred dollars.'
- 'No, you take half of everything.'
- 'Half the motor?'
- They were both silent then.
- 'Three more stores,' McCarthy said. 'Then we'll talk about it.' Lowering his mask he began
- brazing a section of brass rod into a cuff bracelet.
- Frank Frink stepped down from the bench. He located the snail-shell earring and replaced it in
- the carton of incomplete pieces. 'I'm going outside for a smoke,' he said, and walked across the
- basement to the stairs.
- A moment later he stood outdoors on the sidewalk, a T'ien-lai between his fingers.
- It's all over, he said to himself. I don't need the oracle to tell me; I recognize what the Moment is.
- The smell is there. Defeat.
- And it is hard really to say why. Maybe, theoretically, we could go on. Store to store, other cities.
- But — something is wrong. And all the effort and ingenuity won't change it.
- I want to know why, he thought.
- But I never will.
- What should we have done? Made what instead?
- We bucked the moment. Bucked the Tao. Upstream, in the wrong direction. And now —
- dissolution. Decay.
- Yin has us. The light showed us its ass, went elsewhere.
- We can only knuckle under.
- While he stood there under the eaves of the building, taking quick drags on his marijuana
- cigarette and dully watching traffic go by, an 'ordinary-looking, middle-aged white man sauntered
- up to him.
- 'Mr. Frink? Frank Frink?'
- 'You got it,' Frink said.
- The man produced a folded document and identification. 'I'm with the San Francisco Police
- Department. I've a warrant for your arrest.' He held Frink's arm already; it had already been done.
- 'What for?' Frink demanded.
- 'Bunco. Mr. Childan, American Artistic Handcrafts.' The cop forcibly led Frink along the
- sidewalk; another plainclothes cop joined them, one now on each side of Frink. They hustled him
- toward a parked unmarked Toyopet.
- This is what the time requires of us, Frink thought as he was dumped onto the car seat between
- the two cops. The door slammed shut; the car, driven by a third cop, this one in uniform, shot out
- into traffic. These are the sons-of-bitches we must submit to.
- 'You got an attorney?' one of the cops asked him.
- 'No,' he said.
- 'They'll give you a list of names at the station.'
- 'Thanks,' Frink said.
- 'What'd you do with the money?' one of the cops asked later on, as they were parking in the
- Kearny Street Police station garage.
- Frink said, 'Spent it.'
- 'All?'
- He did not answer.
- One of the cops shook his head and laughed.
- As they got out of the car, one of them said to Frink, 'Is your real name Fink?'
- Frink felt terror.
- 'Fink,' the cop repeated. 'You're a kike.' He exhibited a large gray folder. 'Refugee from Europe.'
- 'I was born in New York,' Frank Frink said.
- 'You're an escapee from the Nazis,' the cop said. 'You know what that means?'
- Frank Frink broke away and ran across the garage. The three cops shouted, and at the doorway
- he found himself facing a police car with uniformed armed police blocking his path. The police
- smiled at him, and one of them, holding a gun, stepped out and smacked a handcuff into place over
- his wrist.
- Jerking him by the wrist — the thin metal cut into his flesh, to the bone — the cop led him back
- the way he had come.
- 'Back to Germany,' one of the cops said, surveying him.
- 'I'm an American,' Frank Frink said.
- 'You're a Jew,' the cop said.
- As he was taken upstairs, one of the cops said, 'Will he be booked here?'
- 'No,' another said. 'We'll hold him for the German consul. They want to try him under German
- law.'
- There was no list of attorneys, after all.
- For twenty minutes Mr. Tagomi had remained motionless at his desk, holding the revolver
- pointed at the door, while Mr. Baynes paced about the office. The old general had, after some
- thought, lifted the phone and put through a call to the Japanese embassy in San Francisco.
- However, he had not been able to get through to Baron Kaelemakule; the ambassador, a bureaucrat
- had told him, was out of the city.
- Now General Tedeki was in the process of placing a transpacific call to Tokyo.
- 'I will consult with the War College,' he explained to Mr. Baynes. 'They will contact Imperial
- military forces stationed nearby us.' He did not seem perturbed.
- So we will be relieved in a number of hours, Mr. Tagomi said to himself. Possibly by Japanese
- Marines from a carrier, armed with machines guns and mortars.
- Operating through official channels is highly efficient in terms of final result . . . but there is
- regrettable time lag. Down below us, blackshirt hooligans are busy clubbing secretaries and clerks.
- However, there was little more that he personally could do.
- 'I wonder if it would be worth trying to reach the German consul,' Mr. Baynes said.
- Mr. Tagomi had a vision of himself summoning Miss Ephreikian in with her tape recorder, to
- take dictation of urgent protest to Herr H. Reiss.
- 'I can call Herr Reiss,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'On another line.'
- 'Please,' Mr. Baynes said.
- Still holding his Colt .44 collector's item, Mr. Tagomi pressed a button on his desk. Out came a
- non-listed phone line, especially installed for esoteric communication.
- He dialed the number of the German consulate.
- 'Good day, Who is calling?' Accented brisk male functionary voice. Undoubtedly underling.
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'His Excellency Herr Reiss, please. Urgent. This is Mr. Tagomi, here. Ranking
- Imperial Trade Mission, Top Place.' He used his hard, no-nonsense voice.
- 'Yes sir. A moment, if you will.' A long moment, then. No sound at all on the phone, not even
- clicks. He is merely standing there with it, Mr. Tagomi decided. Stalling through typical Nordic
- wile.
- To General Tedeki, waiting on the other phone, and Mr. Baynes, pacing, he said, 'I am naturally
- being put off.'
- At last the functionary's voice once again. 'Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Tagomi.'
- 'Not at all.'
- 'The consul is in conference. However — '
- Mr. Tagomi hung up.
- 'Waste of effort, to say the least,' he said, feeling discomfited. Whom else to call? Tokkoka
- already informed, also MP units down on waterfront; no use to phone them. Direct call to Berlin?
- To Reichs Chancellor Goebbels? To Imperial Military airfield at Napa, asking for air-rescue
- assistance?
- 'I will call SD chief Herr B. Kruez vom Meere,' he decided aloud. 'And bitterly complain. Rant
- and scream invective.' He began to dial the number formally — euphemistically — listed in the
- San Francisco phone book as the 'Lufthansa Airport Terminal Precious-Shipment Guard Detail.' As
- the phone buzzed he said, 'Vituperate in highpitched hysteria.'
- 'Put on a good performance,' General Tedeki said, smiling.
- In Mr. Tagomi's ear a Germanic voice said, 'Who is it?' More no-nonsense-than-myself voice,
- Mr. Tagomi thought. But he intended to go on. 'Hurry up,' the voice demanded.
- Mr. Tagomi shouted, 'I am ordering the arrest and trial of your band of cutthroats and
- degenerates who run amok like blond berserk beasts, unfit even to describe! DO you know me,
- Kerl? This is Tagomi, Imperial Government Consultant. Five seconds or waive legality and have
- Marines' shock troop unit begin massacre with flame-throwing phosphorus bombs. Disgrace to
- civilization.'
- On the other end the SD flunky was sputtering anxiously.
- Mr. Tagomi winked at Mr. Baynes.
- '. . . we know nothing about it,' the flunky was saying.
- 'Liar!' Mr. Tagomi shouted. 'Then we have no choice.' He slammed the receiver down. 'It is no
- doubt mere gesture,' he said to Mr. Baynes and General Tedeki.
- 'But it can do no harm, anyhow. Always faint possibility certain nervous element even in SD.'
- General Tedeki started to speak. But then a tremendous clatter at the office door; he ceased. The
- door swung open.
- Two burly white men appeared, both armed with pistols equipped with silencers. They made out
- Mr. Baynes.
- 'Da ist en,' one said. They started for Mr. Baynes.
- At his desk, Mr. Tagomi pointed his Colt .44 ancient collector's item and compressed the trigger.
- One of the SD men fell to the floor. The other whipped his silencer-equipped gun toward Mr.
- Tagomi and returned fire. Mr. Tagomi heard no report, saw only a tiny wisp of smoke from the
- gun, heard the whistle of a slug passing near. With record-eclipsing speed he fanned the hammer of
- the single-action Colt, firing it again and again.
- The SD man's jaw burst. Bits of bone, flesh, shreds of tooth, flew in the air. Hit in the mouth, Mr.
- Tagomi realized. Dreadful spot, especially if ball ascending. The jawless SD man's eyes still
- contained life, of a kind. He still perceives me, Mr. Tagomi thought. Then the eyes lost their luster
- and the SD man collapsed, dropping his gun and making un-human gargling noises.
- 'Sickening,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- No more SD men appeared in the open doorway.
- 'Possibly it is over,' General Tedeki said after a pause. Mr. Tagomi, engaged in tedious threeminute
- task of reloading, paused to press the button of the desk intercom. 'Bring medical
- emergency aid,' he instructed. 'Hideously injured thug, here.'
- No answer, only a hum.
- Stooping, Mr. Baynes had picked up both the Germans' guns; he passed one to the general,
- keeping the other himself.
- 'Now we will mow them down,' Mr. Tagomi said, reseating himself with his Colt .44, as before.
- 'Formidable triumvirate, in this office.'
- From the hall a voice called, 'German hoodlums surrender!'
- 'Already taken care of,' Mr. Tagomi called back. 'Lying either dead or dying. Advance and verify
- empirically.'
- A party of Nippon Times employees gingerly appeared, several of them carrying building riot
- equipment such as axes and rifles and tear-gas grenades.
- 'Cause célèbre,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'PSA Government in Sacramento could declare war on Reich
- without hesitation.' He broke open his gun. 'Anyhow, over with.'
- 'They will deny complicity,' Mr. Baynes said. 'Standard technique. Used countless times.' He laid
- the silencerequipped pistol on Mr. Tagomi's desk. 'Made in Japan.'
- He was not joking. It was true. Excellent quality Japanese target pistol. Mr. Tagomi examined it.
- 'And not German nationals,' Mr. Baynes said. He had taken the wallet of one of the whites, the
- dead one. 'PSA citizen. Lives in San José. Nothing to connect him with the SD. Name is Jack
- Sanders.' He tossed the wallet down.
- 'A holdup,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'Motive: our locked vault. No political aspects.' He arose shakily to
- his feet.
- In any case, the assassination or kidnapping attempt by the SD had failed. At least, this first one
- had. But clearly they knew who Mr. Baynes was, and no doubt what he had come for.
- 'The prognosis,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'is gloomy.'
- He wondered if in this instance the oracle would be of any use. Perhaps it could protect them.
- Warn them, shield them, with its advice.
- Still quite shaky, he began taking out the forty-nine yarrow stalks. Whole situation confusing and
- anomalous, he decided. No human intelligence could decipher it; only five-thousand-year-old joint
- mind applicable. German totalitarian society resembles some faulty form of life, worse than natural
- thing. Worse in all its admixtures, its potpourri of pointlessness.
- Here, he thought, local SD acts as instrument of policy totally at odds with head in Berlin. Where
- in this composite being is the sense? Who really is Germany? Who ever was? Almost like
- decomposing nightmare parody of problems customarily faced in course of existence.
- The oracle will cut through it. Even weird breed of cat like Nazi Germany comprehensible to I
- Ching.
- Mr. Baynes, seeing Mr. Tagomi distractedly manipulating the handful of vegetable stalks,
- recognized how deep the man's distress was. For him, Mr. Baynes thought, this event, his having
- had to kill and mutilate these two men, is not only dreadful; it is inexplicable.
- What can I say that might console him? He fired on my behalf; the moral responsibility for these
- two lives is therefore mine, and I accept it. I view it that way.
- Coming over beside Mr. Baynes, General Tedeki said in a soft voice, 'You witness the man's
- despair. He, you see, was no doubt raised as a Buddhist. Even if not formally, the influence was
- there. A culture in which no life is to be taken; all lives holy.'
- Mr. Baynes nodded.
- 'He will recover his equilibrium,' General Tedeki continued. 'In time. Right now he has no
- standpoint by which he can view and comprehend his act. That book will help him, for it provides
- an external frame of reference.'
- 'I see,' Mr. Baynes said. He thought, Another frame of reference which might help him would be
- the Doctrine of Original Sin. I wonder if he has ever heard of it. We are all doomed to commit acts
- of cruelty or violence or evil; that is our destiny, due to ancient factors. Our karma.
- To save one life, Mr. Tagomi had to take two. The logical, balanced mind cannot make sense of
- that. A kindly man like Mr. Tagomi could be driven insane by the implications of such reality.
- Nevertheless, Mr. Baynes thought, the crucial point lies not in the present, not in either my death
- or the death of the two SD men; it lies — hypothetically — in the future. What has happened here
- is justified, or not justified, by what happens later. Can we perhaps save the lives of millions, all
- Japan in fact?
- But the man manipulating the vegetable stalks could not think of that; the present, the actuality,
- was too tangible, the dead and dying Germans on the floor of his office.
- General Tedeki was right; time would give Mr. Tagomi perspective. Either that, or he would
- perhaps retreat into the shadows of mental illness, avert his gaze forever, due to a hopeless
- perplexity.
- And we are not really different from him, Mr. Baynes thought. We are faced with the same
- confusions. Therefore unfortunately we can give Mr. Tagomi no help. We can only wait, hoping
- that finally he will recover and not succumb.
- 13
- In Denver they found chic, modern stores. The clothes, Juliana thought, were numbingly expensive,
- but Joe did not seem to care or even to notice; he simply paid for what she picked out, and then
- they hurried on to the next store.
- Her major acquisition — after much trying on of dresses and much prolonged deliberating and
- rejecting — occurred late in the day: a light blue Italian original with short, fluffy sleeves and a
- wildly low neckline. In a European fashion magazine she had seen a model wearing such a dress; it
- was considered the finest style of the year, and it cost Joe almost two hundred dollars.
- To go with it, she needed three pairs of shoes, more nylon stockings, several hats, and a new
- handmade black leather purse. And, she discovered, the neckline of the Italian dress demanded the
- new brassieres which covered only the lower part of each breast. Viewing herself in the full-length
- mirror of the dress shop, she felt overexposed and a little insecure about bending over. But the
- salesgirl assured her that the new half-bras remained firmly in place, despite their lack of straps.
- Just up to the nipple, Juliana thought as she peered at herself in the privacy of the dressing room,
- and not one millimeter more. The bras, too, cost quite a bit; also imported, the salesgirl explained,
- and handmade. The salesgirl showed her sportswear, too, shorts and bathing suits and a terrycloth
- beach robe; but all at once Joe became restless. So they went on. -
- As Joe loaded the parcels and bags into the car she said, 'Don't you think I'm going to look
- terrific?'
- 'Yes,' he said in a preoccupied voice. 'Especially that blue dress. You wear that when we go
- there, to Abendsen' s; understand?' He spoke the last word sharply as if it was an order; the tone
- surprised her.
- 'I'm a size twelve or fourteen,' she said as they entered the next dress shop. The salesgirl smiled
- graciously and accompanied them to the racks of dresses. What else did she need? Juliana
- wondered. Better to get as much as possible while she could; her eyes took in everything at once,
- the blouses, skirts, sweaters, slacks, coats. Yes, a coat. 'Joe,' she said, 'I have to have a long coat.
- But not a cloth coat.'
- They compromised with one of the synthetic fiber coats from Germany; it was more durable than
- natural fur, and less expensive. But she felt disappointed. To cheer herself up she began examining
- jewelry. But it was dreary costume junk, without imagination or originality.
- 'I have to get some jewelry,' she explained to Joe. 'Earrings, at least. Or a pin — to go with the
- blue dress.' She led him along the sidewalk to a jewelry store. 'And your clothes,' she remembered,
- with guilt. 'We have to shop for you, too.'
- While she looked for jewelry, Joe stopped at a barbershop for his haircut. When he appeared a
- half hour later, she was amazed; he had not only gotten his hair cut as short as possible, but he had
- had it dyed. She would hardly have recognized him; he was now blond. Good God, she thought,
- staring at him. Why?
- Shrugging, Joe said, 'I'm tired of being a wop.' That was all he would say; he refused to discuss it
- as they entered a men's clothing store and began shopping for him.
- They bought him a nicely tailored suit of one of Du Pont's new synthetic fibers, Dacron. And
- new socks, underwear, and a pair of stylish sharp-toed shoes. What now? Juliana thought. Shirts.
- And ties. She and the clerk picked out two white shirts with French cuffs, several ties made in
- France, and a pair of silver cuff links. It took only forty minutes to do all the shopping for him; she
- was astonished to find it so easy, compared to her own.
- His suit, she thought, should be altered. But again Joe had become restless; he paid the bill with
- the Reichsbank notes which he carried. I know something else, Juliana realized. A new billfold. So
- she and the clerk picked out a black alligator billfold for him, and that was that. They left the store
- and returned to the car; it was four-thirty and the shopping — at least as far as Joe was concerned
- — was over.
- 'You don't want the waistline taken in a little?' she asked Joe as he drove out into downtown
- Denver traffic. 'On your suit — '
- 'No.' His voice, brusque and impersonal, startled her.
- 'What's wrong? Did I buy too much?' I know that's it, she said to herself; I spent much too much.
- 'I could take some of the skirts back.'
- 'Let's eat dinner,' he said.
- 'Oh God,' she exclaimed. 'I know what I didn't get. Nightgowns.'
- He glared at her ferociously.
- 'Don't you want me to get some nice new pajamas?' she said. 'So I'll be all fresh and — '
- 'No.' He shook his head. 'Forget it. Look for a place to eat.'
- Juliana said in a steady voice, 'We'll go and register at the hotel first. So we can change. Then
- we'll eat.' And it better be a really fine hotel, she thought, or it's all off. Even this late. And we'll ask
- them at the hotel what's the best place in Denver to eat. And the name of a good nightclub where
- we can see a once-in-a-lifetime act, not some local talent but some big names from Europe, like
- Eleanor Perez or Willie Beck. I know great UFA stars like that come out to Denver, because I've
- seen the ads. And I won't settle for anything less.
- As they searched for a good hotel, Juliana kept glancing at the man beside her. With his hair
- short and blond, and in his new clothes, he doesn't look like the same person, she thought. Do I like
- him better this way? It was hard to tell. And me — when I've been able to arrange for my hair
- being done, we'll be two different persons, almost. Created out of nothing or, rather, out of money.
- But I just must get my hair done, she told herself.
- They found a large stately hotel in downtown Denver with a uniformed doorman who arranged
- for the car to be parked. That was what she wanted. And a bellboy — actually a grown man, but
- wearing the maroon uniform — came quickly and carried all their parcels and luggage, leaving
- them with nothing to do but climb the wide carpeted steps, under the awning, pass through the glass
- and mahogany doors and into the lobby. -
- Small shops on each side of the lobby, flower shop, gifts, candy, place to telegraph, desk to
- reserve plane flights, the bustle of guests at the desk and the elevators, the huge potted plants, and
- under their feet the carpeting, thick and soft. . - she could smell the hotel, the many people, the
- activity. Neon signs indicated in which direction the hotel restaurant, cocktail lounge, snack bar,
- lay. She could barely take it all in as they crossed the lobby and at last reached the reservation desk.
- There was even a bookstore.
- While Joe signed the register, she excused herself and hurried over to the bookstore to see if they
- had The Grasshopper. Yes, there it was, a bright stack of copies in fact, with a display sign saying
- how popular and important it was, and of course that it was verboten in German-run regions. A
- smiling middle-aged woman, very grandmotherly, waited on her; the book cost almost four dollars,
- which seemed to Juliana a great deal, but she paid for it with a Reichsbank note from her new purse
- and then skipped back to join Joe.
- Leading the way with their luggage, the bellboy conducted them to the elevator and then up to
- the second floor, along the corridor — silent and warm and carpeted — to their superb,
- breathtaking room. The bellboy unlocked the door for them, carried everything inside, adjusted the
- window and lights; Joe tipped him and he departed, shutting the door after him.
- All was unfolding exactly as she wanted.
- 'How long will we stay in Denver?' she-asked Joe, who had begun opening packages on the bed.
- 'Before we go on up to Cheyenne?'
- He did not answer; he had become involved in the contents of his suitcase.
- 'One day or two?' she asked as she took off her new coat.
- 'Do you think we could stay three?'
- Lifting his head Joe answered, 'We're going on tonight.'
- At first she did not understand; and when she did, she could not believe him. She stared at him
- and he stared back with a grim, almost taunting expression, his face constricted with enormous
- tension, more than she had seen in any human in her life before. He did not move; he seemed
- paralyzed there, with his hands full of his own clothing from the suitcase, his body bent.
- 'After we eat,' he added.
- She could not think of anything to say.
- 'So wear that blue dress that cost so much,' he said. 'The one you like; the really good one — you
- understand?' Now he began unbuttoning his shirt. 'I'm going to shave and take a good hot shower.'
- His voice had a mechanical quality as if he were speaking from miles away through some sort of
- instrument; turning, he walked toward the bathroom with stiff, jerky steps.
- With difficulty she managed to say, 'It's too late tonight.'
- 'No. We'll be through dinner around five-thirty, six at the latest. We can get up to Cheyenne in
- two, two and a half hours. That's only eight-thirty. Say nine at the latest. We can phone from here,
- tell Abendsen we're coming; explain the situation. That'll make- an impression, a long-distance call.
- Say this — we're flying to the West Coast; we're in Denver only tonight. But we're so enthusiastic
- about his book we're going to drive up to Cheyenne and drive back again tonight, just for a chance
- to — '
- She broke in, 'Why?'
- Tears began to surge up into her eyes, and she found herself doubling up her fists, with the
- thumbs inside, as she had done as a child; she felt her jaw wobble, and when she spoke her voice
- could hardly be heard. 'I don't want to go and see him tonight; I'm not going. I don't want to at all,
- even tomorrow. I just want to see the sights here. Like you promised me.' And as she spoke, the
- dread once more reappeared and settled on her chest, the peculiar blind panic that had scarcely
- gone away, even in the brightest of moments with him. It rose to the top and commanded her; she
- felt it quivering in her face, shining out so that he could easily take note of it.
- Joe said, 'We'll buzz up there and then afterward when we come back — we'll take in the sights
- here.' He spoke reasonably, and yet still with the stark deadness as if he were reciting.
- 'No,' she said.
- 'Put on that blue dress.' He rummaged around among the parcels until he found it in the largest
- box. He carefully removed the cord, got out the dress, laid it on the bed with precision; he did not
- hurry. 'Okay? You'll be a knockout. Listen, we'll buy a bottle of high-price Scotch and take it along.
- That Vat 69.'
- Frank, she thought. Help me. I'm in something I don't understand.
- 'It's much farther,' she answered, 'than you realize. I looked on the map. It'll be real late when we
- get there, more like eleven or past midnight.'
- He said, 'Put on the dress or I'll kill you.'
- Closing her eyes, she began to giggle. My training, she thought. It was true, after all; now we'll
- see. Can he kill me or can't I pinch a nerve in his back and cripple him for life? But he fought those
- British commandoes; he's gone through this already, many years ago.
- 'I know you maybe can throw me,' Joe said. 'Or maybe not.'
- 'Not throw you,' she said. 'Maim you permanently. I actually can. I lived out on the West Coast.
- The Japs taught me, up in Seattle. You go on to Cheyenne if you want to and leave me here. Don't
- try to force me. I'm scared of you and I'll try.' Her voice broke. 'I'll try to get you so bad, if you
- come at me.'
- 'Oh come on — put on the goddam dress! What's this all about? You must be nuts, talking like
- that about killing and maiming, just because I want you to hop in the car after dinner and drive up
- the autobahn with me and see this fellow whose book you — '
- A knock at the door.
- Joe stalked to it and opened it. A uniformed boy in the corridor said, 'Valet service. You inquired
- at the desk, sir.'
- 'Oh yes,' Joe said, striding to the bed; he gathered up the new white shirts which he had bought
- and carried them to the bellboy. 'Can you get them back in half an hour?'
- 'Just ironing out the folds,' the boy said, examining them. 'Not cleaning. Yes, I'm sure they can,
- sir.'
- As Joe shut the door, Juliana said, 'How did you know a new white shirt can't be worn until it's
- pressed?'
- He said nothing; he shrugged.
- 'I had forgotten,' Juliana said. 'And a woman ought to know . . . when you take them out of the
- cellophane they're all wrinkled.'
- 'When I was younger I used to dress up and go out a lot.'
- 'How did you know the hotel had valet service? I didn't know it. Did you really have your hair
- cut and dyed? I think your hair always was blond, and you were wearing a hairpiece. Isn't that so?'
- Again he shrugged.
- 'You must be an SD man,' she said. 'Posing as a wop truck driver. You never fought in North
- Africa, did you? You're supposed to come up here to kill Abendsen; isn't that so? I know it is. I
- guess I'm pretty dumb.' She felt dried-up, withered.
- After an interval, Joe said, 'Sure! fought in North Africa. Maybe not with Pardi's artillery battery.
- With the Brandenburgers.' He added, 'Wehrmacht kommando. Infiltrated British HQs. I don't see
- what difference it makes; we saw plenty of action. And I was at Cairo; I earned the medal and a
- battlefield citation. Corporal.'
- 'Is that fountain pen a weapon?'
- He did not answer.
- 'A bomb,' she realized suddenly, saying it aloud. 'A booby-trap kind of bomb, that's wired so it'll
- explode when someone touches it.'
- 'No,' he said. 'What you saw is a two-watt transmitter and receiver. So I can keep in radio
- contact. In case there's a change of plan, what with the day-by-day political situation in Berlin.'
- 'You check in with them just before you do it. To be sure.'
- He nodded.
- 'You're not Italian; you're a German.'
- 'Swiss.'
- She said, 'My husband is a Jew.'
- 'I don't care what your husband is. All I want is for you to put on that dress and fix yourself up so
- we can go to dinner. Fix your hair somehow; I wish you could have gotten to the hairdresser's.
- Possibly the hotel beauty salon is still open. You could do that while I wait for my shirts and take
- my shower.'
- 'How are you going to kill him?'
- Joe said, 'Please put on the new dress, Juliana. I'll phone down and ask about the hairdresser.' He
- walked over to the room phone.
- 'Why do you need me along?'
- Dialing, Joe said, 'We have a folder on Abendsen and it seems he is attracted to a certain type of
- dark, libidinous girl. A specific Middle-Eastern or Mediterranean type.'
- As he talked to the hotel people, Juliana went over to the bed and lay down. She shut her eyes
- and put her arm across her face.
- 'They do have a hairdresser,' Joe said when he had hung up the phone. 'And she can take care of
- you right away. You go down to the salon; it's on the mezzanine.' He handed her something;
- opening her eyes she saw that it was more Reichsbank notes. 'To pay her.'
- She said, 'Let me lie here. Will you please?'
- He regarded her with a look of acute curiosity and concern.
- 'Seattle is like San Francisco would have been,' she said, 'if there had been no Great Fire. Real
- old wooden buildings and some brick ones, and hilly like S.F. The Japs there go back to a long time
- before the war. They have a whole business section and houses, stores and everything, very old. It's
- a port. This little old Jap who taught me — I had gone up there with a Merchant Marine guy, and
- while I was there I started taking these lessons. Minoru Ichoyasu; he wore a vest and tie. He was as
- round as a yo-yo. He taught upstairs in a Jap office building; he had that old-fashioned gold
- lettering on his door, and a waiting room like a dentist's office. With National Geographics.'
- Bending over her, Joe took hold of her arm and lifted her to a sitting position; he supported her,
- propped her up. 'What's the matter? You act like you're sick.' He peered into her face, searching her
- features.
- 'I'm dying,' she said.
- 'It's just an anxiety attack. Don't you have them all the time? I can get you a sedative from the
- hotel pharmacy. What about phenobarbital? And we haven't eaten since ten this morning. You'll be
- all right. When we get to Abendsen's, you don't have to do a thing, only stand there with me; I'll do
- the talking. Just smile and be companionable with me and him; stay with him and make
- conversation with him, so that he stays with us and doesn't go off somewhere. When he sees you
- I'm certain he'll let us in, especially with that Italian dress cut as it is. I'd let you in, myself, if I were
- he.'
- 'Let me go into the bathroom,' she said. 'I'm sick. Please.' She struggled loose from him. 'I'm
- being sick — let me go.'
- He let her go, and she made her way across the room and into the bathroom; she shut the door
- behind her.
- I can do it, she thought. She snapped the light on; it dazzled her. She squinted. I can find it. In the
- medicine cabinet, a courtesy pack of razor blades, soap, toothpaste. She opened the fresh little pack
- of blades. Single edge, yes. Unwrapped the new greasy blueblack blade.
- Water ran in the shower. She stepped in — good God; she had on her clothes. Ruined. Her dress
- clung. Hair streaming. Horrified, she stumbled, half fell, groping her way out. Water drizzling from
- her stockings . . . she began to cry.
- Joe found her standing by the bowl. She had taken her wet ruined suit off; she stood naked,
- supporting herself on one arm, leaning and resting. 'Jesus Christ,' she said to him when she realized
- he was there. 'I don't know what to do. My jersey suit is ruined. It's wool.' She pointed: he turned to
- see the heap of sodden clothes.
- Very calmly — but his face was stricken — he said, 'Well, you weren't going to wear that
- anyhow.' With a fluffy white hotel towel he dried her off, led her from the bathroom back to the
- warm carpeted main room. 'Put on your underwear — get something on. I'll have the hairdresser
- come up here; she has to, that's all there is.' Again he picked up the phone and dialed.
- 'What did you get me in the way of pills?' she asked, when he had finished phoning.
- 'I forgot. I'll call down to the pharmacy. No, wait;! have something. Nembutal or some damn
- thing.' Hurrying to his suitcase, he began rummaging.
- When he held out two yellow capsules to her she said, 'Will they destroy me?' She accepted them
- clumsily.
- 'What?' he said, his face twitching.
- Rot my lower body, she thought. Groin to dry. 'I mean,' she said cautiously, 'weaken my
- concentration?'
- 'No-it's some A.G. Chemie product they give back home. I use them when I can't sleep. I'll get
- you a glass of water.' He ran off.
- Blade, she thought. I swallowed it; now cuts my loins forever. Punishment. Married to a Jew and
- shacking up with a Gestapo assassin. She felt tears again in her eyes, boiling. For all I have
- committed. Wrecked. 'Let's go, '- she said, rising to her feet. 'The hairdresser.'
- 'You're not dressed!' He led her, sat her down, tried to get her underpants onto her without
- success. 'I have to get your hair fixed,' he said in a despairing voice. 'Where is that Hur, that
- woman?'
- She said, speaking slowly and painstakingly, 'Hair creates bear who removes spots in nakedness.
- Hiding, no hide to be hung with a hook. The hook from God. Hair, hear, Hur.' Pills eating.
- Probably turpentine acid. They all met, decided dangerous most corrosive solvent to eat me forever.
- Staring down at her, Joe blanched. Must read into me, she thought. Reads my mind with his
- machine, although I can't find it.
- 'Those pills,' she said. 'Confuse and bewilder.' He said, 'You didn't take them.' He pointed to her
- clenched fist; she discovered that she still had them there. 'You're mentally ill,' he said. He had
- become heavy, slow, like some inert mass. 'You're very sick. We can't go.'
- 'No doctor,' she said. 'I'll be okay.' She tried to smile; she watched his face to see if she had.
- Reflection from his brain, caught my thoughts in rots.
- 'I can't take you to the Abendsens',' he said. 'Not now, anyway. Tomorrow. Maybe you'll be
- better. We'll try tomorrow. We have to.,'
- 'May I go to the bathroom again?'
- He nodded, his face working, barely hearing her. So she returned to the bathroom; again she shut
- the door. In the cabinet another blade, which she took in her right hand. She came out once more.
- 'Bye-bye,' she said.
- As she opened the corridor door he exclaimed, grabbed wildly at her.
- Whisk. 'It is awful,' she said. 'They violate. I ought to know.' Ready for purse snatcher; the
- various night prowlers, I can certainly handle. Where had this one gone? Slapping his neck, doing a
- dance. 'Let me by,' she said. 'Don't bar my way unless you want a lesson. However, only women.'
- Holding the blade up she went on opening the door. Joe sat on the floor, hands pressed to the side
- of his throat. Sunburn posture. 'Good-bye,' she said, and shut the door behind her. The warm
- carpeted corridor.
- A woman in a white smock, humming or singing, wheeled a cart along, head down. Gawked at
- door numbers, arrived in front of Juliana; the woman lifted her head, and her eyes popped and her
- mouth fell.
- 'Oh sweetie,' she said, 'you really are tight; you need a lot more than a hairdresser — you go right
- back inside your room and get your clothes on before they throw you out of this hotel. My good
- lord.' She opened the door behind Juliana. 'Have your man sober you up; I'll have room service
- send up hot coffee. Please now, get into your room.' Pushing Juliana back into the room, the
- woman slammed the door after her and the sound of her cart diminished.
- Hairdresser lady, Juliana realized. Looking down, she saw that she did have nothing on; the
- woman had been correct.
- 'Joe,' she said. 'They won't let me.' She found the bed, found her suitcase, opened it, spilled out
- clothes. Underwear, then blouse and skirt . . . pair of low-heeled shoes. 'Made me come back,' she
- said. Finding a comb, she rapidly combed her hair, then brushed it. 'What an experience. That
- woman was right outside, about to knock.' Rising, she went to find the mirror. 'Is this better?'
- Mirror in the closet door; turning, she surveyed herself, twisting, standing on tiptoe.
- 'I'm so embarrassed,' she said, glancing around for him. 'I hardly know what I'm doing. You must
- have given me something; whatever it was it just made me sick, instead of helping me.'
- Still sitting on the floor, clasping the side of his neck, Joe said, 'Listen. You're very good. You
- cut my aorta. Artery in my neck.'
- Giggling, she clapped her hand to her mouth. 'Oh God — you're such a freak. I mean, you get
- words all wrong. The aorta's in your chest; you mean the carotid.'
- 'If I let go,' he said, 'I'll bleed out in two minutes. You know that. So get me some kind of help,
- get a doctor or an ambulance. You understand me? Did you mean to? Evidently. Okay — you'll call
- or go get someone?'
- After pondering, she said, 'I meant to.'
- 'Well,' he said, 'anyhow, get them for me. For my sake.'
- 'Go yourself.'
- 'I don't have it completely closed.' Blood had seeped through his fingers, she saw, down his
- wrist. Pool on the floor. 'I don't dare move. I have to stay here.'
- She put on her new coat, closed her new handmade leather purse, picked up her suitcase and as
- many of the parcels which were hers as she could manage; in particular she made sure she took the
- big box and the blue Italian dress tucked carefully in it. As she opened the corridor door she looked
- back at him. 'Maybe I can tell them at the desk,' she said. 'Downstairs.'
- 'Yes,' he said.
- 'All right,' she said. 'I'll tell them. Don't look for me back at the apartment in Canon City because
- I'm not going back there. And I have most of those Reichsbank notes, so I'm in good shape, in spite
- of everything. Good-bye. I'm sorry.' She shut the door and hurried along the hall as fast as she
- could manage, lugging the suitcase and parcels.
- At the elevator, an elderly well-dressed businessman and his wife helped her; they took the
- parcels for her, and downstairs in the lobby they gave them to a bellboy for her.
- 'Thank you,' Juliana said to them.
- After the bellboy had carried her suitcase and parcels across the lobby and out onto the front
- sidewalk, she found a hotel employee who could explain to her how to get back her car. Soon she
- was standing in the cold concrete garage beneath the hotel, waiting while the attendant brought the
- Studebaker around. In her purse she found all kinds of change; she tipped the attendant and the next
- she knew she was driving up a yellow-lit ramp and onto the dark street with its headlights, cars,
- advertising neon signs.
- The uniformed doorman of the hotel personally loaded her luggage and parcels into the trunk for
- her, smiling with such hearty encouragement that she gave him an enormous tip before she drove
- away. No one tried to stop her, and that amazed her; they did not even raise an eyebrow. I guess
- they know he'll pay, she decided. Or maybe he already did when he registered for us.
- While she waited with other cars for a streetlight to change, she remembered that she had not
- told them at the desk about Joe sitting on the floor of the room needing the doctor. Still waiting up
- there, waiting from now on until the end of the world, or until the cleaning women showed up
- tomorrow sometime. I better go back, she decided, or telephone. Stop at a pay phone booth.
- It's so silly, she thought as she drove along searching for a place to park and telephone. Who
- would have thought an hour ago? When we signed in, when we shopped . . . we almost went on,
- got dressed up and Went out to dinner; we might even have gotten out to the nightclub. Again she
- had begun to cry, she discovered; tears dripped from her nose, onto her blouse, as she drove. Too
- bad I didn't consult the oracle; it would have known and warned me. Why didn't I? Any time I
- could have asked, any place along the trip or even before we left. She began to moan involuntarily;
- the noise, a howling she had never heard issue out of her before, horrified her, but she could not
- suppress it even though she clamped her teeth together. A ghastly chanting, singing, wailing, rising
- up through her nose.
- When she had parked she sat with the motor running, shivering, hands in her coat pockets.
- Christ, she said to herself miserably. Well, I guess that's the sort of thing that happens. She got out
- of the car and dragged her suitcase from the trunk; in the back seat she opened it and dug around
- among the clothes and shoes until she had hold of the two black volumes of the oracle. There, in
- the back seat of the car, with the motor running, she began tossing three RMS dimes, using the
- glare of a department store window to see by. What'll I do? she asked it. Tell me what to do; please.
- Hexagram Forty-two, Increase, with moving lines in the second, third, fourth and top places;
- therefore changing to Hexagram Forty-three, Breakthrough. She scanned the text ravenously,
- catching up the successive stages of meaning in her mind, gathering it and comprehending; Jesus, it
- depicted the situation exactly — a miracle once more. All that had happened, there before her eyes,
- blueprint, schematic:
- It furthers one
- To undertake something.
- It furthers one to cross the great water.
- Trip, to go and do something important, not stay here. Now the lines. Her lips moved, seeking. . .
- Ten pairs of tortoises cannot oppose him.
- Constant perseverance brings good fortune.
- The king presents him before God.
- Now six in the third. Reading, she became dizzy;
- One is enriched through unfortunate events.
- No blame, if you are sincere
- And walk in the middle,
- And report with a seal to the prince.
- The prince. . . it meant Abendsen. The seal, the new copy of his book. Unfortunate events — the
- oracle knew what had happened to her, the dreadfulness with Joe or whatever he was. She read six
- in the fourth place:
- If you walk in the middle
- And report to the prince,
- He will follow.
- I must go there, she realized, even if Joe comes after me. She devoured the last moving line, nine
- at the top:
- He brings increase to no one.
- Indeed, someone even strikes him.
- He does not keep his heart constantly steady.
- Misfortune.
- Oh God, she thought; It means the killer, the Gestapo people — it's telling me that Joe or
- someone like him, someone else, will get there and kill Abendsen. Quickly, she turned to
- Hexagram Forty-three. The judgment:
- One must resolutely make the matter known
- At the court of the king.
- It must be announced truthfully. Danger.
- It is necessary to notify one's own city.
- It does not further to resort to arms.
- It furthers one to undertake something.
- So it's no use to go back to the hotel and make sure about him; it's hopeless, because there will be
- others sent out. Again the oracle says, even more emphatically: Get up to Cheyenne and warn
- Abendsen, however dangerous it is to me. I must bring him the truth.
- She shut the volume.
- Getting back behind the wheel of the car, she backed out into traffic. In a short time she had
- found her way out of downtown Denver and onto the main autobahn going north; she drove as fast
- as the car would go, the engine making a strange throbbing noise that shook the wheel and the seat
- and made everything in the glove compartment rattle.
- Thank God for Doctor Todt and his autobahns, she said to herself as she hurtled along through
- the darkness, seeing only her own headlights and the lines marking the lanes.
- At ten o'clock that night because of tire trouble she had still not reached Cheyenne, so there was
- nothing to do but pull off the road and search for a place to spend the night.
- An autobahn exit sign ahead of her read GREELEY FIVE MILES. I'll start out again tomorrow
- morning, she told herself as she drove slowly along the main street of Greeley a few minutes later.
- She saw several motels with vacancy signs lit, so there was no problem. What I must do, she
- decided, is call Abendsen tonight and say I'm coming.
- When she had parked she got wearily from the car, relieved to be able to stretch her legs. All day
- on the road, from eight in the morning on. An all-night drugstore could be made out not far down
- the sidewalk; hands in the pockets of her coat, she walked that way, and soon she was shut up in the
- privacy of the phone booth, asking the operator for Cheyenne information. -
- Their phone — thank God — was listed. She put in the quarters and the operator rang.
- 'Hello,' a woman's voice sounded presently, a vigorous, rather pleasant younger-woman's voice;
- a woman no doubt about her own age.
- 'Mrs. Abendsen?' Juliana said. 'May I talk to Mr. Abendsen?'
- 'Who is this, please?'
- Juliana said, 'I read his book and I drove all day up from Canon City, Colorado. I'm in Greeley
- now. I thought I could make it to your place tonight, but I can't, so I want to know if I can see him
- sometime tomorrow.'
- After a pause, Mrs. Abendsen said in a still-pleasant voice, 'Yes, it's too late, now; we go to bed
- quite early. Was there any — special reason why you wanted to see my husband? He's working
- very hard right now.'
- 'I wanted to speak to him,' she said. Her own voice in her ears sounded drab and wooden; she
- stared at the wall of the booth, unable to find anything further to say — her body ached and her
- mouth felt dry and full of foul tastes. Beyond the phone booth she could see the druggist at the soda
- counter serving milk shakes to four teen-agers. She longed to be there; she scarcely paid attention
- as Mrs. Abendsen answered. She longed for some fresh, cold drink, and something like a chicken
- salad sandwich to go with it.
- 'Hawthorne works erratically,' Mrs. Abendsen was saying in her merry, brisk voice. 'If you drive
- up here tomorrow I can't promise you anything, because he might be involved all day long. But if
- you understand that before you make the trip — '
- 'Yes,' she broke in.
- 'I know he'll be glad to chat with you for a few minutes if he can,' Mrs. Abendsen continued. 'But
- please don't be disappointed if by chance he can't break off long enough to talk to you or even see
- you.'
- 'We read his book and liked it,' Juliana said. 'I have it with me.'
- 'I see,' Mrs. Abendsen said good-naturedly.
- 'We stopped off at Denver and shopped, so we lost a lot of time.' No, she thought; it's all
- changed, all different. 'Listen,' she said, 'the oracle told me to come to Cheyenne.'
- 'Oh my,' Mrs. Abendsen said, sounding as if she knew about the oracle, and yet not taking the
- situation seriously.
- 'I'll give you the lines.' She had brought the oracle with her into the phone booth; propping the
- volumes up on the shelf beneath the phone, she laboriously turned the pages. 'Just a second.' She
- located the page and read first the judgment and then the lines to Mrs. Abendsen. When she got to
- the nine at the top — the line about someone striking him and misfortune — she heard Mrs.
- Abendsen exclaim. 'Pardon?' Juliana said, pausing.
- 'Go ahead,' Mrs. Abendsen said. Her tone, Juliana thought, had a more alert, sharpened quality
- now.
- After Juliana had read the judgment of the Forty-third hexagram, with the word danger in it,
- there was silence. Mrs. Abendsen said nothing and Juliana said nothing.
- 'Well, we'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then,' Mrs. Abendsen said finally. 'And would
- you give me your name, please?'
- 'Juliana Frink,' she said. 'Thank you very much, Mrs. Abendsen.' The operator, now, had broken
- in to clamor about the time being up, so Juliana hung up the phone, collected her purse and the
- volumes of the oracle, left the phone booth and walked over to the drugstore fountain.
- After she had ordered a sandwich and a Coke, and was sitting smoking a cigarette and resting,
- she realized with a rush of unbelieving horror that she had said nothing to Mrs. Abendsen about the
- Gestapo man or the SD man or whatever he was, that Joe Cinnadella she had left in the hotel room
- in Denver. She simply could not believe it. I forgot! she said to herself. It dropped completely out
- of my mind. How could that be? I must be nuts; I must be terribly sick and stupid and nuts.
- For a moment she fumbled with her purse, trying to find change for another call. No, she decided
- as she started up from the stool. I can't call them again tonight; I'll let it go — it's just too goddam
- late. I'm tired and they're probably asleep by now.
- She ate her chicken salad sandwich, drank her Coke, and then she drove to the nearest- motel,
- rented a room and crept tremblingly into bed.
- 14
- Mr. Nobusuke Tagomi thought, There is no answer. No understanding. Even in the oracle. Yet I
- must go on living day to day anyhow.
- I will go and find the small. Live unseen, at any rate. Until some later time when —
- In any case he said good-bye to his wife and left his house. But today he did not go to the Nippon
- Times Building as usual. What about relaxation? Drive to Golden Gate Park with its zoo and fish?
- Visit where things who cannot think nonetheless enjoy.
- Time. It is a long trip for the pedecab, and it gives me more time to perceive. If that can be said.
- But trees and zoo are not personal. I must clutch at human life. This had made me into a child,
- although that could be good. I could make it good.
- The pedecab driver pumped along Kearny Street, toward downtown San Francisco. Ride cable
- car, Mr. Tagomi thought suddenly. Happiness in clearest, almost tear-jerking voyage, object that
- should have vanished in 1900 but is oddly yet extant.
- He dismissed the pedecab, walked along the sidewalk toward the nearest cable tracks.
- Perhaps, he thought, I can never go back to the Nippon Times Building, with its stink of death.
- My career over, but just as well. A replacement can be found by the Board of Trade Mission
- Activities. But Tagomi still walks, exists, recalling every detail. So nothing is accomplished.
- In any case the war, Operation Dandelion, will sweep us all away. No matter what we are doing
- at the time. Our enemy, alongside whom we fought in the last war. What good did it do us? We
- should have fought them, possibly. Or permitted them to lose, assisted their enemies, the United
- States, Britain, Russia.
- Hopeless wherever one looks.
- The oracle enigmatic. Perhaps it has withdrawn from the world of man in sorrow. The sages
- leaving.
- We have entered a Moment when we are alone. We cannot get assistance, as before. Well, Mr.
- Tagomi thought, perhaps that too is good. Or can be made good. One must still try to find the Way.
- He boarded the California Street cable car, rode all the way to the end of the line. He even
- hopped out and assisted in turning the cable car around on its wooden turntable. That, of all
- experiences in the city, had the most meaning for him, customarily. Now the effect languished; he
- felt the void even more acutely, due to vitiation here of all places.
- Naturally he rode back. But. . . a formality, he realized as he watched the streets, buildings,
- traffic pass in reverse of before.
- Near Stockton he rose to get off. But at the stop, when he started to descend, the conductor
- hailed him. 'Your briefcase, sir.'
- 'Thank you.' He had left it on the cable car. Reaching up he accepted it, then bowed as the cable
- car clanged into motion. Very valuable briefcase contents, he thought. Priceless Colt .44 collector's
- item carried within. Now kept within easy reach constantly, in case vengeful hooligans of SD
- should try to repay me as individual. One never knows. And yet — Mr. Tagomi felt that this new
- procedure, despite all that had occurred, was neurotic. I should not yield to it, he told himself once
- again as he walked along carrying the briefcase. Compulsion-obsession-phobia. But he could not
- free himself.
- It in my grip, I in its, he thought.
- Have I then lost my delighted attitude? he asked himself. Is all instinct perverted from the
- memory of what I did? All collecting damaged, not merely attitude toward this one item? Mainstay
- of my life . . . area, alas, where I dwelt with such relish.
- Hailing a pedecab, he directed the driver to Montgomery Street and Robert Childan's shop. Let
- us find out. One thread left, connecting me with the voluntary. I possibly could manage m-y
- anxious proclivities by a ruse: trade the gun in on more historicity sanctioned item. This gun, for
- me, has too much subjective history . . . all of the wrong kind. But that ends with me; no one else
- can experience it from the gun. Within my psyche only.
- Free myself, he decided with excitement. When the gun goes, it all leaves, the cloud of the past.
- For it is not merely in my psyche; it is — as has always been said in the theory of historicity —
- within the gun as well. An equation between us!
- He reached the store. Where I have dealt so much, he observed as he paid the driver. Both
- business and private. Carrying the briefcase he quickly entered.
- There, at the cash register, Mr. Childan. Polishing with cloth some artifact.
- 'Mr. Tagomi,' Childan said, with a bow.
- 'Mr. Childan.' He, too, bowed.
- 'What a surprise. I am overcome.' Childan put down the object and cloth. Around the corner of
- the counter he came. Usual ritual, the greeting, et cetera. Yet, Mr. Tagomi felt the man today
- somehow different. Rather — muted. An improvement, he decided. Always a trifle loud, shrill.
- Skipping about with agitation. But this might well be a bad omen.
- 'Mr. Childan,' Mr. Tagomi said, placing his briefcase on the counter and unzipping it, 'I wish to
- trade in an item bought several years ago. You do that, I recollect.'
- 'Yes,' Mr. Childan said. 'Depending on condition, for instance.' He watched alertly. -
- 'Colt .44 revolver,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- They were both silent, regarding the gun as it lay in its open teakwood box -with its carton of
- partly consumed ammunition.
- Shade colder by Mr. Childan. Ah, Mr. Tagomi realized. Well, so be it. 'You are not interested,'
- Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'No sir,' Mr. Childan said in a stiff voice.
- 'I will not press it.' He did not feel any strength. I yield. Yin, the adaptive, receptive, holds sway
- in me, I fear.
- 'Forgive me, Mr. Tagomi.'
- Mr. Tagomi bowed, replaced the gun, ammunition, box, in his briefcase. Destiny. I must keep
- this thing.
- 'You seem — quite disappointed,' Mr. Childan said.
- 'You notice.' He was perturbed; had he let his inner world out for all to view? He shrugged.
- Certainly it was so.
- 'Was there a special reason why you wanted to trade that item in?' Mr. Childan said.
- 'No,' he said, once more concealing his personal world-as should be. -
- Mr. Childan hesitated, then said, 'I — wonder if that did emanate from my store. I do not carry
- that item.'
- 'I am sure,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'But it does not matter. I accept your decision; I am not offended.'
- 'Sir,' Childan said, 'allow me to show you what has come in. Are you free for a moment?'
- Mr. Tagomi felt within him the old stirring. 'Something of unusual interest?'
- 'Come, sir.' Childan led the way across the store; Mr. Tagomi followed.
- Within a locked glass case, on trays of black velvet, lay small metal swirls, shapes that merely
- hinted rather than were. They gave Mr. Tagomi a queer feeling as he stooped to study.
- 'I show these ruthlessly to each of my customers,' Robert Childan said. 'Sir, do you know what
- these are?'
- 'Jewelry, it appears,' Mr. Tagomi said, noticing a pin.
- 'These are American-made. Yes of course. But, sir. These are not the old.'
- Mr. Tagomi glanced up.
- 'Sir, these are the new.' Robert Childan's white, somewhat drab features were disturbed by
- passion. 'This is the new life of my country, sir. The beginning in the form of tiny imperishable
- seeds. Of beauty.'
- With due interest, Mr. Tagomi took time to examine in his own hands several of the pieces. Yes,
- there is something new which animates these, he decided. The Law of Tao is borne out, here; when
- yin lies everywhere, the first stirring of light is suddenly alive in the darkest depths.. . we are all
- familiar; we have seen it happen before, as I see it here now. And yet for me they are just scraps. I
- cannot become rapt, as Mr. R. Childan, here. Unfortunately, for both of us. But that is the case. -
- 'Quite lovely,' he murmured, laying down the pieces. Mr. Childan said in a forceful voice, 'Sir, it
- does not occur at once.'
- 'Pardon?'
- 'The new view in your heart.'
- 'You are converted,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'I wish I could be. I am not.' He bowed.
- 'Another time,' Mr. Childan said, accompanying him to the entrance of the store; he made no
- move to display any alternative items, Mr. Tagomi noticed.
- 'Your certitude is in questionable taste,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'It seems to press untowardly.'
- Mr. Childan did not cringe. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'But I am correct. I sense accurately in these
- the contracted germ of the future.'
- 'So be it,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'But your Anglo-Saxon fanaticism does not appeal to me.'
- Nonetheless, he felt a certain renewal of hope. His own hope, in himself, 'Good day.' He bowed. 'I
- will see you again one of these days. We can perhaps examine your prophecy.'
- Mr. Childan bowed, saying nothing.
- Carrying his briefcase, with the Colt .44 within, Mr. Tagomi departed. I go out as I came in, he
- reflected. Still seeking. Still without what I need if I - am to return to the world.
- What if I had bought one of those odd, indistinct items? Kept it, reexamined, contemplated. . .
- would I have subsequently, through it, found my way back? I doubt it.
- Those are for him, not me.
- And yet, even if one person finds his-way . . . that means there is a Way. Even if I personally fail
- to reach it.
- I envy him.
- Turning, Mr. Tagomi started back toward the store. There in the doorway, stood Mr. Childan
- regarding him. He had not gone back in.
- 'Sir,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'I will buy one of those, whichever you select. I have no faith, but I am
- currently grasping at straws.' He followed Mr. Childan through the store once more, to the glass
- case. 'I do not believe. I will carry it about with me, looking at it at regular intervals. Once every
- other day, for instance. After two months if I do not see — '
- 'You may return it for full credit,' Mr. Childan said.
- 'Thank you,' Mr. Tagomi said. He felt better. Sometimes one must try anything, he decided. It is
- no disgrace. On the contrary, it is a sign of wisdom, of recognizing the situation.
- 'This will calm you,' Mr. Childan said. He laid out a single small silver triangle ornamented with
- hollow drops. Black beneath, bright and light-filled above.
- 'Thank you,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- By pedecab Mr. Tagomi journeyed to Portsmouth Square, a little open park on the slope above
- Kearny Street overlooking the police station. He seated himself on a bench in the sun. Pigeons
- walked along the paved paths in search of food. On other benches shabby men read the newspaper
- or dozed. Here and there others lay on the grass, nearly asleep.
- Bringing from his pocket the paper bag marked with the name of Mr. R. Childan's store, Mr.
- Tagomi sat holding the paper bag with both hands, warming himself. Then he opened the bag and
- lifted out his new possession for inspection in solitude, here in this little grass and path park of old
- men.
- He held the squiggle of silver. Reflection of the midday sun, like boxtop cereal trinket, sent-away
- acquired Jack Armstrong magnifying mirror. Or — he gazed down into it. Om as the Brahmins say.
- Shrunk spot in which all is captured. Both, at least in hint. The size, the shape. He continued to
- inspect dutifully.
- Will it come, as Mr. R. Childan prophesied? Five minutes. Ten minutes. I sit as long as I can.
- Time, alas, will make us sell it short. What is it I hold, while there is still time?
- Forgive me, Mr. Tagomi thought in the direction of the squiggle. Pressure on us always to rise
- and act. Regretfully, he began to put the thing away back in its bag. One final hopeful glance — he
- again scrutinized with all that he had. Like child, he told himself. Imitate the innocence and faith.
- On seashore, pressing randomly found shell to head. Hearing in its blabber the wisdom of the sea.
- This, with eye replacing ear. Enter me and inform what has been done, what it means, why.
- Compression of understanding into one finite squiggle.
- Asking too much, and so get nothing.
- 'Listen,' he said sotto voce to the squiggle. 'Sales warranty promised much.'
- If I shake it violently, like old recalcitrant watch. He did so, up and down. Or like dice in critical
- game. Awaken the diety inside. Peradventure he sleepeth. Or he is on a journey. Titillating heavy
- irony by Prophet Elijah. Or he is pursuing. Mr. Tagomi violently shook the silver squiggle up and
- down in his clenched fist once more. Call him louder. Again he scrutinized.
- You little thing, you are empty, he thought.
- Curse at it, he told himself. Frighten it.
- 'My patience is running out,' he said sotto voce.
- And what then? Fling you in the gutter? Breathe on it, shake it, breathe on it. Win me the game.
- He laughed. Addlepated involvement, here in warm sunlight. Spectacle to whoever comes along.
- Peeking about guiltily, now. But no one saw. Old men snoozing. Measure of relief, there.
- Tried everything, he realized. Pleaded, contemplated, threatened, philosophized at length. What
- else can be done?
- Could I but stay here. It is denied me. Opportunity will perhaps occur again. And yet, as W. S.
- Gilbert says, such an opportunity will not occur again. Is that so? I feel it to be so.
- When I was a child I thought as a child. But now I have put away childish things. Now I must
- seek in other realms. I must keep after this object in new ways.
- I must be scientific. Exhaust by logical analysis every entree. Systematically, in classic
- Aristotelian laboratory manner.
- He put his finger in his right ear, to shut off traffic and all other distracting noises. Then he
- tightly held the silver triangle, shellwise, to his left ear.
- No sound. No roar of simulated ocean, in actuality interior blood-motion noises — not even that.
- Then what other sense might apprehend mystery? Hearing of no use, evidently. Mr. Tagomi shut
- his eyes and began fingering every bit of surface on the item. Not touch; his fingers told him
- nothing. Smell. He put the silver close to his nose and inhaled. Metallic faint odor, but it conveyed
- no meaning. Taste. Opening his mouth he sneaked the silver triangle within, popped it in like a
- cracker, but of course refrained from chewing. No meaning, only bitter hard cold thing.
- He again held it in his palm.
- Back at last to seeing. Highest ranking of the senses: Greek scale of priority. He turned the silver
- triangle each and every way; he viewed it from every extra rem standpoint.
- What do I see? he asked himself. Due to long patient painstaking study. What is clue of truth that
- confronts me in this object?
- Yield, he told the silver triangle. Cough up arcane secret.
- Like frog pulled from depths, he thought. Clutched in fist, given command to declare what lies
- below in the watery abyss. But here the frog does not even mock; it strangles silently, becomes
- stone or clay or mineral. Inert. Passes back to the rigid substance familiar in its tomb world.
- Metal is from the earth, he thought as he scrutinized. From below: from that realm which is the
- lowest, the most dense. Land of trolls and caves, dank, always dark. Yin world, in its most
- melancholy aspect. World of corpses, decay and collapse. Of feces. All that has died, slipping and
- disintegrating back down layer by layer. The daemonic world of the immutable; the time-that-was.
- And yet, in the sunlight, the silver triangle glittered. It reflected light. Fire, Mr. Tagomi thought.
- Not dank or dark object at all. Not heavy, weary, but pulsing with life. The high realm, aspect of
- yang: empyrean, ethereal. As befits work of art. Yes, that is artist's job: takes mineral rock from
- dark silent earth transforms it into shining light-reflecting form from sky.
- Has brought the dead to life. Corpse turned to fiery display; the past had yielded to the future.
- Which are you? he asked the silver squiggle. Dark dead yin or brilliant living yang? In his palm,
- the silver squiggle danced and blinded him; he squinted, seeing now only the play of fire.
- Body of yin, soul of yang. Metal and fire unified. The outer and inner; microcosmos in my palm.
- What is the space which this speaks of? Vertical ascent. To heaven. Of time? Into the light-world
- of the mutable. Yes, this thing has disgorged its spirit: light. And my attention is fixed; I can't look
- away. Spellbound by mesmerizing shimmering surface which I can no longer control. No longer
- free to dismiss.
- Now talk to me, he told it. Now that you have snared me. I want to hear your voice issuing from
- the blinding clear white light, such as we expect to see only in the Bardo Thodol afterlife existence.
- But I do not have to wait for death, for the decomposition of my animus as it wanders in search of a
- new womb. All the terrifying and beneficent deities; we will bypass them, and the smoky lights as
- well. And the couples in coitus. Everything except this light. I am ready to face without terror.
- Notice I do not blench.
- I feel the hot winds of karma driving me. Nevertheless I remain here. My training was correct: I
- must not shrink from the clear white light, for if I do, I will once more reenter the cycle of birth and
- death, never knowing freedom, never obtaining release. The veil of maya will fall once more if I —
- The light disappeared.
- He held the dull silver triangle only. Shadow had cut off the sun; Mr. Tagomi glanced up.
- Tall, blue-suited policeman standing by his bench, smiling.
- 'Eh?' Mr. Tagomi said, startled.
- 'I was just watching you work that puzzle.' The policeman started on along the path.
- 'Puzzle,' Mr. Tagomi echoed. 'Not a puzzle.'
- 'Isn't that one of those little puzzles you have to take apart? My kid has a whole lot of them.
- Some are hard.' The policeman passed on.
- Mr. Tagomi thought, Spoiled. My chance at nirvana. Gone. Interrupted by that white barbarian
- Neanderthal yank. That subhuman supposing I worked a child's puerile toy.
- Rising from the bench he took a few steps unsteadily. Must calm down. Dreadful low-class
- jingoistic racist invectives, unworthy of me.
- Incredible unredemptive passions clashing in my breast. He made his way through the park.
- Keep moving, he told himself. Catharsis in motion.
- He reached periphery of park. Sidewalk, Kearny Street. Heavy noisy traffic. Mr. Tagomi halted
- at the curb.
- No pedecabs. He walked along the sidewalk instead; he joined the crowd. Never can get one
- when you need it.
- God, what is that? He stopped, gaped at hideous misshapen thing on skyline. Like nightmare of
- roller coaster suspended, blotting out view. Enormous construction of metal and cement in air.
- Mr. Tagomi turned to a passer-by, a thin man in rumpled suit. 'What is that?' he demanded,
- pointing.
- The man grinned. 'Awful, ain't it? That's the Embarcadero Freeway. A lot of people think it
- stinks up the view.'
- 'I never saw it before,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'You're lucky,' the man said, and went on.
- Mad dream, Mr. Tagomi thought. Must wake up. Where are the pedecabs today? He began to
- walk faster. Whole vista has dull, smoky, tomb-world cast. Smell of burning. Dim gray buildings,
- sidewalk, peculiar harsh tempo in people. And still no pedecabs.
- 'Cab!' he shouted as he hurried along.
- Hopeless. Only cars and buses. Cars like brutal big crushers, all unfamiliar in shape. He avoided
- seeing them; kept his eyes straight ahead. Distortion of my optic perception of particularly sinister
- nature. A disturbance affecting my sense of space. Horizon twisted out of line. Like lethal
- astigmatism striking without warning.
- Must obtain respite. Ahead, a dingy lunch counter. Only whites within, all supping. Mr. Tagomi
- pushed open the wooden swinging doors. Smell of coffee. Grotesque jukebox in corner blaring out
- he winced and made his way to the counter. All stools taken by whites. Mr. Tagomi exclaimed.
- Several whites looked up. But none departed their places. None yielded their stools to him. They
- merely resumed supping.
- 'I insist!' Mr. Tagomi said loudly to the first white; he shouted in the man's ear.
- The man put down his coffee mug and said, 'Watch it, Tojo.'
- Mr. Tagomi looked to the other whites; all watched with hostile expressions. And none stirred.
- Bardo Thodol existence, Mr. Tagomi thought. Hot winds blowing me who knows where. This is
- vision — of what? Can the animus endure this? Yes, the Book of the Dead prepares us: after death
- we seem to glimpse others, but all appear hostile to us. One stands isolated. Unsuccored wherever
- one turns. The terrible journey — and always the realms of suffering, rebirth, ready to receive the
- fleeing, demoralized spirit. The delusions.
- He hurried from the lunch counter. The doors swung together behind him; - he stood once more
- on the sidewalk.
- Where am I? Out of my world, my space and time.
- The silver triangle disoriented me. I broke from my moorings and hence stand on nothing. So
- much for my endeavor. Lesson to me forever. One seeks to contravene one's perceptions-why? So
- that one can wander utterly lost, without signposts or guide?
- This hypnagogic condition. Attention-faculty diminished so that twilight state obtains; world
- seen merely in symbolic, archetypal aspect, totally confused with unconscious material. Typical of
- hypnosis-induced somnambulism. Must stop this dreadful gliding among shadows; refocus
- concentration and thereby restore ego center.
- He felt in his pockets for the silver triangle. Gone. Left the thing on the bench in the park, with
- briefcase. Catastrophe.
- Crouching, he ran back up the sidewalk, to the park.
- Dozing bums eyed him in surprise as he hurried up the path. There, the bench. And leaning
- against it still, his briefcase. No sign of the silver triangle. He hunted. Yes. Fallen through to grass;
- it lay partly hidden. Where he had hurled it in rage.
- He reseated himself, panting for breath.
- Focus on silver triangle once more, he told himself when he could breath. Scrutinize it forcefully
- and count. At ten, utter startling noise. Erwache, for instance.
- Idiotic daydreaming of fugal type, he thought. Emulation of more noxious aspects of
- adolescence, rather than the clearheaded pristine innocence of authentic childhood. Just what I
- deserve anyhow.
- All my own fault. No intention by Mr. R. Childan or artisans; my own greed to blame. One
- cannot compel understanding to come.
- He counted slowly, aloud, and then jumped to his feet. 'Goddam stupidity,' he said sharply.
- Mists cleared?
- He peeped about. Diffusion subsided, in all probability. Now one appreciates Saint Paul's
- incisive word choice
- seen through glass darkly not a metaphor, but astute reference to optical distortion. We really do
- see astigmatically, in fundamental sense: our space and our time creations of our own psyche, and
- when these momentarily falter — like acute disturbance of middle ear.
- Occasionally we list eccentrically, all sense of balance gone.
- He reseated himself, put the silver squiggle away in his coat pocket, sat holding his briefcase on
- his lap. What I must do now, he told himself, is go and see if that malignant construction — what
- did the man call it? Embarcadero Freeway. If it is still palpable.
- But he felt afraid to.
- And yet, he thought, I can't merely sit here. I have loads to lift, as old U.S. folk expression has it.
- Jobs to be done.
- Dilemma.
- Two small Chinese boys came scampering noisily along the path. A flock of pigeons fluttered
- up; the boys paused.
- Mr. Tagomi called, 'You, young fellows.' He dug into his pocket. 'Come here.'
- The two boys guardedly approached.
- 'Here's a dime.' Mr. Tagomi tossed them a dime; the boys scrambled for it. 'Go down to Kearny
- Street and see if there are any pedecabs. Come back and tell me.'
- 'Will you give us another dime?' one of the boys said. 'When we get back?'
- 'Yes,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'But tell me the truth.'
- The boys raced off along the path.
- If there are not, Mr. Tagomi thought, I would be well advised to retire to secluded place and kill
- myself. He clutched his briefcase. Still have the weapon; no difficulty, there.
- The boys came tearing back. 'Six!' one of them yelled. 'I counted six.'
- 'I counted five,' the other boy gasped.
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'You're sure they were pedecabs? You distinctly saw the drivers peddling?'
- 'Yes sir,' the boys said together.
- He gave each boy a dime. They thanked him and ran off.
- Back to office and job, Mr. Tagomi thought. He rose to his feet, gripping the handle of his
- briefcase. Duty calls. Customary day once again.
- Once more he walked down the path, to the sidewalk.
- 'Cab!' he called.
- From the traffic a pedecab appeared; the driver came to a halt at the curb, his dark face
- glistening, chest heaving. 'Yes sir.'
- 'Take me to the Nippon Times Building,' Mr. Tagomi ordered. He ascended to the seat and made
- himself comfortable.
- Peddling furiously, the pedecab driver moved out among the other cabs and cars.
- It was slightly before noon when Mr. Tagomi reached the Nippon Times Building. From the
- main lobby he instructed a switchboard operator to connect him with Mr. Ramsey upstairs.
- 'Tagomi, here,' he said, when the connection was complete. -
- 'Good morning, sir. I am relieved. Not seeing you, I apprehensively telephoned your home at ten
- o'clock, but your wife said you had left for unknown parts.'
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'Has the mess been cleared?'
- 'No sign remains.'
- 'Beyond dispute?'
- ''My word, sir.'
- Satisfied, Mr. Tagomi hung up and went to take the elevator.
- Upstairs, as he entered his office, he permitted himself a momentary search. Rim of his vision.
- No sign, as was promised. He felt relief. No one would know who hadn't seen. Historicity bonded
- into nylon tile of floor. .
- Mr. Ramsey met him inside. 'Your courage is topic for panegyric down below at the Times, 'he
- began. 'An article depicting — ' Making out Mr. Tagomi's expression he broke off.
- 'Answer-regarding pressing matters,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'General Tedeki? That is, quondam Mr.
- Yatabe?'
- 'On carefully obscure flight back to Tokyo. Red herrings strewn hither and yon.' Mr. Ramsey
- crossed his fingers, symbolizing their hope.
- 'Please recount regarding Mr. Baynes.'
- 'I don't know. During your absence he appeared briefly, even furtively, -but did not talk.' Mr.
- Ramsey hesitated. 'Possibly he returned to Germany.'
- 'Far better for him to go to the Home Islands,' Mr. Tagomi said, mostly to himself. In any case, it
- was with the old general that their concern, of important nature, lay. And it is beyond my scope,
- Mr. Tagomi thought. My self, my office; they made use of me here, which naturally was proper and
- good. I was their — what is it deemed? Their cover.
- I am a mask, concealing the real. Behind me, hidden, actuality goes on, safe from prying eyes.
- Odd, he thought. Vital sometimes to be merely cardboard front, like carton. Bit of satori there, if
- I could lay hold of it. Purpose in overall scheme of illusion, could we but fathom. Law of economy:
- nothing is waste. Even the unreal. What a sublimity in the process.
- Miss Ephreikian appeared, her manner agitated. 'Mr. Tagomi. The switchboard sent me.'
- 'Be cool, miss,' Mr. Tagomi said. The current of time urges us along, he thought.
- 'Sir, the German consul is here. He wants to speak to you.' She glanced from him to Mr. Ramsey
- and back, her face unnaturally pale. 'They say he was here in the building earlier, too, but they
- knew you — '
- Mr. Tagomi waved her silent. 'Mr. Ramsey. Please recollect for me the consul's name.'
- 'Freiherr Hugo Reiss, sir.'
- 'Now I recall.' Well, he thought, evidently Mr. Childan did me a favor after all. By declining to
- reaccept the gun.
- Carrying his briefcase, he left his office and walked out into the corridor.
- There stood a slightly built, well-dressed white. Close-cut orange hair, shiny black European
- leather Oxfords, erect posture. And effeminate ivory cigarette holder. No doubt he.
- 'Herr H. Reiss?' Mr. Tagomi said.
- The German bowed.
- 'Has been fact,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'that you and I have in times past conducted business by mail,
- phone, et cetera. But never until now saw face to face.'
- 'An honor,' Herr Reiss said, advancing toward him. 'Even considering the irritatingly distressing
- circumstances.'
- 'I wonder,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- The German raised an eyebrow.
- 'Excuse me,' Tagomi said. 'My cognition hazed over due to those indicated circumstances. Frailty
- of clay-made substance, one might conclude.'
- 'Awful,' Herr Reiss said. He shook his head. 'When I first — '
- Mr. Tagomi said, 'Before you begin litany, let me speak.'
- 'Certainly.'
- 'I personally shot your two SD men,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- 'The San Francisco Police Department summoned me,' Herr Reiss said, blowing offensivesmelling
- cigarette smoke around them both. 'For hours I've been down at the Kearny Street Station
- and at the morgue, and then I've been reading over the account your people gave to the
- investigating police inspectors. Absolutely dreadful, this, from start to finish.' Mr. Tagomi said
- nothing.
- 'However,' Herr Reiss continued, 'the contention that the hoodlums are connected with the Reich
- hasn't been established. As far as I'm concerned the whole matter is insane. I'm sure you acted
- absolutely properly, Mr. Tagori.'
- 'Tagomi.'
- 'My hand,' the consul said, extending his hand. 'Let's shake a gentlemen's agreement to drop this.
- It's unworthy, especially in these critical times when any stupid publicity might inflame the mob
- mind, to the detriment of both our nations' interests.'
- 'Guilt nonetheless is on my soul,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'Blood, Herr Reiss, can never be eradicated
- like ink.'
- The consul seemed nonplused.
- 'I crave forgiveness,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'You cannot give it to me, though. Possibly no one can. I
- intend to read famous diary by Massachusetts' ancient divine, Goodman C. Mather. Deals, I am
- told, with guilt and hell-fire, et al.'
- The consul smoked his cigarette rapidly, intently studying Mr. Tagomi.
- 'Allow me to notify you,' Mr. Tagomi said, 'that your nation is about to descend in-to greater
- vileness than ever. You know the hexagram The Abyss? Speaking as a private person, not as
- representative of Japan officialdom, I declare: heart sick with horror. Bloodbath coming beyond all
- compare. Yet even now you strive for some slight egotistic gain or goal. Put one over on rival
- faction, the SD, eh? While you get Herr B. Kreuz vom Meere in hot water — ' He could not go on.
- His chest had become constricted. Like childhood, he thought. Asthma when angry at the old lady.
- 'I am suffering,' he told Herr Reiss, who had put out his cigarette now. 'Of malady growing these
- long years but which entered virulent form the day I heard, helplessly, your leaders' escapades
- recited. Anyhow, therapeutic possibility nil. For you, too, sir. In language of Goodman C. Mather,
- if properly recalled: Repent!'
- The German consul said huskily, 'Properly recalled.' He nodded, lit a new cigarette with
- trembling fingers.-
- From the office, Mr. Ramsey appeared. He carried a sheaf of forms and papers. To Mr. Tagomi,
- who stood silently trying to get an unconstricted breath, he said, 'While he's here. Routine matter
- having to do with his functionality.'
- Reflexively, Mr. Tagomi took the forms held out. He glanced at them. Form 20-50. Request by
- Reich through representative in PSA, Consul Freiherr Hugo Reiss, for remand of felon now in
- custody of San Francisco Police Department. Jew named Frank Fink, citizen — according to
- Reichs law — of Germany, retroactive June, 1960. For protective custody under Reichs law, etc.
- He scanned it over once.
- 'Pen, sir,' Mr. Ramsey said. 'That concludes business with German Government this date.' He
- eyed the consul with distaste as he held the pen to Mr. Tagomi.
- 'No,' Mr. Tagomi said. He returned the 20-50 form to Mr. Ramsey. Then he grabbed it back,
- scribbled on the bottom, Release. Ranking Trade Mission, S.F. authority. Vide Military Protocol
- 1947. Tagomi. He handed one carbon to the German consul, the others to Mr. Ramsey along with
- the original. 'Good day, Herr Reiss.' He bowed.
- The German consul bowed, too. He scarcely bothered to look at the paper.
- 'Please conduct future business through immediate machinery such as mail, telephone, cable,'
- Mr. Tagomi said. 'Not personally.'
- The consul said, 'You're holding me responsible for general conditions beyond my jurisdiction.'
- 'Chicken shit,' Mr. Tagomi said. 'I say that to that.'
- 'This is not the way civilized individuals conduct business,' the consul said. 'You're making this
- all bitter and vindictive. Where it ought to be mere formality with no personality embroiled.' He
- threw his cigarette onto the corridor floor, then turned and strode off.
- 'Take foul stinking cigarette along,' Mr. Tagomi said weakly, but the consul had turned the
- corner. 'Childish conduct by self,' Mr. Tagomi said to Mr. Ramsey. 'You witnessed repellent
- childish conduct.' He made his way unsteadily back into his office. No breath at all, now. A pain
- flowed down his left arm, and at the same time a great open palm of hand flattened and squashed
- his ribs. Oof, he said. Before him, no carpet, but merely shower of sparks, rising, red.
- Help, Mr. Ramsey, he said. But no sound. Please. He reached out, stumbled. Nothing to catch,
- even.
- As he fell he clutched within his coat the silver triangle thing Mr. Childan had urged on him. Did
- not save me, he thought. Did not help. All that endeavor.
- His body struck the floor. Hands and knees, gasping, the carpet at his nose. Mr. Ramsey now
- rushing about bleating. Keep equipoise, Mr. Tagomi thought.
- 'I'm having a small heart attack,' Mr. Tagomi managed to say.
- Several persons were involved, now, transporting him to couch. 'Be calm, sir,' one was telling
- him.
- 'Notify wife, please,' Mr. Tagomi said.
- Presently he heard ambulance noises. Wailing from street. Plus much bustle. People coming and
- going. A blanket was put over him, up to his armpits. Tie removed. Collar loosened.
- 'Better now,' Mr. Tagomi said. He lay comfortably, not trying to stir. Career over anyhow, he
- decided. German consul no doubt raise row higher up. Complain about incivility. Right to so
- complain, perhaps. Anyhow, work done. As far as I can, my part. Rest up to Tokyo and factions in
- Germany. Struggle beyond me in any case.
- I thought it was merely plastics, he thought. Important mold salesman. Oracle guessed and gave
- clue, but — -
- 'Remove his shirt,' a voice stated. No doubt building's physician. Highly authoritative tone; Mr.
- Tagomi smiled. Tone is everything.
- Could this, Mr. Tagomi wondered, be the answer? Mystery of body organism, its own
- knowledge. Time to quit. Or time partially to quit. A purpose, which I must acquiesce to.
- What had the oracle last said? To his query in the office as those two lay dying or dead. Sixtyone.
- Inner Truth. Pigsand fishes are least intelligent of all; hard to convince. It is I. The book means
- me. I will never fully understand; that is the nature of such creatures. Or is this Inner Truth now,
- this that is happening to me?
- I will wait. I will see. Which it is.
- Perhaps it is both.
- That evening, just after the dinner meal, a police officer came to Frank Frink's cell, unlocked the
- door, and told him to go pick up his possessions at the desk.
- Shortly, he found himself out on the sidewalk before the Kearny Street Station, among the many
- passers-by hurrying along, the buses and honking cars and yelling pedecab drivers. The air was
- cold. Long shadows lay before each building. Frank Frink stood a moment and then he fell
- automatically in with a group of people crossing the street at the crosswalk zone.
- Arrested for no real reason, he thought. No purpose. And then they let me go the same way.
- They had not told him anything, had simply given him back his sack of clothes, wallet, watch,
- glasses, personal articles, and turned to their next business, an elderly drunk brought in off the
- street.
- Miracle, he thought. That they let me go. Fluke of some kind. By rights I should be on a plane
- heading for Germany, for extermination.
- He could still not believe it. Either part, the arrest and now this. Unreal. He wandered along past
- the closed-up shops, stepping over debris blown by the wind.
- New life, he thought. Like being reborn. Like, hell. Is.
- Who do I thank? Pray, maybe?
- Pray to what?
- I wish I understood, he said to himself as he moved along the busy evening sidewalk, by the
- neon signs, the blaring bar doorways of Grant Avenue. I want to comprehend. I have to.
- But he knew he never would.
- Just be glad, he thought. And keep moving.
- A bit of his mind declared, And then back to Ed. I have to find my way back to the workshop,
- down there in that basement. Pick up where I left off, making the jewelry, using my hands.
- Working and not thinking, not looking up or trying to understand. I must keep busy. I must turn the
- pieces out.
- Block by block he hurried through the darkening city. Struggling to get back as soon as possible
- to the fixed, comprehensible place he had been.
- When he got there he found Ed McCarthy seated at the bench, eating his dinner. Two
- sandwiches, a thermos of tea, a banana, several cookies. Frank Frink stood in the doorway, gasping.
- At last Ed heard him and turned around. 'I had the impression you were dead,' he said. He
- chewed, swallowed rhythmically, took another bite.
- By the bench, Ed had their little electric heater going; Frank went over to it and crouched down,
- warming his hands.
- 'Good to see you back,' Ed said. He banged Frank twice on the back, then returned to his
- sandwich. He said nothing more; the only sounds 'were the whirr of the heater fan and Ed's
- chewing.
- Laying his coat over a chair, Frank collected a handful of half-completed silver segments and
- carried them to the arbor. He screwed a wool buffing wheel onto the spindle, started up the motor;
- he dressed the wheel with bobbing compound, put on the mask to protect his eyes, and then seated
- on a stool began removing the fire scale from the segments, one by one.
- 15
- Captain Rudolf Wegener, at the moment traveling under the cover name Conrad Goltz, a dealer in
- medical supplies on a wholesale basis, peered through the window of the Lufthansa ME9-E rocket
- ship. Europe ahead. How quickly, he thought. We will be landing at Tempelhofer Feld in
- approximately seven minutes.
- I wonder what I accomplished, he thought as he watched the land mass grow. It is up to General
- Tedeki, now. Whatever he can do in the Home Islands. But at least we got the information to them.
- We did what we could.
- He thought, But there is no reason to be optimistic. Probably the Japanese can do nothing to
- change the course of German internal politics. The Goebbels Government is in power, and probably
- will stand. After it is consolidated, it will turn once more to the notion of Dandelion. And another
- major section of the planet will be destroyed, with its population, for a deranged, fanatic ideal.
- Suppose eventually they, the Nazis, destroy it all? Leave it a sterile ash? They could; they have
- the hydrogen bomb. And no doubt they would; their thinking tends toward that Götterdämmerung.
- They may well crave it, be actively seeking it, a final holocaust for everyone.
- And what will that leave, that Third World Insanity? Will that put an end to all life, of every
- kind, everywhere? When our planet becomes a dead planet, by our own hands?
- He could not believe that. Even if all life on our planet is destroyed, there must be other life
- somewhere which we know nothing of. It is impossible that ours is the only world; there must be
- world after world unseen by us, in some region or dimension that we simply do not perceive.
- Even though I can't prove that, even though it isn't logical — I believe it, he said to himself.
- A loudspeaker said, 'Meine Damen undHerren. Achiung, bitte.'
- We are approaching the moment of landing, Captain Wegener said to himself. I will almost
- surely be met by the Sicherheitsdienst. The question is: Which faction of policy will be
- represented? The Goebbels? Or the Heydrich? Assuming that SS General Heydrich is still alive.
- While I have been aboard this ship, he could have been rounded up and shot. Things happen fast,
- during the time of transition in a totalitarian society. There have been, in Nazi Germany, tattered
- lists of names over which men have pored before.
- Several minutes later, when the rocket ship had landed, he found himself on his feet, moving
- toward the exit with his overcoat over his arm. Behind him and ahead of him, anxious passengers.
- No young Nazi artist this time, he reflected. No Lotze to badger me at the last with his moronic
- viewpoint.
- An airlines uniformed official — dressed, Wegener observed, like the Reichs Marshal himself —
- assisted them all down the ramp, one by one, to the field. There, by the concourse, stood a small
- knot of blackshirts. For me? Wegener began to walk slowly from the parked rocket ship. Over at
- another spot men and women waiting, waving, calling . . . even some children.
- One of the blackshirts, a flat-faced unwinking blond fellow wearing the Waffen-SS insignia,
- stepped smartly up to Wegener, clicked the heels of his jackboots together and saluted. 'Ich bitte
- mich zu entschuldigen. Sind Sie nicht Kapitan Rudolf Wegener, von der Abwehr?'
- 'Sorry,' Wegener answered. 'I am Conrad Goltz. Representing A. G. Chemikalien medical
- supplies.' He started on past.
- Two other blackshirts, also Waffen-SS,came toward him. The three of them fell beside him, so
- that although he continued on at his own pace, in his own direction, he was quite abruptly and
- effectively under custody. Two of the Waffen SS men had sub-machine guns under their greatcoats.
- 'You are Wegener,' one of them said as they entered the building.
- He said nothing.
- 'We have a car,' the Waffen-SS man continued. 'We are instructed to meet your rocket ship,
- contact you, and take you immediately to SS General Heydrich, who is with Sepp Dietrich at the
- 0KW of the Leibstandarte Division. In particular we are not to permit you to be approached by
- Wehrmacht or Partei persons.'
- Then I will not be shot, Wegener said to himself. Heydrich is alive, and in a safe location, and
- trying to strengthen his position against the Goebbels Government.
- Maybe the Goebbels Government will fall after all, he thought as he was ushered into the waiting
- SS Daimler staff sedan. A detachment of Waffen-SS suddenly shifted at night; guards at the
- Reichskanzlei relieved, replaced. The Berlin police stations suddenly spewing forth armed SD men
- in every direction — radio stations and power cut off, Tempeihofer closed. Rumble of hea-vy guns
- in the darkness, along main streets.
- But what does it matter? Even if Doctor Goebbels is deposed and Operation Dandelion is
- canceled? They will still exist, the blackshirts, the Partei, the schemes if not in the Orient then
- somewhere else. On Mars and Venus.
- No wonder Mr. Tagomi could not go on, he thought. The terrible dilemma of our lives. Whatever
- happens, it is evil beyond compare. Why struggle, then? Why choose? If all alternatives are the
- same .
- Evidently we go on, as we always have. From day to day. At this moment we work against
- Operation Dandelion. Later on, at another moment, we work to defeat the police. But we cannot do
- it all at once; it is a sequence. An unfolding process. We can only control the end by making a
- choice at each step.
- He thought, We can only hope. And try.
- On some other world, possibly it is different. Better. There are clear good and evil alternatives.
- Not these obscure admixtures, these blends, with no proper tool by which to untangle the
- components.
- We do not have the ideal world, such as we would like, where morality is easy because cognition
- is easy. Where one can do right with no effort because he can detect the obvious.
- The Daimler started with Captain Wegener in the back, a blackshirt on each side, machine gun
- on lap. Blackshirt behind the wheel.
- Suppose it is a deception even now, Wegener thought as the sedan moved at high speed through
- Berlin traffic. They are not taking me to SS General Heydrich at the Leibstandarte Division 0KW;
- they are taking me to a Partei jail, there to maim me and finally kill me. But I have chosen; I chose
- to return to Germany; I chose to risk capture before I could reach Abwehr people and protection.
- Death at each moment, one avenue which is open to us at any point. And eventually we choose
- it, in spite of ourselves. Or we give up and take it deliberately. He watched the Berlin houses pass.
- My own Volk, he thought; you and I, again together.
- To the three SS men he said, 'How are things? Any recent developments in the political
- situation? I've been away for several weeks, before Bormann' s death, in fact.'
- The man to his right answered, 'There's naturally plenty of hysterical mob support for the Little
- Doctor. It was the mob that swept him into office. However, it's unlikely that when more sober
- elements prevail they'll want to support a cripple and demagogue who depends on inflaming the
- mass with his lies and spellbinding.'
- 'I see,' Wegener said.
- It goes on, he thought. The internecine hate. Perhaps the seeds are there, in that. They will eat
- one another at last, and leave the rest of us here and there in the world, still alive. Still enough of us
- once more to build and hope and make a few simple plans.
- At one o'clock in the afternoon, Juliana Frink reached Cheyenne, Wyoming. In the downtown
- business section, across from the enormous old train depot, she stopped at a cigar store and bought
- two afternoon newspapers. Parked at the curb she searched until she at last found the item.
- VACATION ENDS IN FATAL SLASHING
- Sought for questioning concerning the fatal slashing of her husband in their swank rooms at the
- President Garner Hotel in Denver, Mr. Joe Cinnadella of Canon City, according to hotel employees,
- left immediately after what must have been the tragic climax of a marital quarrel. Razor blades
- found in the room, ironically supplied as a convenience by the hotel to its guests, apparently were
- used by Mrs. Cinnadella, described as dark, attractive, well-dressed and slender, about thirty, to
- slash the throat of her husband, whose body was found by Theodore Ferris, hotel employee who
- had picked up shirts from Cinnadella just half an hour earlier and was returning them as instructed,
- only to come onto the grisly scene. The hotel suite, police said, showed signs of struggle,
- suggesting that a violent argument had . . .
- So he's dead, Juliana thought as she folded up the newspaper. And not only that, they don't have
- my name right; they don't know who I am or anything about me.
- Much less anxious now, she drove on until she found a suitable motel; there she made
- arrangements for a room and carried her possessions in from the car. From now on I don't have to
- hurry, she said to herself. I can even wait until evening to go to the Abendsens'; that way I'll be able
- to wear my new dress. It wouldn't do to show up during the day with it on — you just don't wear a
- formal dress like that before dinner.
- And I can finish reading the book.
- She made herself comfortable in the motel room, turning on the radio, getting coffee from the
- motel lunch counter; she propped herself up on the neatly made bed with the new unread clean
- copy of The Grasshopper which she had bought at the hotel bookshop in Denver.
- At six-fifteen in the evening she finished the book. I wonder if Joe got to the end of it? she
- wondered. There's so much more in it than he understood. What is it Abendsen wanted to say?
- Nothing about his make-believe world. Am I the only one who knows? I'll bet I am; nobody else
- really understands Grasshopper but me — they just imagine they do.
- Still a little shaky, she put it away in her suitcase and then put on her coat and left the motel
- room to search for a place to eat dinner. The air smelled good and the signs and lights of Cheyenne
- seemed particularly exciting. In front of a bar two pretty, black-eyed Indian prostitutes quarreling
- — she slowed to watch. Many cars, shiny ones, coasted up and down the streets; the entire
- spectacle had an aura of brightness and expectancy, of looking ahead to some happy and important
- event, rather than back . . . back, she thought, to the stale and the dreary, the used-up and thrownaway.
- At an expensive French restaurant — where a man in a white coat parked customers' cars, and
- each table had a candle burning in a huge wine goblet, and the butter was served not in squares but
- whipped into round pale marbles — she ate a dinner which she enjoyed, and then, with plenty of
- time to spare, strolled back toward her motel. The Reichsbank notes were almost gone, but she did
- not care; it had no importance. He told us about our own world, she thought as she unlocked the
- door to her motel room. This, what's around us now. In the room, she again switched on the radio.
- He wants us to see it for what it is. And I do, and more so each moment.
- Taking the blue Italian dress from its carton, she laid it out scrupulously on the bed. It had
- undergone no damage; all it needed, at most, was a thorough brushing to remove the lint. But when
- she opened the other parcels she discovered that she had not brought any of the new half-bras from
- Denver.
- 'God damn it,' she said, sinking down in a chair. She lit a cigarette and sat smoking for a time.
- Maybe she could wear it with a regular bra. She slipped off her blouse and skirt and tried the
- dress on. But the straps of the bra showed and so did the upper part of each cup, so that would not
- do. Or maybe, she thought, I can go with no bra at all . . . it had been years since she had tried that .
- . . it recalled to her the old days in high school when she had had a very small bust; she had even
- worried about it, then. But now further maturity and her judo had made her a size thirty-eight.
- However, she tried it without the bra, standing on a chair in the bathroom to view herself in the
- medicine cabinet mirror.
- The dress displayed itself stunningly, but good lord, it was too risky. All she had to do was bend
- over to put out a cigarette or pick up a drink — and disaster.
- A pin! She could wear the dress with no bra and collect the front. Dumping the contents of her
- jewelry box onto the bed, she spread out the pins, relics which she had owned for years, given her
- by Frank or by other men before their marriage, and the new one which Joe had gotten her in
- Denver. Yes, a small horse-shaped silver pin from Mexico would do; she found the exact spot. So
- she could wear the dress after all.
- I'm glad to get anything now, she thought to herself. So much had gone wrong; so little remained
- anyhow of the wonderful plans.
- She did an extensive brushing job on her hair so that it crackled and shone, and that left only the
- need of a choice of shoes and earrings. And then she put on her new coat, got her new handmade
- leather purse, and set out.
- Instead of driving the old Studebaker, she had the motel owner phone for a taxi. While she
- waited in the motel office she suddenly had the notion to call Frank. Why it had come to her she
- could not fathom, but there the idea was. Why not? she asked herself. She could reverse the
- charges; he would be overwhelmed to hear from her and glad to pay.
- Standing behind the desk in the office, she held the phone receiver to her ear, listening
- delightedly to the long-distance operators talk back and forth trying to make the connection for her.
- She could hear the San Francisco operator, far off, getting San Francisco information for the
- number, then many pops and crackles in her ear, and at last the ringing noise itself. As she waited
- she watched for the taxi; it should be along any time, she thought. But it won't mind waiting; they
- expect it.
- 'Your party does not answer,' the Cheyenne operator told her at last. 'We will put the call through
- again later and — '
- 'No,' Juliana said, shaking her head. It had been just a whim anyhow. 'I won't be here. Thank
- you.' She hung up — the motel owner had been standing nearby to see that nothing would be
- mistakenly charged to him — and walked quickly out of the office, onto the cool, dark sidewalk, to
- stand and wait there.
- From the traffic a gleaming new cab coasted up to the curb and halted; the door opened and the
- driver hopped out to hurry around.
- A moment later, Juliana was on her way, riding in luxury in the rear of the cab, across Cheyenne
- to the Abendsens'.
- The Abendsen house was lit up and she could hear music and voices. It was a single-story stucco
- house with many shrubs and a good deal of garden made up mostly of climbing roses. As she
- started up the flagstone path she thought, Can I actually be there? Is this the High Castle? What
- about the rumors and stories? The house was ordinary, well maintained and the grounds tended.
- There was even a child's tricycle parked in the long cement driveway.
- Could it be the wrong Abendsen? She had gotten the address from the Cheyenne phone book, but
- it matched the number she had called the night before from Greeley.
- She stepped up onto the porch with its wrought-iron railings and pressed the buzzer. Through the
- half-open door she could make out the living room, a number of persons standing about, Venetian
- blinds on the windows, a piano, fireplace, bookcases. . . nicely furnished, she thought. A party
- going on? But they were not formally dressed.
- A boy, tousled, about thirteen, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, flung the door wide. 'Yes?'
- She said, 'Is — Mr. Abendsen home? Is he busy?'
- Speaking to someone behind him in the house, the boy called, 'Mom, she wants to see Dad.'
- Beside the boy appeared a woman with reddish-brown hair, possibly thirty-five, with strong,
- unwinking gray eyes and a smile so thoroughly competent and remorseless that Juliana knew she
- was facing Caroline Abendsen.
- 'I called last night,' Juliana said.
- 'Oh yes of course.' Her smile increased. She had perfect white regular teeth; Irish, Juliana
- decided. Only Irish blood could give that jawline such femininity. 'Let me take your purse and coat.
- This is a very good time for you; these are a few friends. What a lovely dress . . . it's House of
- Cherubini, isn't it?' She led Juliana across the living room, to a bedroom where she laid Juliana's
- things with the others on the bed. 'My husband is around somewhere. Look for-a tall man with
- glasses, drinking an old-fashioned.' The intelligent light in her eyes poured out to Juliana; her lips
- quivered — there is so much understood between us, Juliana realized. Isn't that amazing?
- 'I drove a long way,' Juliana said.
- 'Yes, you did. Now I see him.' Caroline Abendsen guided her back into the living room, toward a
- group of men. 'Dear,' she called, 'come over here. This is one of your readers who is very anxious
- to say a few words to you.'
- One man of the group moved, detached and approached carrying his drink. Juliana saw an
- immensely tall man with black curly hair; his skin, too, was dark, and his eyes seemed purple or
- brown, very softly colored behind his glasses. He wore a hand-tailored, expensive, natural fiber
- suit, perhaps English wool; the suit augmented his wide robust shoulders with no lines of its own.
- In all her life she had never seen a suit quite like it; she found herself staring in fascination.
- Caroline said, 'Mrs. Frink drove all the way up from Canon City, Colorado, just to talk to you
- about Grasshopper.'
- 'I thought you lived in a fortress,' Juliana said. Bending to regard her, Hawthorne Abendsen
- smiled a meditative smile. 'Yes, we did. But we had to get up to it in an elevator and I developed a
- phobia. I was pretty drunk when I got the phobia but as I recall it, and they tell it, I refused to stand
- up in it because I said that the elevator cable was being hauled up by Jesus Christ, and we were
- going all the way. And I was determined not to stand.'
- She did not understand.
- Caroline explained, 'Hawth has said as long as I've known him that when he finally sees Christ
- he is going to sit down; he's not going to stand.'
- The hymn, Juliana remembered. 'So you gave up the High Castle and moved back into town,' she
- said.
- 'I'd like to pour you a drink,' Hawthorne said.
- 'All right,' she said. 'But not an old-fashioned.' She had already got a glimpse of the sideboard
- with several bottles of whiskey on it, hors d'oeuvres, glasses, ice, mixer, cherries and orange slices.
- She walked toward it, Abendsen accompanying her. 'Just I. W. Harper over ice,' she said. 'I always
- enjoy that. Do you know the oracle?'
- 'No,' Hawthorne said, as he fixed her drink for her.
- Astounded, she said, 'The Book of Changes?'
- 'I don't, no,' he repeated. He handed her her drink.
- Caroline Abendsen said, 'Don't tease her.'
- 'I read your book,' Juliana said. 'In fact I finished it this evening. How did you know all that,
- about the other world you wrote about?'
- Hawthorne said nothing; he rubbed his knuckle against his upper lip, staring past her and
- frowning.
- 'Did you use the oracle?' Juliana said.
- Hawthorne glanced at her.
- 'I don't want you to kid or joke,' Juliana said. 'Tell me without making something witty out of it.'
- Chewing his lip, Hawthorne gazed down at the floor; he wrapped his arms about himself, rocked
- back and forth on his heels. The others in the room nearby had become silent, and Juliana noticed
- that their manner had changed. They were not happy, now, because of what she had said. But she
- did not try to take it back or disguise it; she did not pretend. It was too important. And she had
- come too far and done too much to accept anything less than the truth from him. -
- 'That's — a hard question to answer,' Abendsen said finally.
- 'No it isn't,' Juliana said.
- Now everyone in the room had become silent; they all watched Juliana standing with Caroline
- and Hawthorne Abendsen.
- 'I'm sorry,' Abendsen said, 'I can't answer right away. You'll have to accept that.'
- 'Then why did you write the book?' Juliana said.
- Indicating with his drink glass, Abendsen said, 'What's that pin on your dress do? Ward off
- dangerous anima-spirits of the immutable world? Or does it just hold everything together?'
- 'Why do you change the subject?' Juliana said. 'Evading what I asked you, and making a
- pointless remark like that? It's childish.'
- Hawthorne Abendsen said, 'Everyone has — technical secrets. You have yours; I have mine.
- You should read my book and accept it on face value, just as I accept what I see — ' Again he
- pointed at her with his glass. 'Without inquiring if it's genuine underneath, there, or done with wires
- and staves and foam-rubber padding. Isn't that part of trusting in the nature of people and what you
- see in general?' He seemed, she thought, irritable and flustered now, no longer polite, no longer a
- host. And Caroline, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, had an expression of tense
- exasperation; her lips were pressed together and she had stopped smiling entirely.
- 'In your book,' Juliana said, 'you showed that there's a way out. Isn't that what you meant?'
- 'Out,' 'he echoed ironically.
- Juliana said, 'You've done a lot for me; now I can see there's nothing to be afraid of, nothing to
- want or hate or avoid, here, or run from. Or pursue.'
- He faced her, jiggling his glass, studying her. 'There's a great deal in this world worth the candle,
- in my opinion.'
- 'I understand what's going on in your mind,' Juliana said. To her it was the old and familiar
- expression on a man's face, but it did not upset her to see it here. She no longer felt as she once had.
- 'The Gestapo file said you're attracted to women like me.'
- Abendsen, with only the slightest change of expression, said, 'There hasn't been a Gestapo since
- 1947.'
- 'The SD, then, or whatever it is.'
- 'Would you explain?' Caroline said in a brisk voice.
- 'I want to,' Juliana said. 'I drove up to Denver with one of them. They're going to show up here
- eventually. You should go some place they can't find you, instead of holding open house here like
- this, letting anyone walk in, the way I did. The next one who rides up here — there won't be anyone
- like me to put a stop to him.'
- 'You say 'the next one,' 'Abendsen said, after a pause. 'What became of the one you rode up to
- Denver with? Why won't he show up here?'
- She said, 'I cut his throat.'
- 'That's quite something.' Hawthorne said. 'To have a girl tell you that, a girl you never saw before
- in your life.'
- 'Don't you believe me?'
- He nodded. 'Sure.' He smiled at her in a shy, gentle, forlorn way. Apparently it did not even
- occur to him not to believe her. 'Thanks,' he said.
- 'Please hide from them,' she said.
- 'Well,' he said, 'we did try that, as you know. As you read on the cover of the book . . . about all
- the weapons and charged wire. And we had it written so it would seem we're still taking great
- precautions.' His voice had a weary, dry tone.
- 'You could at least carry a weapon,' his wife said. 'I know someday someone you invite in and
- converse with will shoot you down, some Nazi expert paying you back; and you'll be
- philosophizing just this way. I forsee it.'
- 'They can get you,' Hawthorne said, 'if they want to. Charged wire and High Castle or not.'
- You're so fatalistic, Juliana thought. Resigned to your own destruction. Do you know that, too,
- the way you knew the world in your book?
- Juliana said, 'The oracle wrote your book. Didn't it?'
- Hawthorne said, 'Do you want the truth?'
- 'I want it and I'm entitled to it,' she answered, 'for what I've done. Isn't that so? You know it's so.'
- 'The oracle,' Abendsen said, 'was sound asleep all through the writing of the book. Sound asleep
- in the corner of the office.' His eyes showed no merriment; instead, his face seemed longer, more
- somber than ever.
- 'Tell her,' Caroline said. 'She's right; she's entitled to know, for what she did on your behalf.' To
- Juliana she said, 'I'll tell you, then, Mrs. Frink. One by one Hawth made the choices. Thousands of
- them. By means of the lines. Historic period. Subject. Characters. Plot. It took years. Hawth even
- asked the oracle what sort of success it would be. It told him that it would be a very great success,
- the first real one of his career. So you were right. You must use the oracle quite a lot yourself, to
- have known.'
- Juliana said, 'I wonder why the oracle would write a novel. Did you ever think of asking it that?
- And why one about the Germans and the Japanese losing the war? Why that particular story and no
- other one? What is there it can't tell us directly, like it always has before? This must be different,
- don't you think?'
- Neither Hawthorne nor Caroline said anything.
- 'It and I,' Hawthorne said at last, 'long ago arrived at an agreement regarding royalties. If I ask it
- why it wrote Grasshopper, I'll wind up turning my share over to it. The question implies I did
- nothing' but the typing, and that's neither true nor decent.'
- 'I'll ask it,' Caroline said. 'If you won't.'
- 'It's not your question to ask,' Hawthorne said. 'Let her ask.' To Juliana he said, 'You have an —
- unnatural mind. Are you aware of that?'
- Juliana said, 'Where's your copy? Mine's in my car, back at the motel. I'll get it, if you won't let
- me use yours.'
- Turning, Hawthorne started off. She and Caroline followed, through the room of people, toward
- a closed door. At the door he left them. When he re-emerged, they all saw the black-backed twin
- volumes.
- 'I don't use the yarrow stalks,' he said to Juliana. 'I can't get the hang of them; I keep dropping
- them.'
- Juliana seated herself at a coffee table in the corner. 'I have to have paper to write on and a
- pencil.'
- One of the guests brought her paper and pencil. The people in the room moved in to form a ring
- around her and the Abendsens, listening and watching.
- 'You may say the question aloud,' Hawthorne said. 'We have no secrets here.' -
- Juliana said, 'Oracle, why did you write The Grasshopper Lies Heavy? What are we supposed to
- learn?'
- 'You have a disconcertingly superstitious way of phrasing your question,' Hawthorne said. But he
- had squatted down to witness the coin throwing. 'Go ahead,' he said; he handed her three Chinese
- brass coins with holes in the center. 'I generally use these.'
- She began throwing the coins; she felt calm and very much herself. Hawthorne wrote down her
- lines for her. When she had thrown the coins six times, he gazed down and said:
- 'Sun at the top. Tui at the bottom. Empty in the center.'
- 'Do you know what hexagram that is?' she said. 'Without using the chart?'
- 'Yes,' Hawthorne said.
- 'It's Chung Fu,' Juliana said. 'Inner Truth. I know without using the chart, too. And I know what
- it means.'
- Raising his head, Hawthorne scrutinized her. He had now an almost savage expression. 'It
- means, does it, that my book is true?'
- 'Yes,' she said.
- With anger he said, 'Germany and Japan lost the war?'
- 'Yes.'
- Hawthorne, then, closed the two volumes and rose to his feet; he said nothing.
- 'Even you don't face it,' Juliana said.
- For a time he considered. His gaze had become empty, Juliana saw. Turned inward, she realized.
- Preoccupied, by himself . . . and then his eyes became clear again; he grunted, started.
- 'I'm not sure of anything,' he said. -
- 'Believe,' Juliana said.
- He shook his head no.
- 'Can't you?' she said. 'Are you sure?'
- Hawthorne Abendsen said, 'Do you want me to autograph a copy of The Grasshopper for you?'
- She, too, rose to her feet. 'I think I'll go,' she said. 'Thank you very much. I'm sorry if I disrupted
- your evening. It was kind of you to let me in.' Going past him and Caroline, she made her way
- through the ring of people, from the living room and into the bedroom where her coat and purse
- were.
- As she was putting her coat on, Hawthorne appeared behind her. 'Do you know what you are?'
- He turned to Caroline, who stood beside him. 'This girl is a dathnon. A little chthonic spirit that — '
- He lifted his hand and rubbed his eyebrow, partially dislodginghis glasses in doing so. 'That roams
- tirelessly over the face of the earth.' He restored his glasses in place. 'She's doing what's instinctive
- to her, simply. expressing her being. She didn't mean to show up here and do harm; it simply
- happened to her, just as the weather happens to us. I'm glad she came. I'm not sorry to find this out,
- this revelation she's had through the book. She didn't know what she was going to do here or find
- out. I think we're all of us lucky. So let's not be angry about it; okay?'
- Caroline said, 'She's terribly, terribly disruptive.'
- 'So is reality,' Hawthorne said. He held out his hand to Juliana. 'Thank you for what you did in
- Denver,' he said.
- She shook hands with him. 'Good night,' she said. 'Do as your wife says. Carry a hand weapon, at
- least.'
- 'No,' he said. 'I decided that a long time ago. I'm not going to let it bother me. I can lean on the
- oracle now and then, if I do get edgy, late at night in particular. It's not bad in such a situation.' He
- smiled a little. 'Actually, the only thing that bothers me any more is knowing that all these bums
- standing around here listening and taking in everything are drinking up all the liquor in the house,
- while we're talking.' Turning, he strode away, back to the sideboard to find fresh ice for his drink.
- 'Where are you going now that you've finished here?' Caroline said.
- 'I don't know.' The problem did not bother her. I must be a little like him, she thought; I won't let
- certain things worry me no matter how important they are. 'Maybe I'll go back to my husband,
- Frank. I tried to phone him tonight; I might try again. I'll see how I feel later on.'
- 'Despite what you did for us, or what you say you did — '
- 'You wish I had never come into this house,' Juliana said.
- 'if you saved Hawthorne's life it's dreadful of me, but I'm so upset; I can't take it all in, what
- you've said and Hawthorne has said.'
- 'How strange,' Juliana said. 'I never would have thought the truth would make you angry.' Truth,
- she thought. As terrible as death. But harder to find. I'm lucky. 'I thought you'd be as pleased and
- excited as I am. It's a misunderstanding, isn't it?' She smiled, and after a pause Mrs. Abendsen
- managed to smile back. 'Well, good night anyhow.'
- A moment later, Juliana was retracing her steps back down the flagstone path, into the patches of
- light from the living room and then into the shadows beyond the lawn of the house, onto the black
- sidewalk.
- She walked on without looking again at the Abendsen house and, as she walked, searching up
- and down the streets for a cab or a car, moving and bright and living, to take her back to her motel.
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