Ishmael looked deep into himself. He felt tired. He felt old. He felt a long way from home and as though he’d lost all his maps. It was not, to begin again, what he had expected. He remembered how much he abhorred violence, and suddenly, like the protagonist of a thriller who gets a second bump on the head and wakes saying, ‘Who am I? Where am I? How did I get myself into this mess?’, he had his best idea yet.
He said, ‘I think I’ll hold a press conference.’
‘Why a press conference?’ Marilyn answered.
‘Because the tv camera is mightier than the sword, and we don’t have any swords, and because I think I’ll be rather good at it.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes. I have an easy and winning manner. I say what I mean, I don’t get tongue-tied, and people listen. I mean I convinced all you lot.’
‘Yeah,’ said Eric the tie-wearer, sullenly. ‘You know, rather than a confrontation with the devil himself I might be prepared to settle for getting out of this unscathed, unarrested, and sloping off down the pub.’
Typical.
‘And will they want to interview you anyway?’ asked Davey. ‘I mean, we’re not exactly national news, are we?’
‘I think we are,’ Marilyn said. ‘You see, what I haven’t told any of you is that my father, as well as being insensitive, brutal and slightly insane — he’s also a Conservative MP.’
You could have heard a pin drop if it hadn’t been for the police sirens and the occasional random shot. Les was the first to speak.
‘You mean we kidnapped a politician’s daughter, fire-bombed him, and then took over his house.’
‘Yes,’ said Marilyn.
‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?’ Fat Les shrieked.
‘If I’d told you you wouldn’t have gone along with Ishmael’s plan.’
‘Too bloody right.’
‘Then I wouldn’t have any material for my novel.’
‘We’ll have the fucking army after us.’
‘I should think so,’ said Marilyn.
‘I think we’re more than a match for the army,’ said Harold.
‘Oh shut up, you old prat,’ said Fat Les.
‘Hey,’ said John the Hippy. ‘This is getting heavy.’
‘Bollocks,’ said the Norton twins as one man.
‘How about that,’ said Davey. ‘Fancy me getting my leg over with an MP’s wife.’
‘WHAT?’
‘When I got Marilyn out, well I couldn’t find her room at first. I finished up in the missus’s bedroom and she wouldn’t let me go till I’d given her one. She seemed well pleased.’
‘Oh sweet Jesus Christ,’ said Fat Les.
‘Please don’t worry,’ said Ishmael. ‘I can talk us out of this.’
Ten
Adolf Hitler says, ‘Without motorcars, sound film and wireless [there is] no victory for National Socialism.’
♦
There are only winners and losers, good guys and bad guys. Ishmael began as a convincing bad guy — the crazy in the customized Volkswagen, the raider, not appealing, not prime time. Marilyn’s father made a very acceptable good guy — a property owner, a company director, a businessman, an MP defending his territory and principles. And that was how the events were reported at first. Then Marilyn’s father tried to shoot an Independent Radio News sound crew who were recording an interview with Constable Peterson. Then he was the bad guy. Then they wanted a hero, so they wanted to talk to Ishmael. They wanted him to be lovably eccentric and an underdog with his back to the wall.
♦
The Berlin Bunker. Jung called it ‘a dark reflection of a universal symbol in the collective unconscious of our culture’, but then, he would. It conjures up images of stained, bare concrete, a tiny enclosed cube, a pill-box in the ruins; and we see the Führer, lonely, mad, isolated, perhaps finally heroic, going down with his city, pacing like a menagerie animal, wielding a revolver, spouting his political testament; the last man in a ruined world, the last sleeper in a dream that has died.
♦
Outside ‘Sorrento’ there was a group of photographers and cameramen and reporters, all jockeying for position by the front gate. In full view of these people Ishmael and Marilyn opened the front door, stood on the step and shouted that they wanted to talk to them. Marilyn stood in front of Ishmael as a shield, banking on the fact that while her father might be happy to slaughter reporters, police and hippies, he would hold back from shooting his own daughter. Ishmael was not certain that this was anything to bank on, but he was eager to face the press.
♦
The Bunker is the Berlin Chancellery air-raid shelter. It is a two storey construction, built fifty feet beneath the ground, the lower storey being Hitler’s domain — eighteen rooms set along a central corridor, six of them a suite for Hitler and Eva Braun. Eva has her own bed-sitting room, bathroom and dressing room. Hitler sleeps in a separate room. And there is a map room, a study, a telephone exchange, guard rooms, and a space containing a generator. There are also two rooms for Goebbels, and a room for Stumpfegger — Hitler’s latest surgeon.
On the upper floor Goebbels’ wife and his six children occupy four rooms, there is a kitchen, the servants’ quarters, and a dining room. There is also accommodation for Heinz Linge, Hitler’s valet; his SS adjutant; Fraulein Manzialy, his vegetarian cook. And there are the dogs — Hitler’s alsatian Blondi has given birth to a litter and Hitler has adopted one, giving it his own nickname of Wolf. There are also lots of visitors from the neighbouring shelters — Bormann, Krebs, Burgdorf, Axmann.
♦
The questions came thick and fast, shouted over the twenty-yard gap between the house and the front gate. Ishmael answered calmy but loudly and clearly.
Q: Are you a terrorist? Are you part of a terrorist organization?
A: No sir, certainly not. Not a terrorist, not organized.
Q: But you do have followers?
A: I have a few friends with whom I travel the same road.
But we’re motorists, not terrorists.
Q: Why are they dressed in paramilitary uniform?
A: You call this paramilitary? I call it fancy dress.
Q: Then why fancy dress?
A: It’s fun.
Q: Terrorists or not, is it true that you came here to attack the home of Mr Lederer?
A: Not true. We just stopped by for a bit of a chat. We came as pilgrims. He’s our local MP, after all.
Q: You came to discuss politics?
A: I’m afraid politics is a bit low on the cosmic scale by our standards. I was after something higher. I wanted to discuss truth, beauty, love. You know, the real issues.
Q: How far did you get in your discussions?
A: Not very far I’m afraid. We came openly to his front door. We knocked, we entered, we thought perhaps Mr Lederer had slipped out for a moment and would be back soon. And in fact he was back soon but sadly he was in no mood for discussions.
Q: In fact he appears to have thought you were out to destroy his property and threaten his life.
A: I understand Mr Lederer has been working too hard.
♦
The Bunker then, is a cramped crowded madhouse, but in Berlin in April 1945 it might not have seemed such a bad place to be. At street level the Russian air-raids continue daily, and soon the Bolshevik forces will be walking the streets of Berlin and perfunctorily sweeping aside what little resistance is still being offered by a few remaining German companies and some stragglers from the Hitler Youth.
♦
Q: Let’s get this straight, are you saying you came to ‘Sorrento’ to discuss spiritual matters and Mr Lederer and a group of his friends attacked you?
A: I couldn’t have put it better.