Strauss reached up to the wall and switched on a light; a naked bulb dangling from a twisted cord lit the messy room with brutal clarity. It was a tiny office with barely room to move about in. A roll-top desk covered with papers filled one corner; another table littered with more papers and magazines took up most of the remaining space. The calendars on the wall were stained and crooked; an old typewriter leaning askew with one corner caught on a pile of catalogues completed the inventory of debris; it was all indescribably shabby.
Strauss sat down heavily in a plain chair and motioned Ari to the wobbly armchair before the desk. He waved his arms about in disgust, watching Ari under firm eyebrows. “You see it,” he said quietly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘You see it.’ Our propaganda center. We are supposed to work with this; to produce results with this.” He shook his leonine head fiercely. “If it were not so tragic, it would be a joke.”
Ari sat silent, afraid of not knowing what to say. His eyes passed over the pitiful confusion of the room and returned to the other. Strauss leaned forward impressively.
“Herr Busch, I am not like the others,” he said, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the small, elderly man balanced precariously on the edge of the swivel armchair. “I speak out with what I have on my mind. I know who you are and the work you have done. I am proud of the work you have done. And I am also envious of the work you have done. But, Herr Busch—” a thick finger sprang in the air for emphasis — “if you had been forced to work as we have, you could not have accomplished what you did!”
Ari gazed about him. “It is not much, it is true.”
“Not much? It is nothing! It is worse than nothing!” The thick hands scrabbled through the papers that cluttered the table until they unearthed a trade magazine for the graphic arts. He picked it up, rimed through the pages to an advertisement offering a complete, modern printing plant for sale and slapped the folded page down in front of Ari. “Do you see this? This is what we were promised!” He jerked his hand contemptuously toward the clacking press outside. “This is what we have! And have had for ten years! It is not possible!”
Ari studied the beautifully illustrated cuts in the advertisement. “How much would a factory like this cost?” he asked quietly.
Strauss shrugged. “I have the quotation around somewhere, but it is an old one. It would probably cost much more today. But that is not the point; that is the least. No; that is not true, it is not the least. But it is only a part.” His eyes fixed the man before him. “Herr Busch, we must be frank with each other. We need money if we are to do the work that must be done; and much money.”
Ari studied the man before him dispassionately. “Everyone needs money, Herr Strauss. And everything needs money. And the work goes on in many places. Not just in Brazil.”
Strauss looked at the little man before him. The icy blue of the eyes showed a strength belied by the narrow shoulders, the potbelly. “Yes,” the Deputado admitted politely. “But you are in Brazil. And you have money.”
The blue eyes showed no emotion. “I fail to see...”
The heavy hand was raised in conciliation. “Herr Busch, if you will pardon me, your efforts in the United States were well done, although, to be honest, it is difficult for us here to determine just how effective they were.”
“They were effective.” Ari stared about the office with disdain. “Much more so than anything I have seen since coming here.”
“Without doubt. I did not mean to deride, believe me. But, Herr Busch, if we had the necessary money, we could do much more. And this is the country from which the work must be directed. Note what I say, Herr Busch: not could be, or might be, but must be.”
“Ach, so? And why must it be directed from here?”
“Because...” For the first time Strauss seemed at a slight loss for words. He came to a decision. “Because here, Herr Busch, we have the nucleus of a real rebirth of our glorious party!”
“What do you mean by nucleus?”
But Strauss had said all that he was willing to say at the moment. He stood up, smiling. “We shall discuss it again some other time, yes? And now, lunch?”
Ari looked up at the huge figure towering over him. “Please sit down, Herr Strauss. We are in the midst of a discussion; let us carry it forward a bit. Lunch can wait.” The other looked at him with a touch of surprise and more than a touch of respect, and then reseated himself. No, Ari thought with certainty, he is definitely not the head of the group. He lacks authority; the poor soul also lacks ruthlessness.
“Herr Strauss,” he said coldly, “you speak of wanting to discuss this thing frankly. I agree. I happen to be in a position where I have some money; and I am sure that you realize that my interest in rebuilding the party is as great as anyone’s interest. However, Herr Strauss, do you have any idea of how many people try to get their hands on money, using any excuse that comes to mind?” He shook his head sadly. Strauss sat listening quietly.
“No, Herr Strauss. My sympathies are well known. How easy it must appear to simply appeal to these sympathies and presto! — money! I am not a fool. My money is available for the work I believe in, but not on anybody’s say-so. I am not attempting to be insulting, please believe me, but you must be able to understand exactly where I stand.”
Strauss studied the little man judiciously. The blue eyes stared into his steadily. Finally the big man shrugged.
“Herr Busch,” he said slowly, “I understand exactly what you mean. I also am no fool. I do not know what you would require in the way of proof...” He thought a bit. “Herr Busch. You recall a certain Captain Da Silva?”
“Yes, of course I remember Captain Da Silva. Too well.”
Strauss smiled. “Well, at this moment he is on his way to Paris. He was too curious; and also he was becoming a nuisance. With my influence, I was able to arrange another assignment for him. Do you believe me?”
Ari sighed. “I’m afraid you do not understand me, Herr Strauss. If you say you arranged a transfer for this Captain Da Silva, of course I believe you.” He paused. So Da Silva had been taken out of the game! A cold feeling of being alone swept him momentarily, but he forced it away.
“However, I must continue to be frank. You have told me nothing so far that would lead me to give any money to you or to whatever group you represent. Please believe me. I am not trying to be either stubborn or insulting. I am only being careful. And honest.”
Strauss sat with his big head bowed in deep thought. Finally he looked up. “Herr Busch, I must discuss this with others, you understand.”
“As you wish.” Ari rose slowly, brushing his lapel. “And now, lunch?”
Strauss lumbered to his feet, bulking in the tiny office. He leaned over and picked up the trade magazine, still folded to the beautiful advertisement of the modern printing plant. “Should I bring this along?” he asked, looking at Ari questioningly.
“I don’t think so,” Ari said, smiling coldly. “No, I really don’t think so.”
Chapter 3
The intimate little cocktail party given by the Jules Richereaus in their small apartment on the Rua Augusta was coming to a close. There had been only four couples present, plus the Deputado Strauss, who had just dropped in for a moment. The Deputado had mingled freely with the guests, all of whom he knew, and at the moment was speaking with an old acquaintance who bought and sold coffee; they stood in the middle of the floor, uttering the standard clichés about the influx of Colombian and African beans in the world market. The general drift for the door had begun; Madame Richereau was fluttering about, seeing that the final details of the leave-taking were properly handled, explaining to all with a sad shake of her shoulders that it was a pity her husband had been unexpectedly called away and could not have been there to enjoy their company.