“Goetz! So you came!” The old man bustled about, dragging glasses and bottles from a dark sideboard made darker by its place in the shadows. “And Lange? And Gunther?” He was obviously delighted with the other; the vitality of his huge visitor seemed a physical thing in the room, passing itself as animation to the old man, making the room gayer.
“I dropped them at Gehrmann’s. With pleasure. They’ll be over in the morning.” He shook his head comically, although his voice remained serious. “A day and a half in the car with them was more than enough!”
“Only a day and a half?” The old man paused with the glasses in his hand. “You made very good time.”
“With two flat tires, also. But it’s been dry down our way for some time now. And the road has been scraped.” He frowned at the old man fiercely. “I see it’s dry up here, too. Do we drink or do we spend the night chattering like old women?”
The old man giggled. “We drink, of course. And then play chess. Or are you too tired?”
“Asleep I could beat you. Set up the men.”
Erick stood forgotten to one side, the white heat of his temper solidifying into a hard core of hate. This one he would remember! Little Erick, eh? The feeling of strangeness was back in strength, the room and the house suddenly foreign; but the cold stab of hate swept aside all other emotions. “Uncle,” he said when his voice could once again be trusted. “I’ll see you in the morning.” “Of course, of course,” said the old man absently. He was setting the chess men up on an inlaid table before the fireplace.
Goetz nodded abruptly; he was filling a water glass with brandy. “Sleep well, little Erick!” He looked at the younger man humorously, quirking his massive eyebrows. “Pleasant dreams!”
Brandy and chess, giggling and horseplay! They have become soft and childish like the Brazilians, Erick thought bitterly as he went along the balcony to his room. Little Erick, eh? We shall see!
Chapter 4
They were standing about the room drinking coffee and speaking desultorily when Erick entered the next morning. His uncle introduced him to each in turn, and they all shook hands silently, wonderingly, diffident in the presence of a man they knew held office in the Third Reich of Hitler. The chairs and couch had been drawn up to form a rough semicircle about the fireplace, and Erick placed himself with his back to the mantel, waiting silently and aloofly while they quietly seated themselves. He stood erect and calm, sure of himself and watched them coldly as they seated themselves. Then, suddenly flinging his hand in their faces, he snapped, “Heil Hitler!”
There was a moment of startled silence, then “Heil Hitler!” loudly and enthusiastically from Gunther and Strauss; a further pause and a more subdued “Heil Hitler” from Gerhmann and Lange. A snort from Goetz. Silence from the old man von Roesler, and from Riepert, the lumberman from Paraná. Erick smiled grimly to himself as he filed the reaction of each in his sharp memory. He waited until the renewed shuffling had again subsided before beginning to speak.
“Gentlemen. Citizens of the Third Reich. You are all aware, I am sure, of the situation that exists today in the homeland. The Führer has made exceptional efforts to avoid war, and these efforts, so far, have been successful. But our enemies are not satisfied to allow this peaceful situation to endure.
“German nationals, who have played the greatest part in the development of every country in the world, are being persecuted and made to suffer today for no reason other than the fact that they are German! This is the truth, gentlemen; the international conspiracy of Jews and so-called Christian Democrats will not be satisfied until every man, woman, and child in the Reich is driven into starvation and despair!”
He paused and studied the faces before him. Goetz was eyeing him coldly, almost sardonically; his uncle sat huddled in one corner, blankly studying his veined hands. Gunther was leaning forward excitedly, drinking in the words; Strauss was vigorously nodding his head. The tension had disappeared from the faces of Lange and Gehrmann; they looked interested. Riepert was staring out of the window, his face disclosing nothing.
“Gentlemen. In this situation, to be blunt, the Fatherland calls upon all of its loyal sons and daughters in all parts of the world for support. These hostile elements that surround us on all sides have long taken advantage of our weakness, of our lack of organization, of our sincere desire for peace. As Germans we are beginning to once again raise our heads under the inspired leadership of our beloved Führer; we are throwing off the shame of the past, we are beginning once again to stand on our feet. But these elements will not leave us in peace! It is only a question of time until they change their attacks from verbal and economic ones to actual intervention in the internal affairs of the Reich!” He eyed them all coldly, conviction in every line of his taut body. “And when that time comes, they will be smashed down; taught that we Germans also have a right to live, and to grow, and to fulfill the destiny of the Third Reich!”
His voice had risen despite himself; he found himself pounding the stone mantelpiece for emphasis. A pity, an inner voice whispered, to waste this oratory in a farmhouse in this backward place, but then didn’t the Führer himself start in a Brauhaus in Munich? There was an embarrassed shifting of bodies, but no one spoke.
“Gentlemen. We cannot wait for the blow to fall before preparing ourselves for it. Even as I come today to Brazil, others have gone to Argentina, to Sweden, to Canada, to the United States; to all of the countries that owe so much to their German population, and who yet hold us down so much. What is the answer? The answer is that we must organize ourselves; organize into Bunds. Prepare ourselves for the day when the Reich will be forced to defend itself on the field of battle against these enemies!”
There was a sudden movement as Goetz heaved himself to his feet. He stood towering over the silent group, eyeing them with cold disgust; then his huge head swung toward Erick. “Enough is enough,” he said, his big fists clenching and unclenching. “You are mad! You and your crazy Schicklgruber! You come here to Brazil to tell us about Germans suffering in other countries. When have you ever seen Germans suffering in other countries? What do you know about how Germans live in other countries? When have you ever been out of Germany?” His face was reddening with his growing anger. “To take a bicycle trip to Vienna? To go visit the whorehouses of Paris?” He snorted. “You talk of suffering! Suffering!” He looked about the room. “Everyone in this room today can thank Brazil for everything he has!”
“Goetz, Goetz!” cried Gunther, his little body shaking with conviction as with an ague. “He’s right! It’s changing! He’s right! They are talking now of even forbidding the teaching of German in our schools in Santa Catarina!”
“It gets harder each day to import from the Fatherland,” interposed Strauss sullenly. “The verdammt Americans get preferential treatment.”
“Why?” Goetz roared, his patience snapping. “Why? What does Germany have to export? Guns? Airplanes? Tanks?” He turned fuming to the silent waiting figure of Erick, watching this display with icy calm from the fireplace. “Ask our young friend here, he was still wet behind the ears when I left Germany. Ask him what Germany has to export! Hate? Poison? Little men like this — this...” Words failed him. He pushed to the door, seething. “My God, but you are fools! Von Roesler, I go! You will pardon me if I do this to your hospitality, for you are an old friend and I do not hold this against you, but this is too much! For this idiocy I drove two days, yet!” They heard his feet go pounding down the stairway. Riepert rose to his feet.