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 offensive-smelling 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 into 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.