THE FEELING OF WELL-BEING lasted until the next day. After posting off his text and photos of the Chancellery opening he traveled across town to the University, where Julius Streicher was inaugurating the new chair. It wasnt, as Normanton had mischievously claimed, actually called the Chair of Anti-Jewish Propaganda, but it might have been. There was no sign of Streichers famous bullwhip, but his veins bulged just the way Russell remembered. The Nazi angrily denied the claim that National Socialism had put fetters on science or research. Restrictions, he insisted, had only been placed on the unruly. In fact, decency and sincerity had only obtained their freedom under National Socialism.
He had been ranting for an hour and a half when Russell left, and looked set for many hours more. Coming away, Russell knew what Normanton had meant about Mad Hatter material but, for once in his life, he felt more emotionally in tune with McKinleys simple disgust. Perhaps it was the fact that his next port of call was the Wiesners.
He picked up a Daily Mail while changing trams in Alexanderplatz and went through it with the two girls. They pored over the fashion pictures and ads, puzzled over the headline MAN WHO SLAPPED WOMAN MAYOR SAYS IM ASTOUNDED, and objected to the one which claimed ALL WOMEN ARE MAGPIES. A photograph of the King of Egypt out duck-shooting reduced Ruth to such a fit of giggles that her mother came out to see what was happening.
After the lesson she brought out the best coffee and cake Russell had tasted for months, and thanked him profusely for all he was doing. Her husband was well, she said, but her face clouded over when he asked about Albert. He was finding things difficult. He had the feeling she thought about saying more but decided against it.
Hed planned a few more hours of work before picking up Effi from the theater, but after Streicher and the Wiesners he felt more like punching someone. He found another Western on the Kudamm and sank into a world of huge skies, lofty canyons, and simple justice. Chewing gum for the heart.
Effi was tired and seemed as subdued as he felt. They walked slowly back to her flat, went to bed, and lay quietly in each others arms until she fell asleep. Her face grew younger in sleep, and she looked even more like Ruth Wiesner.
WEDNESDAY EVENING, RUSSELL WAS listening to dance band music on the BBC when McKinley knocked on his door and suggested a drink. While he collected his shoes from the bedroom the young American scanned his bookshelves. Half of these are banned, he said admiringly when Russell returned.
I havent got round to burning them yet, he replied, reaching for his coat.
Outside it was warmer than it had been, but there were specks of rain in the air. As they turned the corner onto Lindenstrasse McKinley took a sudden look over his shoulder, as if hed heard something.
What? Russell asked, seeing nothing.
McKinley shook his head. Nothing, he said.
They walked under the elevated U-bahn tracks at Hallesches Tor, and across Blucherplatz to the bar they used for their infrequent drinks together. It was almost empty. The barman yawned on his stool; two old men in the corner stared morosely at each other. McKinley bought them beersdark for Russell, light for himselfwhile Russell commandeered the only bowl with any nuts and carried it across to the table with the fewest standing pools. As he lowered himself into the seat it groaned alarmingly but held together. We have to find a new bar, he murmured.
McKinley tried his beer and smiled in satisfaction. Okay, he said. Now tell me about Schacht.
Hes dead in the water.
Okay, but why? I never understood economics.
Schacht does. Thats why.
What do you mean?
Russell thought about it. Schacht wants to see the economy run according to the laws of economics. He did when he was Finance Minister, and as long as hes in charge of the Reichsbank hell keep beating the same drum. The trade deficit is soaring, the Reichsbanks holdings of foreign exchange are dwindling, and theres a real possibility of another runaway inflation. The economys running out of control. Schacht would like to raise taxes and switch production from armaments to something that can be sold abroad. Some hope, eh? If Hitler and Goering have to choose between their armament program and the laws of economics, which do you think theyll choose?
But if the economy is in real trouble?
Nothing a war wont fix.
Ah.
Ah, indeed. Schacht, shall we say, has the narrow view. Hes assuming several years of peace, at the very least. Hitler, on the other hand, sees a choice. He can either do what Schacht wantsrein in the war machine, raise taxes, and get the real economy moving againor he can go for broke, and use the army to put things right. He sees all that wealth beyond his borders, just begging to be collected. Thats why Schacht has to go. Hitlers not going to risk higher taxes in Germany when he can steal the same money from conquered foreigners.
McKinley looked at him. I never know how serious you are. If this is such a big storySchacht going, I meanthen why isnt it on the front pages back home? If wars so absolutely certain, how come youre the only one who knows it?
Russell smiled. Just gifted, I guess. Another beer?
When he got back from the bar, McKinley was making notes in his little black book. Was your dance night a one-off, or are you going out with that girl from the embassy? Russell asked him.
McKinley blushed. Weve only been out twice. Merle, her name isyou know, like Merle Oberon. Her fathers just a storekeeper in Philadelphia but shes determined to really see life. She wants to see Europe while shes working here, and then the rest of the world if she can.
Good for her.
Youve traveled a lot, havent you?
Once upon a time.
Have you been to Russia?
Yes. I met my wife theremy ex-wife, I should say. At a Comintern youth conference in 1924. Lenin had just died and Trotsky hadn't noticed that the rug was gone from under his feet. It was a strange time, a sort of revolutionary cuspnot the moment it all went wrong, but the moment a lot of Party people realized that it already had. Does that make sense?
I suppose. Im hoping to go in March. The nineteenth Congress is being held in Moscow and Im trying to persuade the paper to send me.
Thatll be interesting, Russell said, though he doubted it would be.
Neither of them wanted another drink, and the nuts were all gone. It was raining outside, and they stood for a moment in the doorway, watching the neon shimmers in the puddles. As they passed under the elevated tracks a Warschauer Brucke train rumbled across, its sides streaming with water.
At the bottom of Lindenstrasse McKinley took a look back across the Belle Alliance Platz. I think Im being followed, he said, almost guiltily, in response to Russells inquiring look.
I cant see anyone, said Russell, staring into the rain.
No, neither can I, McKinley said, as they started up Lindenstrasse. Its more of a feeling. . . . I dont know. If they are following me, theyre really good.
Too many Thin Man movies, Russell thought. Whos they? he asked.
Oh, the Gestapo, I suppose.
Moving like wraiths isnt exactly the Gestapo style.
No, I suppose not.
Why would they be following you?
McKinley grunted. That story I told you about. That story I was going to tell you about, he corrected himself.
Im not sure I want to know anymore, Russell said. I dont want them following me.
It was meant as a joke, but McKinley didn't take it that way. Well, okay. ...
Russell was thinking about the car hed seen outside their block. He couldn't imagine the Gestapo being that patient, but there were other sharks in the Nazi sea. Look, Tyler. Whatever it is, if you really are being stalked by the authorities I should just drop it. No storys worth that sort of grief.