“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, concerned citizens of North America. The regularly scheduled programs and their sponsors have graciously relinquished their time so that we may bring you this special message of national importance. Ladies and gentlemen, the Representative of North America.”
“My fellow Americans,” said the Representative, “this morning I met with the other members of our government—with the Representatives of South America, of Europe, Asia, Africa, and of the Pacific—and it was our decision to inform you of an impending state of emergency in this way. We sincerely felt that under the circumstances this is the fairest procedure, not only for you, my colleagues and neighbors of North America, but for each and every person in the world, each of whom, I hope, is right now listening to his Representative in whatever distant land he calls home.”
“We’re in for it, now,” said Ernest, a drunken smile expressing his true feelings. “War. An economic crisis.”
“Listen,” said Gretchen angrily, “it sounds like trouble. I just wish he’d get on with it.”
“Maybe they’ve devalued the orgasm,” said Ernest. He sat still for a few seconds, repeating his joke to himself. Then he started laughing, so hard that tears slid down his face. Gretchen pushed him off the low hassock they were sharing.
Ernest stopped laughing, but got up and went to the refrigerator for another beer. He shook his head, amazed at how totally involved his wife was. She sat close to the set, leaning toward it, staring at the Representative’s tepid smile, as if she could glean more sense from his words by following them visually from their source.
She hadn’t always been that simpleminded, Ernest admitted. When he first met her, she had been a remarkable summation of all he had wanted in female beauty. He had come to realize that his early ideas of female beauty meant little; they meant less and less as the years passed. What he had seen in those days had been an attitude of careless sexuality. He had observed merely her celebration of “freedom,” and had given it another name. Now, of course, her ideas of sexual behavior were becoming fuzzy, indistinct, and rather impersonal. They were slowly becoming nonexistent.
“When is the next election?” asked Ernest, returning to his seat. “Fifteen years? Remind me not to vote for this guy, whatever his name is. He sure likes to hear himself talk.”
“Quiet,” said Gretchen. “I’m sure he’s doing it for a reason. Maybe he doesn’t want to start a panic.”
“Panic!” said Ernest scornfully.
“Now, let me describe the situation calmly,” said the Representative. “The most serious hazard at this moment is the possibility of causing an unfortunate and emotional reaction among you. But, nevertheless, the case is simply that the world, and thus the entire population of our planet, is in grave danger of sudden and violent destruction.” The face of the North American Representative, flat on the screen of the old television set, smiled but displayed no emotion. His expression was adopted to foster confidence and composure, even while he reported such alarming news.
“Precisely what the doom is that threatens us, and how it will wreak its terrible havoc, is not to be disclosed. The particulars of this information are known only to your six Representatives, and to the team of specialists who prepared the original papers. It is our decision here that the details could not benefit the average citizen, and only serve to interfere with our plans for orderly and impartial evacuation.”
The Representative paused, allowing his audience to accept the harsh facts. Ernest watched in amazement; the Representative was still holding his tight little smile, as though he were speaking of something as trivial as a Canadian cold front. “Well,” thought Ernest, “I got my wish. I apologize to all the people on the subway.” He wondered what Sokol was thinking then, what sexy Suzy from the bar was thinking, what the shopping-bag ladies would say when they were told. This was a new role, that of “the condemned.” He had studied at an early age how to be generous, how to be angry, how to be sincere. He had never learned what to do just before death.
He would miss getting drunk at Mike’s. He would miss making whispered suggestions to Suzy, seeing her slow smiles or impatient frowns. He would miss people like Eileen, the secretary from work; he would miss her kind, though he would not miss her. He wished that he could have had the time to scramble into a better life. He was suddenly sorry that he had let his relationship with Gretchen go so wrong. Finally, with a sigh, he imagined that it was his responsibility to be strong for her now. That was his role. It would be difficult.
“We’re all going to die?” asked Gretchen, her voice rising in pitch and volume with each syllable.
“No, aren’t you listening? He just said ‘evacuation.’ Trust him. That’s what he’s for; he knows what he’s doing.”
“Although we are faced with a catastrophe on a scale previously unknown on earth, there is no cause for uncontrolled hysteria. Our teams of engineers have been at work since the first hint of the circumstances was interpreted several months ago. We are pleased to report that protective bunkers have been built, with the assurance that they are completely and perfectly able to withstand the harshest blows the situation will deal. Following the actual period of disruption, we will emerge into a somewhat disordered and damaged world, but we, ourselves, will be none the worse for the experience. We will then be able to resume our lives with only the most moderate and reasonable of adjustments.
“However, we have not had adequate time to build enough protective shelters for each and every one of you. Indeed, the most generous estimates indicate that there is room for only one out of each two hundred and fifty persons. Consequently, we have devised this scheme for insuring that those fortunate individuals who do survive will be chosen by means of an unbiased system.”
“We are going to die!” said Gretchen, sobbing.
“No, we won’t,” said Ernest flatly. As he listened to the Representative’s speech, he had formed odd and horrible visions in his mind, taken chiefly from old movies of fantastic disasters: the skyline of New York City toppling in flaming obliteration; Washington, London, Tokyo crushed beneath the feet of unconvincing monsters; great walls of water toppling down to bury coastal metropolises; fiery cracks splitting the earth, men and lizards plunging in to their destruction. And through them all walked a particular sort of man—the male lead—holding the female lead by the hand. Ernest’s hasty resolve to follow that example began to fade. He trembled at the thought of the smallest smoking fissure, the most inconsequential of colliding planets. And Gretchen was the excuse that he chose to mask his own growing fear. Certainly, with a little mental preparation, Ernest could fit into the hero part, but what sort of scientist’s lovely daughter was Gretchen? She would not do at all. She provided not the slightest motivation toward heroism. She would not be able to draw out that final, vital measure of courage in the critical moment. He would be lost, and no one could say that he was to blame. He sighed again. “I’ll see us through,” he said softly, sadly.
“Admittance to the bunkers will be granted only to those persons who present one of these tokens.” The Representative held up a shiny brass coin, about the size of a quarter dollar. “Each person must have one; therefore, make sure that each member of your family obtains his own. All persons without a token will be turned away on the day of evacuation. Family groups will receive no special treatment. We will have no compunction at all about splitting up such groups. This is the only way we have of enforcing fair conduct.
“Furthermore, each person must obtain his token by himself. Only one token will be given to each individual. In the case of children under the age of five years, they will receive their tokens only if they are brought to the dispensing station by a parent. The aged and the infirm must obtain their tokens in similar fashion. This may seem heartless at first glance, but proper reflection will prove it to be the only reliable course. Names will be taken at the dispensing stations, and positive proof of identification will be required. Later, these lists will be che
cked with lists of those persons admitted to the shelters. Any person who thus appears to have obtained entrance through fraudulent means will be immediately executed, and his entire party with him.
“Finally, beginning tomorrow the dispensing stations will be located at random spots around the globe. Their positions have been chosen with especial care to safeguard the equitable distribution of tokens. But the exact locations are also a secret, so that a further element of chance may work to the democratic effect.
“And now, I and my colleagues wish you all the best of luck, and may God bless.”
Meantime B
Weintraub received orders from Berlin, delivered through the Red Front district headquarters in Gelnhausen. After the sudden dissolution of his local cell, and with Herr Schneck’s personal recommendation, Weintraub had become the prime candidate for a complex and subtle mission.
“This assignment will make you a hero,” said Zeborian, the late Herr Schneck’s successor.
“I’m not interested in that,” said Weintraub. “I can’t help thinking that I failed in Frachtdorf. I owe the Party something. I put myself at the disposal of our leaders in Berlin; whatever role they choose for me, I will try to fill to their satisfaction.”
“Excellent, Herr Weintraub,” said Zeborian, smiling. “I will admit that your orders require great sacrifices from you. It will be a most dangerous, difficult time, but the rewards for success will be beyond your imagining.”
“I will do my best.”
“I know that, and Berlin realizes that, too. A project of this scope would hardly be entrusted to someone of lesser talents and enthusiasm. Now, listen.” Zeborian outlined the plan to Weintraub. The youth would soon leave his homeland, journeying to the recently subjugated United States. The necessary emigration papers had been obtained through Communist agents planted among the bureaucratic workers in Berlin. Weintraub would begin a new life in New York; he would establish himself slowly. After a period of time, he would make contact with a high-ranking Party member there who would guide the second phase of the operation. Weintraub nodded. He felt both confident and proud.
“Well, then, Herr Weintraub,” said Zeborian, reaching across his desk to clasp Weintraub’s hand, “though we must continue our struggle on this distasteful confidential level, at least we’re still fighting. It won’t be long before the world will again thrill to the voices of liberated masses, joyously raised in comradely song.”
“Not long, I hope,” said Weintraub.
“So. Here. Your new papers. Your instructions for the next month, and those to be opened after your arrival in Ostamerika. Expense money for your remaining days here, a bank draft for your stay in New York. The Party is with you, Kamerad Weintraub. Good luck, and may God bless.”
“Long live the shining victory of the people’s revolution,” said Weintraub solemnly.
“Yes. Quite.” Zeborian stood and escorted Weintraub to the door.
Weintraub led a quiet, lonely life. It was fairly simple for him to tie up the loose ends of his business and personal matters. He made half-muttered excuses to Frau Gansser, the owner of the bookshop in which Weintraub had worked for four years. His landlady was rather pleased, for when Weintraub moved out, she would be able to raise the rent on the musty attic apartment. And Weintraub’s stammered explanation brought his girlfriend, Nati, to tears. She had begun talking frequently about marriage, and the Party’s orders provided Weintraub with a welcome excuse. He didn’t tell her the details, of course; merely that something had happened which would make her proud if he could explain. He said that after the mysterious thing was over, he would return and marry her. They both knew perfectly well that was a lie; Weintraub soothed Nati’s disappointment for a while, and then said goodbye. He was relieved, but still full of sadness. He had a genuine affection for her, but he could never have married her and still be as useful to the Party.
He left Frachtdorf late in February 1919. He was to rent a cheap room in Hamburg, and do whatever he pleased until the first of May. Then he was to meet a Party operative who would take him to the boat which would get Weintraub out of the country. The months passed uneventfully, pleasantly. On the first of May, he was contacted by an elderly man, dressed in expensive clothing, who led Weintraub through the dirty streets of Hamburg to the waterfront. They boarded a large, battered fishing boat. The captain of the craft glanced once at the Party agent, once at Weintraub, and nodded. No one had said a word. The elderly man turned silently and left. The captain pointed to a small cot in the cabin, and went out to supervise the preparations for their departure. Weintraub yawned, went to the cot, and was soon asleep.
Hours later, Weintraub went above to get the fresh air. It was a dark and cold spring night, a few hours before dawn. The stars shone hard and bright; there were no dark smears of land to be seen. The fishing boat cut through the low seas, northward across the Skagerrak. Weintraub ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his stiff neck, then climbed up to the pilot house. The captain was sitting at a small table drinking coffee, while a young crewman held the wheel. “Hello,” said Weintraub. The captain nodded and indicated the coffee. Weintraub poured himself a cup. There was no sugar or milk. “Can you tell me where we’re going?”
The captain stood and stretched. “Norway,” he said. “I’ll leave you in a small village on the southern cape. You’ll be met. I don’t have any idea where you’ll go after that.”
“How long before we get there?”
The captain shrugged. “A while,” he said. “Go below and get some sleep. There ain’t anything else to do.” It was very cold on deck; the wet wind off the North Sea chilled Weintraub, and he decided that the captain was right. He spent the rest of the night and the following day in the cabin. Much later, they arrived in the shallow harbor of the village.
Weintraub swung his small bundle of belongings over his shoulder. When he started across the gangplank, the captain was nowhere in sight. There was a man waiting on the small pier. As soon as Weintraub stepped onto the dock, the captain’s voice called out to the crew to make ready to shove off. There was no sense of conspiracy or comradeship, no good luck backslaps or gruff words of advice. Before the Party agent introduced himself, the fishing boat was already putting out to sea. Weintraub had left Jermany for the first time in his life. He was afraid.
“Herr Weintraub, follow me please. I have a car. We have a long journey, and I know you must already be tired. Let us go.” Weintraub sighed. The agent took the bundle and led the way to the car. Weintraub climbed into the rear seat and dozed.
They drove through the twilight for many miles, along narrow, rutted dirt roads. Occasionally, they passed small settlements, and Weintraub could catch glimpses of snug log houses, warm-looking, with bright yellow lights shining through the windows and thick billows of smoke streaming from the chimneys. He wondered how long it would be before he could retire to a home of his own, with a comfortable, loving wife, a few sons, some simple occupation. These people, though innocent and lovely in a rustic way, had to be protected; it was folk like these who could be so easily and secretly enslaved. It was happening now, as the corrupt, victorious Jerman Empire spread its influence throughout Europe and the Baltic. And it was up to Weintraub and others with awakened consciences to fight on behalf of the simple citizens. That was why, after all, these workers were eating their hard-earned dinners in their ancient homes, and he was driving by, cold, hungry, weary, not even knowing his destination. That was why, after all, he was glad to make the sacrifice.
They stopped at last, once again well before sunrise. Weintraub got out of the car and stretched sleepily. His driver remained inside, but handed the bundle out through the window. Yet another agent waited in the darkness, and the car rolled away down the rough Norwegian road as Weintraub presented his identification. The agent handed the papers back. “Come along, please,” he said.
“Where is this?” asked Weintraub, noticing lights shining through a stand of trees.
�
�We are near the sea,” said the agent. “The Party established a secret submarine base here five years ago. You will leave for America at dawn.”
Weintraub felt a nervous tingle. The very idea of submarines had always frightened him, but he had at least thought it unlikely that he’d ever see one, let alone ride in one. Now it seemed that he was going to cross the Atlantic in an iron box, sunk many meters below the surface. He shook his head. The Party could ask a lot of a man.
Weintraub boarded the submarine a short time later. He was introduced to the commanding officer, Kapitänleutnant Ditmars Kaufmann, and was shown to his quarters. These were merely a partitioned area of the narrow gangway. A folding cot had been set up; there was room for little else. Weintraub undressed and resumed his night’s sleep. The submarine was under weigh when he awoke.
It was an old ship, built before the war began. It was one of the prototype U-boats, equipped with kerosene-fueled engines for running on the surface rather than the more efficient and safer diesel engines that became standard by 1914. When submerged, the submarine was powered by electric batteries, much the same as those used by all submarine fleets in the world. The early Jerman submarines had certain structural problems, many of which were solved during the course of the war. This craft, now operated by the Jerman Communist Party, would be sadly outclassed in any surface naval combat situation; but that was not its purpose.
Relatives Page 5
