City of Endless Night

by Hastings , Milo M. ;

Seeing that she was thoroughly aware of my predicament, I grew frightened and my anger slipped from its moorings. ‘See here,’ I cried, ‘your little story of innocence and virtue is very clever, but I’ve looked you up and –’

  ‘And what –,’ she asked, while through her childlike mask the subtle trickery of her nature mocked me with a look of triumph – ‘and what do you propose to do about it?’

  I realized the futility of my rage. ‘I shall do nothing. I ask only that you return the book.’

  ‘But books are so valuable,’ taunted Bertha.

  Dejectedly I sank to the couch. She came over and sat on a cushion at my feet. ‘Really Karl,’ she purred, ‘you should not be angry. If I insist on keeping your book it is merely to be sure that you will not forget me. I rather like you; you are so queer and talk such odd things. Did you learn your strange ways of making love from the book about the inferior races in the world outside the walls? I really tried to read some of it, but I could not understand half the words.’

  I rose and strode about the room. ‘Will you get me the book?’ I demanded.

  ‘And lose you?’

  ‘Well, what of it? You can get plenty more fools like me.’

  ‘Yes, but I would have to stand and stare into that fountain for hours at a time. It is very tiresome.’

  ‘Just what do you want?’ I asked, trying to speak calmly.

  ‘Why you,’ she said, placing her slender white hands upon my arm, and holding up an inviting face.

  But anger at my own gullibility had killed her power to draw me, and I shook her off. ‘I want that book,’ I said coldly, ‘what are your terms?’ And I drew my checkbook from my pocket.

  ‘How many blanks have you there?’ she asked with a greedy light in her eyes – ‘but never mind to count them. Make them all out to me at two hundred marks, and date each one a month ahead.’

  Realizing that any further exhibition of fear or anger would put me more within her power, I sat down and began to write the checks. The fund I was making over to her was quite useless to me but when I had made out twenty checks I stopped. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘this is enough. You take these or nothing.’ Tearing out the written checks I held them toward her.

  As she reached out her hand I drew them back – ‘Go get the book,’ I demanded.

  ‘But you are unfair,’ said Bertha, ‘you are the stronger. You can take the book from me. I cannot take the checks from you.’

  ‘That is so,’ I admitted, and handed the checks to her. She looked at them carefully and slipped them into her bosom, and then, reaching under the pile of silken pillows, she pulled forth the geography.

  I seized it and turned toward the door, but she caught my arm. ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded, ‘don’t go. Don’t be angry with me. Why should you dislike me? I’ve only played my part as you men make it for us – but I do not want your money for nothing. You liked me when you thought me innocent. Why hate me when you find that I am clever?’

  Again those slender arms stole around my neck, and the entrancing face was raised to mine. But the vision of a finer, nobler face rose before me, and I pushed away the clinging arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I am going now – going back to my work and forgetting you. It is not your fault. You are only what Germany has made you – but,’ I added with a smile, ‘if you must go to the Hall of Flowers, please do not wear that gray gown.’

  She stood very still as I edged toward the door, and the look of baffled childlike innocence crept back into her eyes, a real innocence this time of things she did not know, and could not understand.

  The Sun Shines Upon a King and a Girl Reads of the Fall of Babylon

  I

  Embittered by this unhappy ending of my romance, I turned to my work with savage zeal, determined not again to be diverted by a personal effort to save the Germans from their sins. But this application to my test tubes was presently interrupted by a German holiday which was known as The Day of the Sun.

  From the conversation of my assistants I gathered that this was an annual occasion of particular importance. It was, in fact, His Majesty’s birthday, and was celebrated by permitting the favored classes to see the ruler himself at the Place in the Sun. For this royal exhibition I received a blue ticket of which my assistants were curiously envious. They inspected the number of it and the hour of my admittance to the Royal Level. ‘It is the first appearance of the day,’ they said. ‘His Majesty will be fresh to speak; you will be near; you will be able to see His Face without the aid of a glass; you will be able to hear His Voice, and not merely the reproducing horns.’

  In the morning our news bulletin was wholly devoted to announcements and patriotic exuberances. Across the sheet was flamed a headline stating that the meteorologist of the Roof Observatory reported that the sun would shine in full brilliancy upon the throne. This seemed very puzzling to me. For the Place in the Sun was clearly located on the Royal Level and some hundred meters beneath the roof of the city.

  I went, at the hour announced on my ticket, to the indicated elevator; and, with an eager crowd of fellow scientists, stepped forth into a vast open space where the vaulted ceiling was supported by massive fluted columns that rose to twice the height of the ordinary spacing of the levels of the city.

  An enormous crowd of men of the higher ranks was gathering. Closely packed and standing, the multitude extended to the sides and the rear of my position for many hundred meters until it seemed quite lost under the glowing lights in the distance. Before us a huge curtain hung. Emblazoned on its dull crimson background of subdued socialism was a gigantic black eagle, the leering emblem of autocracy. Above and extending back over us, appeared in the ceiling a deep and unlighted crevice.

  As the crowd seemed complete the men about me consulted their watches and then suddenly grew quiet in expectancy. The lights blinked twice and went out, and we were bathed in a hush of darkness. The heavy curtain rustled like the mantle of Jove while from somewhere above I heard the shutters of the windows of heaven move heavily on their rollers. A flashing brilliant beam of light shot through the blackness and fell in wondrous splendor upon a dazzling metallic dais, whereon rested the gilded throne of the House of Hohenzollern.

  Seated upon the throne was a man – a very little man he seemed amidst such vast and vivid surroundings. He was robed in a cape of dazzling white, and on his head he wore a helmet of burnished platinum. Before the throne and slightly to one side stood the round form of a paper globe.

  His Majesty rose, stepped a few paces forward; and, as he with solemn deliberation raised his hand into the shaft of burning light, from the throng there came a frenzied shouting, which soon changed into a sort of chanting and then into a throaty song.

  His Majesty lowered his hand; the song ceased; a great stillness hung over the multitude. Eitel I, Emperor of the Germans, now raised his face and stared for a moment unblinkingly into the beam of sunlight, then he lowered his gaze toward the sea of upturned faces.

  ‘My people,’ he said, in a voice which for all his pompous effort, fell rather flat in the immensity, ‘you are assembled here in the Place of the Sun to do honor to God’s anointed ruler of the world.’

  From ten thousand throats came forth another raucous shout.

  ‘Two and a half centuries ago,’ now spoke His Majesty, ‘God appointed the German race, under William the Great, of the House of Hohenzollern, to be the rulers of the world.

  ‘For nineteen hundred years, God in his infinite patience, had awaited the outcome of the test of the Nazarene’s doctrine of servile humility and effeminate peace. But the Christian nations of the earth were weighed in the balance of Divine wrath and found wanting. Wallowing in hypocrisy and ignorance, wanting in courage and valor; behind a pretense of altruism they cloaked their selfish greed for gold.

  ‘Of all the people of the earth our race alone possessed the two keys to power, the mastery of science and the mastery of the sword. So the Germans were called of God to instill fear and reverence into the hearts
of the inferior races. That was the purpose of the First World War under my noble ancestor, William II.

  ‘But the envious nations, desperate in their greed, banded together to defy our old German God, and destroy His chosen people. But this was only a divine trial of our worth, for the plans of God are for eternity. His days to us are centuries. And we did well to patiently abide the complete unfoldment of the Divine plan.

  ‘Before two generations had passed our German ancestors cast off the yoke of enslavement and routed the oppressors in the Second World War. Lest His chosen race be contaminated by the swinish herds of the mongrel nations God called upon His people to relinquish for a time the fruits of conquest, that they might be further purged by science and become a pure-bred race of super-men.

  ‘That purification has been accomplished for every German is bred and trained by science as ordained by God. There are no longer any mongrels among the men of Germany, for every one of you is created for his special purpose and every German is fitted for his particular place as a member of the super-race.

  ‘The time now draws near when the final purpose of our good old German God is to be fulfilled. The day of this fulfillment is known unto me. The sun which shines upon this throne is but a symbol of that which has been denied you while all these things were being made ready. But now the day draws near when you shall, under my leadership, rule over the world and the mongrel peoples. And to each of you shall be given a place in the sun.’

  The voice had ceased. A great stillness hung over the multitude. Eitel I, Emperor of the Germans, threw back his cape and drew his sword. With a sweeping flourish he slashed the paper globe in twain.

  From the myriad throated throng came a reverberating shout that rolled and echoed through the vaulted catacomb. The crimson curtain dropped. The shutters were thrown athwart the reflected beam of sunlight. The lights of man again glowed pale amidst the maze of columns.

  Singing and marching, the men filed toward the elevators. The guards urged haste to clear the way, for the God of the Germans could not stay the march of the sun across the roof of Berlin, and a score of paper globes must yet be slashed for other shouting multitudes before the sun’s last gleam be twisted down to shine upon a king.

  II

  Although the working hours of the day were scarcely one-fourth gone, it was impossible for me to return to my laboratory for the lighting current was shut off for the day. I therefore decided to utilize the occasion by returning the geography which I had rescued from Bertha.

  Dr. Zimmern’s invitation to make use of his library had been cordial enough, but its location in Marguerite’s apartment had made me a little reticent about going there except in the Doctor’s company. Yet I did not wish to admit to Zimmern my sensitiveness in the matter – and the geography had been kept overlong.

  This occasion being a holiday, I found the resorts on the Level of Free Women crowded with merrymakers. But I sought the quieter side streets and made my way towards Marguerite’s apartment.

  ‘I thought you would be celebrating today,’ she said as I entered.

  ‘I feel that I can utilize the time better by reading,’ I replied. ‘There is so much I want to learn, and, thanks to Dr. Zimmern, I now have the opportunity.’

  ‘But surely you are to see the Emperor in the Place in the Sun,’ said Marguerite when she had returned the geography to the secret shelf.

  ‘I have already seen him,’ I replied, ‘my ticket was for the first performance.’

  ‘It must be a magnificent sight,’ she sighed. ‘I should so love to see the sunlight. The pictures show us His Majesty’s likeness, but what is a picture of sunlight?’

  ‘But you speak only of a reflected beam; how would you like to see real sunshine?’

  ‘Oh, on the roof of Berlin? But that is only for royalty and the roof guards. I’ve tried to imagine that, but I know that I fail as a blind man must fail to imagine color.’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I said playfully, ‘and try very hard.’

  Solemnly Marguerite closed her eyes.

  For a moment I smiled, and then the smile relaxed, for I felt as one who scoffs at prayer.

  ‘And did you see the sunlight?’ I asked, as she opened her eyes and gazed at me with dilated pupils.

  ‘No,’ she answered hoarsely, ‘I only saw man-light as far as the walls of Berlin, and beyond that it was all empty blackness – and it frightens me.’

  ‘The fear of darkness,’ I said, ‘is the fear of ignorance.’

  ‘You try,’ and she reached over with a soft touch of her fingertips on my closing eyelids. ‘Now keep them closed and tell me what you see. Tell me it is not all black.’

  ‘I see light,’ I said, ‘white light, on a billowy sea of clouds, as from a flying plane… And now I see the sun – it is sinking behind a rugged line of snowy peaks and the light is dimming… It is gone now, but it is not dark, for moonlight, pale and silvery, is shimmering on a choppy sea… Now it is the darkest hour, but it is never black, only a dark, dark gray, for the roof of the world is pricked with a million points of light… The gray of the east is shot with the rose of dawn… The rose brightens to scarlet and the curve of the sun appears – red like the blood of war… And now the sky is crystal blue and the gray sands of the desert have turned to glittering gold.’

  I had ceased my poetic visioning and was looking into Marguerite’s face. The light of worship I saw in her eyes filled me with a strange trembling and holy awe.

  ‘And I saw only blackness,’ she faltered. ‘Is it that I am born blind and you with vision?’

  ‘Perhaps what you call vision is only memory,’ I said – but, as I realized where my words were leading, I hastened to add – ‘Memory, from another life. Have you ever heard of such a thing as the reincarnation of the soul?’

  ‘That means,’ she said hesitatingly, ‘that there is something in us that does not die – immortality, is it not?’

  ‘Well, it is something like that,’ I answered huskily, as I wondered what she might know or dream of that which lay beyond the ken of the gross materialism of her race. ‘Immortality is a very beautiful idea,’ I went on, ‘and science has destroyed much that is beautiful. But it is a pity that Col. Hellar had to eliminate the idea of immortality from the German Bible. Surely such a book makes no pretense of being scientific.’

  ‘So Col. Hellar has told you that he wrote God’s Anointed?’ exclaimed Marguerite with eager interest.

  ‘Yes, he told me of that and I reread the book with an entirely different viewpoint since I came to understand the spirit in which it was written.’

  ‘Ah – I see.’ Marguerite rose and stepped toward the library. ‘We have a book here,’ she called, ‘that you have not read, and one that you cannot buy. It will show you the source of Col. Hellar’s inspiration.’

  She brought out a battered volume. ‘This book,’ she stated, ‘has given the inspectors more trouble than any other book in existence. Though they have searched for thirty years, they say there are more copies of it still at large than of all other forbidden books combined.’

  I gazed at the volume she handed me – I was holding a copy of the Christian Bible translated six centuries previous by Martin Luther. It was indeed the very text from which as a boy I had acquired much of my reading knowledge of the language. But I decided that I had best not reveal to Marguerite my familiarity with it, and so I sat down and turned the pages with assumed perplexity.

  ‘It is a very odd book,’ I remarked presently. ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ exclaimed Marguerite. ‘I often read it; I think it is more interesting than all these modern books, but perhaps that is because I cannot understand it; I love mysterious things.’

  ‘There is too much of it for a man as busy as I am to hope to read,’ I remarked, after turning a few more pages, ‘and so I had better not begin. Will you not choose something and read it aloud to me?’

  Marguerite declined at first; but, when I insisted, she took th
e tattered Bible and turned slowly through its pages.

  And when she read, it was the story of a king who reveled with his lords, and of a hand that wrote upon a wall.

  Her voice was low, and possessed a rhythm and cadence that transmuted the guttural German tongue into musical poetry.

  Again she read, of a man who, though shorn of his strength by the wiles of a woman and blinded by his enemies, yet pushed asunder the pillars of a city.

  At random she read other tales, of rulers and of slaves, of harlots and of queens – the wisdom of prophets – the songs of kings.

  Together we pondered the meanings of these strange things, and exulted in the beauty of that which was meaningless. And so the hours passed; the day drew near its close and Marguerite read from the last pages of the book, of a voice that cried mightily – ‘Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils and the hold of every foul spirit.’

  Finding therein One Righteous Man I Have Compassion on Berlin

  I

  My first call upon Marguerite had been followed by other visits when we had talked of books and read together. On these occasions I had carefully suppressed my desire to speak of more personal things. But, constantly reminded by my own troubled conscience, I grew fearful lest the old doctor should discover that the books were the lesser part of the attraction that drew me to Marguerite’s apartment, and my fear was increased as I realized that my calls on Zimmern had abruptly ceased.

  Thinking to make amends I went one evening to the doctor’s apartment.

  ‘I was going out shortly,’ said Zimmern, as he greeted me. ‘I have a dinner engagement with Hellar on the Free Level. But I still have a little time; if it pleases you we might walk along to our library.’

  I promptly accepted the invitation, hoping that it would enable me better to establish my relation to Marguerite and Zimmern in a safe triangle of mutual friendship. As we walked, Zimmern, as if he read my thoughts, turned the conversation to the very subject that was uppermost in my mind.