Dragon's Teeth

by Sinclair, Upton;

  “I just had a wire from your wife; she’s on the way to meet you at the Crillon. She’s been scared half out of her wits. There’s been a lot in the papers, you know.”

  “Thanks, old sport, for what you did.”

  “I didn’t do a damn thing. I never felt so helpless.”

  “It’s quite possible you saved me. Anyhow, you’ve got an interesting story coming to you. So long!”

  V

  The traveler reached Paris about sunset, and surprised Irma in the suite she had taken. She looked at him as if he were a ghost; she seemed afraid to touch him, and stood staring, as if expecting to find him scarred or maimed. He said: “I’m all here, darling,” and took her in his arms.

  She burst into tears. “Oh, Lanny, I’ve been living in hell for two weeks!” When he started to kiss her, she held off, gazing at him with the most intense look he had ever seen on her usually calm face. “Lanny, promise me—you must promise me—you will never put me through a thing like this again!”

  That was the way it was between them; their argument was resumed even before their love. It was going to be that way from now on. He didn’t want to make any promises; he didn’t want to talk about that aspect of the matter—and she didn’t want to talk about anything else. For two weeks she had been imagining him dead, or even worse, being mutilated by those gangsters. She had had every right to imagine it, of course; he couldn’t tell her that she had been foolish or unreasonable; in fact he couldn’t answer her at all. She wanted to hear his story, yet she didn’t want to hear it, or anything else, until her mind had been put at rest by a pledge from him that never, never would he go into Germany, never, never would he have anything to do with that hateful, wicked thing called the class struggle, which drove men and women to madness and crime and turned civilized life into a nightmare.

  He tried his best to soothe her, and to make her happy, but it couldn’t be done. She had been thinking, and had made up her mind. And he had to make up his mind quickly. For one thing, he wouldn’t tell her the whole story of what happened to him in Hitlerland. That would be for men only. He would have to tell the Hellstein ladies about the torturing; but only Robbie and Rick would ever know about his deal with Göring. Rumors of that sort get twisted as they spread, and Lanny might get himself a name that would make him helpless to serve the movement he loved.

  Now he said: “Control yourself, darling; I’m here, and I’m none the worse for an adventure. There’s something urgent that I have to do, so excuse me if I telephone.”

  Her feelings were hurt, and at the same time her curiosity was aroused. She heard him call Olivie Hellstein, Madame de Broussailles, and tell her that he had just come out of Germany, and had seen her Uncle Solomon, and had some grave news for her; he thought her mother and father also ought to hear it. Olivie agreed to cancel a dinner engagement, and he was to come to her home in the evening.

  He didn’t want to take Irma, and had a hard time not offending her. What was the use of subjecting her to an ordeal, the witnessing of a tragic family scene? He had to tell them that the Nazis were cruelly beating the brother of Pierre Hellstein to get his money; and of course they would weep, and perhaps become hysterical. Jews, like most other people, love their money; also they love their relatives, and between the two the Hellstein family would suffer as if they themselves were being beaten.

  Then, of course, Irma wanted to know, how had he been in position to see such things? He had a hard time evading her; he didn’t want to say: “Göring had me taken there on purpose, so that I might go and tell the Hellsteins; that is the price of his letting Freddi go.” In fact, there wasn’t any use mentioning Freddi at all, it was clear that Irma didn’t care about him, hadn’t asked a single question. What she wanted to know was that she was going to have a husband without having to be driven mad with fear; she looked at Lanny now as if he were a stranger—as indeed he was, at least a part of him, a new part, hard and determined, insistent upon having its own way and not talking much about it.

  “I owe Olivie Hellstein the courtesy to tell her what I know; and I think it’s common humanity to try to save that poor old gentleman in Berlin if I can.”

  There it was! He was going on saving people! One after another—and people about whom Irma didn’t especially care. He was more interested in saving Solomon Hellstein than in saving his wife’s peace of mind, and their love, which also had been put in a torture chamber!

  VI

  The scene which took place in the very elegant and sumptuous home of Madame de Broussailles was fully as painful as Lanny had foreseen. There was that large and stately mother of Jerusalem who had once inspected him through a diamond-studded lorgnette to consider whether he was worthy to become a progenitor of the Hellstein line. There was Pierre Hellstein, father of the family, stoutish like the brother in Berlin, but younger, smarter, and with his mustaches dyed. There was Olivie, an oriental beauty now in full ripeness; she had found Lanny a romantic figure as a girl, and in her secret heart this idea still lurked. She was married to a French aristocrat, a gentile who had not thought it his duty to be present. Instead there were two brothers, busy young men of affairs, deeply concerned.

  Lanny told the story of the dreadful scene he had witnessed, sparing them nothing; and they for their part spared him none of their weeping, moaning, and wringing of hands. They were the children of people who had set up a Wailing Wall in their capital city, for the public demonstration of grief; so presumably they found relief through loud expression. Lanny found that it didn’t repel him; on the contrary, it seemed to be the way he himself felt; the tears started down his cheeks and he had difficulty in talking. After all, he was the brother-in-law of a Jew, and a sort of relative to a whole family, well known to the Hellsteins. He had gone into Germany to try to save a member of their race, and had risked his life in the effort, so he couldn’t have had better credentials. He told them that he had expected to be the next victim laid on the whipping-bench, and had been saved only by the good luck that an officer friend had got word about his plight and had arrived in time to snatch him away. They did not find this story incredible.

  Lanny didn’t wait to hear their decision as to the payment of ransom to the Nazis. He guessed it might require some telephoning to other capitals, and it was none of his affair. They asked if the story he had told them was confidential, and he said not at all; he thought the public ought to know what was happening in Naziland, but he doubted if publicity would have any effect upon the extortioners. Olivie, in between outbursts of weeping, thanked him several times for coming to them; she thought he was the bravest and kindest man she had ever known—being deeply moved, she told him so. Lanny was tempted to wish she had said it in the presence of his wife, but on second thought he decided that it wouldn’t really have helped. Nothing would help except for him to conduct himself like a proper man of fashion, and that seemed to be becoming more and more difficult.

  VII

  Lanny’s duty was done, and he had time to woo his wife and try to restore her peace of mind. When she found that he was trying not to tell her his story, her curiosity became intensified; he made up a mild version, based upon his effort to buy Freddi out of Dachau, which Irma knew had been his plan. He said that he and Hugo had been arrested, and he had been confined in the very gemütlich city jail of Munich. He could go into details about that place and make a completely convincing story; his only trouble had been that they wouldn’t Jet him communicate with the outside world. It was on account of the confusion of the Blood Purge; Irma said the papers in England had been full of that, and she had become convinced that she was a widow.

  “You’d have made a charming one,” he said; but he couldn’t get a smile out of her.

  “What are you waiting for now?” she wanted to know. He told her he had had a conference with Furtwaengler, and had a real hope of getting Freddi out in the next few days. He couldn’t think of any way to make that sound plausible, and Irma was quite impatient, wanting to be taken
to England. But no, he must stay in this hotel all day—the old business of waiting for a telephone call that didn’t come! She wanted to get away from every reminder of those days and nights of misery; and this included Freddi and Rahel and all the Robin family. It made her seem rather hard; but Lanny realized that it was her class and racial feeling; she wanted to give her time and attention to those persons whom she considered important. Her mother was in England, and so was Frances; she had new stories to tell about the latter, and it was something they could talk about and keep the peace. It was almost the only subject.

  There being more than one telephone at the Crillon, Lanny was able to indulge himself in the luxury of long-distance calls without a chance of delaying the all-important one from Berlin. He called his mother, who shed a lot of tears which unfortunately could not be transmitted by wire. He called Rick, and told him in guarded language what were his hopes. He called Emily Chattersworth and invited her to come in and have lunch, knowing that this would please Irma. Emily came, full of curiosity; she accepted his synthetic story, the same that he had told his wife. The episode of Solomon Hellstein was all over Paris, just as Göring had predicted; Emily had heard it, and wanted to verify it. Lanny explained how he had been under detention in Berlin, and there had got the facts about what was being done to the eldest of the half dozen banking brothers.

  Also Lanny wrote a long letter to his father, telling him the real story; a shorter letter to Hansi and Bess, who had gone to South America, along with Hansi’s father—the one to sell beautiful sounds and the other to sell hardware, including guns. The young Reds hadn’t wanted to go, but the two fathers had combined their authority. The mere presence in Europe of two notorious Reds would be an incitement to the Nazis, and might serve to tip the scales and defeat Lanny’s efforts to help Freddi. The young pair didn’t like the argument, but had no answer to it.

  VIII

  Early in the morning, a phone call from Berlin! The cheerful voice of Oberleutnant Furtwaengler announcing: “Gute Nachrichten, Herr Budd! I am authorized to tell you that we are prepared to release your friend.”

  The man at the Paris end of the wire had a hard time preserving his steadiness of voice. “Whereabouts, Herr Oberleutnant?”

  “That is for you to say.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In Munich.”

  “You would prefer some place near there?”

  “My instructions are that you shall name the place.”

  Lanny remembered the bridge by which he had crossed the river Rhein on his way to Munich; the place at which the child Marie Antoinette had entered France. “Would the bridge between Kehl and Strasbourg be acceptable to you?”

  “Entirely so.”

  “I will be on that bridge whenever you wish.”

  “We can get there more quickly than you. So you set the time.”

  “Say ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “It is a date. I won’t be there personally, so this is to thank you for your many courtesies and wish you all happiness.”

  “My wife is in the room, and desires to send her regards to you and your wife.”

  “Give her my greetings and thanks. I am certain that my wife will join in these sentiments. Adieu.” Such were the formulas; and oh, why couldn’t people really live like that?

  IX

  “Now, dear,” said Lanny to his wife, “I think we can soon go home and have a rest.”

  Her amazement was great, and she wanted to know, how on earth he had done it? He told her: “They were trying to find the whereabouts of some of Freddi’s friends and comrades. My guess is, they’ve got them by now, so he’s of no use to them. Also, it might be that Göring thinks he can make some use of me in future.”

  “Are you going to do anything for him?”

  “Not if I can help it. But all that’s between you and me. You must not breathe a word of it to anybody else, not even to your mother, nor to mine.” It pleased her to feel that she stood first in his confidence, and she promised.

  He went to the telephone and put in a call for his faithful friend in Cannes. “Jerry,” he said, “I think I’m to get Freddi out, and here’s another job. Call Rahel at Bienvenu and tell her to get ready; then get her, and motor her to Strasbourg. Don’t delay, because I have no idea what condition Freddi will be in, and she’s the one who has to handle him and make the decisions. You know the sort of people we’re dealing with; and I can’t give any guarantees, but I believe Freddi will be there at ten tomorrow, and it’s worthwhile for Rahel to take the chance. Get Beauty’s car from Bienvenu, if you like. I advise you to come by way of the Rhone valley, Besançon and Mulhouse. Drive all night if you can stand it and let Rahel sleep in the back seat. I will be at the Hotel de la Ville-de-Paris in Strasbourg.”

  Lanny had another problem, a delicate one. He didn’t want to take Irma on this trip, and at the same time he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Come if you want to,” he said, “but I’m telling you it may be a painful experience, and there won’t be much you can do.”

  “Why did you ask me to Paris, Lanny, if you didn’t want my help?”

  “I asked you because I love you, and wanted to see you, and I thought you would want to see me. I want your help in everything that interests you, but I don’t want to drag you into something that you have no heart for. I haven’t seen Freddi, and I’m just guessing: he may look like an old man; he may be ill, even dying; he may be mutilated in some shocking way; he may be entirely out of his mind. It’s his wife’s job to take care of him and nurse him back to life; it’s not your job, and I’m giving you the chance to keep out of another wearing experience.”

  “We’ll all be in it, if they’re going to live at Bienvenu.”

  “In the first place, Rahel may have to take him to a hospital. And anyhow, we aren’t going back until fall. Hansi and Bess are making money, and so is Johannes, I have no doubt, and they’ll want to have a place of their own. All that’s in the future, and a lot of it depends on Freddi’s condition. I suggest leaving you at Emily’s until I come back. I’m having Jerry bring Rahel in a car, so he can take her wherever she wants to go, and then you and I will be free. There’s a maison de santé here in Paris, and a surgeon who took care of Marcel when he was crippled and burned; they’re still in business, and I phoned that I might be sending them a patient.”

  “Oh, Lanny!” she exclaimed. “How I would enjoy it if we could give just a little time to our own affairs!”

  “Yes, darling,” he said. “It’s a grand idea, and England will seem delightful after I get this job off my hands. I’m eager to see what Rick has done with his last act, and maybe I can give him some hints.”

  It wasn’t until he saw Irma’s moue that he realized what a slip he had made. Poor Lanny, he would have a hard time learning to think about himself!

  X

  Irma was duly deposited at the Château les Forêts, an agreeable place of sojourn in mid-July. In fifteen years the noble beech forests had done their own work of repair, and the summer breezes carried no report of the thousands of buried French and German soldiers. Since Emily had been a sort of fostermother to Irma’s husband, and had had a lot to do with making the match, they had an inexhaustible subject of conversation, and the older woman tried tactfully to persuade a darling of fortune that every man has what the French call les défauts de ses qualités, and that there might be worse faults in a husband than excess of solicitude and generosity. She managed to make Irma a bit ashamed of her lack of appreciation of a sweet and gentle Jewish clarinetist.

  Meanwhile Lanny was speeding over a fine highway, due eastward toward the river Rhein. It was in part the route over which the fleeing king and queen had driven in their heavy “berlin”; not far to the south lay Varennes, where they had been captured and driven back to Paris to have their heads cut off. Human beings suffer agonies, and their sad fates become legends; poets write verses about them and playwrights compose dramas, and the remembrance of past gri
ef becomes a source of present pleasure—such is the strange alchemy of the spirit.

  The traveler had supper on the way, and reached his destination after midnight. There was no use looking at an empty bridge, and he wasn’t in the mood for cathedrals, even one of the oldest. He went to bed and slept; in the morning he had a breakfast with fruit, and a telegram from Jerry saying that they were at Besançon and coming straight on. No use going to the place of appointment ahead of time, so Lanny read the morning papers in this town which had changed hands many times, but for the present was French. He read that Adolf Hitler had called an assembly of his tame Reichstag in the Kroll Opera House, and had made them a speech of an hour and a half, telling how he had suffered in soul over having to kill so many of his old friends and supporters. When he was through, he sat with head bowed, completely overcome, while Göring told the world how Hitler was the ordained Führer who was incapable of making a mistake; to all of which they voted their unanimous assent.

  With thoughts induced by this reading Lanny drove three or four miles to the Pont de Kehl, parked his car, and walked halfway across. He was ahead of time, and standing by the railings he gazed up and down that grand old river. No use getting himself into a state of excitement over his own mission; if it was going to succeed it would succeed, and if it didn’t, he would go to the nearest telephone and get hold of the Oberleutnant and ask why. No use tormenting himself with fears about what he was going to see; whatever Freddi was would still be Freddi, and they would patch it up and make the best of it.

  Meantime, look down into the depths of that fast-sliding water and remember, here was where the Rheinmaidens had swum and teased the dwarf Alberich. Perhaps they were still swimming; the motif of the Rheingold rang clear as a trumpet call in Lanny’s ears. Somewhere on the heights along this stream the Lorelei had sat and combed her golden hair with a golden comb, and sung a song that had a wonderfully powerful melody, so that the boatman in the little boat had been seized with a wild woe, and didn’t see the rocky reef, but kept gazing up to the heights, and so in the end the waves had swallowed boatman and boat; and that with her singing the Lorelei had done. Another of those tragic events which the alchemy of the spirit had turned into pleasure!