Memphis had taken me to her large and benevolent heart. And she was the city abused by the Northern press as ‘the murder capital of the USA’ because a few partial statistics had been arranged to confirm accusations of the city’s high homicide rate! Memphis was in fact the friendliest city I had known since I left Odessa. The murder figures came as a direct result of her very tolerance since she admitted so many black and Catholic immigrants to her poorer suburbs. What was more, because of her hospitals’ splendid reputation many victims were sent to Memphis to be saved. If they died, they increased the irony by adding another number to the statistics! Memphis was growing, as my political friends were forever telling me, and growth is never achieved without pain.
That evening I dined with Mr Roffy and a Mrs Trubbshaw. She was the thin-faced but attractive president of a local women’s club. I spoke enthusiastically of Major Sinclair’s airship. We should consider manufacturing several such smaller vessels as auxiliaries to our main fixed wing fleet. Charlie Roffy thought the idea very sound. Mrs Trubbshaw was greatly impressed. Evidently, she said, I was a man of enormous scientific and political vision. She envied me my adventurous life, which reminded her so much of Count Pulaski’s.
That left me entirely baffled. ‘Forgive me, madam, if I admit to ignorance.’
‘You must read about him in the library. He came all the way from Europe.’ Her style became hushed, intense, ecclesiastical. ‘To fight in our War of Independence. He was a great believer in freedom, colonel. A Polish nobleman, a soldier. A true American in all but nationality. He gave his name to Pulaski, Tennessee, where my father was born, and died in the service of Washington. You could be Count Casimir reincarnated. Do you, by chance, believe in having lived before, Colonel Peterson?’ Her dark curls shook with sincerity.
Since I was neither a Pole nor a Catholic, I said, but an ordinary Christian, I believed of course in redemption and rebirth. If that were the same, then I shared her faith. She was, like many women I met in those circumstances, a peculiar mixture of hard practicality and wild romanticism. We shared a motor cab when we left. Almost as soon as we were in it she kissed me passionately, then, somewhat clumsily, seizing my private parts, declared me a hero she could not resist. I, too, found resistance impractical, thus the cab was directed to the Adler Apartments where we rapidly consummated our mutual admiration. Most of my other women during that time were of Mrs Trubbshaw’s class. I believe they found me attractively exotic and unlikely to remain in Memphis long enough to embarrass them. I in turn became fascinated with learning the desires and inhibitions of the American bourgeoisie. Although I periodically visited (with Mr Gilpin and others who referred to themselves as ‘sporting men’) the city’s thriving and famous red light district, I came to prefer the more bizarre and educational adventures frequently offered by outwardly respectable matrons most of whom, oddly, were not Memphis born. The usual theory was that post-war life had abolished repressions and people were frequently making up for what they thought they had missed in a climate of ‘Victorian morality’. My own view was simpler: a shortage of men made many women behave as if they were at a garment sale. They became at once more ruthlessly competitive and less discriminatory, frequently finding they had picked up material they would normally not have blessed with a second look. This state of affairs suited me perfectly, since I remained loyal in spirit to my Esmé, saved money and stood far less chance of catching a social disease. (It was at a bawdy house, however, I had my first experience of a full-blooded negress.)
Like many American cities of those days, Memphis presented a contrast of extreme public puritanism and unchecked private lechery, greater than any I had encountered in Europe. With her weighty inheritance of low-church morality, America’s attempt to check her native exuberance and vitality by creating laws having nothing to do with her natural and historical expansionist character merely fostered further hypocrisy and confusion. A nation’s laws must always reflect to some degree the national temperament. America’s often did not. They were cold, English laws which became virtually meaningless, say, in California. In seeking to shape herself through the dreams of her founders rather than the needs of her living inhabitants she weakened herself, became schizophrenic. Of course she was a threatened nation. The settlers who had suffered and died to establish the United States did so in the name of a great Anglo-Saxon egalitarian ideal. In 1922 that ideal was being exploited and abused by immigrants demanding the benefits of struggle but unwilling to pay the price. It was too late to control this population by the methods of the Pilgrim Fathers. Most newcomers did not even recognise the Faith on which the principles were based. They had loyalties to the Chief Rabbi, the Pope, to Karl Marx and V. I. Lenin; they served an ideal above nationalism. No wonder that however many Baptist ladies tried to abolish alcohol there were as many Italians and Hebrews (not to mention the renegade Irish) to sell it. Americans sought desperately to establish order and stability in a world threatening Chaos from all sides. Those who condemn them have no proper understanding of their fears. I helped fight that last battle against America’s enemies; a noble and doomed defence, like the last stand of the South against the Union. It was conducted with courage, honour, decency and common sense by ordinary people, the brave descendants of Kit Carson, Buffalo Bill and Jesse James. Their attempt to fight with the moral weapons of Protestantism was understandable, if misguided. A time comes when only political strength and fortitude will win the day; an unpalatable but courageous ruthlessness. Christ is our champion, that gentle Greek shepherd. Yet the Lamb must be protected from wolves and jackals by other weapons than Old Testament texts or a ban upon the few comforts which lessen the burden of our journey through this Vale of Tears. I had no desire to offend worthy pastors and churchwomen who saw evidence of overwhelming Evil in the abuse of life’s pleasures, but I refused to relinquish those pleasures in private moderation. I used to see drunkenness on the streets of Kiev (we had prohibition in Russia long before Volsted) for in the uneducated person the element of self-control is usually absent, so I shall not argue against the need for a firm, paternal hand, but a general ban leads only to general crime. Democracy is powerless to control the degenerate refugee, who all his life has understood only tyranny.
I saw Mrs Trubbshaw several times over the next few days and enjoyed her considerably for all it sometimes proved difficult negotiating the various items of underwear which her own version of morality insisted she somehow retain at all times on her person. It was she who at about noon brought me some sandwiches and a copy of the Commercial Appeal with the appalling news which was to have a far greater consequence on my life than I could guess. The Roma had gone down at Hampton Roads Army base. This semi-dirigible, bought from Italy only recently, had crashed when her rudder failed. Exploding on contact with the ground she killed thirty-four out of forty-five crew members. My chicken and mayonnaise was set aside half eaten. I grieved for those poor aviators. The splendid story of the airship has been written in the blood of those brave pioneers who, in a spirit of joyful discovery, flung themselves into the upper atmosphere, never quite certain what their fate would be. Mrs Trubbshaw stood fiddling with the pale blue bows of her camiknickers. ‘What’s wrong, dear?’
I began to weep.
With a snort of disappointment, she began awkwardly to comfort me.
So fickle are financiers than almost any minor shift in the social climate can frighten them. This is what I knew as I plunged into the folds of sweet-smelling silk, cotton and flesh and sought, with some initial difficulty, the consolations of Mrs Trubbshaw’s feminine charms. It was not long before we were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door and a voice calling my name. Mrs Trubbshaw recognised Mr Roffy. She gathered her outer clothes together before disappearing into the little dressing-room.
Roffy looked like a turkey who had been bought an axe for Christmas, as they said in the South. He was distraught and he held a crumpled copy of the newspaper. ‘I won’t keep you long, Colonel Peterson. I
see you’ve already read the report. What do you make of it? Can it affect us?’
‘Since we’re proposing an aerodrome and fixed wing planes, I hardly think there’s a comparison. What’s more, that ship wasn’t even American made.’
He calmed down a little, but remained worried. ‘I still think it could seriously affect our plan. If our people in Washington lose their nerve, our Memphis business interests will also get cold feet. Where will that leave us?’
‘With a sound, practical and worthwhile scheme, Mr Roffy.’ I searched for the cord of my dressing-gown. ‘I share your fears, of course. But I suspect it will at worst involve a very small delay.’
‘You’re more confident than I am, sir.’ He looked vaguely, without understanding, at my rumpled bed. ‘And considerably more confident than Washington’s likely to be, what with everything else that’s going on.’
‘Then we must restore their optimism.’ I was positive and rather disapproving of his nervousness.
I think my tone made him attempt to pull himself together. ‘The problem, colonel, is how do we do it? They’ll only keep their nerve if we’re seen to be doing the same thing. We have to show that we’re completely confident in our company’s future.’
‘Perhaps another interview in the newspaper?’ I suggested.
His smile was hopeless. ‘It might help. But words aren’t enough. Not just now. For a while we might have to lay our money on the table.’
‘I don’t understand you, Mr Roffy.’
He sighed and ran his fingers through his distinguished locks. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m willing to put up $150,000 in cash right now. If each of us invested the same amount in the company that would show we meant business. It would also keep our credit good. What we lose from Congress we might gain locally. That way, there would be no loss of momentum. There are a lot of smaller people in this city who depend on us, even now.’
‘I realise that, Mr Roffy.’ Of course I was thoroughly taken aback. Having allowed them to believe I was as wealthy as themselves I now had no way of refusing what was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. ‘My money is tied up in foreign bonds and banks, as I’m sure you appreciate. There is no way in which I could rapidly raise the sum you suggest.’
He was regretful. ‘It might prove our only answer, colonel, believe me.’
When he had gone I returned to bed and was joined by Mrs Trubbshaw with whom I shared a small sniff from my declining cocaine supply. She had heard only a fraction of the conversation and of course she was the last person in whom I could confide my dilemma. I felt my position not merely embarrassing but also to some degree dangerous. In Memphis the six-shooter was still regarded in many quarters as the best means of settling affairs of honour. ‘Is Mr Roffy worried about the airship accident?’ asked Mrs Trubbshaw later. ‘Did you have a financial interest in it?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’ I could afford to admit to no one that I was virtually destitute. Everything depended on my blueprints gaining the reality of metal and wood. Thereafter without doubt the money would come in. Until then I would be separated from Esmé. I could not bear the thought. She trusted me to send for her. Memphis, too, had high expectations of me. My gigantic six-engined passenger aeroplane with the four stacks of wings and four separate ‘carriages’ was due to begin production the following year. Local factories were expecting orders. My radio-beam energy projector should be at the prototype stage within months and my radio-controlled automatic landing system was to grace the main tower of the aerodrome, now due to be sited at Park Field. Models had been made, artist’s projections prepared. Every stage was planned and a great many Memphians were expecting their fees. Once we had news from Washington confirming our Federal funding, every major financial personage in Memphis was ready to invest, as was the city under the guidance of Boss Crump. Yet now it seemed all of this was in peril unless I could raise what to these people was a tiny sum. I had at least to make some attempt to raise it.
As soon as Mrs Trubbshaw had left to keep her afternoon appointments I went downstairs to the Western Union office and sent a wire to Paris, to Kolya, my only real hope. There was no time for mysteries. I wrote: MUST HAVE $150,000 FOR IMPORTANT VENTURE, MATTER OF GRAVE URGENCY. PETERSON. I took the risk and for my return address gave c/o Western Union, Memphis, Tennessee. The officer assured me he would let me know as soon as there was a reply. He gave me a copy of the wire. This would enable me to prove to Mr Roffy my serious intention of raising the capital. I telephoned my partner at the rented house in Poplar Avenue, near Overton Park, which we also used as a business address. I said I had some information for him. He suggested we meet that evening at a private club called May’s in Front Street.
For the next hour or so I walked aimlessly around downtown Memphis, staring in store windows, inspecting the wrought-iron pillars of those covered sidewalks which seem to exist nowhere these days but which were so functional, buying a paper cone of chocolate candy, studying the mass of signs along Main Street, and eventually finding myself on the steps of the eight-storeyed neo-Arcadian fortress which was actually the Union Station. Once there, I picked up several timetables, praying that I would not have to leave Memphis as hastily as I had left certain other cities in the past. I had still not allowed enough time for Kolya’s reply. I took a cab to the Zoo in Overton Park and wasted another hour with the somewhat miserable representatives of American and African wildlife. At dusk, I returned to the Adler building and the Western Union office. No reply had yet been received to my telegram.
Determined to maintain morale, I dressed in my best evening clothes and took a taxi to Front Street. The club was in a private house, once used as a steamboat company’s offices, a few blocks from the Post Office. There were a few lights on the iron bridges over the river and some from the cluster of steamboats by the levee but otherwise the area felt deserted. I entered May’s and had my topcoat and hat taken by a pretty octoroon wearing a frock so short it resembled a Greek tunic. I began to feel more comfortable. There was a warmth about such establishments which excluded all the outer world’s cares. Mr Roffy, too, had made some attempt to improve his appearance. Again he looked the dignified Southern elder he was. He smiled as he got up from the couch in the corner of what May called her ‘ballroom’ and came towards me. We went upstairs to a private apartment whose walls were completely covered in dark yellow and red velvet drapes and whose main furnishings consisted of a huge ornamental bed, a gilt chair and a wash stand. I showed him the copy of the message I had sent. He beamed with relief. ‘That will do the trick, I’m sure. I’m so sorry to put you to this inconvenience, colonel. But confidence has to be maintained. It’s crucial as I know you understand. As soon as you receive confirmation, have the funds cabled to the First National Bank. Then we’ll turn them into cash.’
I was surprised. ‘Surely that will invite unwelcome attention?’
‘We need all the attention we can get, colonel. Mr Gilpin’s in Washington right now, getting his money moved and mine’s already at the bank, in a safety deposit. The moment it’s all together I’ll be standing by with the photographers. Believe me, colonel, there’s nothing impresses people more than the sight of a pile of real dollar bills. In these parts that will provide better proof of our sincerity and dedication than a letter of unlimited credit on the Bank of England.’
‘Well, Mr Roffy, I pray you’re right. It’s extremely tiresome and a little complicated for me to have so much money cabled all at once. You know how the French are about such things.’ I did not for a moment believe Kolya could lay hands on so large an amount, but even if he sent a sixth of it I knew it would be enough to prove my financial standing. In a few days the Roma disaster would fade from the public eye and things would return to normal. The American newspapers required fresh sensations more than most. Doubtless some terrible fire or a collapsing building would serve to drive the airship crash from any place of importance in the public’s imagination. Meanwhile I would explain how my funds were
being sluggishly liquidated, on account of French government policy, and then they would no longer be needed. This rational view of the matter was coloured a little with anxiety. Next day, when no cable arrived from Kolya, I sent another: MONEY MATTER OF URGENT MOMENT. PLEASE RESPOND. This one I did not show to Mr Roffy when he called by on his way to lunch with Mr Gilpin (‘Back from Washington with a carpetbag full of bills’) who was staying at the Gayoso Hotel. It occurred to me I had heard nothing from Kolya because I no longer had his current address. Ironically, he might even be on his way to the United States, bringing Esmé with him.
It was frustrating to me that I could not let Kolya know more, but I neither wished to involve him in my troubles nor did I intend to reveal my whereabouts to the French police. Perhaps I had already gone too far. Kolya might believe he protected me by not responding. On the following Wednesday I had still heard nothing. I placated Mr Roffy by telling him my French bank was actually the branch of a Swiss one. The Swiss bank was claiming that there was no branch of the First National in Memphis. I next resorted to sending a cable (as ‘Peterson’) to my old bank, the Crédit Lyonnais in Boulevard St-Germain, giving the address of the Memphis Bank and telling them it was important they cable the ‘agreed sum’ at once. A copy of this satisfied Mr Roffy, although he still continued to display a certain grim nervousness. Mr Gilpin I encountered only once near Court Square, a small park in the centre of the city. The meeting was accidental and he looked at me strangely. It was as if he believed I had already betrayed his trust. I told him with mock-cheerfulness that everything was in order. He said ‘pleased to hear it’ and hurried on. He seemed to be taking the setback with less fortitude than his friend.
The Laughter of Carthage: The Second Volume of the Colonel Pyat Quartet (Colonel Pyat Quartet Series Book 2) Page 53
