The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  85.6$.

  "Isn't that wonderful!" cried Mama. "Herford, the people feel as we do. Now we know!"

  "Yes," said Herford. "We and the people are one." And I had to admire Stahlhut for the fact that he hadn't brought in a result of eighty-five or eighty-six percent, but eighty-five point six. This six-tenths of a percent suddenly filled me with respect for the man I despised. Quite a personality, this Herr Stahlhut....

  ... FINAL RESULTS: QUESTION: WHICH POLITICAL EVENT IN THE LAST MONTHS TOUCHED YOU MOST? ...

  The green computer words rolled smoothly across the screen in Herford's fantastic office. All of us had come back here, Stahlhut as well, to give further explanations that could interest Herford. Next door, in the windowless room, his colleague, Ulli, was letting the additional questions and answers roll. 218

  ... ANSWER: THE OCCUPATION OF CZECHOSLOVAKIA BY THE WARSAW PACT NATIONS:

  82.3$...

  "Donnerwetterl" said Herford.

  What had he expected?

  "Yes, that upset me more than anything else," said Mama, shifting her hunter's hat with the long feather. I looked at Stahlhut sharply, he looked at me expressionlessly. I drank my lemon coffee, which somebody had heated up again for me.

  ...FINAL RESULTS: QUESTION: DO YOU FEEL THE INTERVENTION WAS JUSTIFIED? ANSWER: NO: 95.4$....

  Another idiotic question!

  ...FINAL RESULTS: QUESTION: DO YOU FEEL SYMPATHY FOR THE CZECH PEOPLE? ANSWER: YES: 97.8$....

  "You see," said Stahlhut, "we have also prepared a program for future series and reports." Yes, we could see that!

  ...FINAL RESULTS: QUESTION: DO YOU FEEL SORRY FOR THOSE WHO HAD TO FLEE? ANSWER: 98.2$....

  That was what questions and answers looked like. I would have liked to know what the 1.8$ who had answered "no" or "undecided" looked like.

  ...FINAL RESULTS: QUESTION: WHO DO YOU FEEL SORRIEST FOR AMONG THE REFUGEES? ... A: INTELLECTUALS?... B: POLITICAL REFUGEES? ... C: ARTISTS? ... D: MEMBERS OF THE LOWER CLASS?... E: MALES?... F: FEMALES? ... G: CHILDREN AND JUVENILES?...ANSWER SIGNIFICANT: CHILDREN AND JUVENILES: 97.8$....

  "My God, the poor children!" cried Mama, and passed a hand across her eyes.

  "Dreadful!" said Rotaug, to no one in particular. It sounded as if he were giving a waiter an order—

  ... FINAL RESULTS: QUESTION: WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW HOW THESE CHILDREN ARE LIVING?... ANSWER: YES: 85.8$....

  Well, at last, there it was. Bertie couldn't keep his mouth shut again. "A computer like that is a wonderful thing," he said. The irony was lost on Herford. "That's right," he said. "Wonderful!"

  Stahlhut rose, walked over to the monitor and pressed a button, evidently signaling that the presentation was to stop, because no more green letters passed across the screen, which now was empty and black again. From far away you could hear the noise of the subway construction, all the way up here to the eleventh floor.

  Stahlhut said, "The result of the general analysis is that the computer considers a report or a series on the refugee children and juveniles as promising the greatest success, if Blitz decides to reorient to a left-liberal course. The theme seems to have the greatest human interest; it appeals to women and men in equal measure, regardless of income, profession, age, and social status."

  "Well, then we have our first theme," publisher Herford cried triumphantly. "Herford asked you to come here to demonstrate the results of this survey, just as it was presented to him and his wife for the first time. Does any one of the gentlemen have anything to say against the planned reorientation to the left? We live in a democracy. My publishing house is under democratic leadership. I am a democrat myself." At this point I could have puked. "If a minority can persuade Herford that it's not the right thing to do, Herford is perfectly willing to give up the plan. Well?"

  Silence.

  "Nobody has anything against it?"

  "Nobody," said Lester eagerly. "We think it's wonderful, all of us. Isn't that so, gentlemen?"

  "We're all for it," said Rotaug curtly.

  "Good, good. Herford asked you, Roland, and you, Engelhardt, to take part in this meeting because you are our best

  writer and photographer, respectively. Herford wants this first report—or series, or whatever it turns out to be—to be done by Herford's best men. Is that clear?"

  "Perfectly clear," I said, and felt a lot better. I preferred working in a house that was oriented to the left rather than to the right, although I realized that was a passing fancy—I mean, on the part of the house.

  Bertie said, "I'm honored, Herr Herford. I shall enjoy an assignment with Walter again. And I'm happy about your decision, too. No intelligent person can be anything but a socialist today."

  Embarrassed silence. Finally Herford burst out laughing. "You're right, Engelhardt. And it proves that Herford isn't an idiot, doesn't it?" said the man with millions. Then at once he was serious again. "So you two will give us a report on the children and juveniles."

  "But what about the sex stories?" said Lester.

  "I've sometimes written four series at the same time/' I said.

  "That's all right. But the article you handed in today—" Bastard! He'd waited patiently for this.

  "What about the article?" said Herford.

  "The women had a lot of objections," said Lester, smiling at me. I smiled back.

  "For God's sake!" exclaimed Herford, genuinely alarmed. "You'll have to take care of that, Roland. And fast. Today's the last day, isn't it? How did it happen?"

  "He was sick," said Hem.

  "Aha!" Herford cleared his throat. "Too much you-know-what, eh? Well, then you'll revise it right away, of course—"

  Lester looked at me, ready to pounce. Shit! I thought. "Of course," I said. "Right away, Herr Herford." From which you can deduce what a noble person I am.

  Lester looked annoyed. He had evidently been looking forward to my refusal and another scene.

  "But you must write an article for the next edition, if you're going to go off with Engelhardt," said Herford.

  "I'll do it tonight," I said. Accommodating... that's me! But I wanted to write about the children, regardless of what could be made of it. I simply had to write about something beside orgasms, necking, petting, the erogenous zones, or I'd go stark, staring mad!

  "Very well," said Herford.

  "We're so grateful to have you," said Mama. And I felt sick. "Goodness, he can still blush! Look, Herford!"

  "So he can," said Rotaug, sincerely astonished. He looked at me thoughtfully.

  "Where are these children, Stahlhut?" asked Herford.

  "The juveniles to age eighteen and the children are at Camp Neurode. That's north of Bremen. The adults are in other camps. There are children of all nationalities in Neurode, right now mosdy Czechs. But Greeks, too—"

  "Greece is a member of NATO," said Rotaug.

  "... Poles and Spaniards..."

  "Our house in Majorca!" cried Mama, her hand moving nervously to her throat.

  "Forget NATO and our house in Majorca," said Herford, rising, his expression grim. "Do we want a left-liberal course or don't we? Well, then we must also have courage. Nothing's going to happen. A lot of our Socis have houses in Spain. And Herford doesn't owe NATO a thing. Anyway, this report will have human appeal and human interest!" He was off, arms spread. "Children, innocent children! A political background, naturally, but everything from a humane perspective. Humane, gentlemen, you understand?"

  "Yes," said Bertie.

  "Yes," I said. "Humane." And I thought of Klefeld.

  "But how you approach it is your business, gentlemen. That's what Herford pays you for, and plenty. I want a shattering protest against the inhumanity of all nations and all regimes. Do you hear, Rotaug? All nations!"

  "Neurode, the Golgotha of innocent youth!" said Hem with a straight face.

  "Golgotha! Yes, Golgotha! If we could get that into the title," said Mama, passing a hand across her eyes again.

  You may think I am exaggerating, c
reating caricatures out of human beings, but I am not. This is just how it happened. What Mama said, if you take into consideration how things worked in this computerized publishing house, may have sounded like colossal cynicism. But Herford and Mama were not cynics. And they weren't bad people either—I mean, they were no worse than many other millionaires. They were simply a part of the society in which we lived. They had our society to thank for their evolution and existence, as all of us did. He who realized this, as 222

  Hem did, was smart. And was to be pitied. Because if he wanted to preserve an ounce of decency, he would have to anesthetize himself constantly to endure this business, anesthetize himself with music and a philosophy that led nowhere. Or anesthetize himself with women and liquor, as I did, Hem's friend and disciple. I'll revise the shitty article right here in the office, I thought, then 111 go home and whip up one for the next edition. Then we can take off, late tonight or early tomorrow morning. I mustn't forget to take my hip flask and a few bottles of Chivas.

  "Think up an appropriate title page, gentlemen," said General Manager Oswald Seerose, the English aristocrat. It was only the fourth or fifth time this morning that he'd said anything at all. "We must also stress our political reorientation visually."

  Bertie nodded.

  Herford walked over to his Bible again. Everyone rose and folded hands—only Hem, Bertie, and I didn't.

  "In close Herford will read from the Book of Books again. May it bless our plans and may we succeed," he said, leafing through the thick parchment pages, a lot of them, until he found what he was after. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want," and Mama nodded, deeply moved. "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake." Herford was silent, then he added a firm "Amen."

  "Amen," said everybody except Hem, Bertie, and myself. A phone rang. Our publisher took a few steps to his desk. "Yes?" He listened. "Very well," he said, and pressed a button on the silver intercom. "Well, Harold?"

  You could hear the triumphant voice of the personnel manager. "Some good luck, Tommy! I've looked through the files and found one. Peter Miele. Works in the Readers' Circle group. Has only been with us for two years. A Soci. Holds speeches and incites his audience by telling them what their rights are, union stuff, and so on."

  "A Soci, you say? Incites people?" mumbled Herford.

  "Yes. He has lots of time till he gets the blue letter. Has a wife and three children and owns his apartment. A lot of debts. Only twenty-nine. He'll accept a settlement and go; I'm sure he will."

  "Well, that's first-rate," said Herford, smiling happily. "So fire him. Fire him at once. Herford knew you'd find somebody. So

  Herford can bring young Hollering in right away, ha-ha-ha!"

  "Ha-ha-ha!" from Harold Viebrock, loud and clear in the receiver. And we were off on a left-liberal course, God love us. On a left-liberal basis. Breasts fully exposed.

  Composing Room

  The train to Hamburg was the express from Cologne that stopped in Bremen at 4:30 a.m. and got into Hamburg at 5:49. Fraulein Louise bought a second-class ticket and sat down on a bench beside a column. The station was deserted. On some of the benches men were asleep, curled up, unkempt, as they are in all big stations. Fraulein Louise dozed off a few times, but she always came to when her head began to nod. Her bag! she thought. Her bag with all that money in it! She had wedged it between herself and the column, and it was always there when she woke up.

  At 4:00 a.m. Fraulein Louise walked out onto the stormy platform and bought a cup of coffee at a stand. She drank it slowly, then she asked for a second cup and drank that. The man in the stand yawned. He had the early shift and hadn't slept enough. Fraulein Louise, who had slept a bit, felt quite fresh. It's almost a year, she thought, since I've been on a train. And I never went to Hamburg by train, always by car. Three years since I was there last.

  Fraulein Louise felt as if she had drunk champagne, not coffee, as if she were in the proverbial seventh heaven. It was, she decided, because of this adventure she had taken upon herself, away from the moor and its loneliness, straight to Hamburg. And then what? She didn't have a plan yet; all she had was a telephone number, two names, and two addresses. And, oh... what a sin to forget them! She had her friends! They would help her. They had already helped her. She would never have got here so fast without Franticek. She ordered a pair of sausages with mustard, and while she ate she communed silently with God: I thank You for doing all You have done for me and for helping me. Please go on helping me. Let evil be punished and the good thing triumph in the end, as the Herr Pastor always said. With me, please don't let it take too long, because I don't have time to wait. Amen. And with that she scraped together what was left of her second frankfurter, and popped it into her mouth. And paid.

  "Was it good, lady?" asked the sleepy attendant.

  "Very good," said Fraulein Louise, thought it over for a moment, then added the merciful lie, "Especially the coffee."

  "Thank you, lady."

  Fraulein Louise carefully counted the change he had given her for a ten-mark bill, then pushed twenty pfennigs across the counter. "For you."

  "Thank you, lady."

  The train was punctual. The storm was still raging on the empty platform and the arc lights were waving in the wind. A hoarse loudspeaker announced the train. Nobody got out; only two people got in—Fraulein Louise and a big man who looked as if he might be around forty. He had on a thick coat, no hat, and was carrying a red book. The door of the car Fraulein Louise had chosen wouldn't open. "Let me help you," said the man, and smiled at Fraulein Louise.

  He had dark eyes, short black wavy hair, and a broad flat face. He fiddled around with the handle and suddenly the door opened. The steps were high and he helped her up just as if he knew she had trouble with her legs, then he got in after her. The corridor was dimly lit for the night. Fraulein Louise went on ahead. Most of the blinds in the second-class compartments were down. "They must all be asleep," said Fraulein Louise. "If we open the door, well wake them up."

  "Up there," said the man. "I can see light in a compartment." When they got to it, they found the compartment empty.

  Fraulein Lquise sat down by the window, holding her bag firmly on her knees. The man, who was wearing a dark suit, a pink tie, and a white shirt under his heavy dark-blue coat, sat down opposite her. "Oh," he said at once, "you may want to sleep. Til put out the light."

  "No, no, please," said Fraulein Louise. "I don't want to sleep. I'm wide awake. But you've got a book. You probably want to read."

  "Yes, if you don't mind," said the man with the pink tie, taking a pair of gold-rimmed glasses out of his pocket and putting them on. He's farsighted, thought Fraulein Louise. The man smiled at her, she smiled back. When he picked up his book and opened it, Fraulein Louise gasped. She could read what was written in gold letters on the cover: A New Order: A New Heaven and a New Earth; and underneath, in smaller letters, The Watchtower.

  Fraulein Louise's heart beat as fast as the rhythm of the train, 228

  which was tearing through the howling storm. The man with the pink tie was reading a book of the Jehovah's Witnesses. The Watchtower! That was the name of their publication!

  It's unreal, thought Fraulein Louise, like a dream! This man—surely he was here to help her get to Hamburg... and in Hamburg another friend would be waiting. Oh, how wonderful it all was! Because Fraulein Louise was afraid of the world that she scarcely knew anymore after all the years on the moor. How miraculous it would be if she were accompanied by her friends!

  Fraulein Louise said softly to herself:" * And it took place at the beginning of the thousand years of Christ—'"

  "What did you say?" The man with the pink tie looked up and over his glasses at Fraulein Louise, and smiled, "Did you say something?"

  "Yes," said Fraulein Louise, feeling her way cautiously. "I said, 'And it took place at the beginning of the thousan
d years of Christ.'"

  The man looked astonished. "But that's what I'm just reading! On Judgment Day, it says here, 'Heaven and earth fled from the countenance of the One the Apostle John saw seated on the big white throne.'"

  "'And there was found no place any longer for the corrupt heaven and the corrupt earth. That was when they were destroyed forever.' From the Book of Revelation." Fraulein Louise was trembling as she dared to be more bold. '"I saw a great white throne and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and heaven fled away, and there was found no place for them.'"

  "How do you know all that?" the man asked, serious but friendly.

  Fraulein Louise felt strangely drawn to him. That was why, sure of herself now, she said in a conspiratorial tone, "But that's what you told me yourself, over and over again, during the years on the moor. Don't you recognize me? I'm Louise."

  There was a short silence, then the man nodded and said, "Of course. How stupid of me! You're Louise."

  The train roared through the night, the wind howling past it. "And you are my Jehovah's Witness, right?" said Fraulein Louise. "My friend, my dead Witness."

  The man was definitely friendly. In a warm soft voice he said, "Your dead friend, the Witness, yes."

  "From the moor," said Fraulein Louise.

  "From the moor."

  "I'm only asking because I have to be careful, you understand? This is a terrible thing we've let ourselves in for. Just between us, sometimes Tm afraid."

  "You mustn't be afraid," said the man. "I am with you."

  "All of you are with me, aren't you?" Fraulein Louise asked hopefully.

  "All of us, yes," said the man.

  "What body did you enter?" asked Fraulein Louise. "What's your name? What shall I call you?"

  "My name is Wolfgang Erkner," said the man. "But call me Wolfgang and I'll call you Louise, not—" He hesitated.

  "Not Fraulein Gottschalk," said Fraulein Louise.

  "Louise Gottschalk," the man who called himself Wolfgang Erkner repeated, and nodded.

  "I remember everything you told me out there on the moor," Fraulein Louise said proudly. "Everything! You spoke to me so often during all those years, in summer and winter. We're really very old friends, aren't we? You in death and I in life. And when I finally join you—"