"OK, OK, shit on me, you bloody capitalists! You're a capitalist stooge, Walta/i, and I thought you were my friend."
"I am your friend, Max, but be reasonable!"
"He is, he is!" Tutti tried to calm him down. "He didn't mean that about a capitalist stooge, did you, Max?"
"All right, all right," mumbled Max.
"There you are. We know you're a guy who goes along with us socialists, Walta/i, and when you say there's nuthin' more to be got out of it, then there's nuthin' more to be got out of it. Still, I
gotta admit, two thousand marks—that's peanuts for Max's super body. That shitty publisher of yours is gonna earn himself silly with Max's super cock. And that's why we've gotta have communism. We can't go on like this with these vultures! So... when's Max gotta be in the studio?"
"Tomorrow at eleven."
"I'll be there," said Max.
"We'll be ready for you, girls and all."
Max made a derogatory gesture with his hand. "Don't need 'em. I can get it up without girls. But now let's get on with it. You want information, right? About the funny stuff, sixty-nine an' so on. What the woman's got to do to get the guy up. Let Tutti put you wise to that. What's in it for her?"
"Two hundred marks per article."
"Two hundred marks?" Max roared scornfully. "Did you hear that, Tuttilein? Waltafe, if all the gents was as generous as your publisher, Tutti could have her box tightened."
"Max, be reasonable! It's going to be a series with a lot of articles. You've got to add it all up together!"
"Not a scrap of information under five hundred," said Max. He said it very loud; all of us were loud, with the result that canary Hanschen, who should have been asleep long ago, began to sing.
Max was furious. "Now the goddamn' canary's gotta start singing," he shouted. "That goddamn' bird's gonna drive me crazy! Shut up, you fuckin' bird, d'ya hear?" He had walked over to the cage and was yelling at the cloth covering it. Hanschen paid no attention. "You miserable animal! I'll kill you! I'll choke the life out of you!" The veins over his temples were swelling with rage.
"Just try it," cried Tutti, jumping to her feet, "and you've humped me for the last time!"
She took a lettuce leaf out of a bowl that hung beside the cage, Hf ted the cover, and pushed the leaf between the bars. "There, there, dear heart, my sweetie, my pet— Come on... eat the nice leaf ... so ... so That's the way— Mama loves you—"
Max watched the performance, still trembling with fury, but he said nothing. Tutti had glared at him. At last she was finished, Hanschen settled down, and the two came back to me.
"We must speak quietly," said Tutti. "Hanschen is a light sleeper." Max wanted to say something, but Tutti glared at him again, and he settled for some incomprehensible mumbling. In
the end we agreed on three hundred marks per article for Tutti's information. Max shook hands with me to show that the financial end of the transaction was settled. He almost crushed my fingers in the process.
"So may I start now, lover boy?" asked Tutti.
"You can start now," said gorgeous Max.
Tutti took a deep breath and began to reveal some of the treasures of her experience.
16
I didn't get back to the apartment until midnight. Two different men were parked outside the house now, in a different car. I recognized them at once as police, and they didn't try to hide it from me. I nodded to them, they nodded back. This time I took the recorder up with me, and as I walked into the apartment I * could hear music. The Second Piano Concerto in D-Minor, Tchaikovsky.
The door to the bedroom was ajar. Light fell through the crack. I threw my coat over a chair in the hall and hurried into the bedroom. Irina was sitting on the floor beside the record player. She had taken a bath and washed her hair—a towel was wrapped like a turban around it—and she was wearing a pair of the pajamas and the robe I had bought for her. Records were spread on the floor all around her—Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff, Smetana. An ashtray and a bottle of Chivas and soda stood beside her. She was sitting propped up against the wall, smoking and holding a glass of whiskey in her hand. She gestured toward the record. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
"I know. I can't sleep. I wanted to sit here and smoke and drink a little, and listen to the music. Do you mind?"
"Of course not."
She gestured toward the Chivas. "Have a drink and sit down with me."
She seemed to have drunk a lot more than I'd realized at first. I got a glass and ice cubes in the kitchen, went back to the bedroom, and sat down beside her on the floor.
"I know one shouldn't smoke in the bedroom," she said.
"That's right." I lit a Gauloise, fixed my drink, and raised my glass. "Chin-chin!"
"Chin-chin!" said Irina, and we drank. "Where were you?" she asked.
"At the office. And then I went to see a prostitute and her pimp. I've told you about the two."
"Your friends?"
"Did everything go all right?"
"Perfect."
A pause. No sound but the concerto. Then: "Walter?"
"Yes."
"It's awfully nice up here."
"Yes, isn't it? Wait, I'll fix you another drink." I took her glass. Another pause. Nothing to be heard but the music and the tinkling of the ice in the glass. "Thank you," she said as I handed it to her. She took a big swallow. "Walter?"
"Yes?"
"I've been thinking it over for a long time... whether I should tell you or not. But I can't manage it alone. I don't know anybody in Germany. And it's a criminal offense. I don't want to go to prison."
"What are you talking about?"
"I told you that I fled from Prague because the police kept summoning me and questioning me, and I couldn't stand it anymore, right?"
"Yes. And-?"
"And it's not true. Or anyway, it's not entirely true. They did question me again and again, but it wasn't as bad as I made it out to be. I didn't flee because of that. Jan's friends were arrested quite a bit earlier than I told you, not just before my decision to leave. Their arrest isn't what did it. They wouldn't have arrested me. They saw that I didn't know anything."
"So why did you leave?"
She looked at me for a long time. Now the piano was playing solo. "Because I'm pregnant, Walter," she said. "With Jan's child. In my third month."
She finished her drink and I finished mine, then I made two more drinks for us, very slowly, and Irina turned off the record player, and two minutes passed like that without our looking at each other. At last, when each of us had a glass in our hands again, I looked into her big sad eyes and said, "You wanted to get to Jan and tell him you were expecting his child."
"Naturally," she said. "And that I wanted to stay with him and go with him wherever he was going. And marry him. And have our child." She laughed.
"Don't laugh!" I said, and she stopped.
"Of course, now everything's different," she said. "Entirely different. Everything—did you say something?"
"No."
"I thought you—"
"Not a word."
"I don't want the child. Not now. I don't want a child by—by this—by Jan. Can you understand that?"
"Yes."
"And—and will you help me?"
I said nothing.
"You know Frankfurt. Have you never helped a girl out?"
"Oh, yes." I had helped three.
"Well, there you are," said Irina. "So you must know a doctor."
I was silent.
"Please!" said Irina. "You do know a doctor, don't you?"
I nodded.
"A good one?"
I nodded again.
"Who'd do it?"
"Yes."
"And he's reliable?"
"Absolutely. Anybody in Frankfurt with money and in your kind of trouble would go to him."
"So... will you take me to him, Walter? There's just time.
475
Three months. I'm healthy, my heart and and all that, so the
re's no danger. Will you, Walter?"
"But it can't go into the story," I said.
"That means you will?"
"If you're sure you want that."
She drank. "I'm sure I want that."
"Well, then—"
"What do you mean, well, then'? It's the only sensible solution, and we've got to be sensible, don't we?"
"Yes," I said. "We've got to be sensible. I'll get in touch with the doctor tomorrow so that we get an appointment as soon as possible. He's a very busy man."
Suddenly she began to cry, soundlessly. The tears rolled down her face onto her robe. "But—but you said you wanted it!" I said, starded.
"And I do, I do," she sobbed. "I'm only crying because I'm so happy... and so relieved... and because I'm so grateful to you, Walter, so very, very grateful! I'll never forget it, never!"
I gave her a handkerchief again, and she dried her tears. "So," I said, "now everything's all right." She nodded. "And now we can sleep." She nodded again. "Then come," I said, and lifted her up and held her in my arms. She cried out, but I held her firmly. She was astonishingly light. As I carried her into the spare room, she nestled her cheek against mine. I took her to bed like a child, and put a glass of water on her bedside table, and two sleeping pills. "Take one. If it doesn't work, take another."
"I don't need anything," she said. "I'm going to sleep like a log, now that I know you're going to call the doctor. You really will? First thing in the morning?"
"First thing in the morning. We'll have to watch it, though, because the police are guarding you."
"Oh, God!"
"But don't worry about it. The house has three entrances, and one in the cellar. This whole business of guarding you is ridiculous. They won't see us leave or come back. And now go to sleep."
I covered her as one covers a child, although I thought that now, with such a golden opportunity, I could try it. But I didn't.
"Lean down," she whispered. I did, and she kissed me on the mouth. "Thank you, Walter."
"Don't mention it."
"Are you going to sleep now?"
"Yes," I said, and got up from where I was sitting on the side of the bed. But I didn't go to sleep.
I left Irina, got my bottle of Chivas, my glass and soda and ice, and carried everything to my office. I put it all on my desk and closed the door so as not to disturb Irina. I looked in my leather bag for the cassette I wanted, found it, and inserted it in my recorder. Although I hadn't slept for such a long time, I felt wide awake. I took off my jacket, loosened my collar, and rolled up my sleeves. Then I inserted paper in my machine, with a carbon copy, and began to type.
ROLAND / TREASON / PART ONE
I let the recorder play a while and listened. Then I turned it off. It was wonderfully quiet in the apartment, and I thought about how I would begin. Once I knew that, the whole story would write itself. I didn't have to think long. I soon knew where the story had to start. Of course, this was before I visited Fraulein Louise in the Ludwigskrankenhaus in Bremen, and spoke to her. That came later. And so I didn't begin as I have done in this, my second draft; that is, not with the dialogue between Fraulein Louise and me which opens it. That night this scene still lay ahead of me.
I drank, lit a Gauloise, and began to hammer away at the typewriter, and these were the first lines I wrote: "He heard seven shots, then he heard his father's voice. It seemed to come from far away. The shots didn't frighten him, there was so much shooting in his dream, but his father's voice woke him.
"'What's the matter?' He rubbed his eyes. His heart was beating fast and his lips were dry.
"Tou must get up, Karel,' said his father—"
The third girl had tits that could drive you crazy and an ass that was out of this world, and she did a striptease that topped
everything the other two girls had produced. A redhead. Not dyed. You could see that. And all the gentlemen present in the Blitz photo studio reacted in a way that was quite natural. Bertie was wiping the sweat off his forehead, the two assistants in charge of lighting were mumbling something to themselves, their faces scarlet. Gentle little photo-editor Ziller kept licking his lips, and my cigarette fell out of my mouth when the redhead began swinging her boobs around. Only poor old Max wasn't reacting! There he stood, on a small dais in front of a black background, naked from top to toe, and he'd been looking at the three naked women, the most beautiful ones I'd been able to find, for half an hour, limp, not a move, not a rise out of him! He apologized for the nth time. He was terribly embarrassed.
The redhead, naked now and still gyrating, gave up. "After all, I've not been hired to cure a totally impotent man!"
"Shut up!" I said.
"Well, isn't it the truth?" she whined. "I've never seen anything like it! Monroe couldn't have upped him! And pills ain't going to do it either. He's hopeless. I've had enough!"
"Do the bridge once more," said Bertie. "Please. Do it for me. And spread your legs wide!"
"For you, darling," said the redhead, and did the bridge, legs spread wide.
It was quiet in the studio, the lights made it frightfully hot, and everybody was looking at Max's limp cock. "Nix," he said. "It's just dead. Absolutely dead!"
"Well, that does it," said the redhead. "I'm through!"
"And this is the sort of thing you bring us," said photo-editor Ziller. He was a small, humble man and really quite nice, and he didn't say it reproachfully.
"If you want to give me two hundred more, 111 try a blow job on him," said the redhead. "Maybe that'll do it."
"No, no!" Max was crushed. "Thank you, Frollein, but I know myself. My dschonnts got an obstruction. Blowing an' tooting ain't gonna help one bit. Damn it all, anyway!"
"Get dressed," I told the redhead.
The three other girls in the studio were sitting on low stools and were aghast about the whole thing. Two had already put on their show, also without success. Now we were going to try number four. A blond. The girls really were beautiful. My choice. I had written until five, then slept until nine, bathed, breakfasted, said a hasty good-bye to Irina—after bringing her
breakfast in bed—and promised to get hold of the doctor. Then I'd driven to an agency for film and stage extras and models. It was actually a cover for a call-girl operation and terribly expensive. I knew the woman who ran it, something in her own right. Not quite thirty and a specialist in wall jobs. I'd tried her. That's how I happened to know the place. The girls cost a small fortune, but you were assured of the best merchandise. I chose four beauties from a catalogue and ordered them to come to the studio punctually at eleven. They were punctual, and three of them had already done their best, to no avail.
"Come on," I said to the fourth girl. "It's your turn."
She got up. "Nah, Waltah," said Max, up on his dais. "Don't bother. It's no use. The broad don't have to take the trouble to get undressed. Won't do any good." Whereupon the blond began to cry, bitterly and loudly.
"And what about my money?" she sobbed. "My fee? The others get paid, I don't? That's not fair. And I won't put up with it. Ill tell the boss!"
"For heaven's sake!" Gende Herr Ziller already had his wallet out. "Of course you'll get your fee, just like the other ladies. How could anybody know this would happen?"
He opened his wallet and a lot of bills became visible. Max was looking at Ziller, and I saw it the same time Bertie did. He gestured with his chin. I nodded. Both of us had noticed it. At the sight of the money, Max's dschonni had twitched.
"Herr Ziller!" I cried. He looked up. To the girls I said, "Stand aside for a moment," and to Ziller, "Go stand in front of Herr Knipper, where he can see you better. In the light. Yes, like that. And hold five hundred-mark bills in the air."
"I'm to—but why?"
"Go ahead, do it," said Bertie.
Ziller did as he was told, uncomprehending at first, but in a few seconds he comprehended. "Oh! I see!"
And, indeed, he saw! With Max things began to move... not very much yet,
not by a long shot, just the same, everything was by no means dead!
"Add another five hundred!" cried Bertie. He was standing behind a large Linhof camera on a tripod, working with film packs.
Ziller was holding ten hundred-mark bills in his hand now. Max was at half mast. The girls were astounded. They were all talking at once. "They could have saved us all this!" "I've never
seen anything like it!" "Voild, look at that thing go!"
"Quiet!" shouted Bertie. "You're doing all right, Herr Knipper. Just fine. Now try hard. Do your best. Look at the money. Concentrate on the money!"
"That's what I'm doing!" groaned Max. "Don't you have maybe another thousand?" "Yes, yes," said Ziller.
"Then, please, be so good as to hold up two thousand?" Ziller held two thousand in one-hundred-mark bills over his head and up went dschonnil
"Oooh!" moaned the redhead, overcome. And it was an impressive sight. Bertie was grinning with delight. "There, you see? Just like that. Nothing to it. Can you hold it, Herr Knipper?" "As long as the gentleman holds up the two thousand!" Bertie took one picture after the other. A Greek god wa$ nothing compared to Max Knipper. You could have heard a pin i drop in the studio. Everybody was speechless. Bertie worked as i fast as he could. One of the assistants had put a spot on our gentle I photo editor, and he stood opposite Max, flooded by light, holding the two thousand marks over his head. And Max kept his promise. He stood motionless and rigid. When Bertie was finished at last, everybody present applauded, and Max, flattered, bowed to all sides. Then he got off the dais and put on a robe. "Donnerwetter, Max!" I said.
"Yeah," he said. "That's the way it goes. My dschonni has a mind of his own."
Suddenly Bertie yawned. "Don't tell me you're tired," I said. "Dog-tired. Tonight I'm going to bed early and really sleep." "So am I," I said. And so we did, deeply and dreamlessly, both of us, ten thousand meters over the Adantic.
13
A lot of planes were ahead of us, waiting to land at Kennedy. We had to circle the airport for three quarters of an hour, and the control tower let us descend one at a time. I had only been in New York three times before, Bertie at least a dozen, and he explained the city to me lovingly and showed me its five boroughs from the
The Traitor Blitz Page 52
