The Traitor Blitz

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  "Always. You really have nothing to worry about."

  "I'm not worrying. I'm perfectly calm. Really I am. I'm already looking forward to when you'll be picking me up in a few hours. And it's not going to hurt, is it? He's going to give me an anesthetic, isn't he?"

  "NoI" I said.

  "He's not?"

  "No!" I said again in a loud voice, and stopped walking.

  I don't know if you've ever had this feeling. You're convinced that something's going to happen, no getting around it. You tell yourself you can't influence it in any way (which is a lie), that the course of life takes care of everything (which is stupid), that you still have time, that the right moment hasn't come, and so on. And suddenly, in an absurdly short passage of time and without

  warning—you hadn't even been thinking about it—your conscience or your mind or your heart—whatever—gives you a jolt, and it happens! Without any volition on your part. It just happens, that which had been ordained anyway.

  "But that's crazy I" cried Irina. "Without an anesthetic—"

  "Stop talking about the anesthetic," I said, and suddenly everything was simple and obvious. "I'm not talking about the anesthetic."

  "But you said, 'No!'"

  "Yes."

  "I don't understand you! No what?"

  "No, were not going to the doctor."

  "But we have an appointment! IVe got to be there in a few minutes!"

  "Were not going," I said calmly and filled suddenly with happiness, if you want to call it happiness, what I felt there, on the street, under the streetlights, in the rain. "We're not going to him. You're not going to have it done."

  "But—but that's crazy!" she cried.

  "It's not crazy," I said. "It's the right thing to do. It's taken me long enough to realize that. You must have your child, Irina. Anything else would be a crime."

  Somebody walked into me and cursed, and I took Irina's arm and drew her into a doorway where we were protected from the rain and the many pedestrians.

  "Walter!" Irina was breathless. "You're out of your mind! We were agreed on everything, and the doctor's waiting."

  "I'll phone him and call it off!"

  "But you can't do that! It's impossible! I can't give birth to Bilka's child! Walter, I'm only eighteen! And in a strange country! And I don't even know what's going to happen to me, much less a child-"

  "Irina!" I interrupted her. "Will you marry me?"

  "What?"

  "I'm asking: Will you marry me?"

  She stared at me, her mouth open, and couldn't utter a word. "What's the matter?" I said. "Don't you like me? I'm too cynical—is that it? Or is it that I smoke too much and drink too much? Ill see what I can do about that, but believe me, the core of me's all right. So... will you marry me?"

  "The child," she whispered. "The child. I can't—"

  "Why not?"

  "It's Bilka's child, Walter."

  "I know," I said. "But it's you I want to marry, not Bilka. And the child is just as much yours as his. More yours than his because you're going to give birth to it. And then it will be our child."

  "You're saying that now, because—because you're so kind... because you're so—so wonderful!" I m not.

  "But later—later it may grow to be like him "

  "You can't say that. Criminals have sired saints, benefactors of mankind, geniuses. Of course we may be unlucky, but from the moment it's born, it's my child. Not Bilka's. And whatever I can do to make a decent human being of it, I—" I stopped. "Nonsense!" I said. "As if I were a decent human being. We'll just have to risk it. And do you know why? Do you know why I want us to have this child?"

  "Us," she whispered. "You said 'us.'"

  "Of course— usl You and I. You'll be my wife then. There was a moment in Hamburg when I wished so much that you would love me and not Bilka. Don't laugh, but I thought then how wonderful it would be to have a child by you. Don't laugh, damn it!"

  "I'm not laughing," she whispered.

  "This child," I said, "you wanted it, didn't you, before you knew all about Bilka?"

  She nodded.

  "You see, Irina, you are eighteen. I—I'm thirty-six. I want so much for you to be my wife, and I want a child. But I wouldn't dare to give you a child. I've drunk too much. With all the whiskey I've consumed, the poor thing would probably be a cretin. And I want a child! Ever since I've known you, I've wanted your child. And now I can have it. Not the child of an alcoholic. Bilka didn't drink, did he?"

  "No."

  "So there you are! See how well it all works out? And now you may laugh!" I—I can t.

  'Then say that you'll marry me. Say it now. Because I'm not going to let you go to that doctor, whatever you decide. So... what's it going to be?"

  She laid her cheek against mine and whispered, "Yes, Walter, yes. I want to be your wife. And I'll do everything I can to be the best wife in the world. Oh, I'm so happy. I wanted it so much!"

  "Me or the child?"

  "Both of you," she whispered.

  "My God, why didn't you say so sooner? We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble, and I could have been working! So let's get married just as quickly as we can."

  "Yes, Walter. Please! Oh, hold me! Hold me close!"

  So I held her close and kissed her, many, many little kisses on her rain-wet face and for the first time since I'd known her, her eyes weren't sad but filled with joy. "Thank you," she said, "thank you, Walter."

  "You're welcome," I said. "And now let's get out of here, fast. Let's go home."

  I took her hand and we walked out of the house entrance into the rain, and became part of the stream of people hurrying along the sidewalk. Every now and then Irina leaned her head against my shoulder and we strolled along like that till we reached a bar. I drank a double Chivas and Irina drank orange juice. I called the doctor and said we'd changed our minds; he was furious and hung up, although I assured him I'd pay for the examination.

  When I told Irina, both of us laughed like children. We hailed a taxi, and when we got home, I went on working and Irina busied herself in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I felt as if we were already married, and it was a good feeling. The rain drummed against my windows, and I wrote what Bertie and I had experienced with Fraulein Louise at the camp, and I felt the way one feels after a relaxing bath.

  Our dinner was a happy event. Irina cooked well. I told her so and she was delighted. After dinner we cleared the dishes together and put them in the dishwasher. We went to the bedroom and I drank Chivas and Irina drank orange juice again because she was going to have a baby and therefore shouldn't drink alcohol. We sat there and played Tchaikovsky, a lot of records, then Irina retired to the bathroom. Later I went to the guest room to say good night to Irina. She had fallen asleep with the light on. She was breathing slowly and evenly, and she was smiling. On her face there was an expression of great peace.

  We Go to Press

  "One case of Gordon's gin, please "

  "Coburg ham, five hundred grams "

  "I want caviar. Four of the large glasses. No—-the ones with the blue lids—"

  The voices penetrated through the Knief all Market all the way to the area at the back, with the bar and small tables. I was seated at one of them. In here the noise of the subway construction was muted. The day was gloomy, although it wasn't raining. A strong wind was driving black clouds across the gray sky, and the lights were on in the store. In all office buildings, too.

  Blond, dark-eyed Lucie had greeted me with a shy, bright smile. It was 8:30 a.m., Thursday, November 21.1 had been here last on Monday morning, November 11. To me the days in between seemed like ten years. So much had happened—

  The night before I had completed Part Two of the "Treason" article. Part One was surely in print by now. I had put it on Hem's desk before my flight to the U.S.A., and high time, too, if it was to meet the deadline for the issue that was to be on the stands a week from today. I handed in Part Two this morning. The series wasn't going to cause me a
ny trouble. I was writing it fast because I was enjoying every minute of it. Now I had to settle down to the first article of "Total Man," but I wasn't worried about it. I'd get that out of the typewriter in no time because I had my story I

  I had written in every free moment, even at night, with Irina sleeping peacefully in the spare-room bed. But I had had nightmares. That was because I was in such a state of excitement. I had got up at seven. It was still dark. I had let Irina sleep and listened to the news as usual while shaving, and drunk a lot of black coffee. I hadn't eaten anything, but that had nothing to do with the alcohol I'd consumed the night before, although, watching television with Irina, happy in Lie thought that a lot of the groundwork lay behind me, I'd drunk quite a lot. But I wasn't drunk when I went to bed, and in the morning I felt fine. I just wasn't hungry. Excitement—that's what it was. Today, as agreed

  before my trip to New York, I had handed in the second part of my story, like the first—in a sealed envelope on Hem's desk. Original and one copy. There was to be public reading. The first two articles, at any rate, were to remain top secret, to be read only by Hem, Lester, and the management. When the gentlemen had finished reading Part Two, they would call me.

  "Here you are, Herr Roland!"

  I looked up. Lucie was standing in front of me, looking worried. She put a glass, a bottle of soda, and a bowl of ice cubes in front of me, and poured Chivas into the glass out of "my" botde. I took the Gauloise I was smoking out of my mouth, looked at Lucie, and then I don't know what possessed me, but I threw the half-smoked cigarette into the whiskey. "What—what are you doing, Herr Roland?" stammered Lucie.

  "I don't know," I said, just as astounded. The cigarette smoked and smoldered in the drink. I pushed the glass away. "I guess it means that I don't want any whiskey. And I don't seem to want to smoke either. At any rate, not in the morning."

  "Herr Roland!"

  "I know. It's peculiar. But suddenly I don't want to. As a matter of fact, I find the idea of whiskey repulsive. Please take it away, Fr&ulein Lucie."

  "Are you ill?"

  "I'm perfectly well." I laughed, and she laughed, too. She sounded happy and relieved, and she took everything away again fast.

  "You know what?" I told her. "I'm hungry. And I have time. 1 Could you give me breakfast? Two soft-boiled eggs, fresh rolls, tomato juice, and black coffee."

  "Of course, Herr Roland! I'd love to!" She was still smiling, but there were tears in her eyes. "Oh, but that makes me feel good! Whatever's come over you? The last time you were here—"

  "Oh, last time!" I made a derogatory gesture with my hand. "A lot has happened since then, Fraulein Lucie. I'll tell you all about it. But first get me breakfast."

  "Yes, yes," she said, and ran off.

  I was sitting with my back to the store. Now I looked at myself in the mirror behind the bar, and decided that my face had changed. It wasn't gray and old and debauched any more. It was a different face. But one couldn't have a different face in ten days. Or could one? I listened to the voices in the store and

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  wondered what it would be like when Herf ord called me in and told me the two articles were great! Because they were. I was positive about that. Anyway, he'd have complained about the first one by now if he hadn't approved. He and Hem and Lester had read it, and nobody had had a word to say against it on my return from New York.

  Lucie brought my breakfast. I downed the tomato juice in one go, then I ate the eggs, and the fresh rolls with butter, and drank coffee and felt marvelous. Chewing all the time, I told Lucie that in these ten days I'd found a story, a terrific story that was going to come out under my name. And she listened, all excited, her cheeks red.

  "After all these years, at last, a story under my real name!"

  "It's wonderful!" said Lucie. "Just wonderful! IVe been so worried about you. But now everything's going to be all right, isn't it?"

  I nodded, my mouth full.

  "You have no idea how happy that makes me," said Lucie.

  "And me, Fraulein Lucie! And me!"

  Of course I couldn't tell her what the story was about—she understood that; but after I'd finished my breakfast, I asked her a few things about her home life, her plans, and she talked about her parents—they were peasants—and about her brother, who was in the army, and about her village, Brandoberndorf. And I was genuinely interested. It had been such a long time, I thought, since I had listened to anybody talk about himself unless I had to write about him or needed him in some way or other. Then, at ten, much earlier than I had expected, the phone rang. Lucie answered it, then turned to me. "You're to go over."

  "Fine," I said happily.

  I paid, gave Lucie a large tip, as usual, and she thanked me and said again how happy she was about the change in me. We shook hands. As I left the market, I turned back once. Lucie was standing behind the counter, still smiling, and she waved. I waved back, and a fat woman in a mink coat was saying, "Goose liver, Herr Kniefall. Three large cans."

  People were hurrying across the plank bridge over the Kaiserstrasse subway excavation, jostling each other. I had my hands in my pockets—I'd left my coat in the office—and I was whistling. It was cold, and I turned up the collar of my jacket. The international "army" was working as usual in the tunneling below. Giant cranes were moving steel beams into position, drills were rat-tat-tatting, bulldozers were scooping up dirt. It was all just as it had been ten days before, yet it was all quite different. I took my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and threw it down into the excavation. A littie Italian caught it, looked up, saw me, and grinned as he raised his yellow hard hat. "Grazie, signore, grazie —"

  "Molti auguril" I shouted back. This time I felt one with the men working below, a fine feeling.

  I took the VIP elevator up, first to the seventh floor where I went to my glass office and got another pack of Gauloise out of my coat pocket. I didn't want to be entirely without cigarettes. You don't become a saint in a day!

  Everybody was already working in their offices and I greeted everybody in sight and they greeted me, a friendly atmosphere all round. As I was about to leave, my old friend Angela Flanders came in. She had on a navy-blue suit, her chestnut-brown hair was as beautifully groomed as ever, so was she, and she, too, was smiling. It seemed to be a day on which everybody smiled at mel

  "Hello, Angela I"

  "Good morning, Walter." She blushed a little. "You're going in to see Herford, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Herr Kramer and Herr Lester are with him already. It's about your new story, isn't it?"

  "Yes, Angela."

  "Well, I guess I'll be getting to read it soon. Herr Kramer says you haven't written anything as good in years."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. I—you see, Walter—weve known each other for such a long time, weve been through a lot together. I know how desperate you've been, often, and now—now you have a great story again, and it's your own— " She became more and more confused. "And—and that makes me very happy I—I do like you a lot, Walter. But you know that, don't you?"

  "Yes, Angela," ~ I said, "I know. And I'm very fond of you... very. But you know that, too, don't you?"

  Now she flushed scarlet. "Because—because we're such good friends, Walter... I'm so happy for you. And I do wish you the best of luck in every way, for your writing, especially, and a big success with the story. I've been hoping and hoping that you'd write under your own name again."

  "And I've been hoping for the same thing."

  "Then up you go to Herford," said Angela. "I'll be thinking of you. Oh, sometimes you can get desperate in this profession, can't you? And then, when you least expect it, something good turns up. One's just got to believe that the good Lord's watching over us, don't you think so?"

  "Absolutely," I said. "Anyway, today and right now I believe in Him firmly, Angela."

  Old Schmeidle, Herford's number one secretary, told me I could go right in. The gentlemen were waiting for me. As I
walked into the huge room, I could see Hem, Bertie, Lester, and photo-editor Ziller. They were sitting in a corner, opposite the computer monitor, in front of one of the windows. Although we were on the eleventh floor, the light was dim and wintery, the indirect lighting was on, over the bookshelves, too. The effect was a horrible, unreal atmosphere, a middle-earth effect, as if between life and death.

  "Good morning, good morning," I said cheerfully.

  The others murmured something; Hem smiled, Bertie nodded. "What's the matter?" I asked.

  "We're waiting." Bertie was grinning.

  "For Herr and Frau Herford and Dr. Rotaug," said Lester.

  "Why aren't they here yet? Schmeidle said— *

  "They are here," said Lester.

  "Aha!"

  He was looking at me as if the very sight of me irritated him. He hadn't forgiven me for my behavior ten days ago.

  "They're in Herford's private office," Ziller explained. "They've been there quite a while. When we arrived, there was no one here."

  "What are they up to?"

  "No idea," said Bertie. "We've been waiting half an hour."

  "Yes," said Lester, glaring at me.

  Just then there was a noise, and a section in the wall of bookshelves swung open. In marched Mama, Rotaug, and Herford, slowly, solemnly, ceremonially. The men who had been seated stood up, the bookshelf door swung back and clicked shut.

  Herford went straight to the lectern and began to leaf through the Bible. At last he found the place he'd been looking for and read softly, a little hoarsely, "From the Book of Job. Chapter One. Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped, and said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither; the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.'"

  As some said Amen and others didn't, I looked at Bertie and Hem, and both of them raised their eyebrows and nodded. Things were starting off strangely. And things continued to take a strange course. Mama sat down. All of us sat down except Herford. Nobody said a word. Herford took his old pillbox out of his waistcoat pocket and took out an assortment of pills—blue, red, white. He tossed the whole lot into his mouth and drank some water. He didn't put the pillbox back in his pocket but laid it down in front of him on his desk, and that wasn't a good sign.