"Gentlemen," he said, and began to pace up and down his monstrous office. "What Herford is about to tell you is top secret. Not a word is to go beyond the walls of this room. Whoever may defcide to be indiscreet will not only have to answer to Herford for it, but will also face punishment from the state."
So that was how it began. We stared at him like idiots and Mama murmured, "Oh, God. Oh, God—'
"Be brave, gnadige Frau* 9 said Rotaug. It must have been the
weird light, but today the liver spots on his bald head seemed darker than ever.
Herford, still pacing, went on. "We fought to the bitter end. We just hung up on the last phone call, and it's all over. We lost. Nothing more to be done about it. For the first time since the founding of Blitz, an issue will not come out, the one that was to go on the stands tomorrow."
Silence.
"It is the issue with the four pages of illustrations announcing the series Treason,'" Rotaug added, as if that had been necessary!
"But—but—" (Lester, shaken and stammering.)
"I know you are horrified, gentlemen," said Herford. "But not any more than I am, believe me. We can't come out. We were ordered to destroy the entire issue already on Monday morning, but we decided not to pass on this information to you at the time because we didn't want to upset you unnecessarily. Dr. Rotaug thought we still had a chance. He did what he could. He negotiated day and night, up to the last minute."
"With whom?" asked Hem.
"With the old gentleman in Cologne," said Herford. "Speaking on behalf of the Americans. It was he who begged—and you know what that means—that the issue be stopped."
"But at first he didn't have anything against it, nor did the Americans," said Bertie, smiling.
"At first the situation was quite different," said Herford. "The first time the old gentleman called, on Monday, we stopped all distribution and had the whole edition put under seal in its various trucks, trains, on airports, wherever. If we could have prevailed, the magazine could have gone straight to the wholesaler without delay. Because, until the thing was decided, nobody was to see the edition. That the people who had produced it had seen it was, of course, unavoidable. So we were faced with recalling two million copies and destroying them."
"But why?" I asked.
Herford looked at me like a stricken animal. "Because of your new series, Roland."
"I don't get it!" I said. "I don't understand a word of what's going on! Before I flew to New York with Bertie, the new series was the best thing we'd ever done. Have you read Part Two?"
"No!"
"No!" Herford shouted like a madman.
"Herford," whispered Mama. "Please. Your heart Things
are bad enough already."
"Herr Herford," said Hem. "Please come to the point. / have read both parts and I think they are excellent. I therefore can't understand—"
"Excellent—shit!" shouted Herford. "And if Goethe had written them! Have none of the gentlemen noticed that one member of our family is missing?"
To be honest, I hadn't noticed it; neither, apparently, had any of the others. "Herr Seerose," said Lester, almost inaudibly, and Mama mumbled, "Oh, God. Oh God...."
"Yes," said > Herford. "Herr Seerose. My friend Oswald Seerose, who got the license for Blitz for me in 1946. My good old friend Oswald Seerose, who, since Monday noon, has settled down happily in East Berlin!"
"Who what?" Ziller jumped up, so did Lester, and, "You heard me," said Herford, his hand over his heart. "He crossed over so fast that neither the Security Police, nor the men at the border, nor the Amis had a chance to stop him."
"Stop him? Why?"
"Because my dear old friend Oswald Seerose has been one of the most important and successful agents for the East for the last twenty years," said Thomas Herford.
For a few moments there was complete silence. We were all more or less in a state of shock. I looked at Mama; she had collapsed. Rotaug was looking at me with undisguised animosity. Why? What did I have to do with the fact that Seerose had turned out to be a double agent? He noticed me watching him.
"Don't look at me like that!" Rotaug said angrily. "I can't help it that you couldn't see through Seerose."
"I?" Now I was furious. "How about you?"
"You were in constant communication with him, you carried 510
out his orders, you saw him enter Niendorferstrasse 333 in Hamburg—"
"You're crazy!" I shouted. "This is grotesque! He flew to Hamburg in a corporate plane. You knew where he was going! He told me on the phone that night, in front of all of you, that he'd spoken to the Americans!"
"You're not going to shout here!" shouted Herford.
"Herford... your heart—"
"Goddamn my heart! He's not going to raise his voice here! Not he!"
"What do you mean, 'not he?" asked Hem, his tone sharp.
"He and Seerose got us into this mess," said Rotaug.
"That's right," said Lester, fast. At last he had his sweet revenge for the embarrassment I'd caused him.
"And Herr Engelhardt," said Rotaug coldly, and Bertie laughed aloud. "Go ahead, laugh! Very funny, isn't it? A whole edition destroyed. Our losses in the millions. Every secret service agency in the Bundesrepublik on our necks. A scandal, when this thing with Seerose gets out. And the effect of all this on the magazine. Very funny, Herr Engelhardt!"
"Terribly funny, Herr Doktor" said Bertie, and laughed again. "It's my fault and Walter's! I'm going to laugh myself sick!"
"I wish you would," said Rotaug.
"Well, I don't understand anything," said photo-editor Ziller. 'Herr Seerose and the Americans were friends, good friends. He flew to Hamburg to discuss certain details with them. They revealed their secrets to him. Otherwise Roland and Engelhardt wouldn't have been able to work on the project."
"Yes," said Rotaug. "Yes, my poor dear Herr Ziller. But in the same way the Russians were able to work, too."
"How—oh, I see!" Ziller was visibly shocked as he finally grasped the situation. "The waiter, the microphone, and
everything " And, I thought, Jules Cassin! So he had been an
accomplice of Seerose's from the start and had fooled me with his final outpouring of hatred for his former boss and all Germans
"Yes, Herr Ziller. And what the Russians didn't know: for instance, what was to take place in Helsinki. And Seerose was able to find out something even more important—the business with the copies of the microfilm."
"What about them?" asked Lester.
"Seerose told us that night, as you may recall, that the
Americans wanted the story printed on condition that we state that they had copies of the films—right? Which would have been possible. But when he visited them in Hamburg, he found out that they did not have any copies of the film, and this he passed on to the Russians, too. Naturally. A fine gentleman."
"Horrible!" said Ziller.
"And it's going to be a lot more horrible," said Rotaug. "Now comes the investigation. How much did Herr Roland and Herr Engelhardt really know about Herr Seerose's activities? To what extent were they perhaps working with him? How deeply were—"
"Herr Doktor" I said, "if you dare to mention one more infamous suspicion like that, I'll haul you into court."
"Let us hope that you won't be the one to be hauled into court!"
"That was a very uncalled-for comment, Herr Doktor" said Hem.
"That's what you think," said this human toad. "Interesting, very interesting. They will, of course, investigate you, too. They will investigate all of us. We are faced with the most serious crisis since the founding of the magazine. Let us pray that we survive it."
"Amen," said Mama in a broken voice.
"So," said Herford. "The story is dead. No point in wasting another minute on it. The old gentleman in Cologne has just told Rotaug that if one word, one picture, is printed on the subject, all advertising will stop and the magazine will be boycotted.! American advertisers will follow suit. A
boycott in every possible way. We've already thrown out the title page with the picture of this goddamn' Czech boy. Will be replaced by a bikini girl. Thafik God, we have plenty of them in reserve. Kramer, you'll find something to replace the Treason' story, but you'll have to work fast. Lester will help you. A fine mess you got us into there, Roland."
Lester said, "When the jackass is feeling too good, he goes dancing on the ice."
"Shut up!" I told my editor-in-chief.
Lester jumped to his feet. "This is monstrous!" he screamed. "All of you gentlemen heard it. I demand that this—this man apologize to me. At once!"
"Oh, sit down, Lester," said Herford. "Apologize, Roland."
"No." 512
"You're to apologize, goddamn it!"
I said, "I will not apologize!" Because, you see, I had suddenly reached the end of my rope. Finally.
In moments like this, the strangest memories go through one's mind. I had to think of a children's poem that I'd heard on an assignment in London, while visiting a school. It went like this: "I think I am an elephant who is looking for an elephant who is looking for an elephant, who isn't really there." And that's what I thought of before anything else during that moment. For many years I had been an elephant, looking for an elephant, looking for an elephant, and thinking I would find him! And because of that, I'd put up with all the crap I'd had to write because one day, yes, one day I would find that elephant. And then I thought I'd found him in my story. But they weren't going to print my story. They weren't allowed to print it. I could see that. But I could see something else with blinding clarity: In this business you could look and look and look for the elephant, but you'd never find him. Because he wasn't there!
"You don't intend to apologize?" shouted Herford, and I shouted back, "No!"
Herford stepped up to me and remained standing in front of me. I was looking at his feet and saw him raise himself on tiptoe. And suddenly I was filled with a blind rage such as I had never experienced before in my life. I was clutching the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles were white, because I was afraid I might punch Herford or Lester in the face. Herford must have noticed it, because he stepped back and began pacing the room again.
"All right, then," he said. "A blow of fate. It won't kill us. God will help us. Now we must all pull together, gentlemen. Full capacity. Total Man' will get us out of this mess. The pictures are fantastic. Roland will do his best to make up for what's happened and will write something superlative. Right away. We have no time to lose. That's the most important thing on our agenda now. The show must go on. Herford will write a letter, addressed to our readers, explaining why the issue didn't appear. Rotaug will write it for Herford. He's good at that sort of thing."
"Very good of you to say so, Herr Herford," said the toad.
I got lip and said, "Herr Herford, I am not going to write 'Total Man.'"I was on the verge of breaking down, but only Hem noticed it.
"You are going to write Total Man,' Roland! And how you are
going to write it I" Herford was shouting again. He took some pills out of his pillbox without even looking at them and swallowed them without water. He choked on them for a second, but then he went on shouting. "You're under contract I Herford made you what you are today I Blitz taught you everything you know! So I don't want to hear another word!"
"Right," I said. "Not another word. I'm not writing the series."
He glanced at me, his lips tight. My smile, I knew, was a grimace.
He said softly, "You owe us a good deal more than two hundred thousand marks."
"Yes."
"You live in an apartment that belongs to Blitz. 9 '
"Yes."
"You draw an insane salary. Don't say yes again or Herford won't answer for what he'll do. Roland, you miserable jerk, you will write Total Man' and you'll write better than you've ever written, or—by God, Herford will—Herford will—"
"Yes?" I asked. "You were going to say, 'or Herford will fire you.' So fire me, Herr Herford. Come on, get it over with."
Herford was trembling with rage. "You miserable, filthy son of a bitch, you stinking animal!" He was panting. "Who do you think you are? If Herford fires you, you think you'll find work somewhere else? You do? Ha-ha-ha!"
"Herford, please—"
"Ha-ha-ha!" Herford couldn't be stopped. "If Herford throws you out, every illustrated magazine—what am I saying? Every newspaper in the country, down to the most insignificant local rag, will hear things about you so that nobody would dare, I say dare give you a job! Women! Alcohol! What a two-faced creature you are politically! If Herford fires you, you can starve! Herford will destroy you! Did you hear that?"
"I heard you, Herr Herford," I said. "It was loud enough. You will destroy me. Well, I intend to risk it."
My heart was beating wildly. I had to get this thing over with or I would never be able to look Irina in the face again. "I shall never write another line for you, Herr Herford."
"You ungrateful wretch!" cried Mama.
Rotaug said icily, "You recall, perhaps, Herr Herford, what I told you years ago—"
I didn't know if Herford remembered, but I did: "A great fellow," Rotaug had said. "But mark my words, one day this
great fellow is going to involve us in the biggest scandal of our publishing history." Rotaug knew his man, and at last we had reached the point.
"Now I've had it!" Herford raged. "Roland, in consideration of your attitude—"
I looked at Bertie and Hem. Bertie looked at me. He wasn't smiling; Hem closed his eyes for a moment. I took it to mean he approved of what I was doing. And it was the right thing, in fact it was the only thing to do at this point. I interrupted Herford. "You don't have to finish your sentence, Herr Herford. / am leaving. Without giving notice. Sue me, slander me, do whatever you like. I, too, have had it. To here." I made the appropriate gesture. "Good-bye. No, that's wrong. I don't wish you anything good!" And I began to walk to the door. Herford yelled, "Roland!" but I went right on walking.
"Roland! Stop! At once!" yelled Herford. I didn't stop.
"Roland, you're to stop!"
I stopped. I turned around. He was standing in front of his desk, panting, one hand pressed against his chest, pale as a ghost. He was feeling for his pillbox again. Mama hurried over to him and clung to his arm. "Herford demands that you—that you—"
But I interrupted him again. "Herr Herford?"
"Yes. What—what is it?"
"You can kiss my ass!" I said, and walked briskly out of the office. And it seemed to me that with every step the fury and guilt and unworthiness of years fell from me, the fourteen years spent in this cesspool, in this phony "dream factory," in these luxurious halls, in the service of mass stupefaction. Yes, I felt great. And with every step I felt better and better. The only thing I didn't believe in anymore was the existence of a dear Lord in heaven.
The termination papers arrived the same day, special delivery, registered mail, signed by Dr. Rotaug and demanding that I appear in his office the following day at 10:00 a.m. Irina was upset, but I calmed her down. I was still in a state of euphoria. No
more Blitz! No more Blitz! Everything else would resolve itself, I thought. And it did. And how!
When I got to our office building the next morning, I greeted our massive doorman, Kluge. I'd known him for years, and he'd received a small fortune from me in tips; Herr Kluge, however, didn't seem to remember me and kept me waiting while he chatted with some other visitors. Then he said, "Oh, Herr Roland," and looked at a list, then at me, indifferently. "I see you are no longer with us, Herr Roland," he said. "May I please have the key to the elevator?"
"Now look here, Kluge—"
"Herr Roland, please—the key."
I gave him the key for the VIP elevator. He didn't even say thank you but turned to speak to a young lady who said she wanted a job as a volunteer. I walked over to the Plebian Cage where seven people were waiting patiently, and waited with them until the miserable elevator cam
e, four minutes later. We crowded into it, it stank, and that's how I got to Dr. Rotaug's department. Everybody in the elevator avoided looking at me. Nobody spoke.
Rotaug kept me waiting half an hour, then at last he had time for me. He was standing stiffly in his mahogany-paneled office, looking hostile. We didn't shake hands. He pointed to the least comfortable chair, and after I had sat down, he began to pace up and down on stiff legs, tugging every now and then at his stiff collar or his beautiful pearl stickpin, while the following conversation took place.
Rotaug demanded that I pay the two hundred and ten thousand marks I owed them, and that I leave my apartment at once. "I don't have two hundred and ten thousand marks," I said, "and you know it."
"Of course I know it, Herr Roland." He stepped in front of me every now and then, rocking back and forth on his feet. "I don't have much time for you. I'm very busy. Now—there are two possibilities," and he went on to explain them.
The first one was that the publishing house sue me. I was living in an apartment provided by the house, our working relationship had ceased because of my "shameless behavior," so I had no further right to the apartment. The court would order me to hand over everything I owed, except for the legal minimum, thereby paying my debts to the house at least in part. I would then have to declare bankruptcy and would be subject to
investigation at any time by the court sheriff, who would have the right to seize any money I might earn in the meantime, again excepting the legal minimum.
"Since you can hardly expect to be in command of any substantial sums of money in the near future," said Rotaug, "I would advise you to accept the second possibility, a possibility that demonstrates the greatest benevolence of your former employer."
"And that is—?"
"You agree to the following demands: You leave the apartment within the next ten days. All furnishings remain in our possession. This applies also to your bank accounts and your car. However, this will not cover the two hundred and ten thousand marks." He rocked up and down. The conversation was giving him almost orgiastic pleasure. "You sign an acknowledgment of debt, notarized by us. The things you hand over to us will be appraised, you will sign a promissory note for the remaining debt. Under these conditions—and I can't understand why— Herf ord is willing to let you keep your clothes, your typewriter, a small part of your library, etcetera. I advise you to accept his generosity—which, in my opinion, you don't deserve. Please come to a decision. I'm in a hurry."
The Traitor Blitz Page 56
