End of the World in Breslau

by Marek Krajewski

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour this evening of welcoming you to this special game – the only one of its kind and the second in the history of our casino. I welcome, above all, the central figure of today’s celebration, Madame Isabelle Lebetseyder.” Here von Stietencrott tipped his top hat and bowed deeply to Sophie. “I welcome the representatives of our Hessian nobility, Count Adrian von Knobloch and Count Hermann von und zum Stein, as well as men of letters: the excellent journalists of our daily newspaper Wiesbaden Woche and, above all, the well-known author Markus Wielandt, who has kindly agreed – mutatis mutandis – to describe this occasion in his new novel, which is still in statu nascendi. And, last but not least, I welcome all the gentlemen present here, both those who come regularly and guests who are new to our establishment.”

  Applause thundered and von Stietencrott bowed profusely.

  “My dear ladies and gentlemen, I will now present you with the rules of today’s game and with the rest of this evening’s programme. In a moment, we shall play a special and unique va banque: Bodo von Finckl versus the Wiesbaden casino, represented by myself. The honourable von Finckl will be so kind as to be the first to bet on red or black, or on even or odd. I, of course, will have to bet on the opposite square from that upon which Mr von Finckl has placed his bet. Should he win, my honourable opponent will have the debt he owes the casino annulled, the value of which is, and will remain, known only to myself and him. Should he lose, Madame Isabelle Lebetseyder will be employed in our casino for a minimum of two months. The conditions of her employment and remuneration, as well as of her resignation from the post, are known to Madame Lebetseyder. The roulette will spin only once. The placing of secondary bets between yourselves is not forbidden. These will be taken by croupier Paul Richter, present here. One per cent of these secondary bets will go to the casino. When the game va banque has ended, you are invited to the basement where a reception will be held, and you will be able to play the kind of roulette that is not generally accessible to our casino regulars.” Von Stietencrott filled his lungs with air and asked in a pompous tone. “Would Madame Lebetseyder and Mr von Finckl like to confirm, in front of witnesses, that what I have just said corresponds to the truth?” When both responded with a resounding “yes”, von Stietencrott gave the sign to Richter. The latter had set out a laboratory pair of scales and now placed a ball on one of the weighing pans, and on the other, a small weight. When he found them to be perfectly balanced he stood to attention and shouted:

  “Mesdames, messieurs, s’ils vous plaît, faites vos jeux. I shall also accept secondary bets.”

  Von Finckl pulled up a high, heavy chair for Sophie, occupied a seat at the table opposite the manager, took a golden Tsarist imperial coin from his pocket and held it out to his companion for her blessing. The soft mounds of her breasts moved agitatedly in her large décolleté as a gloved finger made the sign of the cross. Von Finckl tossed the coin above the betting table. The coin spun and rolled past the board. Von Finckl squeezed his eyes shut and with one thought triggered a series of associations: eight children in a damp room belonging to Bęndzin’s tailor, Finkelsztejn, who sewed kittels for the poor; their parents, a quick-tempered consumptive and a caring mouse in a crooked wig; a couple of stinking goats who spent the winter with the rest of the household; the May 1st parade in Bęndzin and sheets of blood-red flags; the red face of Schai Brodski as he hugged the new treasurer of the Jewish Bund, Bernard Finkelsztejn, and then, four months later, opening the party cash-box and finding the pile of gold imperials missing; the red shawl of a high-class whore in a hotel in Lodsch; the red blood of workers on the cobblestones of Be?ndzin, the red blood of the Bund members, whose contributions had brought him a fortune in the Grand Hotel casino in Lodsch. Von Finckl opened his eyes and said:

  “I place my bet on red.”

  “No!” shouted Sophie. “You’re to place it on even. This game is being played for me, so I should have something to say in all this too.”

  A murmur of admiration spread through the men gathered there. They placed bets against each other. A hefty bearded man with a Slav accent and appearance slipped a roll of notes into Richter’s hand.

  “Even! She has a hunch, that krasavitza,”† he bellowed.

  “General Basedov knows what he’s doing,” said the blond man with the goatee to Knüfer, and tossed Richter a hundred marks. “Even!”

  “Red,” Knüfer said, throwing down fifty marks.

  There was great confusion. Men crowded around the table shouting, although none of them dared touch Sophie. Richter noted everything down and tossed the ball into the wheel.

  “Les jeux sont faites. Rien ne va plus!”

  “Of course you accept Madame von Lebetseyder’s decision?” von Stietencrott looked inquiringly at von Finckl.

  “Ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut.”‡

  “Mr Richter, please begin!”

  The ball fell in with the rotation of the wheel and commenced its dance. It stopped in the pocket marked zero, then – as if ejected by an invisible spring – rolled out and settled in the pocket marked twenty-nine red. The wheel stopped and Richter announced the result. Von Finckl closed his eyes and saw the colours of the casino spin: pale brown, green and gold. He got up from the table and went into the hall. Sophie burst into tears and ran after him. Knüfer cashed in a hundred marks and discreetly approached the door of the room, where von Stietencrott stood accepting congratulations.

  † Beauty (Russian).

  ‡ A woman’s will is God’s will.

  “They might just as well,” said Knüfer to himself, “congratulate a shark for having torn a tuna fish to pieces.”

  “That krasavitza missed the mark,” roared General Basedov as he too entered the hall. “Vot sud’ba …”

  The krasavitza was standing beside von Finckl and stroking him on the cheek. The eminent film director bit his lip and immersed himself in memories of Bęndzin. Knüfer detected a questioning tone in Sophie’s voice. He drew closer and heard von Finckl’s reply:

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Always, and despite whatever happens now?” Sobs distorted Sophie’s voice.

  “I’ll go to Berlin and wait for you there. When two months have passed, I’ll go to Zoologischer Garten Station every day to wait for the evening train from Wiesbaden. Every day I’ll have a bouquet of roses for you.” Von Finckl took his coat and hat from the bellboy, kissed Sophie on the forehead and calmly made his way out into the frosty park, a cemetery of frozen chestnut tree stumps. Sophie tried to follow him, but came across the massive figure of a doorman.

  “As far as I know, madame,” said the Cerberus, “you ought to be at work.”

  BRESLAU, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15TH, 1927 ONE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

  Mühlhaus went to the crystal mirror in his bathroom and opened his mouth wide. His upper left canine was very loose. He pressed it back hard with his thumb and extracted it from his gum, then flicked his fingers and the tooth fell into the washbasin. Mühlhaus tasted blood. He sucked at it, not without some pleasure, and set to work on the upper first incisor. A moment later he held it in his fingers and examined the brownish stains of plaque against the light. The tooth hit the porcelain of the washbasin, tinkling loudly. The tooth tinkled, the washbasin tinkled, the telephone tinkled. Mühlhaus yelled and sat up in bed.

  “Maybe it’s Jakob?” the terrified eyes of his wife glistened in the dark.

  Mühlhaus put his index finger into his mouth and was relieved to find that the poor condition of his teeth had not deteriorated overnight. He then picked up the receiver and said nothing. The person at the other end of the line, on the other hand, was exceptionally talkative.

  “I need money, Criminal Director. Two thousand. That’s how much I need to pay the boys in Wiesbaden. They’ve got a car and they’ll help me get her to Berlin. I can keep her in a hideaway there.”

  “Hold on,” muttered Mühlhaus. “One minute.”

  He put on his dressing gown
and slippers and, running the tip of his tongue over his intact canine, shuffled into the hall. He sat down heavily in the armchair and pressed the receiver of the other phone to his ear.

  “Explain something to me, Knüfer.” Mühlhaus was still a little sleepy. “Why do you need the two thousand so urgently?”

  “The boys from Wiesbaden are gamblers – they lost a huge amount in the casino today. They got a loan from the casino boss and have to have the money by tomorrow …”

  “They’ll go back to the casino and lose it again, you idiot,” growled Mühlhaus. “They’ll lose and not go anywhere with you. And Mrs Sophie Mock will fly off to another spa …”

  “If they don’t pay the boss five thousand by midday tomorrow, they won’t be able to show their faces in Wiesbaden. And they live off this town and casino. For them that money means ‘to be or not to be’. I’ve got to let them know immediately if they can have it by tomorrow.”

  “Listen to me, Knüfer,” Mühlhaus said, no longer sleepy. “It’s one o’clock in the morning and your story is exhausting me like a market vendor’s yapping. You’ll get the money – I’ll send it poste restante. Every casino has a good postal counter. You’ll have it by tomorrow. You say these boys lost a lot. I tell you, if you’re lying to me, you’re not just going to lose a lot like them – you’re going to lose everything.”

  Mühlhaus replaced the receiver and padded back to the bedroom. He lay down next to his wife and sensed that she was not asleep.

  “Who was that? Jakob?” she asked anxiously.

  “The dentist,” murmured Mühlhaus, and then a black, dull drowsiness deprived him of any desire to crack more equally apposite jokes.

  WIESBADEN, THAT SAME DECEMBER 15TH, 1927 A QUARTER PAST ONE IN THE MORNING

  Knüfer wiped the sweat from his brow, replaced the receiver and descended the marble stairs to the secret casino. As he went through the heavy oak door screened by a purple curtain, his head spun at the sight of naked, smiling women pushing columns of chips across the fiery-red silk that covered the tables. Knüfer had visited many a brothel in his time, some of them incredibly expensive and exclusive, in which he had celebrated the conclusion of various profitable and complex assignations, but he had never seen so many beautiful women at once. He noted moreover that it was not their naked bodies, but their smiles that made him so uneasy and excited. In their lips, parted to reveal moist pearls of teeth, lay encouragement and promise, to be bought with money and honour.

  The men in the room threw down mountains of chips to reach the limit that would turn this promise into a reality, suggesting that the price they paid was well worth it. Only von Stietencrott and the male employees distributing champagne and snacks played no part in this fight, but merely handed out cash and bills of exchange for chips. This he did now when Knüfer handed him a bill for the sum of two thousand marks. Inviting him to play, von Stietencrott indicated the table at which General Basedov and another dozen or so flushed addicts were gaming for the fair-haired beauty. Sophie was making mistakes, but no-one at the table held it against her. Besides, her errors were set right by a dark-haired croupier who was initiating her that evening into the mysteries of the profession. She differed from Sophie not only by the colour of her hair; she was not completely naked but wore a very short, white, starched apron, which highlighted her olive complexion.

  Knüfer pushed his way through to Sophie’s new place of work and lit a cigarette, keenly observing what was happening at the table. He soon grasped that Sophie would be a bonus prize for the player who won five thousand marks. Every thousand marks was represented by a little elephant of green jade. General Basedov had three such elephants in front of him, the blond man with the goatee two, and the remaining players, none. All were playing in a very similar way, and rather safely. They would place one hundred marks on specific numbers and lose again and again. In this way they did not lose very much, and still kept open the option of playing va banque. This last move was played more often than not by those who had no elephants. When there was one pile of chips left in front of them, they would place it on red or black to win a second pile, and place single chips on specific numbers. This was rather boring but not enough to deform Sophie’s beautiful smile with yawns.

  Knüfer made five small piles of chips worth three hundred marks each and shook his head when the dark-haired croupier offered to exchange them for elephants. At the command “faites vos jeux”, which Sophie pronounced with an impeccable accent, as if she had spent her entire life in Monte Carlo, Knüfer placed everything on red. The move did not impress his fellow players, nor did it influence their own tactics. The ball rattled and the detective closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw Sophie’s smile. The new croupier was pushing towards him his five stacks along with five additional ones. Her heavy breasts swayed above the table and Knüfer could have sworn her nipples rubbed against the shiny silk. He stood up, nodded to the waiter and drank two glasses of champagne, one after the other.

  “How much do you have to win for the bonus prize?” he asked the player next to him, who turned out to be the man with the goatee.

  “Five,” was the reply. Knüfer put everything on black.

  “Careful,” sang the dark-haired croupier. “You’re staking everything on a win, sir. Should this man win, gentlemen, the game at this table may come to an end – that is, if he decides to take the bonus prize immediately. Is that what you think will happen, Mr …”

  “Knüfer. I don’t know what’s going to happen,” his voice was hoarse. “I’m not going to say anything in case I prevent it from happening.”

  Basedov and the man with the goatee, apparently the only players who could afford it, bet – on red and black, odd and even – a sum that, if they won, would give them six thousand marks each. Knüfer closed his eyes and tried to numb his sense of hearing. He could not, however, do so entirely; the tremendous applause that broke out at the table was still audible. He opened his eyes and got his reward: the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his life. Unfortunately, a similar smile was bestowed on the man with the goatee. Knüfer looked at the ball. It rested in the pocket two black.

  “Mr Knüfer and Mr Wlossok have won six thousand marks each as Mr Knüfer bet on black and Mr Wlossok on even,” roared the voice of von Stietencrott, who had appeared at Sophie’s table along with most of the guests in the secret casino. “Only these two gentlemen may continue to play on, and whoever has the advantage – be it only one mark – is entitled to the bonus prize in the form of Madame Lebetseyder’s favours.”

  Knüfer, thinking of Sophie’s hardened nipples on the purple silk, placed everything on red. Wlossok also bet six thousand marks on even. Knüfer closed his eyes once more and a moment later heard applause. Sophie was smiling radiantly. At Wlossok.

  WIESBADEN, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16TH, 1927 HALF PAST SEVEN IN THE EVENING

  Knüfer suppressed a yawn and scratched his head, which was heavy with nicotine. Although he had slept for more than thirteen hours, with only brief periods of wakefulness, he felt short of sleep, haggard and over-full after the meal he had just eaten, after yesterday’s champagne, after the furiously erotic dream he had had and the strong sense of frustration that had been eating away at him ever since Wlossok had won Sophie and left the secret casino with her at five in the morning, his pockets full of chips. Knüfer had then drunk a bottle of champagne and dragged himself to his room at Hotel Nassauer Hof, supported under the arm by the caring Richter. He now glanced at his watch and established that the allocated fourteen hours that Wlossok spent with Sophie, which he himself had been denied by the “roulette goddess”, had passed. Knüfer stood in front of the small hanging mirror behind the folding screen, washed his face in a basin of cold water and slicked down his hair, which stuck out here and there. He then shaved, put on a shirt-front and dinner jacket and, sucking the finger he had pricked on a cufflink, went down to the casino in order to cash the money from Mühlhaus.

  He collected two thousan
d marks from the postal counter and entered the main hall, showing the doorman his invitation from the day before.

  “I’m for the secret casino,” he whispered.

  “Very good, sir.” The uniformed official pulled back the plush curtain behind which lay the entrance to hell.

  Knüfer raised his hand in greeting and descended the broad, winding stairs. A moment later, he found himself within windowless walls, amongst tables of purple silk and extremely beautiful, naked sirens who lured him with their shaking hips, swaying breasts and French refrain. But the one he could not stop thinking about was not among them. Knüfer lit a cigar and waited. Then he heard Mühlhaus’ voice ringing in his heavy head: I tell you, if you’re lying to me, you’re not just going to lose a lot like them – you’re going to lose everything.