Irish Linen

by Andrew M. Greeley

She unfolded an umbrella and we huddled together as we went to the lighted station.

  A young man opened the door, glanced at our documents, and shouted, “No it is not permitted! This station is closed! It is too late! Come tomorrow morning! Leave now!”

  “We are diplomats! There is a letter from Herr Himmler!”

  He grabbed our papers!

  “Tomorrow morning! Leave! It is not permitted!”

  He reached for his machine pistol.

  Nazi, failed SS trooper, no doubt.

  “It is raining.”

  “You come late! Leave! That is an order!”

  We covered ourselves with a rug, and hunched together in the car in a vain attempt to stay dry and warm. I was aware that there was a wondrous woman in my arms. But it didn’t make much difference.

  Tom Linehan, the chargé in Berne, was probably across the bridge waiting for us. Alas, there was no way to communicate with him.

  We were fated to fail.

  Nonetheless we both surrendered to deep sleep.

  Much later, it seemed like a half of eternity, an older guard with a pleasant face nudged me gently.

  “What is this? A diplomatic car? Why haven’t you crossed? May I see your papers?”

  “They’re inside the hut, Herr Hauptman. The sergeant confiscated them last night. This is Herr Graf von Ridgewood, the Ambassador of Ireland. I am Hannah, Frau Ambassador.”

  “Why did he refuse to permit you to cross?”

  “He said it was not permitted because we had come too late.”

  The sun was rising behind us, creating a rose gold glow on the Rhine.

  “Pig-Dog,” the captain said. “Damn Nazi! Come, I’ll get your papers and stamp them! I have made tea! You spent the night in the rain! This is terrible!”

  Our papers were on the desk where the Nazi had thrown them. The captain glanced at them. God in heaven! Letters from Himmler and Ribbentrop! He stopped to pour us each a cup of tea, then began to stamp both our passports with the important-looking Swastika and eagle mark which said we had left Germany for Switzerland.

  “You may go, Herr Ambassador, Frau Ambassador! I apologize in the name of the real Germany, the Secret Germany.”

  So!

  “You drive us across, Annalise.”

  “If you wish, Herr Ridgewood.”

  And so we drove to freedom and a new life, or so I hoped. Tommy Linehan greeted us warmly. Tommy rolled his eyes at me when he shook hands with Anne Elizabeth. I was proud of her. A night in a car during a rainstorm had not dimmed her grace.

  “So,” said the American intelligence officer as he glanced at me later in the day at the American embassy with a superior and artificial smile. “Let me begin by asking who precisely you are.”

  I was sitting on a hard chair in a small barren and windowless office, an interrogation room.

  “Timothy Ridgewood, sir,” I said, “Ambassador of Ireland to Germany.”

  “How can Ireland have an ambassador? It’s not a real country, is it?”

  I had spent most of the day sleeping in my room in the luxurious hotel suite that the Irish embassy had booked for us. I was groggy and in a very bad mood. Anne Elizabeth and I had had harsh words. Then she had gone shopping, with the money from the Old Fella’s account in a Zurich bank.

  “I’m afraid your education has been inadequate, sir … Princeton I presume … In any case by the States of Ireland Act of 1922 it became in effect one of the English dominions. Like Canada or Australia.”

  “But how can you have relations with Germany when you’re part of England?”

  “Shall we stipulate that we can. We make our own foreign policy.”

  He was a sleekly handsome young man, twenty-two at the most, with hostile brown eyes and a built-in smirk.

  “Isn’t that ungrateful to England after all the things England has done for you?”

  “I am unaware of any need to defend Ireland in this conversation. Shall we discuss the reason for this conversation?”

  “Well, as I understand it, you are acting as an agent for Herr Himmler and Herr Ribbentrop in regard to a separate peace. Is that an honourable role for you to play?”

  “You do not understand the role of a diplomat. It is our job to relay, whenever asked, messages between the governments of countries at war with a view to establishing peace. This does not mean that the diplomat endorses the views of either country or of the government officials who are conducting these indirect negotiations.”

  “But these men are killing millions of Jews.”

  “If there should be peace between the two countries, one essential condition would be the release of all those in concentration camps.”

  “Do you really trust Himmler? If you do, you’re a fool!”

  “Then I yield to your superior judgment.”

  “You’re a Catholic, aren’t you?” he sneered.

  “Most of us Irish are Catholic.”

  “Then I suppose you approve of that notorious anti-Semite and Nazi who tried to kill Hitler.”

  I stood up.

  “I am terminating this conversation, sir. You have insulted my nation, myself, my religion, and a true German hero. I will not deal with the Office of Strategic Services in the future or any other American agency until a full apology is forthcoming. I will also send a minute about your insolence to my government and suggest they protest to the American government.”

  I stalked out, proud of myself. Then I remembered my argument with Anne as I must now call her. I had given her a pack of Swiss franks I had drawn when we had arrived at the hotel yesterday and told her to do whatever shopping she needed.

  She accepted the cash reluctantly.

  Then, in the flush of my excitement about our successful escape, I had done a very foolish thing. I had proposed marriage. Too abruptly.

  “I know a very nice priest here in Berne,” I had said. “If you wish we could regularize our marriage tomorrow.”

  “There is no marriage to regularize, Herr Ridgewood! It is outrageous to suggest that there might be. I am grateful that you helped me to escape the Gestapo. That does not give you any claim on me. It is most improper. You should know better than that It is disgraceful. You are an irresponsible, evil man!”

  She was just warming up.

  “I’m sorry, Annalise. I did not mean to offend you.”

  “You have offended me deeply!”

  She removed the rings from her finger and slammed them on a lamp table.

  “Never speak to me this way again.”

  “I had better go to the American embassy now. I’m not sure when I will be back.”

  “I do not care whether you ever return. I will seek lodging in another hotel where my honour will not be violated.”

  It seemed pretty definitive.

  She had divorced me even before we were married.

  After my tussle with the OSS man, I walked to the Irish embassy, which was near our hotel. I told Tommy Linehan my story.

  “They have some odd people over there, still sorting things out. The colonel will still want to talk to you, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t know why he turned me over to a fool.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes. He’s out of town, heaven knows where. The Brits want to fly you to Dublin in a couple of days, via Lisbon still, I’m afraid. The way the Yanks are traveling, next time it will be through Paris.”

  I sent a minute to our Ministry in Dublin, informing them that I was safe in Berne and that I had carried peace proposals to the Americans from both Ribbentrop and Himmler.

  So I walked back to our hotel, heartbroken, to tell the truth. had been a complete fool. I’d better postpone moving her to another hotel till tomorrow morning. A pile of packages in the parlour of our suite indicated that her fury had not hindered her shopping expedition. What was I to do with her? Should I leave her in Berne? Were there any schoolmates in London who would welcome her while she found a job and a place to live? Or would they intern her as an enemy alie
n? Well, that was not my problem.

  I heard the shower coming from her room. She had become addicted to showers.

  Only, of course, it was my problem.

  One of the packages had been opened to reveal a lovely white frock. I looked at the end table. One of the rings was still there.

  How could I have been so stupid? I must have misread the signs completely. It would be a long time before I worked up the nerve to court another woman.

  The door opened. Annalise emerged, wrapped in a large towel and drying her hair with another towel. She was quite delicious.

  Then I saw she was wearing the engagement ring again.

  “I didn’t hear you come in, Herr Ridgewood … Is that not a lovely frock? Look at the label!”

  “Irish linen—County Donegal, the Old Fella’s company!”

  “I thought it might be a nice dress for a wedding …”

  My heart beat much faster and spread warmth through my body.

  “We have changed our plans?”

  “If you will forgive me, Herr Ridgewood, for being a stupid fool. Naturally I knew you would propose marriage when we reached freedom. I eagerly awaited such a proposal. When I heard it in your typical casual fashion, I lost my nerve. I ran away from it in fear.”

  “Not so much that you didn’t go forth on a shopping expedition?”

  She was quite near me now, the warmth of the shower, the smell of the soap, the glow of her skin assaulted me.

  I drew her into my arms.

  “You will ruin the press of your suit … Oh, please say that you will give me one more chance … I swear I will never do anything like that again … You knew I would change my mind, did you not … I hoped you did as soon as you left … Please forgive me …”

  She leaned her head against my chest. I could take her right then.

  Don’t be a fool. She’ll be even more delicious tomorrow night.

  “I note, Frau Ambassador, you have spent some of the Old Fella’s money on Parisian lace. It would be a shame to waste that. So we’d better have a wedding.”

  She blushed, the flush spreading over her face and then down to her throat and over her shoulders.

  “You forgive me, Herr Ridgewood?”

  “Of course I forgive you, Annie,” I said touching one of those shoulders. Truly delicious. “I will always forgive you as I’m sure you will forgive me.”

  “Thank you, Herr Ridgewood.”

  “Now put on your clothes and we’ll go see the priest about a wedding.”

  We were married at Mass the next evening, with the priest’s sexton and cook acting as witnesses. Annie had found a veil somewhere and I a bouquet of flowers for Mary’s altar. He preached about the mystery of love. God, the ultimate love of all is shrouded in mystery. Married lovers, no matter how close they are to one another, always live enshrouded in the mystery that envelops each of them. You must never permit one another to cease to be a mystery. When the mystery is gone, your love must be renewed. Never forget these words of mine.

  My new wife had been serious and quiet through the service, though she never released her grip on my arm. We ate at a restaurant reputed to be the best in Berne, ate steaks from Argentina (beef, she told me, gives one more energy). We toasted each other in rich Italian wine and devoured strawberries and heavy cream.

  I promised her another wedding in Donegal for our family and friends.

  “I hope they like me.” She sighed.

  “Count on it, they will.”

  We returned uneasily to our hotel room.

  “You will wish to remove my garments, Herr Ridgewood?” she asked, as I closed the door.

  “Well, it would be grand altogether,” I said, “but only if you permit it.”

  “You have seen through me ever since those lovely Holy Week days. I have never been able to hide from you. Why should I be afraid of giving you all that I am?”

  I had no idea what that meant.

  Despite our brave talk we were awkward and nervous as we began the consummations of our union. Then I was so overcome by the beauty of my wife’s body, her generosity, and her shyness that I filled up with sweetness. Then grace prevailed.

  Afterwards while we were sliding into happy sleep, she pressed herself against me.

  “Timmy, Timmy, Timmy, I will be your loyal and devoted and loving wife for all my life and even after.”

  “Thank goodness that I am not Herr Ridgewood anymore.”

  “But I am still Frau Ambassador!”

  The next morning I went to our embassy to do battle with the American OSS.

  The colonel tried to take over the conversation at the very beginning.

  Flush with conquest in bed (though perhaps I had been conquered long before), I interrupted him.

  “Excuse me, sir, I will do the talking. Roisin over there will transcribe my remarks and I will later send it to my government, which can decide whether to pass the document on to Washington. You have shown contempt and incompetence by assigning a briefing officer who is not only uneducated but gratuitously rude. He said that Ireland was not a nation and was disloyal and ungrateful to England for maintaining its neutrality in the current war. He insulted me by suggesting that I was immoral because I was acting as an agent of Himmler and von Ribbentrop. He insulted the Catholic Church because he suggested that it was Catholicism which made me anti-Semitic, and finally attacked the honour of my late friend Claus von Stauffenberg as a well-known anti-Semite and a Nazi count.

  “If this is the best the United States of America can do, then it should withdraw from the intelligence business.

  “I will rehearse briefly the proposals of Herr Himmler and Herr von Ribbentrop. They add to their previous undertakings their willingness to suspend the Endlösung, their term for the Final Solution to the Jewish question, open the concentration camps and free those held in them. They will withdraw the German armed forces to their 1939 borders, including that of Poland and Czechoslovakia, they will order a cease-fire on all fronts. They believe that Stalin will suspend his attacks on the Eastern Front. They are fully aware that he is attempting to negotiate a separate peace with Germany through his agents in Stockholm. I note that if, through some miracle, an agreement like this could be reached, similar to the one to which Graf von Stauffenberg was committed, millions of lives will be saved—Jewish and Gypsy lives in the camps, German and Russian lives on the Eastern Front, German civilian lives saved from the tender mercies of Air Marshal Harris, American lives on the Western Front.

  “You will ask if I recommend that you proceed further with these negotiations. It is beyond my charge to respond to such a question. I will say, however, that I personally deem the Jews in the concentration camps are the key issue. When Herr Himmler or Herr von Ribbentrop order the killing to cease and begin to release the prisoners, then one might begin to believe they are acting in good faith.

  “That is all I have to say, sir, except that I worked in the United States for five years as Vice Consul in Chicago. I am fond of the American people. They deserve to be served better.”

  “Roisin”—I turned to our grinning stenographer—“type that up, if you will. I’ll translate it into Irish and send it off tomorrow to Dublin.”

  “I’m Irish too, sir,” the colonel began …

  “Irish-American, Colonel. There’s a difference.”

  “I admire your Irish spunk.”

  “Don’t give me that shite, Colonel. I don’t give a good fuck what you admire.”

  “I want to apologize …”

  “In writing, Colonel, with guarantees that it will never happen to any other representatives of the Irish government … Good day, Roisin. You can leave out the last dialogue, I don’t want to shock the minister. Good day, Mr. Linehan. Good day, Colonel.”

  “I’m not without some powerful Irish friends …”

  “Roisin, put the dialogue back in and add this reply: Don’t you ever, ever threaten me again!”

  Later I told my Annie the story as s
he lay in my arms.

  “You’re a desperate man altogether, Timmy … Is that the right idiom?”

  She clung to me whenever she could. She held my hand when she could not cling to me. I was not at all embarrassed. At the Zurich airport of Swissair, she held my hand as though she would never let it go.

  “Haven’t you been on a plane before, my love?”

  “No, and I’m frightened. However, we will die together.” The plane, a small Lockheed, much like the one to become famous in the film Casablanca, took off in the darkness. The sun came up over the Alps through whose mountain valleys we were picking our way.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Timmy Pat,” she said as she held my hand more tightly. “I think I’ll love flying … Is this the way it looks to the bomber pilots?”

  When they have time to notice.

  She had learned that Timmy Pat was my “real” name and decided that it was “sweet.” Indeed I was “sweet,” especially when I played with her body. Often she gazed at me in shameless adoration which I did not deserve.

  I had better enjoy the adoration and hand-holding. It would not last for long.

  In this hasty judgment, I was wrong.

  We refueled in Madrid and then landed in Lisbon. Everyone in the airport looked like they were an agent spying on everyone else. Using the embassy phone, I called Castle Ridgeland and found the Galway woman at home.

  “I’ll be home for a few days.”

  “Not for long, I suppose.”

  “They’ll want me to work at the Ministry for a while.”

  “You’re coming alone?”

  “Won’t I be bringing me wife home?”

  “Will I like her?”

  “Can’t tell.”

  “What she look like?”

  “A Gothic princess, willowy, shapely, long, pale blond hair.”

  “Glory be to God! Won’t you be the death of me!”

  “Try to be nice to her; she doesn’t speak English very well.”

  The result of this conversation was to assure me ma that me wife would not be boring.

  I repeated the conversation to Annie.

  “I know she’ll hate me.”

  “She loves you already.”

  After a layover of four hours, during which my wife continued her determined efforts to read through all the novels of Charles Dickens, while clinging to my hand, we boarded a Douglass Dakota for the trip to London. The plane was painted white with the letters BOAC written in large letters so British patrol planes would know who it was. The Luftwaffe had long since disappeared from the Bay of Biscay. Still clutching my hand, Annie slept all the way to London.