No use going to bed. I shaved and took a shower and changed my clothes. The dormitory was waking up, some people still asleep, others moving about in pajamas or various stages of undress.

Onderdonk, barefoot, stuffing his shirt into his trousers: "Hey, Anders, so that is the adversary system? I think you are a bit of a hero!" He slapped me on the back. "We do not have trials like that in Holland."

At breakfast I felt that people were looking at me. I sat between Nora Rasmussen and Astrid Königsmark.

"Rosanna stayed in bed," said Astrid. "She had too much."

"I think we all had too much," said Nora. "Somebody should write a book about all this. Imagine that Logan Brockaw . . ."

After breakfast, other people -but only Americans- found a chance to comment.

Justice Steinberg: "You might have let me in on the secret, Graham, but if you get in trouble, give me a call. Our senior senator is on the Foreign Relations Committee - maybe I'll write him a letter anyway."

Porter Lamason: "I don't know if it convinced anybody that jury trials are a good idea, but it was one hell of an entertainment. Not gonna get in trouble, are you?"

Clinton Bergstrasser: "Did you hear about the man who jumped off the Empire State Building? Wanted to prove he had guts."

I sat at the back of the Venetian Room and tried to pay attention as Porter Lamason lectured about Personal Injury: Business or Profession? but I was not successful. My mind ambled stupidly from one thing to another. I looked at my reflection in the minor. I felt that people were looking at me and tried to catch them at it. I stared at the hook from which the Guardi had been suspended. What would they use to replace it? Make a contribution. How much? They threw his body off the truck, right into the street. Traffic accident. Bullet holes? Middle of a war, nobody gave a damn. Tell his widow traffic accident. But the play . . . If he wrote the play before? Maybe none of it is true. Pressburger's revenge. No, it's true. Always known it. But how? Somebody said something? In England? Sevenoaks. Standing back against the ivy, brooding into the camera, champagne bottle in his pocket doesn't show on the paperback cover.

Jesus!I may have dozed but now I was awake. Thinking wildly. It was just barely possible. just possible. But how do we find out? Telephone. What time is it? Too early, everybody still asleep. But it might take time to get a call through from this end. Better start right away. I leaned forward and tried to listen, to make the time pass.

Applause. People crowding back into the dining hall for coffee. I ran downstairs to Rasmussen's office. He was not there, but I asked his secretary to place the call for me.

"Oh, Mr. Anders, a messenger just brought this. From the Hotel Bristol."

Baby-blue envelope. Hotel Bristol Salzburg. Herrn Dr. Graham Anders, Schloss Fyrmian.

Outside in the hall, Aschauer was slowly carrying away the folding paraphernalia from the trial. I sat down on one of the chairs and opened the envelope.


Dear Graham:

I am sorry to say that I must break our appointment at Cafe Bazar this afternoon, because I must return to New York immediately. Our "Waffenstillstand" appears to be over. The Boatwright interests have begun purchasing large amounts of their own stock in the open market. I believe that you do not know this, and remember that you advised me that you had no authority to negotiate with me. So I do not blame you. However, you will understand that I must now take steps to protect my own position.

I regret this development. I had hoped that if you and I could speak to each other on an open basis, Boatwright could be put on the road to profit without continuing our expensive war.

I do not regret my days in Salzburg, nevertheless, nor our interesting talks. Perhaps our paths will cross again.

Sincerely, Boris Fleischer

"Any luck with my call?"

"Ach, you are an optimist, Mr. Anders. This is not America. Sometimes it takes hours. From here it must go to Vienna to--"

"What's the fastest way to fly from here to New York? I mean if I had to leave right now?"

She opened her drawer and spread some timetables on the desk. "Well, there are no direct flights from Salzburg. You could hire a car and go to Munich. but that flight leaves--" She looked at her watch. "No, you are too late. There are a couple of flights from Salzburg to other cities -Brussels, Frankfurt, London, and from one of them you might get a night flight to New York. But I think it is too late. You would have to spend the night, probably in London, and go on next day."

"When do these flights leave from Salzburg?"

She looked at her schedule. "Hm. Only two. One to Frankfurt was at eight o'clock this morning. Then another to Vienna -no, you don't want that. Then the last one is at fifteen hours, I mean at three o'clock, that goes to Brussels and London. That's the last one."

"Thank you very much," I said. "Could we try that operator again?"



-Graham! Is that you? How lovely! I can hardly hear you.

-Can you hear me now?

-A little better. Where are you? We're just having breakfast.

-I m still in Salzburg. Hey listen--

-When are you coming home?

-What? Now I can't hear you.

-I said 'When are you coming home?'

-Pretty soon. Maybe this weekend. Listen, hey, I'm in sort of a hurry. Do you happen to know where your Aunt Susan is?


-Your Aunt Susan? Where is she? I can't reach her--

-She's up here, Graham.

-Up there ... Nantucket?

-She came up here to talk to you. She didn't know.

-She's right there?

-No, not this time of day. She's at her own cottage.

-What did she want to talk about?

-She wanted ... Oh, Graham, I can't shout all this over the phone, we're all here in the kitchen. . . Can you hear me?

-Yes, go ahead, it's very important. I can't explain.

-Graham, she was upset about the Boatwright stock the fall in price, we might lose the company, so she's started buying stock. Can you hear me?

-Didn't she tell the Company? Didn't she tell anybody at C&D?

-No, she wanted to talk to you first, she said she'd told you she would talk to you, but then she couldn't reach you, or somebody told her you couldn't be reached, so she went ahead, and the price went up--

-Do you know how much she bought?

-Can't hear you, Graham.

-How . . . much . . . stock . . . did--

-I don't know exactly, but a great deal, she's buying every day, she bought more yesterday, she was on the phone all morning.

-Now listen! Caroline?

-Go ahead.

-You tell her I said to call Boyle, to call Ellsworth Boyle. and tell him--

-She doesn't like him much, Graham.

-I can't help that, she's got to tell him, or somebody at the Company, that she's the one that's doing this, and that I told her to tell them. Have you got that?

-Okay. You're the doctor.

-She's to call them up first thing this morning. Please tell her I said it's very urgent that she call them -anybody at C&D or Malcolm Hopkins at Boatwright- and just tell them that she's the one who has been doing all this buying.

-All right. I'll tell her. Graham, are you all right?

-Well, I'm a lot better than I was a few minutes ago.

-What? I can't understand you!

-Never mind. How are you? How are the children?

-Good shape. Brown as berries. Lonely.

-Well. . . okay. As I say, I may be home this weekend.

-That's ahead of schedule, isn't it? Is something wrong?

-Not really. Some excitement. I'll tell you about it. How would you feel if they threw me out of the firm?


-I can't explain it now, I've got to run, but I'll call you when I get home. Maybe I can get up there next weekend.

-Oh, Graham, that would be nice. You're not serious about the firm, are you? Why would they--

-They won't, but I can't explain now.

-Graham, don't hang up yet!

-I've got to catch somebody.

-Did you get my letter?

-Yes. It was ... it was a good letter. I'm still trying to write an answer, but forget about Dolly.

-All right. I will.

-Listen, hey . . .

-I'm listening.


-Listen, I'm going to try . . . I mean I know you're right, and I'm going to try. . .

-Oh, Graham. . . God . . . I think we'd better hang up. I'm all . . . But just remember, I married you. Not Conyers and Dean.

-Okay, that's nice to know. Good-bye now, I've got to run.

-Good-bye, darling.

I took a chance and drove straight to the airport, roaring around the lake and out through the maze of villages and housing developments in the southwestern suburbs. The rain had stopped. The wind was blowing from the north, pushing the clouds away from the flatlands and into the mountains. The runway was covered with puddles. No planes in sight. just as I drove into the parking lot a Sabena Caravelle sank across the highway and eased itself down on the concrete, spraying water from the puddles, its engines thundering in reverse.

I ran into the little airport building. A single ticket counter, a bank to change money, a passport control, a few scampering children, a few bored travelers walking about or sitting on benches. The loudspeaker announced the arrival of the flight from Brussels.

Boris Fleischer sat by himself at the other end of the room, masked under a dark Homburg and sunglasses. His English raincoat was folded on the bench beside him, and his briefcase was open. He was absorbed in a typewritten memorandum. I thought: He looks like what they all think he is. What am I doing?

When I sat down beside him he took off the sunglasses, and right away I felt better.

"I got your note," I said. "There's been a misunderstanding."

I told him what had happened. He listened, putting the memorandum back into the briefcase, locking the briefcase, setting it down on the floor. No change of expression. I told him a little about Miss Susan Boatwright.

"Why is she doing this?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose, where his spectacles left marks. "Is she doing it to keep control from me?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then I do not understand your position. I am informed that the Boatwright interests are buying their own stock, and what you tell me only confirms it. How does this change anything?"

"Because she's different," I said. "She doesn't think the present management is doing a good job. She'll listen to any sensible suggestions. She's just afraid -they all are- that you plan to destroy the Company. And she doesn't want it destroyed. If you have a plan for Boatwright, a plan that would restore it, she'd listen."

"No member of that family has been willing to see me," said Fleischer, looking hard into my eyes.

"Well, she would, if I asked her to. She likes me. And I'm sort of a member of the family, and I just came chasing out here to the airport to catch you."

"Yes," he said, looking at the floor. "Why did you?"

"Because . . . because you turned out to be different, I have the feeling . . ." I stopped, trying to choose the right words. "I have the feeling that you don't want to destroy Boatwright, you don't want to suck out the assets and use them for other deals, I have the feeling that you'd rather use Boatwright to show people that you can turn a company around and make it profitable, that you're not a raider by choice, that you'd rather be known as . . . well, as the man who got Boatwright back on the track. And without a takeover."

He sat there and looked at the floor. The people from the Sabena flight were filing into the airport, being greeted, going through customs. The Caravelle was taking on fuel, and, according to the loudspeaker, it would depart for Brussels in fifteen minutes. Passengers were requested to board.

"Back on the tracks," said Boris Fleischer. "I think that is the problem. They are too much on the tracks. The tracks lose money. They should get on the roads."

I sat there, watching him make up his mind. It only took a moment. "You know the name Finsterwald?" he asked me.

"You mean the trucks? Sure."

"Not trucks." he said. "Trailers, the big metal trailers that are pulled by the trucks. They are the biggest manufacturer of trailers in the country, biggest in the world. Too big, in fact. Five years ago, they bought a smaller trailer concern, A. B. Joyce and Son. You know them?"

"Yeah . . . they're in Philadelphia--"

"Exactly. They are a subsidiary of Finsterwald, still run by the Joyce people, and doing extremely well. So well that there is trouble, Finsterwald has antitrust trouble, Department of Justice, your friend Mr. Clinton Bergstrasser and his boys. The same probIem you tried to use against me with your Warfield maneuver. So they will have to get rid of A. B. Joyce and Son." He stopped again and looked at me.

I began to think out loud:

"Well, if they sell it to the public, for cash, they've got to pay taxes. But if they make a tax-free reorganization with another company, maybe exchange the Joyce stock for the other company's stock . . ."

"Of course I am not a lawyer," said Fleischer, "but you think it might be worthwhile to talk about it?"


"All right, we will talk about it." He stood up, gathering his raincoat and his dispatch case. "When are you going home?"

"Pretty soon. This weekend, probably."

"So soon? Before the session is over?"

I nodded.

"Aha. The other thing?"

I nodded again.

"The Messrs. Conyers and Dean, they are not happy."

"Apparently not."

"Well, I tell you. It will pass."

"I hope so."

"And if not . . ."  He shrugged. "There are other things to do." We walked together toward the other end of the room, where the passengers were lining up to show their tickets and their passports. We joined the end of the line.

Fleischer said, "This old lady, she cannot buy enough to obtain control?"

"I don't think so, and I wouldn't want her to anyway."

"So it is the rest of the family too, and the banks."

"That's right."

"The management -those locomotive people- they will have to go. You need better people, younger people."

"Well now, you see, I don't want to get in the middle here. We represent the management."

"I thought you represent the family, the directors."

"It's always been more or less the same thing. Now we're developing what we call a conflict here, maybe, between the family and the people running the company . . . I don't know, it will cause problems."

The line was moving forward.

"What is a voting trust?" asked Fleischer suddenly.

"A voting trust? Well. that's where you establish a trust to vote the stock, you turn the stock over to some trustees, under a trust agreement, and they vote the stock."

"How long could it last?" asked Fleischer.

"Ten years."

"Too long," he said. "We do it in five. I put up my Boatwright stock into a trust, the Boatwrights put in the same amount The trustees have control of the company, right?"

"Oh, that wouldn't solve anything, Boris. Who would the trustees be?"

"One for me and one for the Boatwrights."

"But that would be a stand-off. You'd need a third trustee to break the tie."

"So? We get a third trustee."

The man in front of us was showing his papers to the ticket agent and the Grenzpolizei officer. Out on the runway the sunlight began to slant between the clouds, and the light glared into the big windows. Boris Fleischer reached into his pocket and put on his sunglasses. He looked terrible again.

"Boris, I don't think that will work. They won't. they won't trust any of your people. Not yet, anyway."

The sunglasses hid his eyes. "Will they trust you?"

"Me? Yeah . . . I guess so."

He handed his ticket and his passport to the waiting men, then turned back to me. "Well, I trust you too. Good- bye, Graham. Go back to the Schloss and get some sleep, you look tired. I call you next week. Perhaps we can work out a peace treaty." He took back his ticket and his passport, slung the raincoat over his shoulder, and walked out to the Caravelle.

previous chapter, next chapter



1961 - A Point of View
[1] The annual meeting of the stockholders of the Boatwright Corporation
[2] What are you going to do about Boatwright and what are you going to do about yourself?
[3] Have we learned anything this evening, Doctor?
[4] Producing results?
[5] Alexander's Feast
[6] How'd you like to go over to Salzburg for a month with me?

1947 - An Island
[7] You're not going to Berlin. You're staying here.
[8] All right, we're the Military Government.
[9] The Americans are teaching us to be democratic instead of fascistic.
[10] Well, this is Fasching.
[11] Letters after Ash Wednesday
[12] Say Boris is at Schloss Fyrmian.
[13] THE AMERICAN ACADEMY IN EUROPE - Prospectus for the First Session
[14] Learn to think of people as individuals.
[15] Parlez-moi d'amour, redites-moi des choses tendres.
[16] Not one thing left to show that you've ever been on earth? - "Sources of Soviet Conduct"
[17] A Countess, a Prussian Officer and a Ländler
[18] Now this part of your life is over and I'm sending you home.
[19] A father who's too busy to watch his son die. - The Spring of 1961
[20] I cannot sell Schloss Fyrmian to the Academy.

1961 - A Change of Air
[21] The first thing I saw was the Festung Hohensalzburg far in the distance, silhouetted against the shadowy curtain of the high mountains.
[22] Next day at the Academy we got to work - Graham, you know what Fleischer did?
[23] Im weißen Rößl am Wolfgangsee
[24] Brockaw writing a thesis on Austrian baroque architecture? - Boatwright Corporation and Boris Fleischer, plaintiffs
[25] You know there a Mr. Devereaux? Mr. Armistead Devereaux?
[26] I think always of Peter Devereaux.
[27] It sounds like an act of desperation, and it won't hold up in court.
[28] In those Oklahoma Hills WHERE AH WAS BOW-AHHHN!
[29] ... that we should meet again like this . . . I think perhaps there is a reason.
[30] "Is there here an American by name of Brockaw?"
[31] This is Boris Fleischer!
[32] "Does Hans work for Gehlen?" Paola shook her head. "More the other way around."
[33] Won't you please come home? Everybody needs you, I most of all.
[34] With this Waffenstillstand you have time now.
[35] You're going to regret this for the rest of your life!
[36] We Europeans would not do it. None of us. - People think you need medical attention.
>[37] Will they trust you?
[38] Some things about the U.S.A. are perhaps rather important, and to us impressive.
[39] You're going to need a good lawyer.

version: March 2, 2004
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Arthur R.G. Solmssen, Joachim Gruber