I may be giving the impression that Dr. Erich Strassburger spent most of his time advising me on my piddling financial transactions. Of course that isn't true. I hardly ever saw him. All the advice came through Christoph, who also carried out the actual orders, so I was surprised, one morning in March or April, when Christoph's telephone report included a request that I call in person at the Bank. Dr. Strassburger had a lunch meeting, but would like to see me at two-thirty.
When I presented myself at No. 4 Gendarmenmarkt the butler was as apologetic as his icy demeanor allowed: Herr Geheimrat's secretary was extremely sorry, the conference was still in progress, would it be inconvenient for Mr. Ellis to wait in one of the conference rooms? Sherry and the newspapers would be brought....
Just then the bell rang and the butler went to open the door. Two men in gray Reichswehr uniforms came in: The first was a tall lieutenant -very young, very blond, with gloves, riding boots, sword handle protruding through a vent in the long greatcoat; the second was a stubby corporal, straining to carry two bulging briefcases, which he put down as both men took off their garrison hats.
"Leutnant Graf Brühl zu Zeydlitz," announced the corporal in a rather loud voice. "Für'n Baron von Waldstein."
"Which Baron?" was the butler's obvious question.
"Baron Bobby," said the lieutenant.
The butler was terribly sorry, Excellency, but Herr Baron Robert was not in the house at the moment. Could one of the other -
"Leutnant Keith in the house?"
The butler believed that Herr Oberleutnant was in his office. Would His Excellency care to wait in one of the conference rooms ... The presence of two different clients in the reception room obviously made the butler uncomfortable. The lieutenant had glanced across at me with no particular interest, but I suddenly realized who this must be - the name, the face, no indentation between the forehead and the bridge of the nose - so I, the innocent abroad, just strolled over and extended my hand.
"Good afternoon, I'm Peter Ellis. You must be Sigrid's brother?"
He shook hands firmly, bowed, clicked his heels. "Good afternoon, sir. Brühl." He looked puzzled. The corporal looked shocked. The butler looked horrified, turned on his heels and disappeared.
"I've seen your photograph," I said. "I saw a picture of you shooting a rifle out the window of your cadet school."
A frown, then finally a smile and he looked even more like Sigrid. "Ach yes, you live with the Keiths, you're Christoph's friend, I understand now." Pause. "Well ... How is it you speak German so well? "
We stood there making conversation while I tried not to look at the bursting black leather briefcases - they were packed so full that they were almost round .The corporal stared at the carpet and the chandelier and the bust of David Waldstein.
Then the swinging doors swung open and Christoph appeared, not smiling. He shook hands with both of us, told me that Dr. Strassburger was ready to receive me now, and turned back to Count Brühl, who said: "Old man, I have a little business with Waldstein and Co."
"Yes," said Christoph. "So I see."
I told Count Brühl that I was pleased to meet him, shook hands again, and followed the butler through the swinging doors. Behind me, I heard Christoph say: "Your driver can go back to the car. Our people will take them downstairs."
Dr. Strassburger's office looked the same - the Chinese jade figures, the Böcklin, the view of the French Church in the Gendarmenmarkt --but Dr. Strassburger himself looked different - pale and tired. He had lost weight; the starched wing collar stood away from his neck.
He apologized for keeping me waiting. The banking business today was not exactly easy. Had I heard the Dollarkurs this afternoon? Thirty thousand marks to the dollar! The Reichsbank had been stabilizing in the neighborhood of 20,000 for the last few weeks and things appeared to be leveling off, but now, this afternoon, Stinnes's companies are suddenly in the market, buying huge amounts of dollars, of British pounds, of Swiss francs, of Dutch guilders - in other words pouring out German marks to buy foreign currencies, completely undercutting the stabilization purchases of the Reichsbank....
Hugo Stinnes again! I had the feeling that all this was spilling over from the previous meeting. I had the feeling that Dr. Strassburger had somehow lost the magic touch, that Dr. Strassburger was frantic, and I remembered Whitney Wood's remark: They don't know what the hell they're doing.
"Why is he allowed to do this?" I asked.
"Hah! Good question!"
Reichsbank gave him the permits. Said he needed foreign currencies to buy raw materials abroad. Can't operate his factories without chrome and sulfur and rubber and cotton and petroleum and the other things he has to import - but he could have been accumulating foreign currencies slowly and carefully, like everybody else ... instead, he goes in one afternoon with all his companies and just destroys what little stability the mark had left. Absolutely incredible!
Dr. Strassburger took off his pince-nez, closed his eyes, and rubbed the red marks on the sides of his nose. "I'm sorry, Ellis, I did not ask you to come here for a lecture. I wish to discuss a personal matter. As a matter of fact, I wish to ask your help."
"After all you've done for me, Dr. Strassburger -"
He held up his hand. "Let me tell you a little about my family. My family is not at all like the Waldsteins. For one thing my family is still of the Mosaic religion"
"Of what religion, sir?"
"Of the Jewish religion, the religion of Moses, that is how we call it here."
"Oh, I see," I said, feeling like a fool.
"Yes, and we are not rich. My father had a little store in Dresden, a good jewelry store, he made enough money so his sons could go to the Gymnasium, the high school. We were not poor but we were not rich. I would say we were exactly in the middle, when I was a boy. Well, things change. My father died when we were quite young, my older brother had to operate the store although he wanted to study medicine, the store produced enough money for me to attend the University, to become a lawyer. I practiced herein Berlin some years, then I was employed by the Waldsteins. The War came. My younger brother volunteered, was killed in Flanders. My older brother had more and more trouble with the store. He was never a good business man. Revolution, inflation ... in these times, you can imagine the difficulty in buying silver, buying diamonds, buying watches, then trying to sell them at a profit. In these times. I mean it can be done, people are doing it, but it requires absolutely icy nerves and perfect timing - and my brother- a good man - he was not the least bit gifted in these matters. I tried to help but how can I run a jewelry store in Dresden? So the business failed, last year. And perhaps because the business failed, I don't know, but this January my brother dropped dead. Heart attack."
"I'm sorry, Dr. Strassburger."
"Yes. Thank you. When times were good, before the War, my brother purchased a policy of insurance on his life, quite a large policy for those times, but he wanted his wife to be secure, his children.... He married late, young children.... He bought a life insurance policy of three hundred thousand marks. Paid the premium every month. When he died, the insurance company paid my sister-in-law three hundred thousand marks - the equivalent of thirty dollars or so!"
Pause. I didn't say anything. What was there to say?
"All right," Dr. Strassburger continued. "Of course I must help them, and I will. I have done well here, I have as yet no family, I will take care of them as best I can -"
The telephone rang. Dr. Strassburger ripped the receiver off the cradle: I THOUGHT I SAID I WAS NOT - Oh, I beg your pardon, Herr Baron.... No. I'm meeting now with Peter Ellis .... No, he didn't, Herr Baron, I don't believe he understood ......
Dr. Strassburger had not replaced his pince-nez, and as he listened to what seemed to be an angry long tirade from Baron Eduard I watched his expression very carefully, because he looked quite different without his optical mask, more vulnerable, perhaps more sensitive - and younger.
"Yes, sir.... Yes, sir. Of course, of course.... Yes, sir, but after all, as a pure business matter he would be foolish not to do it.... I know that, Baron, but in that respect we were not being quite professional....Oh, I agree with you, sir. The father wouldn't< have done it. But this is just a boy, isn't it? The last son? A boy soldier trying to save his House? Perhaps your own sons ... Yes, of course. Quite different ... Herr Baron, forgive me, it has been done, it's over, I would not let it upset you so much. We have more serious problems today. Yes. Yes. Of course, Stinnes, yes, a very different matter. Of course not....Of course, the times ... Yes ... Well, he is sitting right here at my desk, I would think some explanation ... Yes, of course I will.... Yes, of course....Very well, sir.... Yes, I will explain. Yes. Yes. Yes, sir. Good afternoon, Herr Baron."
Dr. Strassburger replaced the receiver, slumped back into his chair, and expelled his breath. "I understand you just witnessed an unusual event in German social history."
I must have looked blank.
"You saw a member of our ancient Prussian aristocracy pay off his mortgage in full, and in cash."
"You mean Sigrid's brother?"
Dr. Strassburger raised his eyebrows. "Sigrid's brother? ... Yes, of course: Sigrid's brother ... Lieutenant Count von Brühl zu Zeydlitz- as I call him - walked in the door and paid off the entire mortgage on his family's estate out in the Mark Brandenburg: a castle, a couple of farms, a forest, a village for the workers; stables for I don't know how many horses; several thousand acres of not-very-fertile land.... We made them a loan of three million marks in 1913, apparently to replace another one they had with Bleichröder. They needed cash because they had to support I think one general - that was the father - plus three sons in the Garde-du-Corps, a regiment in which each officer required at least six horses, a groom, a batman, and possibly a lady friend or two. The principal on the mortgage is not due until 1933, but they paid interest at 4 1/2 percent per annum. That is, they paid interest until the father was killed- an auto accident in France - in 1918. The older sons - the cavalry officers- had all been killed already. Just the youngest son left, still in cadet school. What were we supposed to do? Foreclose? Sell the Rittergut Schloss Zeydlitz to some Ukrainian stock market operator? Throw the widowed Countess and her daughter out into the snow? And then, on top of everything, Alfred comes home from the War and marries the daughter! Not an easy situation for Waldstein and Co. You agree?"
I agreed.
"So the Brühls just sit on their estate and the mortgage remains in default." Dr. Strassburger leaned forward, dipped his pen into a silver inkwell, and began to make some calculations on a lined accounting pad. The pince-nez was back on his nose, his brow was furrowed, he almost seemed to be enjoying himself as he did the numbers: "Three million at 41/2 percent compounded ... no interest in 1918 ... 1919 . . . 1920 ...1921 ... 1922 ... let's say three months of 1923 ... let's say a 5 percent prepayment penalty ... The pen scratched columns of figures onto the paper.
He picked up the telephone. "Give me Herr Borgenicht .... Borgenicht, have they figured out the Brühl payment? No, I don't mean counted the bills, have they computed the exact amount? Well, what is it? Thank you." He hung up, and actually smiled at me. I was rather close: 3,930,590 marks., in cash. Worth about one hundred and thirty dollars - in any event, the proceeds of Count Brühl's winter potato crop, which he brought us this afternoon- and freed his estate from debt for the first time since . . ." Dr. Strassburger stroked his chin, still smiling a little ... "since - I suppose - the first Herr von Brühl learned how to write his name under a mortgage! You see, inflation works in different ways."
"Well, I can also see why the Baron is angry."
"Oh, he is just furious. Because you see, it is a family matter. We are a private bank. The big banks, Deutsche Bank, Disconto-Gesellschaft, they are responsible to public shareholders, they could not sit there for five years with no interest being paid on a mortgage of three million marks. They would have had to do something. But we just sit there, we do nothing until the brother of Alfred's beautiful Sigrid, the uncle of the Baron's granddaughter the little Marie, this gentleman - practically a relative- this gentleman walks in with two bags full of worthless money and pays his debt. Apparently the Brühls do not feel quite so sentimental about a mortgage as the Waldsteins! "
And apparently, for some reason, Dr. Strassburger was not grief-stricken by this blow to the bank in which he was a senior partner. In fact, the had brought some color to his cheeks. He looked better.
"You were telling me about your brother's family ......"
"Yes, yes, my God, we have become completely distracted!" He glanced at the clock above the mantel." I wish to tell you about my nephew, one of my nephews, who is a bit of a problem. He did not do well in school, he did not do his Abitur so he cannot go to the University, he is here in Berlin and he wants of all things to become a film writer!"
"Well, that sounds like fun. They're making lots of films here, aren't they? "
"Fun?" asked Dr. Strassburger angrily. "I don't know if it is fun, I only know here is this boy with very little education and no money and no job, he hangs about out there at Babelsberg and tries to sell them his little scripts for their films, but of course they have not bought them, and the people in the film business ... you know, they are not exactly... let us say they are not exactly the kind of people you will meet at Waldstein's. And I have the feeling. . ." By now he looked tired again. "I have the feeling this boy will get into trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"I give him money, I give him an adequate allowance, but he seems to have too much money. He has a car, for example. Where does he get money for a car? You know what a car costs in Berlin today? This boy just out of school, he drives around in a car!"
"Maybe he's playing the market, like everybody else."
Dr. Strassburger shook his head. "No, he would talk to me about that. Whatever this is, he won't talk about it. But I think I know." He leaned across the desk and stared at me and formed the word with his lips: "Cocaine."
"There's a lot of it around," I said, remembering Bärbel's nose slowly, lazily descending to just a millimeter above the folded paper, her eyes slightly crossed as she focused on the tiny heap of white powder, her finger holding one nostril shut, the harsh long rasping sniff, and then the eyes coming up uncrossed to smile into mine. "I saved the rest for you" but I had shaken my head, afraid, so she had shrugged her naked shoulders, closed the other nostril, and inhaled what was left of the powder....
"I want him out of Berlin," said Dr. Strassburger. "I want him out of Germany before there is a scandal, but there is only one place where he will go, and that is California."
"Because of the films?"
"Because of the films."
"Does he know English?"
"Yes, his English is quite good, it is the only subject he would study in school because he wanted to read the English plays."
"For a German to go to the United States today ... I mean the money.. . "
"Of course. It would be quite impossible with German money, but fortunately we have money in Amsterdam, we will use Dutch guilders to buy them tickets from Rotterdam to New York, and from Thomas Cook in Amsterdam we have the railroad tickets, the New York Central, I think -"
Dr. Strassburger had taken out his key ring and was unlocking one of the drawers in his desk. "I think it is the New York Central Railroad to Chicago -" He extracted a file folder, opened it, began to leaf through the documents. "Yes, and then the Union Pacific Railroad from Chicago to Los Angeles.. ."
"Did you say 'they', Dr. Strassburger?"
He stopped shuffling the papers and leaned forward. "Now finally I will explain how you can help me. To enter the United States on an immigration visa one must have an American sponsor who will sign a paper saying that the immigrant will not become a public charge. We have such a sponsor for my nephew. It is a distant cousin of his mother's, a dentist in St. Louis who is not at all proud of his German relatives but who has reluctantly agreed to sign the paper, partly because he is assured that my nephew will not stop in St. Louis and partly because he knows that the American authorities have never - we understand never or almost never - enforced these agreements. They are treated as a mere formality.
"Even so, however, the good dentist in St. Louis will not sign such an agreement for a young woman my nephew has persuaded to accompany him, a young woman without whom he will not leave Berlin, a young woman whom he is going to make into a film star in California, a young woman who has been -- I am informed-- introduced to you! "
The open folder came sliding across the desk and Dr. Strassburger leaned back into his chair, out of breath.
A pile of forms.
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Immigration and Naturalization Service
The first thing I saw was the photograph, slightly blurred by an official seal. A very young girl, blonde pigtails, the sailor's collar of what I guess we would call a middy blouse. I didn't recognize her immediately and looked at the name. Large letters, blue ink:
KIRSANOFF, Kyra Aleksandrovna ...
"This is Bobby's girl!" I exclaimed. "Isn't this Bobby's Russian countess?"
Sunk far back into his chair, Dr. Strassburger nodded. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say this is the Russian countess Bobby believes to be his girl. He is certainly supporting her. But when he is not with her. . ." Dr. Strassburger cleared his throat. "I have not met the lady myself, of course, but as you see, she has filled out all the applications, and they are unusually complicated because she is in Berlin on a Nansen passport, her father was in Denikin's Army and the Bolsheviks took away the Russian citizenship from those people -"
I interrupted him. "Are you paying for her too, Dr. Strassburger? "
"Does that matter? I assure you this is a mere formality, she will not in any circumstances become your financial obligation. I think you know us well enough now -"
"That's not my problem, Dr. Strassburger. My problem is that Bobby doesn't know a thing about all this, does he?"
"Of course not."
"And Christoph doesn't either, because Christoph would tell Bobby."
Dr. Strassburger looked at me.
"And Bobby's father is using his Dutch guilders to send this girl as far away as he can get her. Is that correct?"
"Correct."
I felt blood flushing into my face. "Well, may I just ask one question, Dr. Strassburger? Why does everybody assume that I'm not going to tell Bobby about this? I mean, he's my friend too, you know! "
Dr. Strassburger had touched his fingertips together, and now he was holding his hands in front of his mouth in a thoughtful, somewhat prayerful position.
"He is your friend, yes. But how does it help your friend to bring him news that will only hurt him? The feeling seems to be, Ellis, that while Bobby may be your friend, another member of that family is of considerably greater interest to you. The feeling is that in a matter of this delicacy you may welcome an opportunity to assist her father and her mother in a project that is, I assure you, very close to their hearts."
"Well then, why don't they ask me?"
A long pause while we looked at each other. Outside in the Gendarmenmarkt, church bells began to toll the hour. I stood up and took out my fountain pen. "Where do I sign?"
PROLOGUE - THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1922
I. HOW I GOT THERE
1. PARIS 1922
2. VERDUN 1916
3. IT'S STEALING MONEY, ISN'T IT
4. WHERE WERE YOU IN 1919?
5. RELIABLE TROOPS
6. AN ISLAND
7. BISMARCK FOUND THEM USEFUL
8. INTRODUCTIONS
9. THE LITTLE HOUSE
10. INDIAN CROSSES
11. ANOTHER PART OF TOWN
12. A VIEW OF THE GENDARMENMARKT
13. TWO FOR TEA
14. ON THE TOWN
15. A VIEW OF THE HAVEL
16. REIGEN
II. WHAT HAPPENED
17. THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1922
18. MONDAY, JUNE 19, 1922
19. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21, 1922
20. FRIDAY, JUNE 23, 1922
21. SATURDAY, JUNE 24, 1922
22. WHAT HAPPENED?
III. THE WITCHES' SABBATH
23. SILENCE WITH VOICES
24. THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS
25. SAME SONGS, DIFFERENT SINGERS
26. THEY'RE ONLY GOING TO HIRE HIS VOICE
>27. INFLATION WORKS IN DIFFERENT WAYS
28. SMALL CHANGE
29. WHY NOT PAINT LILI?
30. COLD WIND IN MAY
31. ROLLING THUNDER
32. WALDSTEIN'S VOICE
33. THE MATTER OF A DOWRY
34. A RUSSIAN WORD AND A GERMAN WORD
35. THE MARCH ON BERLIN
36. A PIG LOSES MONEY ALL THE TIME
37. THE ARTISTS' BALL
IV. STRIKE TWELVE ZEROs
38. AMYTAL DREAMS
39. LETTERS
40. PROFESSOR JAFFA'S PROGNOSIS
41. THE OTHER SUBJECT
42. ROLLING HOME