American Dreams (39 page)

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Shortly, he saw the emperor and two aides bearing down. The Kaiser kept an enormous wardrobe of uniforms to acknowledge his membership of many regiments. Tonight he was splendidly turned out as a Jager zu Pferde - mounted rifleman.

LHerr Crown, good evening. How goes it with you? Pictures satisfactory?'

Paul

bowed. 'Very satisfactory, Your Majesty.'

'We are eager for the world to see the armor and mail of the fatherland.

Your former president Theodore Roosevelt was quite impressed with the military review I put on for him in Potsdam this spring. Splendid man, Roosevelt. We share many opinions, including the absolute necessity to watch for incursions of the yellow peril from Asia.' The Kaiser tended to speak in loud declarative sentences -- pronouncements -- allowing no room for disagreement or even comment.

'I have read your book,' the Kaiser said. 'The life of a journalist is most interesting.'

'Hectic sometimes,1 Paul said, smiling.

'Are you a student of military affairs? If so, I commend to your attention a work which will be published next year. I've just reviewed an advance text. It was written by our own General Friedrich von Bernhardi. His topic is the coming war'

Paul's scalp prickled. 'Will there be one, Majesty?'

'One hopes not,' the Kaiser said with a dismissive shrug. 'But many enemies surround the fatherland. Although I am a friend of England, the same can't be said of my subjects.'

'What point is General Bernhardi making, may I ask?'

'He argues that war is a biological necessity, an inherent part of man's nature. Therefore a warrior state such as Germany not only has the right but the absolute duty to strike a first blow, to assure victory and continuity of its rule.'

Now Paul's spine was crawling. He could think of nothing to say.

Finally he summoned one word: 'Remarkable.'

'Yes, decidedly so. You must not fail to read it when it's published. Germany and the Next War
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is the title. By the way, will you see that we

receive a copy of your films?'

'Through our Berlin exchange, depend on it.'

'Good old German reliability. Fine. Good evening, then.'

'Majesty,' Paul said with another bow, his skin like ice and his belly knotted. Drenched in the Gemiitlichkeit of the noisy party, he tended to A Toast to War

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forget the dark side of the German character, which the Kaiser exhibited all too freely.

At dinner, Paul and Sammy found themselves seated at one end of a trestle table dominated by Prussians, if Paul could judge from their accents: arrogant, preening asses. Not to be dismissed lightly, though.

The German soldier was a top professional, war his lifetime study.

The stomach-stretching meal of breads and meats and side dishes was accompanied by loud conversation among the officers about tactics, the relative merits of different units, the low morals and stupidity of the French, the usefulness of females for sex and cooking. There were a couple of jokes about Jews and excrement. Paul was glad Sammy couldn't understand what was being said.

Then the toasts began -- windy praise of the Kaiser, his wife, Kaiserin Augusta, his six manly sons, his daughter, Viktoria Louise, who held an honorary colonelcy in the Death's Head Hussars. Paul rose dutifully for each toast, dutifully drank from his tankard of beer.

A colonel at the head of Paul's table stood.

'Majesty -- gentlemen. I give you a special toast appropriate to the events which have drawn us together. I give you the Day, when our armies will take revenge on all those who attempt to wall us in, threaten us and humiliate us, and restrict the rightful power of imperial Germany.'

A hush had fallen; someone kicked a kitchen boy who was still turning a squeaky spit. In one of the hearths a log broke and fell, shooting up a geyser of sparks. The colonel lifted his tankard.

cDer Tag:

The Day. Paul had heard it for twenty years. The army was maniacal on the subject.

The Kaiser leaped up, and the several hundred fellow officers with
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him;, shouting in unison, 'Der Tag.'

Casting a puzzled look at Paul, Sammy started to stand. Paul pulled him down. His heart was speeding, thumping in his ear. Don't be an idiot.

Heads turned, surprise swiftly changing to disbelief, then animosity.

The colonel looked down the table at the two civilians still seated.

'You object to the toast, my friend?'

'With all due respect, Colonel, I don't celebrate killing. At least not the premeditated kind.'

Far across the hall Paul could see the Kaiser's livid color. In the drafty stone hall the electric lights washed out faces so that all those staring at Paul and Sammy had the look of corpses.

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The colonel's eyes flicked to one side, then the other. Aware that he was the focus of attention, he raised his voice.

'Then may I ask what you are doing here, presuming on our hospitality?

That strikes me as grossly hypocritical.'

Paul wadded his serviette and stood up. The beer and tiredness and disgust with this crowd had pushed him over a line he was usually too prudent to cross.

'Perhaps so.'

'I suggest you raise your tankard or leave.'

Paul swallowed, saw one of the Kaiser's sons with his sword half drawn.

'Come on, Sammy. We've overstayed.' He bowed. 'Majesty.'

The Kaiser didn't acknowledge it. His jaw was clenched, his blue eyes raging.

The moment they left the hall, a strange cry went up behind them - a roar of defiance and hate that reminded Paul of the baying of wild dogs.

He forgot his bowler and overcoat as he dashed from the fortress into the courtyard and out the gate to the riverbank. Sammy scrambled to keep up.

They turned north, toward the central bridge over the Main. On the far bank the lights of the town glowed as pleasantly as miniature houses under a Christmas tree. 'God, I lost it. I shouldn't have let go,' Paul growled.

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'What the hell was that all about, gov?'

Paul explained the significance of Der Tag. 'They live for it. Plan for it.

Can't wait to see it come. Not all the German people are that way, but the ones closest to the Kaiser certainly are; and they'll drag the rest along with them.'

Bending into the autumn wind, they crossed the river to their first-class hotel up by the Luitpold bridge. Paul asked the night porter for a railway schedule, found there was a train for Frankfurt at half past two in the morning.

'We'll take it,' he told Sammy.

'Don't you want your hat and overcoat?'

'No. 1 wouldn't walk back into that viper's nest for ten overcoats. Let's pack.'

On the way down to a taxi at a few minutes before two, Paul was hailed by the hall porter, who handed him a message with a cherry, \Mein tJerr! 1 leartiest felicitations and congratulations.' Paul translated the German in a second.

In the Subway 243

FRANCESCA CHARLOTTE BORN EIGHT TEN

LONDON TIME ALL WELL YOUR WIFE EAGER

FOR YOU TO SEE YOUR DAUGHTER FOLLETT

is it the baby?7 Sammy asked, peering over his shoulder.

Paul looked at him with a strange, stricken expression.

'She's fine. Julie's fine.'

But the world wasn't fine. It was dark and cold as the windy autumn night. Though proud in many respects to be German, Paul had no illusions about what it meant. Dark streams of poison ran in German blood.

There was a fury in the German makeup stoked by national paranoia and heightened by arrogance born of exceptional past accomplishments in science and literature, music and education--the whole Kultur about which Germans could be so overbearing. The worst of German character was reflected in the high command, the Prussian Junkers. They wanted war and one way or another, he was convinced, they would bring it. This was the world his little newborn daughter had entered tonight.

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47 In the Subway

With the decision made, Fritzi felt more at ease, though she found herself supremely careful whenever she was abroad on the crowded city streets. She scrutinized faces closely and looked behind her often, especially if something kept her out after dark.

Harry Poland telephoned three times, leaving messages. Twice she ignored them, but the third time, feeling sorry for him, she called the Hotel Mandrake. He asked for one more chance to see her, to make amends -- prove that he could be a complete gentleman.

Fritzi hesitated. To go out with a married man a second time really wasn't proper. On the other hand, she'd enjoyed Harry's company until the moment of the illicit kiss, and even that had not been without its guilty pleasure. So long as she kept everything within bounds, would it hurt? Harry's wife was totally incapacitated, and he sounded overwhelmed with guilt.

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'All right, yes -- supper on Saturday. I'll tell you about my plans for the new year.'

New York sparkled with colored lights as the stores decorated for the Christmas season. A warm wind from the south raised temperatures into the fifties. Harry called for her in a taxi, told the driver to take them to a restaurant called Bankers, on Liberty Street, just off lower Broadway a few blocks above Wall. As he helped her out of the cab, she saw headlights veer to the curb behind them on Broadway. Someone clambered out of another taxi and faded into the shadow of a darkened building. She felt an odd tingle of alarm.

Bankers was small, swanky, and expensive. Their dinner conversation was lively and polite, with no references to what had happened last time, though she did catch Harry gazing at her soulfully a couple of times. She told him about Pal's move to California for the winter.

'How grand for you, Fritzi - all that warm weather. One of these days I want to see the Pacific coast for myself. I'd be out there in a shot if you invited me.'

'Harry,' she said, raising her eyebrows.

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'Sorry. You have that effect on me.'

She smiled; she couldn't be angry. He was an attractive companion --

charming, cultivated, yet still with a certain air of Old World innocence.

When they stepped outside, Fritzi reveled in the mild air, the sweep of stars above the skyscrapers of the financial district. Full of good food and wine, she'd quite forgotten her earlier anxiety. Harry asked if she'd like to walk a bit, and she readily agreed, taking his arm. They turned north on Broadway toward City I lall.

After two blocks he said, 'Would you like to finish the evening in style?'

'What do you have in mind?'

'Riding the subway.'

"The subway?' she repeated, astonished. 'You enjoy that?'

'Immensely. The New York subway is one of the wonders of the age. 1

ride it whenever I have a chance. The financier August Belmont was behind it, you know. The original line to 145th Street opened in 1904.

"Fifteen minutes to Harlem," that was the slogan. You see all kinds of people on the subway, socialites to shop girls. The cars are clean, the air underground is fresh and cool - all for a nickel! Shall we?'

'All right, why not?'

'There's a stop at Twenty-third Street,' he said, rushing ahead toward a familiar structure of wrought iron and glass that was common to all IRT

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entrances. 'Aren't the kiosks something to see? Did you know they're modeled after Turkish summer houses?'

Although it was nearly ten, there were still large numbers of people entering and leaving the station. At the ticket plaza Harry paid their fares and handed the pasteboard tickets to a uniformed guard who dropped them into a box. A rjish of air and noise signaled the departure of a train.

'That was a local,' Harry said, peering along the crowded platform.

'There's an express every six minutes until midnight, with the locals between.' Fritzi hadn't ridden the subway in a while. She'd forgotten how bright and attractive the stations were. There wasn't a straight line in the design of City Hall station, which was actually part of a loop on which trains traveled to reverse their direction. The edge of the platform formed a gentle curve. Terra-cotta arches inlaid with white and colored tiles created
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a pleasing, airy effect above iti

Fritzi heard another train on its way from the station to the north, Brooklyn Bridge. Harry said something, but Fritzi missed it because of the noise. Someone bumped her, pushing her near the edge. She caught her breath as Harry took her arm to steady her.

He glared at someone behind her. 'You needn't stand so close, there's plenty of room.'

Fritzi's eyes grew round. She heard strident breathing, watched as Harry turned with another annoyed look at the boorish passenger. I know who it is. He's followed us . . .

Urgently she gripped Harry's arm. 'Harry, let's leave.' With her head turned slightly, she saw him from the edge of her vision -- the strange gold flecked eyes, that damnable grin. A little cry of fear escaped her, unheard as the train came roaring along the tunnel.

Harry said something strong to the passenger, who grabbed him by the lapels and flung him aside. Pearly grabbed Fritzi's wrists, shoved her toward the edge as the train thundered closer. Fritzi never remembered reacting quickly, but she did. As one foot slipped off the platform she twisted her hand, savagely dug her nails into Pearly's wrist. He cursed and she pulled free, teetering.

Harry made a wild lunge to save her, shooting out his hand. She caught it and hung on; if she hadn't, she'd have fallen off. Pearly reached for his pistol under his jacket. People along the platform were yelling, screaming, retreating from the struggle.

Harry leaped at Pearly and shoved. Pearly swung the pistol to club him.

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The eight-car express hurtled from the tunnel, its poppy red paint reflecting the station lights. Fritzi grabbed Pearly's arm, yanked. He stumbled, flailed in the air as he fell over the tracks, and dropped.

A woman thrust her little girl against her and screamed like a banshee or was that the howling and sparking of the braking train? If Pearly cried out when the first car crushed him, no one heard.