Memoirs Found In a Bathtub (13 page)

This time however I was not going to be led around by the nose. I said quickly:

“And my instructions? Why didn’t you explain them to me? Prandtl categorically refused to. In fact, he actually—he stole them from me—”

“He
what?”

“He didn’t do it himself, there was this fat officer in the room … but Prandtl knew about it, I’m positive.”

“Oh, so you’re positive. That’s nice. And do you have any proof of this?”

“No,” I admitted—but immediately resumed the offensive: “Look, Major Erms, if you really want to help me, tell me right now what was in those instructions!”

And I looked him in the eye.

“So that’s what you’re after!” He burst out laughing. “My dear fellow, how could I possibly remember? Really, there are so many—just look!” He picked up thick stacks of paper from the desk and waved them in the air. “You honestly expect me to remember all this? Come on, have a heart…”

“No!” I said firmly. “I don’t believe you! You say you don’t remember anything? Not even the general idea? Well, I just don’t believe you!!”

If only I hadn’t gone too far. After all, he was the only man I could count on, my last resort. Even now, I felt this. If he were suddenly to confess that he was only acting under orders, that he was not what he seemed to be, not Major Erms the honest young man with friendly, blue eyes but just another part of the Building—then nothing remained for me but to go to that bathroom upstairs and…

Major Erms did not speak for a long while. He rubbed his forehead, he scratched his ear, he sighed.

“You lost your instructions,” he finally said. “All right. That’s
something
. It calls for disciplinary action. I’ll have to initiate proceedings. But don’t worry, it won’t be bad—unless you left the premises at any time. You didn’t leave the Building, I hope?”

“No.”

“Thank God!” he sighed with relief. “In that case, the whole thing will be a mere formality. We’ll take care of it later. As far as what you’ve said in this office is concerned, I didn’t hear any of it, understand? If I listened every time a colleague blew off steam here, well—I wouldn’t be fit to hold this position!” His fist hit the desk. “You doubt my sincerity. Why should I like you, you wonder, when we hardly know each other?” He spread his arms. “But it isn’t like that at all. Please pay attention to what I have to say. I’m not just another petty official pouring over a lot of meaningless papers, I’m not another blasted bureaucrat! I’m a terminal, a port, a stopping-off point for our very best people, people who are on their way—
there
. Now, you’ve been singled out for a Special Mission. So while I don’t know you personally, I do know that on that basis alone (not everyone gets a Mission, after all) you merit my respect, my trust, my friendship—particularly as your work demands that you will be alone for an indefinite period of time, alone and in the greatest peril… I would be a swine indeed if, under those circumstances, I didn’t do all in my power to offer you a helping hand—not merely in an official capacity, but in every capacity possible! You are angry that I don’t recall your instructions? You have every right to be angry! I have a lousy memory, it’s true. On the other hand, my superiors don’t hold that against me. In our business, it’s not healthy to remember too much. Suppose you’re about to leave on your Mission and I happen to blurt out—unintentionally, of course—some detail, oh the most unimportant trifle. Yet, finding its way
there
through certain channels, it could prove fatal, destroy you. You understand? Isn’t it better, then, for me to forget what passes through my hands? Otherwise, I’d have to be constantly on my guard, watch every word… And then, it’s not every day that someone loses his instructions! You can hardly blame me for not having prepared for that eventuality! We’ll start disciplinary procedures against you, that can’t be helped—but do get rid of these unfounded suspicions.”

“Very well,” I said. “I understand. At least, I’m trying to understand. But what about my instructions? Someone must have the originals!”

“Sure!” he answered with a characteristic toss of his blond hair. “The Commander in Chief has them in his safe. You need special permission to get at them, of course. Those things can’t be done in a hurry. But it shouldn’t take too long!” he added hastily.

“May I leave this with you?” I asked, placing my folder on his desk.

“What is it?”

“Didn’t I tell you? It’s the folder they switched on me.”

“Ah, there you go again!”

He shook his head.

“I wonder,” he said, half to himself, “if I shouldn’t send you to Medicals…”

But he opened the folder and glanced at the plan and the map sewn together with white thread. He examined them. There was an odd look on his face.

“Peep,” he muttered under his breath.

His bright eyes lifted and met mine.

“Mind if I leave you for a second? Just a second, I promise…”

I didn’t protest, especially since he took the compromising documents with him. He went out by a side door, didn’t even bother to shut it; I heard a chair move, and then a faint scratching sound. I got up, tiptoed over to the door, and peeked in.

Major Erms was sitting at a small desk under a bright lamp, guiding a pencil over a blank sheet of paper with the utmost care. He was copying out the plans of the Building. I moved closer, unable to believe my eyes. The floor creaked. Erms whirled around and saw me. He was startled at first, but quickly broke into a friendly grin.

“I didn’t want to be rude,” he said, getting up, “and work right in front of you … which is why…”

He tossed his sketch on the desk with an exaggerated lack of concern. It skidded across the highly polished wood and almost fell to the floor. Erms handed me the original papers.

“No, you keep them,” I mumbled, confused by the whole incident.

“And what would I do with them? No, they have to be submitted to the Registry. You’re going there anyway to file a formal report on the loss of your instructions. I’d gladly take care of the matter for you, except that unfortunately this has to be done in person.”

We returned to his office and sat down, facing each other across the desk.

“Then—the originals of my instructions? I have to wait until after the disciplinary action?” But before he could reply, I added, surprised that I was actually asking this:

“Why did you copy those plans?”

“Copy?” Major Erms shook his head. “You’re imagining things. I was only checking their authenticity. There are so many fakes in circulation, you know.”

I wanted to shout, “That’s not true! I saw it! You were making a copy!” But all I could say was:

“They’re fakes?”

“Well, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but…” He leaned over with a conspiratorial air. “Everything’s authentic except for the second and third levels … but keep that under your hat.”

“Of course!” I said, and was about to leave when I remembered the meal tickets. He rummaged around for them, looked in his pockets and under his papers, cursing his forgetfulness, tossing out all sorts of personal odds and ends on the desk. Among them was a small, spotted stone.

I waited and watched him carefully. Was he telling the truth? I had seen with my own eyes how he copied the plans. What did it mean? Why would he do something like that?

Could it be that the head of the Department of Instructions was also working for… Really, what nonsense! This was not normal, healthy suspicion. Could I be on the brink of a nervous breakdown? My actions in the Admiral’s office, for example, all that melodrama… Here was an old man who needed a nap at the end of a long and difficult day, who had a few blemishes common to old age, who collected animal cards—and I had to conjure up some diabolical plot out of all this! How absurd! Still, Major Erms did copy those plans, plans which had nothing to do with his Department—he said so himself—and which he was not even allowed to hold for me… Why didn’t he at least close the door? Did he take me for a harmless idiot? That I doubted. Then why expose himself like that, unless…

Unless he considered me an ally, said a strange voice in my head. Suddenly, there was a shout: Major Erms had found my meal tickets, they were in his wallet.

“Here,” he said, giving them to me. “Now go to 1116, that’s the Registry, give them your papers and make your report. I’ll phone ahead and let them know you’re coming. But please, go straight there, don’t get lost on the way!” He smiled and walked me to the door. I went meekly, my head filled with a hundred bewildering thoughts, and was already walking down the hall when he stuck his head out the door and yelled:

“Drop in later!”

I continued on my way. If he took me for an ally … then he had no fears I would expose him. I wasn’t that familiar with the machinery of intelligence, but I did know that agents assigned to different territories usually couldn’t identify one another. This was to minimize the possibility that some serious slip-up might uncover the whole operation, blow the entire network. On the basis of all the evidence against me, Major Erms could easily have taken me for one of his … though, on the other hand, he would be in no hurry to reveal himself to me. One thing didn’t fit. If Major Erms was really working for the enemy, that is, if he was an infiltrator, a plant in the Department of Instructions, and if he really took me for someone working on his side, then surely he would warn me, let me know the score, not deliberately try to confuse me…

Just a minute! Was there ever such a thing as solidarity among agents? Everyone was out for himself, everyone had his own assignment. Major Erms would sacrifice me without a moment’s hesitation, whether I was an ally or not, if that would strengthen his own position or in any way promote the success of whatever mission he had himself.

Yes, clearly he would. Then what could I do? Where could I turn? I’d left my book and papers in his office: that would be pretext enough. I hurried back, trying my best to assume an appropriately absentminded look. I went in without knocking.

Never in a hundred years would I have thought to catch him doing this!

Sitting back in his chair, legs propped up on the desk, and beating time on the coffee cup with his spoon, he was singing! Oh, he must have been thoroughly pleased with himself! Those plans he copied—what a windfall! He broke off when he saw me, not a bit embarrassed, and laughed.

“You caught me red-handed! Fooling around on the job! A man does what he can not to turn into a rubber stamp. Your book, right? Over there. You know, I admire you—even waiting around in reception rooms, you improve your mind. And don’t forget the papers.” I nodded and was about to leave, when a thought hit me.

“Sir?”

It was the first time I had called him “sir.” He frowned.

“Yes?”

“This whole conversation … it was in code, wasn’t it?”

“But—”

“Code,” I insisted, even managing a smile. “Right? Everything, everything is code!”

I left him standing behind the desk with his mouth open.

I practically ran from there, afraid he might follow in pursuit. Now why had I done that? To frighten him? How could he possibly fear me? I was helpless in a net, and he and others like him held the ends of it in their hands. Even so, I felt more confident—but why? After some thought, I came to the conclusion that I owed this moral boost to none other than Major Erms—it was not his empty chatter, his pretended sincerity, his displays of warmth and attention, things I had believed in for a while only because I needed to believe, but it was that scene I witnessed through the open door that encouraged me. For if, I reasoned, he was really one of
them
and held such a high position, then it was possible to fool, deceive, outsmart the Building, even in its most highly guarded strongholds. That meant the Building was far from infallible, that it was omniscient only in my imagination. A depressing discovery, in a way—yet it opened new and unexpected horizons.

Halfway to the Registry I had second thoughts. Major Erms had sent me there, so they expected me. I had to do something different, I had to break out of that vicious circle of planned activity. But where could I go? Nowhere, and he knew it. Except the bathroom. The bathroom wasn’t that bad—I could think things over there in peace and quiet, try to make some sense out of it all, and I could shave. I needed a shave. The only reason they didn’t stare at me in the hall was probably that they had orders not to.

I took an elevator up to the bathroom with the razor, got the razor and took it to my regular bathroom. But at the door I remembered something Major Erms had said, something about a
close shave
. Had he foreseen this eventuality? I stared at the white door. Should I go in or not? How could shaving have any effect on anything? Anyway, I could sit here as long as I wanted to, in solitude—they had no jurisdiction over the bathroom!

I entered cautiously; the place was vacant, as usual. But wasn’t the lightbulb by the urinals a little brighter than before? I walked in, and almost immediately jumped back—there was a man lying alongside the tub, a towel rolled under his head for a pillow. My first impulse was to leave. But they were probably expecting me to do just that, so I decided to stay.

The man didn’t stir, not even when I tripped over my feet and crashed into the sink; he was sound asleep. All I could see, from where I stood, was the top of his head, not enough to tell whether I knew him or not. Still, he looked like a stranger. He wore civilian clothes, had a jacket over his shoulders, a striped shirt with dirty cuffs under a thin sweater. One hand was tucked under his head, and the knees were drawn up to the chin. His breathing was deep and steady.

“Well,” I thought, “there are other bathrooms. I can move wherever I want.” Though the notion of moving was silly—what was there to move but myself?

Let him sleep, I could still shave; there was nothing subversive in that. I put the razor on the sink under the mirror, reached over the sleeping man to get the soap from the soap dish by the tub, then turned on the hot water and inspected myself in the mirror. The face of a derelict. My stubble made me look thinner; in another few days it would be on the way to a beard. I lathered up the skin as best I could without a brush and tried the razor: extremely sharp. Now shaving has always helped me think, and since the man on the floor didn’t disturb me in the least, here was a good opportunity to come to grips with my predicament.