The End of the World in Breslau (25 page)

“I don’t think so,” retorted Richter. He drew a grubby curtain, which, if it had been in one piece, would have separated their table from the rest of the room. “I’ve seen many losers in the casino who have treated the game as their one and only possibility of getting any money. Most of them didn’t say who they were, and were about as genuine as this ‘aristocratic’ film director who anyone can see is a Jew, and that pseudo-Austrian with the Bavarian accent. Losers will do anything for another chance.”

“Thank you, Richter.” Knüfer threw yet another note on the table. He made to leave but the croupier caught him by the sleeve. He was very
strong for his age. Clearly his muscles had not been developed merely by spinning a roulette wheel.

“They’ll do anything and lose everything,” he looked intently at Knüfer. “Every single one. Without exception. Just remember that.”

WIESBADEN, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14TH, 1927 A QUARTER TO MIDNIGHT

With a silver spoon, Rainer Knüfer scooped up a heap of red caviar and garnished a square of coarse, dark, wholemeal bread with it. He then twisted half a lemon, cut lengthwise and set in an upturned cup, into a cone of crystal glass. The cup filled with juice, a few drops of which cut the bland taste of the caviar. Knüfer washed this morsel down with champagne and once again pulled out his invitation, handwritten by the manager:

I have the honour of inviting you, Esteemed Gentleman, to a special game at midnight on December 14th, to be held in the main hall of the casino. Following the game, you are invited to a reception, which will take place in the basement of our casino. This invitation applies only to the respected Rainer Knüfer

– with no companions.

With my respects,

Claus von Stietencrott Manager

Knüfer scanned Käfer’s Bistro, the casino restaurant, and a violent shudder ran through him. His mother used to explain this unpleasant sensation as “death looking you in the eye”. Now the hope of an easy life
was looking him in the eye: Knüfer eating his dinner on silvery-white tablecloths every day, sitting on these soft seats of cherry-coloured leather; Knüfer slicing a roasted suckling pig using a knife with an engraved crest, then replacing the knife on a silver knife-rest and handing the girl next to him a piece of pink meat in a crunchy coating of bread-crumbs; the girl’s fair hair, in the golden halo of the spidery chandeliers, sharply contrasting with the plush cherry curtains; a waiter bowing from the waist and, in the background, a rainbow of drinks arranged on triangular napkins, sparkling on the enormous mahogany bar; Knüfer looking at the girl one more time and wondering who she could be …

The detective shook his head and found himself alone with his dreams. He folded the invitation carefully, slipped a ten-mark note under the white, starched napkin, and went to the casino hall. At the entrance to the main hall, a man with moulting blond hair and a pointed goatee was showing the doorman an invitation identical to the one that nestled in Knüfer’s dinner jacket. The doorman bowed and his white-gloved hand gestured to the man to enter. A moment later, Knüfer also found himself in the main room of the casino. He quickly counted thirty-eight men already present, all of whom were wearing tailcoats or dinner jackets, with their shirt-fronts diffusing a snowy brilliance. Croupier Richter silently spun the wheel as the guests adjusted their top hats, re-tied silk scarves around their necks and tapped their canes – some to conceal their embarrassment, others to draw attention to themselves, but most to express their impatience. Minutes passed. Knüfer’s eyes wandered over the cream walls, lit up in the electric brightness of the chandeliers, and found relief in the calm, rough, green baize that covered the tables. The murmur of impatience swelled, then, a little later, turned into a roar of greeting and a fawning hum of approval. Into the hall walked Sophie, followed by the manager, von Stietencrott, and Bodo von Finckl. Sophie was wearing a long, tight dress of black satin with elbow-length gloves of
the same colour and material. Knüfer drew near to her and thought he could detect traces of recent tears in her pale green eyes. Von Finckl’s eyes were unmoved and his tiny yellow teeth gnawed at his upper lip. Von Stietencrott adjusted his monocle, raised both his arms and began his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour this evening of welcoming you to this special game – the only one of its kind and the second in the history of our casino. I welcome, above all, the central figure of today’s celebration, Madame Isabelle Lebetseyder.” Here von Stietencrott tipped his top hat and bowed deeply to Sophie. “I welcome the representatives of our Hessian nobility, Count Adrian von Knobloch and Count Hermann von und zum Stein, as well as men of letters: the excellent journalists of our daily newspaper
Wiesbaden Woche
and, above all, the well-known author Markus Wielandt, who has kindly agreed –
mutatis mutandis
– to describe this occasion in his new novel, which is still
in statu nascendi
. And, last but not least, I welcome all the gentlemen present here, both those who come regularly and guests who are new to our establishment.”

Applause thundered and von Stietencrott bowed profusely.

“My dear ladies and gentlemen, I will now present you with the rules of today’s game and with the rest of this evening’s programme. In a moment, we shall play a special and unique
va banque
: Bodo von Finckl versus the Wiesbaden casino, represented by myself. The honourable von Finckl will be so kind as to be the first to bet on red or black, or on even or odd. I, of course, will have to bet on the opposite square from that upon which Mr von Finckl has placed his bet. Should he win, my honourable opponent will have the debt he owes the casino annulled, the value of which is, and will remain, known only to myself and him. Should he lose, Madame Isabelle Lebetseyder will be employed in our casino for a minimum of two months. The conditions of her employment and remuneration, as well as of her resignation from the post, are known to
Madame Lebetseyder. The roulette will spin only once. The placing of secondary bets between yourselves is not forbidden. These will be taken by croupier Paul Richter, present here. One per cent of these secondary bets will go to the casino. When the game
va banque
has ended, you are invited to the basement where a reception will be held, and you will be able to play the kind of roulette that is not generally accessible to our casino regulars.” Von Stietencrott filled his lungs with air and asked in a pompous tone. “Would Madame Lebetseyder and Mr von Finckl like to confirm, in front of witnesses, that what I have just said corresponds to the truth?” When both responded with a resounding “yes”, von Stietencrott gave the sign to Richter. The latter had set out a laboratory pair of scales and now placed a ball on one of the weighing pans, and on the other, a small weight. When he found them to be perfectly balanced he stood to attention and shouted:

“
Mesdames, messieurs, s’ils vous plaît, faites vos jeux
. I shall also accept secondary bets.”

Von Finckl pulled up a high, heavy chair for Sophie, occupied a seat at the table opposite the manager, took a golden Tsarist imperial coin from his pocket and held it out to his companion for her blessing. The soft mounds of her breasts moved agitatedly in her large décolleté as a gloved finger made the sign of the cross. Von Finckl tossed the coin above the betting table. The coin spun and rolled past the board. Von Finckl squeezed his eyes shut and with one thought triggered a series of associations: eight children in a damp room belonging to Bęndzin’s tailor, Finkelsztejn, who sewed kittels for the poor; their parents, a quick-tempered consumptive and a caring mouse in a crooked wig; a couple of stinking goats who spent the winter with the rest of the household; the May 1st parade in Bęndzin and sheets of blood-red flags; the red face of Schai Brodski as he hugged the new treasurer of the Jewish Bund, Bernard Finkelsztejn, and then, four months later, opening the party
cash-box and finding the pile of gold imperials missing; the red shawl of a high-class whore in a hotel in Lodsch; the red blood of workers on the cobblestones of Be?ndzin, the red blood of the Bund members, whose contributions had brought him a fortune in the Grand Hotel casino in Lodsch. Von Finckl opened his eyes and said:

“I place my bet on red.”

“No!” shouted Sophie. “You’re to place it on even. This game is being played for me, so I should have something to say in all this too.”

A murmur of admiration spread through the men gathered there. They placed bets against each other. A hefty bearded man with a Slav accent and appearance slipped a roll of notes into Richter’s hand.

“Even! She has a hunch, that
krasavitza
,Ӡ he bellowed.

“General Basedov knows what he’s doing,” said the blond man with the goatee to Knüfer, and tossed Richter a hundred marks. “Even!”

“Red,” Knüfer said, throwing down fifty marks.

There was great confusion. Men crowded around the table shouting, although none of them dared touch Sophie. Richter noted everything down and tossed the ball into the wheel.

“
Les jeux sont faites. Rien ne va plus!
”

“Of course you accept Madame von Lebetseyder’s decision?” von Stietencrott looked inquiringly at von Finckl.

“
Ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut
.”‡

“Mr Richter, please begin!”

The ball fell in with the rotation of the wheel and commenced its dance. It stopped in the pocket marked zero, then – as if ejected by an invisible spring – rolled out and settled in the pocket marked twenty-nine red. The wheel stopped and Richter announced the result. Von Finckl closed his eyes and saw the colours of the casino spin: pale brown, green
and gold. He got up from the table and went into the hall. Sophie burst into tears and ran after him. Knüfer cashed in a hundred marks and discreetly approached the door of the room, where von Stietencrott stood accepting congratulations.

† Beauty (Russian).

‡ A woman’s will is God’s will.

“They might just as well,” said Knüfer to himself, “congratulate a shark for having torn a tuna fish to pieces.”

“That
krasavitza
missed the mark,” roared General Basedov as he too entered the hall. “
Vot sud’ba
…”

The
krasavitza
was standing beside von Finckl and stroking him on the cheek. The eminent film director bit his lip and immersed himself in memories of Bęndzin. Knüfer detected a questioning tone in Sophie’s voice. He drew closer and heard von Finckl’s reply:

“Yes, I will.”

“Always, and despite whatever happens now?” Sobs distorted Sophie’s voice.

“I’ll go to Berlin and wait for you there. When two months have passed, I’ll go to Zoologischer Garten Station every day to wait for the evening train from Wiesbaden. Every day I’ll have a bouquet of roses for you.” Von Finckl took his coat and hat from the bellboy, kissed Sophie on the forehead and calmly made his way out into the frosty park, a cemetery of frozen chestnut tree stumps. Sophie tried to follow him, but came across the massive figure of a doorman.

“As far as I know, madame,” said the Cerberus, “you ought to be at work.”

BRESLAU, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15TH, 1927 ONE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

Mühlhaus went to the crystal mirror in his bathroom and opened his mouth wide. His upper left canine was very loose. He pressed it back hard
with his thumb and extracted it from his gum, then flicked his fingers and the tooth fell into the washbasin. Mühlhaus tasted blood. He sucked at it, not without some pleasure, and set to work on the upper first incisor. A moment later he held it in his fingers and examined the brownish stains of plaque against the light. The tooth hit the porcelain of the washbasin, tinkling loudly. The tooth tinkled, the washbasin tinkled, the telephone tinkled. Mühlhaus yelled and sat up in bed.

“Maybe it’s Jakob?” the terrified eyes of his wife glistened in the dark.

Mühlhaus put his index finger into his mouth and was relieved to find that the poor condition of his teeth had not deteriorated overnight. He then picked up the receiver and said nothing. The person at the other end of the line, on the other hand, was exceptionally talkative.

“I need money, Criminal Director. Two thousand. That’s how much I need to pay the boys in Wiesbaden. They’ve got a car and they’ll help me get her to Berlin. I can keep her in a hideaway there.”

“Hold on,” muttered Mühlhaus. “One minute.”

He put on his dressing gown and slippers and, running the tip of his tongue over his intact canine, shuffled into the hall. He sat down heavily in the armchair and pressed the receiver of the other phone to his ear.

“Explain something to me, Knüfer.” Mühlhaus was still a little sleepy. “Why do you need the two thousand so urgently?”

“The boys from Wiesbaden are gamblers – they lost a huge amount in the casino today. They got a loan from the casino boss and have to have the money by tomorrow …”

“They’ll go back to the casino and lose it again, you idiot,” growled Mühlhaus. “They’ll lose and not go anywhere with you. And Mrs Sophie Mock will fly off to another spa …”

“If they don’t pay the boss five thousand by midday tomorrow, they won’t be able to show their faces in Wiesbaden. And they live off this town
and casino. For them that money means ‘to be or not to be’. I’ve got to let them know immediately if they can have it by tomorrow.”