Flotsam (25 page)

“So you even have money,” Kern said, “and you’re going to help me sell things! One more word from you and I’ll begin howling like an old woman. Have you many things to take with you?”

“Not many. Anything I don’t need I’ll leave here.”

“Good. What are we going to do with your books? Especially the thick ones about chemistry? Shall we leave them here for the time being?”

“I’ve sold my books. I followed the advice you gave me in Prague. You oughtn’t to keep anything from your former life. Nothing at all. And you oughtn’t to look back. That just makes you weary and useless. Books have brought me misfortune. I sold them. Besides they were much too heavy to carry around.”

Kern smiled. “You’re right, Ruth. You are sensible. I think we’ll go first to Lucerne. George Binder, an expert on Switzerland, recommended it to me. There are a lot of foreigners there, so you’re not so conspicuous and the police aren’t so strict. When shall we leave?”

“Day after tomorrow early. We can stay here till then.”

“Fine. I have a place where I can sleep. The only thing is I’ve got to be back at the Café Greif by twelve.”

“You’re not going back to the Café Greif at twelve! You’re going to stay here, Ludwig. We’ll not let you go out on the streets until day after tomorrow. Otherwise I’d die of fear.”

Kern stared at her. “But can we do that? Isn’t there a maid or someone who might give us away?”

“The maid has time off until noon Monday. She’s coming back on the 11:40 train. The others get here at three in the afternoon. We have until then.”

“God in heaven!” Kern said. “We have this whole apartment to ourselves until then?”

“Yes.”

“And we can live here as though it belonged to us? With this living room and bedroom, a dining room of our own, and a lily-white tablecloth, and china, and probably silver knives and forks, and fruit knives for apples, and coffee in demitasses, and a radio?”

“All of it! And I’ll cook dinner and put on one of Sylvia Neumann’s evening dresses for you.”

“And I’ll put on Herr Neumann’s dinner jacket this evening. No matter how big he is. While I was in prison I learned from the
World of Fashion
how one should dress.”

“It will just about fit you.”

“Magnificent! We must have a celebration.” Kern leaped to his feet eagerly. “And I can even have a hot bath, can’t I, with plenty of soap? That’s something I haven’t had in a long time. In prison there was only a kind of Lysol shower.”

“Of course you can! A hot bath with the world-famous Kern-Farr perfume in it.”

“I’ve just sold the last of that.”

“But I still have a bottle. The one you gave me in the movie house in Prague. On our first evening. I’ve been saving it.”

“That’s the final touch,” Kern said. “What a blessed spot Zürich is! Ruth, you overwhelm me. Things are starting to go right for us.”

THE VILLA THAT BELONGED
to Arnold Oppenheim, Councilor of Commerce, lay close to Lucerne. It was a white house perched like a castle above the Lake of the Four Cantons. Kern laid siege to it for two days. In the list of addresses that the expert Binder had given him there was a note after Oppenheim’s name: “German. Jew. Gives, but only under pressure. A nationalist. Say nothing about Zionism.”

On the third day Kern was admitted. Oppenheim received him in a large garden full of asters, sunflowers and chrysanthemums. He was a good-humored-looking, powerful man, with stubby fingers and a small, thick mustache. “Have you just come from Germany?” he asked.

“No, I’ve been away for more than two years.”

“And where are you from originally?”

“Dresden.”

“Oh, Dresden.” Oppenheim ran his hand over his gleaming bald head and sighed nostalgically. “Dresden is a magnificent city. A jewel. Nothing can compare with the Brühl Terrace. Can it?”

“No,” Kern said. He felt hot and he would have liked to have a glass of the wine that stood on the stone table in front of Oppenheim. But it did not occur to Oppenheim to offer it. He stared into the clear air, lost in thought. “And the Zwinger—the Castle—the galleries—I suppose you know all that well?”

“Not so very. I know it from the outside, of course.”

“But my dear young friend!” Oppenheim looked at him reproachfully. “Not to know something like that! The noblest example of German Baroque! Haven’t you ever heard of Daniel Pöppelmann?”

“Oh yes, of course!” Kern had never heard the name of the great architect of Baroque, but he wanted to please Oppenheim.

“Well, that’s better,” said Oppenheim, mollified, and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, our Germany! No one can copy it, eh?”

“Certainly not. And a good thing too.”

“What’s that—good? What do you mean by that?”

“Simply this—it’s a good thing for the Jews. Otherwise they’d be done for.”

“Oh, that! You’re bringing politics into it. Now listen to me—‘done for, done for,’ those are big words! Believe me things aren’t so bad. There is a great deal of exaggeration. I have it on the best authority, conditions aren’t nearly so bad as they’re painted.”

“Really?”

“Most certainly.” Oppenheim bent forward and lowered his voice confidentially. “Let me tell you. Just between us, the Jews themselves are responsible for much of what is happening today. They have a huge responsibility. I tell you it’s true and I know what I’m saying. Much of what they did wasn’t necessary; it’s a subject I know something about.”

How much is he going to give me? Kern wondered. Perhaps enough to get us as far as Berne.

“Now just take the East Jews for example, the immigrants from Galicia and Poland,” Oppenheim explained, taking a sip of cool wine. “Was there any good reason for letting all of them in? What business have such people in Germany anyway? I am just as much opposed to them as the government is. People keep saying Jews are Jews—but what is there in common between a dirty peddler, wearing a greasy caftan and those ridiculous earlocks, and an old aristocratic Jewish family that has been in the country for centuries?”

“The one migrated earlier than the other,” Kern said thoughtlessly and stopped in alarm. The last thing he wanted to do was to irritate Oppenheim.

But the latter paid no attention; he was busy with his own problem. “The latter have been assimilated. They are valuable and important citizens, an asset to the nation—the others are just foreigners. That’s it, my friend. And what have we to do with such people? Nothing, nothing at all! They should have been left in Poland!”

“But they’re not wanted there either.”

Oppenheim made a sweeping gesture and looked at him irritably. “That has nothing to do with Germany! That’s something entirely different. We must be objective. I hate these wholesale condemnations. You can say what you like against Germany, the people there are active and accomplishing something! You’ll have to admit that, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Twenty francs, Kern thought, will do for four days’ lodging. Perhaps he’ll give me even more.

“The fact that an individual sometimes has to suffer, or certain groups—” Oppenheim gave a quick snort. “Well, that’s an unavoidable necessity of politics. There is no place for sentimentality
in national politics. We simply have to accept that as a fact.”

“Certainly.”

“You can see for yourself,” Oppenheim went on, “the people are employed. National dignity has been enhanced. There have been extreme measures, of course, but that always happens at the beginning. It will be corrected. Just consider how our armed forces have been transformed. Why, it’s unique in history! Suddenly we have become again a powerful nation. Without a large well-equipped army a country is nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“I don’t know anything about such matters,” Kern replied.

Oppenheim gave him an irritated look. “But you should!” he declared getting up. “Especially abroad!” He made a quick grab for a gnat and methodically squashed it. “And now they’re afraid of us again. Take my word for it, fear is the most important thing of all. It’s only when the other fellow is afraid that you can accomplish anything.”

“I know that,” Kern said.

Oppenheim emptied his glass and took a few strides through the garden. Beneath them the Lake gleamed like a blue shield fallen from heaven. “And what about you?” he asked in an altered tone. “Where do you want to go?”

“To Paris.”

“Why Paris?”

“I don’t know. I want a goal of some sort, and they say it’s easier to get on there.”

“Why don’t you stay in Switzerland?”

“Councilor Oppenheim,” Kern said, suddenly breathless, “if I could only do that! If you would only help to make it possible for me to stay here. Perhaps you would give me a recommendation, or the chance to work. If you would use your name—”

“I can’t do a thing,” Oppenheim interrupted him quickly. “Nothing at all! Absolutely nothing! That’s not what I meant, anyway. It was just a question. I have to remain politically neutral in every respect. I can’t allow myself to become involved.”

“But there’s nothing political about this.”

“Nowadays everything is political. Switzerland at present is my host. No, no, don’t ask me anything like that.” He was becoming more and more angry. “And what else did you want to see me about?”

“I wanted to ask whether you could use any of these trifles.” Kern brought some of his wares out of his pockets.

“What have you here? Perfume? Toilet water? No use at all for them.” Oppenheim pushed the bottle aside. “Soap? Soap is always useful. Here, show it to me. Fine. I’ll take this piece. Wait a minute—” He reached in his pocket, hesitated for an instant, put a few coins back and laid two francs on the table. “There, I guess that’s a good price, isn’t it?”

“As a matter of fact, it’s too much. The soap costs one franc.”

“Well, let it go,” Oppenheim said generously. “But don’t tell anyone about this. As it is, I’m bothered to death.”

“Councilor Oppenheim,” Kern said with restraint, “for that very reason I will only accept the price of the soap.”

Oppenheim looked at him in surprise. “Well, just as you like. It’s a good principle, of course. Never accept gifts. That’s always been my motto too.”

That afternoon Kern succeeded in selling two cakes of soap, a comb and three cards of safety pins. The profit was three
francs. Finally, more from indifference than hope, he went into a small linen store belonging to one Frau Sara Grünberg.

Frau Grünberg, a woman with untidy hair and a pince-nez, listened to him patiently.

“This isn’t your regular business, is it?” she asked.

“No,” Kern said, “and I’m not very good at it either.”

“Would you like work? I happen just now to be taking inventory and I could use an extra man for two or three days. Seven francs a day and good food. You can come tomorrow at eight.”

“Thank you,” Kern said, “but—”

“I know—but no one’s going to find out anything from me. And now give me a bar of soap. Here’s three francs, is that enough?”

“It’s too much.”

“It is not too much. It’s too little. Don’t lose your nerve.”

“Nerve alone won’t get you far,” Kern said, accepting the money. “But now and then you have a little luck as well. That’s better.”

“Then start right away and help me clean up. One franc an hour. Do you call that luck?”

“Certainly,” Kern said. “Luck’s something you’ve got to recognize when you see it. Then it comes oftener.”

“Do you learn things like that on the road?” asked Frau Grünberg.

“Not on the road but in the intervals when I have a chance to think. I try to learn something then from what’s been happening to me. Every day you learn something. Sometimes even from Councilors of Commerce.”

“Do you know anything about linen?”

“Only the coarsest sort. A short time ago I spent two
months in an institution learning how to sew. The simplest sort of articles, to be sure.”

“Never does any harm,” Frau Grünberg remarked. “For instance, I know how to pull teeth. Learned how twenty years ago from a dentist. Who knows, perhaps I’ll make my fortune that way sometime.”

Kern worked until ten o’clock in the evening and received a good supper and five francs in addition. That, added to the rest, was enough for two days, and it raised his spirits more than they would have been raised by a hundred francs from Councilor Oppenheim.

Ruth was waiting for him in a little boardinghouse they had selected from Binder’s list of addresses. It was possible to stay there for a few days without being reported to the police. She was not alone. At the table beside her on the little terrace sat a slim, middle-aged man.

“Thank heaven, you’re here,” Ruth said, getting up. “I was worried about you.”

“You mustn’t worry. Whenever you feel inclined to worry usually nothing happens. Accidents only occur when you’re not counting on them.”

“That is a sophism but not a philosophy,” said the man who was sitting with Ruth.

Kern turned toward him and the man smiled. “Come and have a glass of wine with me. Fräulein Holland will tell you that I am harmless. My name is Vogt, and I used to be a university instructor in Germany. Keep me company with my last bottle of wine.”