Tempting Fate (78 page)

I haven’t heard much out of the Middle East, but with the French bombarding Damascus last May, things could get tricky there again. Not that I mind all that much, except my Madelaine is in Syria, and I worry about her.

They tell me that airlines are springing up all over America, particularly in the West, where the distances are greater between cities, and the roads pretty rugged. When are you going to get into an aeroplane and hop over to Chicago? I understand that Congress is about to create an Air Corps for the army. Billy Mitchell must be having a laugh over that, after all the grief he’s been given.

I saw
Metropolis
while I was still in Germany. Now, there’s a disturbing flicker, let me tell you. I also saw that Czech play
RUR,
and that, on top of the other, was a lot to handle. Now, I like gadgets as well as the next guy, but both of those pieces had me worried. I kept wondering, while I watched them, what the workingmen thought of them, because it strikes a lot closer to them than to me. If I worked in a factory, I think I’d want to go as far into the country as I could and live on a farm until the end of my days. I wish my German were better. I know I missed a lot. I’ve picked up a copy of Kafka’s
Das Schloss,
to try to improve.

I hear there’s another novel by Willa Cather due out next year. I used to like her work a lot, but I must be getting out of touch, because it doesn’t appeal to me as much as it used to. Maugham interests me a bit. And I still like Mark Twain. I wonder what it is about Cather? Or what it is about me. I haven’t had time to read the magazines you’ve sent me, but I’ll catch up, so you keep on sending them. I loved that story about wizards in Central America in
Thrilling Wonder Stories.
By the way, do you know anything about the guy who calls himself E. Hoffman Price? I’ve read three or four of his stories so far in the magazines and I wonder what he’s been up to to be able to write like that. Most of those writers sound like they’re hiding out in a room somewhere in Cleveland, making it all up, but this Price fellow might actually have been somewhere.

I’m going to try to get an interview with Gertrude Ederle before she tries to swim the Channel. If she does it, then the interview will be twice as valuable, and if she doesn’t make it, then it will be interesting because I got it before she got into the water. She didn’t make it last year, but I think she’s showing a lot of courage to try again. Some of the British journalists don’t like the idea of an American swimming their Channel, and don’t much care that she’s an Olympic champion. I told one of them that if he felt that way,
he
could swim the Channel, to show her how it’s done.

So you’re really going to move to Seattle after all. I hope that things work out for you there. It sounds as if the job offer is a good one, and I think you will like being away from Denver for a time. Travel does make a difference, Audrey. I still wish you could find a way to get over here and let me show you a little bit of Europe. You’d enjoy it, and there’s a lot to do. It may seem odd of me to suggest this, especially after being tossed out of Germany and saying I have doubts about Italy, but that doesn’t change things: you can see things here that can’t be found anywhere in the good old USA. Sure, I know there are things the U.S. has that don’t crop up over here, but it’s not quite the same thing. I’ll probably be in Europe for another year at least, and if you find out that you can afford it, make the try, will you?

Reading over that last paragraph, I just realized that it’s more than nine years since I was in the U.S. I know it must have changed a lot, with new roads and buildings everywhere. Uncle Ned mentioned that there were more than a dozen big new buildings going up in Denver, and the main roads were getting paving. It’s hard to picture, but when I get back, I’ll have to take a few weeks to be a tourist and see what’s being done.

The Mors is running just fine, thank you. I had some work done on it before I went to Germany, and it hasn’t given me a bit of trouble. I had it up to around eighty miles per hour on one stretch of road, and I loved it. That’s not to say that your Oakland doesn’t sound fine—it does. I know you’ll find it useful in Seattle, with all those hills.

I’m going to be back in Paris for a while, so you can reach me there. Crandell wants some pieces on the Americans living here, you know, the artists and writers that flock around Gertrude Stein. I’ve met her a couple of times, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get introductions to most of them. The nice thing is that I’ll have a little more time to myself, and a chance to do a couple of the things I’ve wanted to do but haven’t had any real time for, such as go to the museums. Do you realize I’ve only been to the Pomme de Terre once? I’ve never seen the Ballet Russe. I’ll have a chance to do those things, and who knows? I might get a few pieces out of doing those things. Sometime next year Crandell wants me to go to Scandinavia and write about what’s going on in those countries, especially with the changing political scene in Germany. So Copenhagen and Stockholm, here I come. I’ll see if I can find someone to teach me a little Swedish before I go. I doubt I’ll be able to get by on French and a little German.

Now, listen, Audrey, you take care of yourself. If Uncle Ned tries to talk you out of leaving because he wants to keep you around, you tell him no, and get in your Oakland and head for the West Coast. You’ve done everything that you can for your parents, and don’t you let him tell you any differently. Just make sure you send me your address when you get to Seattle, so that I can stay in touch with you.

When they finally decide to do away with Prohibition, I’ll send you a case of good French wines to enjoy. Now, that’s something to look forward to. And a little Rhine wine, too. I don’t understand why the government persists with Prohibition: all it does is give rise to more crime and another excuse for interference. I’ve probably been living in Europe too long, or haven’t gone to church enough, or something of the sort. The whole thing strikes me as absurd. I see Americans over here, and they spend enormous amounts of time and money simply getting drunk, because they don’t get to drink at home. They’re convinced they’re doing something very naughty. You’d think they were ten-year-olds sneaking a taste of Papa’s beer, instead of well-to-do adults off in a foreign country. I’ve been embarrassed by the way they behave.

Enough of this. I want to tell you once more that you did more for Aunt Myra than anyone could have asked you to do, and that you did it well. Remember that, will you, Audrey? There’s nothing wrong in taking all the money she left you—six thousand dollars may sound like a lot of money right now, but you’ll see that it isn’t as much as you think it is. You’re going to need it in Seattle. Don’t let Uncle Ned hector you out of one red cent.

Take care of yourself, and enjoy yourself. You can do both at once.

Your loving cousin,

James

2

A weathered sign hung over the door of the old tavern, showing a clumsily-executed bird and a vaguely canine head: “
WOLF UND RABE
” it said below. The entrance was narrow, for the tavern was sandwiched in between two large buildings, and the few rooms that the landlord had to hire were stacked up above the taproom and were reached by a rickety staircase.

Ragoczy took this all in as he stood in the low, dark entryway. The sour odor of stale beer did not offend him, but he viewed the establishment with distaste. He made a fastidious brush at his lapels, as if to rid himself of any contamination the tavern might pass to him.

The landlord appeared from the taproom, his round cheeks flushed under day-old stubble. His belligerent manner changed abruptly when he caught sight of the elegant stranger waiting in the entry hall. “Mein Herr. I heard someone enter.”

“Yes.” Ragoczy gave him a crisp nod.

Somewhat nonplussed at having such a person in his establishment, the landlord looked around once and began again. “Is there something you wanted, Mein Herr?”

“You are expecting Herr Vortag, Herr Abscheu, Herr Recht, Herr Krümmer, and Herr Grube, are you not?” Ragoczy’s voice was coolly polite, but there was a look in his eyes that made the landlord quail.

“Ja. Ja, I am expecting them, but not until later, you see.” The words came out in a rush and he made nervous chopping gestures with his large, thick hands.

“How much later?” Ragoczy asked, saying the names to himself in his mind, the names that Roger had brought to him the day before.

“An hour, two at the most. They are attending a meeting, Mein Herr. They are part of the SA, and it is—”

“I am aware of their activities,” Ragoczy cut him off.

The landlord bobbed from the waist, thinking desperately of ways to deal with the stranger. “Of course, of course. They will return at eight, perhaps nine. Not before then, Mein Herr.” He wagged one hand toward the taproom. “As you see, it is early yet. I serve no beer until the half-hour.”

“I am not interested in beer. I wish to see those five men.” He stared at the landlord, and the big man could not meet his eyes.

“Selbstverständlich. I understand,” he babbled, moving his arms again in the same hacking emphasis he had used before.

“Where are their rooms, bitte?” He clearly expected a prompt and sensible answer.

Almost wholly terrified, the landlord forced himself to speak in measured and thoughtful terms. “Two of them live here, the other three have rooms elsewhere. But, Mein Herr, there is a room, out on the rear courtyard, and they often spend their evenings together, over a few steins, and an occasional pipe. They have put up a few photographs and other mementos of their SA activities—”

“Have they.” Ragoczy’s jaw tightened. “How charming.”

The landlord coughed, and said, “If Mein Herr would like to wait for them there, it is more likely that they will come to that room before they enter here. They do not spend much time in the taproom because of the Spartacists, you understand.” He rubbed his jowls, and the beard growth made a scratching sound that aggravated him. With one quick glance he made sure that the hochgeborn intruder had not been too disgusted with his slovenliness.

“Where is this courtyard?” he asked softly.

“It is through the taproom and then … there is a small kitchen, just space enough to keep würst and a bit of bread, you understand. Next to the kitchen there is a door, with a brace…” In his nervousness he began to twist the sash of his discolored apron.

“Show me, please.”

“Yes, naturally. At once.” He was pathetically grateful to be moving, and he led the way with ponderous haste through the taproom to the door he had tried to describe. “The courtyard is immediately outside, and the room is attached to the old stables, on the left. There are four or five steps down when you open the door, and two good-sized lanterns for light. I can give you matches…”

“It will not be necessary,” Ragoczy told him as he reached to open the door.

“Ja. Excellent.” The landlord pulled himself to the side, away from the man in black. “They will be back before nine, Mein Herr. Rest assured.”

Those distant, smoldering dark eyes rested on his. “You’ve already said so.”

“Indeed. I have, ja.” He had nearly untied his apron by now, and was anxious to return to the taproom and the familiar noise and bustle that would soon fill the place. He had long accustomed himself to the unruly customers his tavern attracted, and now, seeing this refined, distinguished, sinister stranger, he appreciated his rabble as he never had before.

“I trust you will not mention that I am waiting for them,” Ragoczy said, with the hint of an ironic smile.

“If you prefer not. Though they will probably come directly to the extra room, you understand, so as not to get into any brawls.” He grinned ingratiatingly, and motioned for Ragoczy to go through the door.

“Thank you,” Ragoczy told him, holding out a twenty-mark note.

The landlord’s eyes widened greedily, but he forced himself to refuse it. “Nein, nein. It is not necessary, Mein Herr. Not in the least.”

“Nevertheless, you will do me the honor of taking it,” Ragoczy said, tucking the bill into the landlord’s apron pocket.

“But … it is too much,” the landlord protested.

“Occasionally, one is entitled to too much,” Ragoczy said as he opened the door. “If you cannot bear the thought of such good fortune, buy a round of drinks for your regular customers. That should take the edge off it for you.” Before he heard the landlord’s response, he closed the door and looked around him.

Courtyard, he decided at once, was a euphemism. This was nothing more than a rectangle of old, uneven flagging, many of the stones prized up or broken. Piles of refuse lay against the far wall, and from the sound of it, offered rich scavengings for rats and other vermin. He could hear the whine of a cat in the passage that connected this pocket of squalor with the narrow, rutted alley beyond. The day had been warm, and the approach of evening provided little relief, and the fetid stink of half-rotten, vegetables hung on the air like a mist. From one of the old, dilapidated buildings that backed onto the courtyard there came the sound of crying children and a female voice raised in weary anger. Ragoczy’s hands closed at his sides as he listened, and his resurgent grief hurried him toward the room the landlord had indicated.

The door moaned and the hinges sagged as he pressed it inward. There were scuttlings in the far corner, and a hollow rattle as something fell. Ragoczy paused on the top step, his remarkable eyes taking in the drab little room. As the landlord had told him, there were a few curling photographs stuck to the wall with pins, and a number of runes painted on the broad, simple molding that ran around the room about a handbreadth from the ceiling. Ragoczy recognized the symbol for Thor and the sign of the Fennris Wolf, but the rest were not familiar to him. He came down the stairs and crossed the room to the one table, and half-seated himself upon it; one foot on the floor, the other dangling as far as his knee, that leg being hitched up onto the planks. With folded arms, he waited in the dark for the five men to return.