The Vengeance of Rome (84 page)

Though I had to be guarded, I told Signor Frau I had reason to believe the SA were involved in no such plot. Any plot was almost certainly from the right of the party. In a whisper, Signor Frau begged me to tell him more, but I could not. I did make it clear that I was not at present a wanted man and was only avoiding the SS in case they associated me with Ernst Röhm. The Stabschef had been a good friend to me. He had been made a scapegoat by Himmler.

Frau had never himself trusted Himmler. ‘That little mouth of his looks like an arsehole,' he said. ‘And we all know what comes out of an arsehole.'

I had become used to such coarseness in the prison and did not find his language as offensive I might have done.

‘With all the commies and Sozis rounded up,' he continued, ‘they're now squabbling among themselves. And God help those of us who are caught between them.'

I said ‘Amen' to that and together we drank a small cup of very strong coffee.

Frau had decided not to go out to work that day. He would keep me company. I think he felt protective towards me. I feared for him. I asked him if his action was wise. People noticed if you did not keep to routines. He saw the sense in this and reluctantly agreed. ‘But you will be careful, my dear friend?' I assured him I would. These days I was nothing but cautious.

When the boy came back with the bread, his father suggested he have his breakfast before readying the barrel organ for the day's work. He begged me to stay in for the day and rest. I should have his bed again. He would be out until the evening, and I would not be inconveniencing him. I could stay here as long as I needed.

I promised I would. Those months in Ettstrasse and Stadelheim had exhausted me. I fell asleep in the chair listening to the wireless. I had not even put on my boots.

The news on the radio was full of Hitler's dismay at SA treachery, which could easily have led to civil war in Germany. It was miserable stuff. The German stations talked of communist perils and of the aliens among us who must be expunged. No wonder poor Signor Frau was worried. He was one of those aliens, as, of course, was I.

How strange, I thought, to consider yourself a loyal German citizen yet be regarded by everyone around you as some sort of interloper.

I was awakened around noon by the wireless, which I had not turned off: more news of Röhm's so-called attempted putsch, reassurances that all the ‘criminal elements' were being rounded up and that the threats of civil war or a socialist takeover had been averted. I knew I had best lie low. Signor Frau could continue to give me shelter for a few days, so I would eventually be able to make it back to the railway station and be on my way to Rome. I had been given a timetable with my ticket. If I did not go via Vienna, I would have to change in Innsbruck and Milan since no express ran from Munich, but I had no fears of Innsbruck, even though a nascent Nazi Party had been established there for some time. I wondered what had happened
to Otto Strasser and the others who managed to be out of Germany. Had they escaped in large enough numbers to regroup in a friendly country and plan a return? Were they in Prague or Vienna? Possibly they had headed for Innsbruck. Or was there something I didn't know? How big was the Black Front? How many ‘secret' friends did Röhm and the others have among the Nazis? What chance did my old mentor have of escaping Stadelheim and getting to safety?

To be truthful I was more than grateful to Signor Frau for his insistence I remain in his house. The organ-grinder's mews was a wonderful sanctuary after my terrible imprisonment. While I still felt the need to flee Germany, until it was safe Frau's was the best I could hope for.

I was left alone in the mornings when the whole family set off for the market, and I ate well in the evenings when they returned. During the day I read whatever newspapers Signor Frau had brought in the previous evening or looked through Zoyea's vast store of film magazines. A number of them had published pictures of myself and Mrs Cornelius. I was surprised how I had altered in those few months. When not playing Winnetou, I had been sleek, urbane, and conventionally handsome. Now I had a gaunt, wolfish look. I was much paler, probably from the poor nutrition. The terror and discomfort I had experienced had caused my cheeks and eyes to sink and even my mouth seemed thinner. Eventually, with a change of circumstances and improved diet, I could be restored to my old self, but it would take some time.

After about a week I agreed to go with Zoyea to a local cinema to watch two very miserable films, one of them American and the other Austrian.
Letty Lynton
featured the depressive Joan Crawford and
Liebelei
starred Magda Schneider, Wolfgang Liebeneiner and Gustaf Gründgens. Directed by Max Ophuls, it lacked much of his familiar gaiety. Zoyea seemed to enjoy both of them far more than I did, and at that moment, certainly, it seemed the magic had gone from our visits to the films. The best part of the programme was an episode of
The Wolf Dog
, starring Rin Tin Tin Jr. I could not help but be reminded of Hitler's own ‘Wulf', his Alsatian dog.

The trailers did not promise much better to come. The newsreel was mostly about how the New Germany was restoring herself and consisted chiefly of shots of noble workers with spades and handsome men in uniforms. A smiling Chancellor hosted a party for equally happy foreign diplomats. We watched dutifully before leaving.

As Zoyea had already told me, the cowboys had all but disappeared from the screen. Tom Mix and Buck Jones had been replaced by women's
melodramas.
Letty Lynton
was a great success in America when it first appeared there, but in Germany it never had much popularity. The public mood was for more upbeat musical comedies and costume dramas. Glamorous English actresses continued to feature, though Gloria Cornish was clearly not getting the work she deserved. I would have preferred a musical or historical film to the gloomy, suicidal miseries we were forced to endure that evening.

I longed to restore my relationship with my little girl. Her companionship and admiration meant a great deal to me. But I was no longer the glamorous figure she had known while she was becoming a teenager. I was starved for female company. If LeBrun had been right, Mrs Cornelius had returned to Berlin to work for UfA there. By now, with her instinct for trouble, she might have departed from Germany altogether, moving to London or New York.

I was still nervous about leaving the little house and always glad to return to the comparative security of the mews. The SS and Gestapo were everywhere on the streets. Munich had been a stronghold of the SA. I jumped every time I saw a uniform and, having already suffered from prejudice in the prison, I was depressed by the notices in the shops which emphatically said they were German-owned and did not serve Jews. Ironically, I learned to avoid these places, as did the Fraus. Anyone of Mediterranean appearance was in danger of being insulted. Twice I was shoved into the gutter by men who voiced their disgust of me, and once I came under close scrutiny from the police who assumed that the dark-eyed girl with me was my daughter. But after a couple of weeks there were fewer SS about. Their action against the SA was clearly running down.

At the end of a fortnight I told Signor Frau I had better try to leave again and continue on my way to Rome. He was sympathetic. He himself was thinking of going to Madrid where he had relatives. Everyone said how wonderful life was in Spain these days. Was I sure it was entirely sensible of me to try to return to Italy? You never knew when they would turn on you, he said. The Spanish were more easygoing. There was not the same prejudice. Why didn't I wait and see what he and his family decided to do. Then perhaps we could travel as a group? All he was waiting for was a letter from his cousin.

But I was growing anxious. I asked if I could leave the bulk of my papers and so on with him. Was there some place which would be safe? He suggested the old ‘show organ' was as good a place as any to stow them. So I left my things, including my pistols, plans and other papers, with him to hide as he thought best. I decided to use my Spanish passport and travel as
Señor Gallibasta, a Spanish tradesman. When I had settled again in Rome, I would ask him to send my possessions on to me by registered post. I took only one set of important plans and a couple of notebooks. The bulk of my cocaine I hid among the books. I did not wish to give a potential enemy any suspicion on which to arrest me. I would be able to replenish my supply once I was in Rome.

Though she was affectionate, Zoyea was disappointingly unmoved to hear I was leaving. Clearly I was no longer her glamorous hero, the sharer of her fantasies. I felt a pang, of course, but was not surprised. I, too, felt a lessening of emotional involvement. I had begun to think more and more of my lost Esmé. Why had she betrayed me so? Even now, from that scored and stained celluloid, she threatened me. If I had not tried to protect her, I should never have been compromised by Prince Freddy. I knew such women are always dangerous. I would not miss Zoyea as much once my sex drive subsided. My attention remained focused on potential danger. A threatened animal has little time for romance. Frau's little house was too small for all of us, and the boy remained, if not my enemy, certainly no friend.

What had happened to Kitty? Had she been arrested or had she followed the morphine back to Berlin? I was still in some danger from her. Half tempted to accept Signor Frau's invitation, I knew I had no work in Spain and no one of any influence to help me. Rome remained my only immediate hope. From there I could make my way to London and pick up my money from Mr Green. Major Nye would help me contact someone of authority at the War Department. The English were bound to see the virtues of my designs. I prepared to say goodbye to the Fraus.

It goes without saying how grateful I was to the whole family. I knew I could trust them completely. They had a long history of keeping their mouths shut, of never betraying their friends. In helping me they had put themselves in a certain amount of danger. I did not wish to endanger them any further.

They would not accept direct restitution for their Christian decency, so discreetly I left an envelope of money on the little mantel and, wearing a smart summer suit, raincoat over my arm, carrying a small leather suitcase purchased at my request by the boy, I set off again for the railway station.

Restored in mind and body, if not exactly at ease with my situation, I reached the station to find it returned to normal. A few SS men and regular policemen stood around, but they were bored, not looking for anyone in particular. Approached by members of the public, the SS men would salute courteously and point out civil officers as the correct authority to
help them. The boy had found out the times of the Innsbruck train for me. I went directly to the platform, presented my ticket and found a first-class compartment near the middle of the train. The express was already sighing and huffing, preparing to leave. I settled myself in the luxury of a comfortable seat and opened my copy of the
Völkischer Beobachter
, knowing an almost thrilling sense of relief as the train released its air brakes and began slowly to shunt away from the platform.

I was not yet free, of course, not by any means. I still had to fear the railway officials who could cause me trouble if they wished, but it would not be very long before we reached the border. In Innsbruck I would change trains for Rome, via Milan. I relished the coming pleasures of the Eternal City, of seeing my old friends again and hopefully restoring my relationship with Il Duce. I could put all my terrible experience behind me. I had been lured from my original path, which as a young man I had determined to walk. I recalled how I had sketched out my life plan, determined to serve the cause of mankind. My true vocation was calling to me again. After a diversion, for which I had paid dearly, I was now about to return to my vocation as an inventor and engineer.

The newspaper was full of Nazi triumphs. All reference to my old mentor Röhm had disappeared. Hanfstaengl's art publishing firm, which had advertised portraits of the Nazi leadership, no longer mentioned him. The Stabschef had vanished from all official pictures, as if he, Strasser and the others had never existed, as if the world I had known was a false memory. What must rank-and-file Nazis make of this, let alone the German people?

I was not to be alone in my compartment for long. As the train drew away from the station, a well-dressed young man flung his bag on to the seat across from me and plunged in after it, stripping off his grey overcoat and throwing it casually on to the overhead rack. He raised his hat to me before putting that on top of his coat, reached into the side pocket of his bag, took out a book, a spectacles case and a newspaper, placed them on a seat, then lifted his luggage to sit it above him. He was tall, almost femininely good-looking, white-haired, a little on the plump side.

I murmured a ‘Good afternoon', to which he responded in an exaggerated Prussian accent, asking me if I minded his smoking. We were in a smoking section. I had no reason to object. I had rather hoped to keep the compartment to myself for a while but was reconciled, merely feeling that faint resentment one has when one had been the first to settle. I agreed with him that the weather was pleasant. He, too, was going the whole way to Innsbruck. He had not bothered to book himself a sleeper, he said. Had I?

I had not. Indeed, I had not thought to do so, since my whole intention when I bought my ticket was simply to get away from Germany as soon as possible. I had not considered my comfort at all. My mind had been set entirely on escape.

So I agreed with my travelling companion that it was an unnecessary expense, since one so rarely slept on these overnight trains, what with the stopping and starting, the shunting and the clank of the couplings being taken on and off. I folded my newspaper. Was he travelling to Innsbruck on business or pleasure?

A little of both, he said. He was a decorative arts importer and had some factories to visit in the Innsbruck area, but he hoped to go to the theatre and enjoy a few restaurants while he was there. And myself?