Winds of War (113 page)

“My lord. Havana!” Dr. Jastrow rolled the smoke on his tongue. “This takes me back ten years to the commons room. How gracious and easy and pleasant life seemed! Yet all the time the villain with the moustache was piling up his tanks and his cannon. Ah me. You’re very merry, Natalie.”

“I know. The wine, no doubt, and the lights. The lights! Bunky, electric light is the strongest enchantment there is. Live in a blackout for a few months and you’ll see! You know what Zurich reminds me of? Luna Park in Coney Island, when I was a little girl. You walked in a blaze of lights, millions and millions of yellow bulbs. The lights were more exciting than the rides and games. Switzerland’s amazing, isn’t it? A little dry diving bell of freedom in an ocean of horror. What an experience! I’ll never forget this.”

“You can understand why the Swiss have to be very, very careful,” Thurston said. “Otherwise they’d be swamped with refugees.”

Natalie and her uncle sobered at that last word, listening for what he would say next.

The consul smoothed his moustache with both palms. “Don’t forget there are more than four million Jews caught in Hitler’s Europe. And in all of Switzerland there are only four million people. So the Swiss have become almost as strict about Jews as our own State Department, but with infinitely more reason. They’ve got sixteen thousand square miles of land, much of it bare rock and snow. We’ve got three and a half million square miles. Compare population densities, and we’re a vast empty wilderness. We’re supposed to be the land of the free, the haven of outcasts. The Swiss make no such claim. Who should be taking in the Jews? Yet they are doing it, but carefully, and within limits. Moreover the Swiss depend on the Germans for fuel, for iron, for all trade, in and out. They’re in a closed ring. They’re free only as long as it suits the Nazis. I can’t take a high moral tone with the Swiss authorities about you. As an American official, I’m in a hell of a lousy position for moral tone.”

Jastrow said, “One can see that.”

“Nothing’s been decided in your case, you understand,” the consul said. “I’ve just been making, inquiries. A favorable solution is possible. Natalie, could you endure a long train trip?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“The only airline operating from Zurich to Lisbon is Lufthansa.”

Natalie felt a pang of alarm, but her tone was matter-of-fact. “I see. What about that Spanish flight?”

“You were misinformed. It shut down back in May. Lufthansa flies once a week, starting from Berlin and making every stop in between - Marseilles, Barcelona, Madrid. It’s a rotten flight. I’ve taken it going the other way. It’s usually crowded with Axis hotshots. Do you want to separate from your uncle and try Lufthansa? Your passport doesn’t say you’re Jewish. You’re Mrs. Byron Henry. Even the Germans have some tenderness for pregnant women. But, of course, for twenty hours or so you’d be in Nazi hands.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Train via Lyons, Nîmes, and Perpignan, sliding down the French coast, crossing the Pyrenees to Barcelona, and then, heaven help you, clear across Spain and Portugal to Lisbon. Mountains, tunnels, awful roadbeds, and God knows how many breakdowns, delays, and changes, with a long stretch through Vichy France. Maybe three, maybe six days en route.”

Natalie said, “I don’t think I should risk that,”

“I wouldn’t mind trying Lufthansa,” said Jastrow in a far-off voice, rolling the cigar in his fingers. “I still don’t believe, I truly don’t, that the Germans would molest me,”

Thurston shook his head. “Dr. Jastrow, she’s the wife of a Gentile naval officer. I think she’d be all right. Don’t you go on Lufthansa!”

“What I have to decide, then,” Natalie said, “is whether I chance Lufthansa alone, or take the train with Aaron.”

“You don’t have to decide anything yet. I’m telling you some of the things to think about.”

Natalie and her uncle filled the next day looking in shop windows, buying clothes, eating cream cakes, drinking real coffee, riding around in cabs, and luxuriating in the rich freedom of Switzerland, only a few hours by air from brown melancholy Rome. Toward evening she saw Dr. Wundt again. With a sad shrug, he told her that all her tests were negative.

“That’s all right. I may be able to stay, anyway,” she said. “My consul’s looking into it.”

“Ah, so?” the little doctor’s face brightened. “Perfect! Nothing would please me more. Let me book your lying-in right away, Mrs. Henry. The hospitals are crowded.”

“I’ll let you know in a day or two.”

“Excellent.”

In the morning she found a white hotel envelope slipped under the door:
Hi. Things are cooking. Meet me at the lake front, both of you, four o’clock, at Zurich Pleasure Boats. Bunky.

When they arrived at the dock, the consul had already hired an open boat with an outboard motor, and was sitting in it, waiting. Without a word he helped them in, started the engine, and went puttering off from the shore. About a mile out he killed the motor, and they could hear a German waltz thumping brassily over the blue water from the band of an approaching excursion steamer.

“I’ve got quite a report for you,” Thurston said, and Natalie’s heart leaped at his happy grin. “I thought we’d better be by ourselves while we talk it out.”

“Is it all arranged?” Jastrow said, with an eagerness that struck his niece as childish.

Thurston smoothed a palm over his moustache. “Well, we’re not in bad shape.” The consul’s eyes twinkled at Natalie. “Say, I’ve been on the telephone and teletype to Rome. Your Byron outdid his Lisbon feat, didn’t he? Talking to President Roosevelt about your uncle’s passport! What sheer nerve! Sight unseen, nobody in Rome likes him.”

“I can imagine.”

“Yes, but your uncle’s file carries a big ‘
presidential’
flag on it now, and that’s just fine. Now, Natalie, you’re set. I’ve put you on the waiting list at Lufthansa. The next two flights are booked, but you’ve got a reservation on the third. Immigration will extend your stay till then.”

“But by then I’ll be in my eighth month-”

Holding up a hand, Thurston said, “Lufthansa is sure you’ll get out sooner. Maybe next week. There are always cancellations, and you’re high on the list, because of your pregnancy.”

“What about Aaron?”

“Well, that’s a different story.”

“She’s the important one,” Jastrow said dramatically, “and what happens to me couldn’t matter less. I’ve lived my life.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Thurston smiled. “Good lord, Dr. Jastrow! Everything’s all right. You just can’t stay on in Switzerland with her. That’s out of the question. But you’re set, too. Rome’s in a big boil about you now. The ambassador is outraged. He says that if he has to, he’ll appoint you to his staff and send you home on a diplomatic priority. You’re returning to Rome, but he’ll assume responsibility for dealing with the Italians. We have a lot of Italian bigwigs in the States, Dr. Jastrow, and I promise you there will be no more trouble with your exit permit.”

“You do think that’s better for me than taking the train to Lisbon?” Jastrow’s question was rhetorical. He sounded pleased and relieved. “I’m quite willing to attempt that.”

“Great heavens, Dr. Jastrow. I wouldn’t do that myself. It’s a gruelling schedule, and I’m not even sure the connections are still available. But the main objection is, you’d be leaving Switzerland illegally. You mustn’t think of that. At all costs, now that you’re legal,
stay
legal.”

Jastrow turned to his niece. “Well, my dear! This sounds like a parting of the ways.”

Natalie did not reply. Flying in a German airliner, now that it was upon her, loomed as an ugly prospect. Also, she was nauseous from the rocking of the boat in the wash of the excursion steamer, which was passing close by with passengers idly looking down at them, and the bank blasting out “The Blue Danube.”

With a keen glance at her, Thurston said, “I know you’re set against returning to Rome, Natalie. But if you reconsider that, the ambassador will make the identical arrangements for you that he’s working on for your uncle. That’s what I’d recommend to you, myself.”

“Well, it all takes some mulling over, doesn’t it?” Natalie said. “Can we go back? I’m tired.”

“Of course.” Thurston at once yanked the cord on the flywheel, and the motor started up in a cloud of blue fumes.

“We’re so grateful to you,” Jastrow exclaimed over the noise. “You’ve done wonders.”

“That
‘presidential’
tag is a help,” Thurston said, steering across the spreading wake of the steamer, in jolts and bumps that were almost in time with “The Blue Danube.”

When Natalie came down to breakfast, her uncle was sitting at a window table of the restaurant in strong sunlight, sipping coffee.

“Hello there, lazybones,” he said. “I’ve been up for hours. I hope you’re hungry. They have the most exquisite Polish ham this morning. How would they get Polish ham? I suppose the Germans stole it, and they bought it for gold. It’s the best in the world.”

Natalie ordered coffee and a roll.

Jastrow bubbled on. “You’re not hungry? I was famished. Strange, isn’t it, how far one can come in a lifetime! When I lived in Medzice as a boy, I literally would have let myself be burned alive or shot rather than swallow a piece of ham. Those old taboos deprived us of such simple available pleasures.” He looked at his niece, who sat pallid, tense, and glum, with hands folded on her bulky stomach.

“You know, one of the prettiest sights on earth is a bowl full of fresh butter in morning sunshine. Look at that butter! Fragile and sweet as flowers. Be sure to try it. And this coffee is so very good! Natalie, my dear, I’ve slept on it, and I’ve quite made up my mind about what happens next.”

“Have you? That’s good. So have I.”

He said, “I’m going back to Rome. I would try Lufthansa, dear, I’m not afraid of the bogeyman. But I know I might clog your escape. That comes first. You absolutely must go your own way now. That’s my decision, and I’m afraid I’m going to be adamant about it. My dear, what are you staring at? Do I have egg on my chin?”

“No, but that’s precisely what I intended to tell you I would do.”

“Is it?” His face lit up in a gentle smile. “Thank heavens. I thought you’d put up a heroic argument for returning with me. No, it’s absurd for you to drag yourself back. As for me, I trust the ambassador, and anyway there’s no sense thrashing against one’s fate. Often fate knows best. I have a place on the afternoon plane to Rome. Going back seems to be as easy as sliding down a greased slope. Only the other direction is hard.”

Natalie sipped her coffee. Was this a game to cajole from her an offer to go back to Rome? She was, after long experience, wary of her uncle’s selfishness, sometimes blatant, sometimes subtle.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose it makes sense, if you want to leave via Rome, to get there and line it up, the sooner the better. Are you sure you can manage?”

“If the ambassador himself is intervening, how can I muck it up? I have only one request. Will you take the manuscript? Even if I beat you home, I’d rather you guarded the book. I’ll have all the draft notes, you see. There’s two chances of preserving
The Arch of Constantine
instead of one.”

Now, for the first time, Natalie began to believe her uncle, and to allow herself some warmth toward him. “Well, Aaron, all right. This parting is going to feel very, very strange.”

“Natalie, I’ll be more relieved than you. I bear a burden of guilt about you at least as large as that baby you’ve got there. Someday you’ll know the measure of my gratitude.”

He put his weak, bony little hand on hers. “You’ve earned yourself - as our fathers quaintly put it - a large share in the world to come. If only it existed!”

So Aaron Jastrow went back docilely to Rome. His niece heard nothing for ten days, ten dreary days in which the comforts and rich food of the Swiss rapidly palled. Even an albatross around one’s neck, Natalie began to think, was company of a sort. She was terribly lonely. Bunky Thurston, carrying on a romance with the daughter of a refugee French novelist, had little time for her. The Swiss treated her, as they did all foreigners, with cool paid courtesy, as though the whole country were the grounds of a huge Class A hotel. The sad-eyed Jews in the shops, the streets, the excursion trains and boats, depressed her. A letter came at last, sprinkled with special-delivery stamps and censors’ markings.

I assume this will be read, but it makes no difference. You and I are
in the clear
with the Italian authorities! I now have in my possession, Natalie,
two
air tickets,
and
properly dated exit permits,
and
Portuguese transit visas,
and
Pan Am connections,
and
highest diplomatic priority stickers. The works! They’re lying on the desk before me, and I’ve never seen a more glorious sight.

Thurston sparked an explosion in this embassy, my dear. A fine chap. It was high time! The ambassador used all his available channels, including the Vatican - where, as you know, I have many friends. I should have tried long ago myself to throw my weight around, but it seemed so infra dig to plead my literary distinction, such as it is!

Now to cases.

The date of the tickets is December fifteenth. It’s awfully far off, I know, but Pan Am’s the bottleneck. No sense going to Lisbon and sitting there for months! And this transportation is sure. Of course it does mean having your baby here, after all. That decision is up to you.

I enclose a note from the ambassador’s charming and quite bright wife. If you don’t want to languish in Zurich, waiting for a chance to ride out with the gallant Huns, her invitation may be welcome.

I await your orders. I feel twenty years younger. Are you well? I worry about you day and night.

Love

Aaron