Mother, whom it would kill, and there’s the hallowed memory of Father, the martyred hero of the Somme. There’s all manner of relatives. And there’s the bloody will, old man. Brilliant Julian does not need to lose his little chunk of England by being branded the Oscar Wilde of 1937. Actually, I rather like girls. They’re perfect fools, but enjoyable in their silly ways. They usually have wonderful senses of color, which I admire deeply. Men have no sense of color at all.”
Florry wasn’t sure he believed him.
“All right, old man. You think I’m lying? All right, here, I’ll prove it. Put out your hand and close your eyes, and you shall get a big surprise.”
“Julian, I?”
“Don’t worry, old man. It won’t be John Thomas. Now there’s a good boy, you needn’t bother with the eyes.”
He put something in Florry’s hand.
It was the small automatic.
“It’s all cocked. It’s only been fired once, into that Dyles fellow. Now, Robert, if you still believe Brilliant Julian is a terrible Comintern nasty, then you must do your duty. England demands it. Come on, now, make up your mind, old man. This is, after all, the second chance I’ve given you.” He made a show of closing his eyes.
Florry felt the pistol grow heavy in his hand.
Finally, he handed it back. “You fool,” he said.
“We’re all fools,” said Julian.
“I cannot wait to see the look on Sampson’s face when?”
“No, I don’t quite think that would do, chum,” Julian said darkly. “I don’t really care to explain myself to the Sampsons of this world. It’s not something I’m terribly keen about. Actually, Robert, there is one other thing that needs to be straightened out. The bridge, eh? Let’s not forget the bloody bridge.”
“No, Julian. No, I haven’t forgotten the bridge.”
“You know, Stink, I don’t think it makes a pig’s whisker’s worth of difference as to who really wins out in Barcelona, the bloody POUM or the bloody Russian lads. The truth is, I’m not even sure I could tell you the difference. But do you know I’ve never really finished anything in my life? My masterpiece ‘Pons’ is the perfect example. I am a man of brilliant beginnings. And I find that what I would like to do more than anything is finish something. I would like to blow that fucking bridge into the next world. Would you care to join me, old man?”
“Yes. Yes, let’s do it. You know you always get what you want, Julian.”
“Perhaps it’s only that I want what I know I can get. But see here. There is a technical difficulty. Look at this.”
He handed over a document.
“Good Christ,” said Florry.
“Poor Dyles had it over his heart. It was not as effective in that regard as a Bible.”
It was the travel authority, sodden with blood. It was utterly worthless.
“Damn,” said Florry. “Oh, balls. Perhaps we could somehow
“Won’t work. Perhaps it might with the silly amateur Falangists, but the truth is we’ll be up against German professionals. I’ve seen them. I spent the summer of 1933 in Germany and watched all the Hitler stuff going on. I must say, those lads won’t be easy to fool.”
“Then we’ll?”
“Robert, listen to Brilliant Julian. Englishmen would
“But we are
“Oh, no? Stinky, I speak it like a native and I look it a bit, too, with my blond locks and these terribly blue eyes. You’d do for a Bavarian, a lower, coarser sort of brute.”
“I speak it terribly.”
“But you do understand it?”
“Yes. I read it best of all. And
“Robert, listen. It’s almost one. In half an hour I’m due to meet a chap in a Turkish bath nearby for a bit of sport. It’s that nice young Oberleutnant that I chatted up in the park. We can tell each other, you know. I rather think we could persuade him to lend us something to wear.”
Florry looked at Julian.
“What choice have we?” he asked.
“That’s the best part. None at all.”
Was he a Nazi ? or just a big stupid young army officer? Florry tried to convince himself of the former. He’d beaten Jews and tortured the innocent, burned books, worn jackboots, carried torches, the whole ugly theater of the thing. It was difficult, however, to maintain this pretense in the face of his actual flesh, which was on the ample side, the freckles in his great white behind, his almost feminine body, soft and shapeless. Quite a difference once the uniform came off: something about a naked man so defenseless that it almost defies action.
He could hear them talking softly; it was infernally hot in here, the steam and everything, even though he wasn’t quite in the steam room proper, but just outside, having come in after the officer. He glanced at his watch. He was dreadfully tired and yet tomorrow rushed upon them swiftly.
“Yes,” Julian was saying, in German, “I have been to Dresden often. The china is so magnificent, the old town with its gingerbread architecture so ordered. Of course this was before the Party era. Perhaps it’s all changed now, all modern and full of factories.”
The two men, swaddled in towels, sat in the steam room.
“No, Karl,” said the officer. “No, it remains essentially a storybook city. One can have the most fabulous dreams in a place like that. It’s a lovely place. My mother and I were very happy there.”
“Yes. It’s good to know some things haven’t changed.”
“It’s so lovely to have found one in whom I can confide,” said the young officer. “You have such lovely eyes. They are so pale and lovely.”
“Thank you,” said Julian. “It’s odd how one yearns for human contact and touch. For gentleness and sympathy.”
“Yes, yes,” said the officer. “Something
Florry swallowed hard, pulled out Julian’s automatic, and prepared to play out the final lunatic act.
He burst into the steam and began waving the gun about wildly, shouting, “Attention! Attention! You are under arrest. Gestapo. Do not move.”
He pointed the pistol at the young man’s head.
“It’s Dachau for you,
The officer began to cry. He offered no resistance, as if he knew the inevitable had at last arrived. He had gone ashen with shame and terror. He began to tremble absurdly. They brought him out of the steam room and into the locker room. Julian, pulling on his suit, began to assail him for moral turpitude.
“You swine. The army sends you out here to train these people in the arts of war, to gain valuable experience for yourself, and to show the world the finest of German manhood. Yet you spend your time trying to bugger everything that moves. The KZs are too good for you.”
“Please,” the boy begged. “Sir. You must give me an alternative. I am so weak, but I will not fail. Your pistol and I will end it all if only you tell my parents that I died honorably in battle.”
“There is no honor for you, swine.”
The boy crawled to the toilet and became sick. Florry thought that Julian was rather overdoing it. The naked boy wiped the vomit from his face with a towel. The rancid odor of sweat and farts hung everywhere in the steam. The fat boy was such a nauseating sight that Florry began to feel ill at his plight. Julian continued to harangue him with terrifying force, as if it were his own hated flaws against which he was lashing.
