gone home to look after their brood of golden-haired children. Which allowed her husband the freedom to drape his arm around Marte’s shoulders – left bare by the ballgown that the studio’s costume department had given her – and shepherd her through Berlin’s political and cinematic elite.
“It is, of course, a pleasure to meet you, Herr Wise.” Joseph spoke in the low, courtly voice with which she had already become familiar. “I assure you that I know very well the films of the Wise Studios. Excellent work. You must be proud to have been the producer of such… how to say?… such visual epics.”
The American shrugged off the compliment. “We try our best.” He stood taller than Goebbels, with dark, curling hair and only a slight Hebraic bump to his nose. Different from what Joseph had told her about Hollywood film producers. They were all supposed to be squat, swarthy, hook-nosed lechers, with cunning, leering stares. This one looked decent enough to have appeared in his own movies, perhaps as the lead actor’s kindhearted friend, something like that.
“You are a craftsman.” Joseph smiled. “There can be no higher tribute.”
“I guess I’m flattered. But… I don’t know. Films are…”
Marte sipped at the champagne as Herr Wise searched through his limited German vocabulary.
“ Szenen,” he said at last. “Pictures. That’s all.”
“Ah, aber am Anfang war das Wort – in the beginning was the word, Herr Wise.” Joseph’s thin-lipped smile grew wider. “Don’t you agree?”
“Maybe. I didn’t expect a National Socialist to quote Scripture, though.”
Joseph tilted his head back in amusement. “You do not know, Herr Wise – in my youth, I attended the seminary. I had wanted to become a priest. That was, of course, before I found a new faith to believe in. And entered politics.”
“Yes -” Wise nodded. “I’ve heard some things about that new faith. You’ve changed it to am Anfang war die Tat. The deed, the action.”
“Just so. And I would not have expected an American screenwriter to quote our Goethe.” The bright gaze grew sharper. “When you write a script, Herr Wise, when you first see that film inside your head – do you not start with an action? Something that happens, something that determines all that is to follow? That is why films are so important to people. They can see things happening. In that, there’s really no difference between the films made here, guided by National Socialist principles, and those you make in Hollywood. What is different here is that we are making a new world with them. Die Tat – not das Wort.”
Herr Wise seemed to be caught at a loss. To Marte, it appeared as if Joseph’s smooth words had overwhelmed the American visitor’s understanding of the language – as though again he had to take a few seconds to sort out the pieces he hadn’t caught immediately.
“Perhaps,” continued Joseph, “you would find it interesting to work here in Berlin.”
“What would I do?”
“Make films, of course. What else does a producer do? Perhaps the Wise Studios might appreciate a European partnership.”
Wise didn’t return the other man’s smile. “I’ve had partners before. Sometimes they work out.”
“Yes? Was there one in particular?”
“When I was a kid, back in Red Hook. I used to set up bare-knuckle matches for myself. Just to get something to eat. Won most of them. Another kid, this polack I was friends with, would hold the bets, and then we’d take our splits afterward.”
“Ah. But something happened, I take it? To break this… partnership?”
“Yeah.” Wise nodded. “I went the distance with a guy who stood a head taller, outweighed me by, I don’t know, maybe twenty pounds or so. The only reason I won the fight was that I was still standing at the end. When I got my eyes open again, I found that my partner had run off with the money, figuring I wasn’t going to make it to the other side. Took me two days to track the sonuvabitch down.”
“And did you get your money, Herr Wise? Your winnings?”
“Pretty much. But not without another fight.”
“Ah.” The Reichsminister regarded him with renewed appreciation. “You are indeed a man of more than das Wort. Tell me, was this early partner of yours also a Jew, such as yourself?”
“No.” A shake of the head. “I told you. He was Polish.”
“Ah, yes.” Joseph smiled again. “They are beasts. We have our own problems with them -”
“Your crowd seem to have problems with a lot of different kinds of people.”
Marte watched Joseph’s smile tighten. “The things that one hears in America, Herr Wise, should perhaps be taken with a grain of salt. But you have my apologies; I have let our conversation stray from the more pleasing matters of art. One of which we are fortunate to have here with us. May I present to you Fraulein Marte Helle?” Joseph tilted his head toward her. “A great future lies before her. She has appeared in but one film – starred, as I believe you Americans would say – but the praise her talents have received has been most gratifying to me.”
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Helle.” The American smiled and nodded at her, then turned his gaze back toward Joseph. “And you’re right, of course. When I saw her in Die Prinzessin – that’s the movie you’re talking about? – I could see that she was a real find. A natural.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Herr Wise.” Joseph frowned. “How could you have seen Prinzessin? The studio has not even yet released it to the theatres here in Germany. Nobody has watched it other than myself and a few other officials at the Propaganda Ministry.”
“Huh. That’s strange.” Herr Wise shook his head. “When I received the print of the film back in Hollywood, I figured that it was one of your staff who had sent it to me. I watched it in the screening room at my office, figuring maybe you were shopping it around for a distribution deal. Partners, like you were talking about before.”
“As you say – strange.” The angles of Joseph’s face had turned hard and sharp. “This is something… I shall have to look into.”
One of the squadron of functionaries stepped from behind. “ Herr Reichsminister -” He leaned close, whispering into Joseph’s ear.
“We must talk again, Herr Wise.” Joseph gave a quick tilt of his head. “I’m sure there’s much we could learn from each other.” He turned away, his retinue closing around him. Marte watched him leave the reception, walking with a careful, measured pace; she knew well by now his particular vanity, that of a man who took care to conceal his club foot, the disfigurement that marked him.
“Quite a priest he would make, eh?”
“Pardon me?” Herr Wise turned toward the bearded figure who had come up beside him.
“Shame on you,” scolded Marte. “You have been eavesdropping.”
“As does everyone in Berlin these days. If only for self-preservation.”
“ Herr Wise -” Marte turned back toward the American. “May I present to you Ernst von Behrens? He directed me in Die Prinzessin. ”
“And discovered you, my dear. Right here in Berlin, in that shabby coffee house.”
“You have an eye for talent, Mr. von Behrens.”
“It has served me well. The Reichminister ’s estimation of my worth has risen considerably of late.” Von Behrens used the empty glass to point across the crowded banquet hall. By the great gilded doors, one of the functionaries was helping Joseph into his fur-collared overcoat. “The priesthood lost quite a candidate in him, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah, I bet,” said Wise. “Probably would’ve been a real Savonarola type. I hear he likes to burn things.”
“Ah, yes, the unfortunate books. I did not see the bonfire that night, but I did pick up a scorched Heine collection in the gutter the next morning; it was still quite readable.” Von Behren nodded, watching the distant figure bid farewell to a fawning circle. “I believe the good doctor now regrets that incident. I’ve heard him talk about it – not in public, of course – and about how he hadn’t known at that time just how powerful such images are, how they’re seen by outsiders. With that lean, fanatical face of his, and the fiery – yes? – the fiery speeches he gives, incidents such as the burning of books give people the wrong impression of him. Or so he believes.”
“Must be hell, all right, being so misunderstood.”
The director shrugged. “Perhaps. Though in this case, it is useful to him to be thought of as something of an ascetic. As you say, a Savonarola. A great discipline is being demanded of the German people, great sacrifices to achieve great ends. And they might feel less than kindly toward Reichsminister Goebbels – they might feel they were being abused, or tricked – if they were to have their noses rubbed into his taste for luxuries.”
