Jeff looked offended. 'She's a student learning English.'
I have since smelt through its flatulent pages. They expose the author's contempt for the mass of his fellow- Germans and his greatest respect for the English-so much for our Great War Prime Minister, the reader might imagine that Lloyd George knew Hitler's father. It spelt out the Fьhrer's plans with such determined precision, it is unfortunate that it was not translated in bed to an English statesman by some other wayward student of his language.
The bout restarted, the girls entwined on their floor of mud, flicking the rubber bibs of the nearest spectators. 'Only the Army can stop Hitler now,' Jeff continued.
'Why should they? He's hardly a pacifist.'
'But he's an upstart, and the Germans are even worse snobs than the English.' The pale girl grabbed the larger one between the legs, tipping her overhead into the mud then sitting astride her waist. The pair were barely distinguishable, covered with green slime. One of the big girl's breasts plunged free from her slippery bathing-suit. 'That was as rehearsed as the gestures in Hitler's speeches,' observed Jeff.
I quoted Comte de Mirabeau, 'Other states have an army, in Prussia the army has a state'.'
Jeff countered this with a grin. 'What do you expect, in a country which calls war the continuation of foreign policy by other means?'
'Clausewitz' remark was irresponsible and immoral.'
'At least it was logical.'
The thin girl was acclaimed the winner. Both disappeared for a shower. The waiters began untying the red rubber bibs. Within six months, this entertainment would be banned in Germany, along with the music of Mendelssohn and the novels of Thomas Mann.
Then I noticed at a table against the wall the dark Slav girl from Professor Domagk's laboratory.
6
'She looks a pretty thing, why don't you call her up?' Jeff indicated the telephone.
'Don't be ridiculous! She'd be dreadfully embarrassed.' I had recounted our meeting in the laboratory at Wuppertal.
'She's peddling her ass, she isn't in the position to be embarrassed about anything. You're not a sissy, are you?'
'Of course I'm not!' Jeff was 'kidding', as an Englishman 'chaffed'. But I could never be certain how thick his cushion of amiability was between jest and truth. In the end I thought it wise to invite her. She rose wearily, not recognizing me until about to sit down at our table. I introduced _Herr Beckerman aus Amerika,_ and asked, 'What's your name?'
'Magda.'
'You're not from Cologne, surely?'
'From Vienna.' She crossed her hands modestly in the lap of her mauve shot-silk dress. I noticed how much more heavily made up she was.
'Don't I G Farben pay enough?'
She gave an unfriendly look. 'I'm of a large family.' She added, as though she were moonlighting as a respectable waitress or shopgirl, 'Everyone has to take a second job in Germany.'
'Ask what she wants to drink,' interrupted Jeff in English, impatient at exclusion from the conversation.
'Champagne,' Magda said automatically.
We held a three-cornered conversation in English and German over the bottle. Jeff never learned German, partly from impatience and partly because he feared the natives could outsmart him in their own language. Magda smiled as I translated his gallantries, but she struck me as acting badly the _fine de joie._ 'How much does she charge?' Jeff enquired abruptly.
Magda told me fifty marks, about four pounds.
'Why don't you go with her?' asked Jeff amiably. He took out his wallet and fluttered a fifty-mark note on the table. 'I'll grub-stake you-if that's the correct expression.'
'Don't be ridiculous! I couldn't possibly pick up a girl so blatantly.'
'A man who goes off with a whore in secret is like a man who goes off drinking in secret. If I kept either from my friends, I'd be ashamed of myself.'
Jeff's tone had become abrasive, but I was more frightened of the girl than of him. Two years ago, incited by the easygoing tales of fellow-undergraduates at Trinity who were richer and worldlier than myself, I had shopped along the gaudy pavements of London's West End and picked up a tart near Marble Arch. Though I had saved for three months, I could not afford the best, and in my subsequent remorse feared that I had picked the worst. I had sponged the parts involved with dilute hydrochloric acid, which suggested itself to a chemistry student as a promising antiseptic. The result was a raw redness for which I dared invoke neither medical advice nor friendly sympathy, and I had no wish to find myself repeating the experiment. But Jeff pressed me, with the amiable wickedness of a man watching another slide into his own sins. I gave in.
Magda told us that she lived beyond the Hohenstaufen-ring, the first arc of boulevards and squares which spread round old Cologne like the ripples from a stone. Jeff offered us a lift. Magda suddenly became animated as she climbed into the Cord, lightly touching the steering-wheel, the shiny instruments, the gear lever and brake in open-mouthed reverence. It struck me that she had never before been in a car at all.
_'Ein wunderbarer Auto,' _she breathed.
Magda stopped us at the corner of Mozartstrasse, a broad and prosperous street, saying we could walk the rest. She clearly did not wish to arrive in such grandeur. Jeff said he would find a bar, and call Heike in Berlin. He had an extravagance towards tile telephone which I thought admirably American. 'I'll be back in half an hour-have a good time,' he called, roaring away and leaving a smell of high-grade petrol.
I self-consciously took Magda's arm, in equal parts aroused and ashamed. Without speaking a word, she led me towards a narrow side-street lying in the glow of a sickly gas-lamp. I had imagined our destination some disreputable small hotel or bug-infested lodging-house. As she opened the green door in a four-storied narrow terrace dwelling, I realized with alarm that I was being taken home.
The tiny hallway was unlit. I followed her towards a narrow flight of stairs with broken banisters. In gaslight seeping from a door above, a small boy and girl were grinning at me
I stopped. Desire fled. Vice in such domestic surroundings was ridiculous. 'I don't want to,' I said.
Magda turned. 'You'll still have to pay me.'
I pushed at her Jeff's fifty-mark note, which she folded carefully and put in her large brown handbag. I turned to the door, eager to be out of the place. Then I imagined myself standing half an hour on a freezing street corner. 'Could I have some coffee?' I asked plaintively.
Silently, Magda led me to a kitchen downstairs at the back, stone-floored and lit by the glow of the stove. An old man smoking his pipe rose and left at once, bowing to me with a deference which doubled my feelings of guilt. Magda removed her imitation leather overcoat and lit the gas-mantle. I heard scuffling upstairs. The house was as crammed with humans as a warren with rabbits. 'You've a large family, you said?'
'Four brothers.' She added sourly, 'All out of work.'
'Was that your father?'
'Yes.' She moved a saucepan of coffee on to the black iron stove. 'He's an engineer, but he lost everything when the mark fell to zero. So did everyone else, of course.' She spoke as if describing a bad summer which had ruined their holidays.
I sat at a small, rough wooden table which smelt of onions. 'How long have you been at I G Farben?'
'Since the summer. I should have been a chemist, you know. I'm well educated. But in Germany today, nobody can achieve what they deserve. All I do is keep the place clean and look after the laboratory animals.'
'What's Professor Dr Domagk like to work for?'
'He likes to keep himself to himself. He's all right, except when anyone makes a mistake. Not just me, one of
