The Winds of War

straight. His gray silk suit, pinned white collar, and blue tie were elegant and neat. His desk nameplate read AUGUST VAN WINAKER II.

He said in a quavering voice, clearing it of hoarseness as he talked, “Well! The eminent author’s niece, eh? What a pleasure. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you this morning, but I was just up to my ears.”

“Perfectly all right.” Natalie said.

He waved his little hand loosely. “People have been scurrying home in droves, you see, and just dumping everything on the consulate. There’s an awful lot of commerce still going on, and I’m stuck with the paperwork. I’m becoming a sort of broker and business agent for any number of American companies — unpaid, of course. I was in the most unbelievable snarl this morning over — of all things — a truckload of insecticide! Can you bear it? And, of course, there still are Americans in Florence. The screwier they are, the longer they stay.” He giggled and rubbed his back hair. “The trouble I’ve been having with these two girls, room-mates, from California, I can’t mention names, but one of them is from a rich Pasadena oil family. Well! She’s gotten herself engaged to this slick little Florentine sheik, who calls himself an actor but actually is nothing but an overgrown grocery boy. Well, this oily charmer has gone and gotten her room-mate pregnant, my dear! The three of them have been having all-night brawls, the police have been in, and — oh, well. You don’t get rich in this work, but there’s never a dull moment.” He poured water from a tall bottle into a heavy cut-glass goblet, and drank. “Excuse me. Would you like some Evian water?”

“No, thank you.”

“I have to drink an awful lot of it. Some stupid kidney thing. Somehow it gets worse in the spring. I actually think Italian weather leaves a lot to be desired, don’t you? Well! His inquiring bland look seemed to add — “What can I do for you?”

Natalie told him about the new wrinkle in Jastrow’s situation. The day Italy had entered the war, a man from the Italian security police had visited Jastrow and warned him that as a stateless person of Polish origin, he was confined to Siena until further notice. She mentioned, as cordially as she could, that the OVRA undoubtedly knew this fact from intercepting Van Winaker’s letter.

“Oh, my God, how perfectly awful,” gasped the consul. Is that what’s happened? You’re quite right, I didn’t have a thinking cap on when I wrote that letter. Frankly, Natalie — if I may call you that — I was floored when your name came in today. I figured you’d have come and by now and taken your troublesome uncle home. He has been a trial, you know. Well! This is a pretty kettle of fish. I thought the visa solved everything and that I’d seen the last of the Jastrow case.”

“What do we do now?” Natalie said.

“I’m blessed if I know, just offhand,” said Van Winaker, running his fingers through his hair upward from the back of his neck.

“May I make a suggestion?” Natalie spoke softly and sweetly. “Just renew his passport, Mr. Van Winaker. That would stop the statelessness business. They couldn’t hold him back then.”

Van Winaker drank more Evian water. “Oh, Natalie, that’s so easy to say! People don’t see the screaming directives we get, warning us against abuse of the passport system. People don’t see departmental circulars about consuls who’ve been recalled and whose careers have gone poof! because they were loose about these things. Congress makes the immigration laws, Natalie. The Consular Service doesn’t. We’re simply sworn to uphold them.”

“Mr. Van Winaker, the Secretary of State himself wants Aaron cleared. You know that.”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Van Winaker held up a stiff finger, his round blue eyes gone sober. He puffed his pipe and waved it at her. “I have had no instructions from the Secretary. I’m extremely glad we’re doing this face to face, Natalie, instead of on paper. He couldn’t go on record as intervening for one individual against another in matters involving equal treatment under law.” The eyes relaxed in a sly twinkle. “I did hear from Rome, between you and me, that his office asked us to expedite your uncle’s departure. I was stretching way over backwards, honestly, issuing that visa, jumping him to the head of a list of hundreds and hundreds of names.” Van Winaker knocked his pipe into a thick copper tray, and went on in a different, gossipy tone. “Actually, I think time will solve your uncle’s problem. The French are already asking for an armistice. The British won’t fight on very long.” They’d be mad to try. If they do, the Luftwaffe will pound them to a jelly in short order. No, I fear me this round goes to Fritz. No doubt they’ll have another go twenty years hence, when I devoutly hope to be out to pasture.”

“But we can’t count on the war ending,” Natalie expostulated.

“Oh, I think you can. I expect peace by July first, if not sooner, Natalie. Then these wartime exit regulations will lapse and your uncle can just pick up and go home. Actually, this gives him the leisure to sort and crate his books. He seemed so concerned about his books.”

“I want to take Uncle Aaron home tomorrow, and abandon books and everything. Please give him the passport.”

“My dear, the contradiction in dates is right there in your uncle’s expired book. It’s incredible how those things used to slip through, but I’ve seen a hundred such cases if I’ve seen one. People used to be mighty careless! Now that it’s been detected and made a matter of record, he has no more claim to American citizenship, technically speaking, than Hitler does. I couldn’t be sorrier, but it’s my duty to tell you the law.”

This man was getting on Natalie’s nerves. The use of Hitler’s name disgusted her. “It strikes me that your duty is to help us, and that you’re not really doing it.”

He opened his eyes very wide, blinked, drank more Evian, and slowly stuffed his pipe, staring at the tobacco. “I have a suggestion. It’s off the record, but I think it’ll work.”

“Tell me, by all means.”

He pushed his hair straight up. “Just go.”

She stared at him.

“I mean that! He’s got his visa. You’ve got your passport. Hop a bus or train, or hire a car, and scoot to Naples. Ignore the confinement to Siena. The Italians are so sloppy! Get on the first boat and just leave. You won’t be stopped. Nobody’s watching your uncle.”

“But won’t they ask for an exit permit?”

“It’s a trivial formality, dear. Say you lost it! Fumbling for it, you happen to take out a few thousand lire and put it on the table.” He blinked humorously. “Customs of the country, you know.”

Natalie felt her self-control giving way. Now the man was advising them to bribe an official, to risk arrest and imprisonment in a Fascist country. Her voice rose to shrillness. “I think I’d rather go to Rome and tell the Consul General that you’re thwarting the desire of the Secretary of State.”

The consul drew himself up, smoothed his hair with both hands, put them on the table, and said slowly and primly, “That is certainly your privilege. I’m prepared to take the consequences of that, but not of breaking the law. As it happens, I’m exceptionally busy, several other people are waiting, so -”

Natalie understood now how her uncle had fallen foul of this man. With a quick change to a placating smile, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been travelling for two straight weeks, I’ve just lost my father, and I’m not in the best of shape. My uncle’s disabled and I’m very troubled about him.”

At once the consul responded to the new manner. “I entirely understand, Natalie. Tell you what, I’ll comb his file again.” Maybe I’ll come up with something. Believe me, I’d like nothing better than to see him go.”

“You will try to find a way to give him a passport?”

“Or to get him out. That’s all you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give it my serious attention. That’s a promise. Come back in a week.”

Chapter 30 — Eagle and Sea Lion (from WORLD EMPIRE LOST)

The False Legend