Germans whose forefathers had emigrated to the East and faced the ensuing hardships, chief among which, it soon transpired, was proximity to Poles.
Effi soon appeared on screen, sporting a Brunhilde hairstyle and dressed like Babelsberg's idea of a humble schoolteacher. Watching her, Russell always felt an absurd pride, as if he had anything to do with how good she was. She dismissed her loving class of bright young Germans and walked home through the town, accompanied by looks from the local Poles which mingled disgust and lechery in equal measure. Her father, the local German doctor, was waiting with news that the German hospital was being closed down.
So far, so predictable, Russell thought; but as the film unfolded he was left with a grudging respect for its makers. It could have been so much worse - such films usually were. This one occasionally teetered on the edge of unintentional farce - the scenes with the Jews were risible as ever - but in general the temptation to over-egg the pudding was manfully resisted. For once in Babelsberg's Nazi life, actions were allowed to speak louder than the cartoon villains, and it worked. Once Effi's father had been beaten to death, his lawyer friend shot and blinded and another young girl treated to a stoning, the audience were ready for Effi's reluctant declaration of war on the local Poles. In her final stirring speech, delivered to her fellow Germans after they'd all been imprisoned for listening to a Fuhrer broadcast, she painted an idealistic picture of the future, and the Reich of which they'd soon be a part, where 'all around the birds are singing and everything is German.' In a bad film it would have sounded ludicrous, but in this one it somehow worked - by this time even Russell found himself rooting for the poor beleaguered minority, and very upset by the final shooting of Effi's character. When the Wehrmacht arrived to put things right, he felt like shaking a fist though, unlike many in the audience, refrained from actually doing so.
Making his way out of the cinema, he understood why Effi had not wanted him to see it. It was a powerful film. All those German families - and there were millions of them now - whose sons were away in Russia or Yugoslavia or Africa would feel better about their being there. And if the dreaded letter should arrive, they would have some consolation in knowing that their sons had died for such an irrefutably noble cause. Effi had been that convincing.
Arriving home to the empty apartment, Russell realised he had not bought any food. There were plenty of potatoes though, one rather sad looking onion, and an egg, which he decided to save. He sliced both as thinly as he could, and placed them in a frying pan with salt and a little ersatz butter over a low heat. They were browning nicely when Effi arrived.
She threw her bag down, burrowed into his arms and squeezed him as tightly as she could. They kissed.
'Hello,' she said.
'You've been drinking,' he said, tasting the schnapps on her breath. She looked exhausted.
'I certainly have, and I feel like more. Is there any wine left?'
Russell poured her a glass. 'I saved you an egg.'
'I've eaten.' Hours ago, but she didn't feel hungry. 'Put the egg in the potatoes, and I'll have a taste.'
Russell did as he was told. 'Another early start in the morning?'
'Oh yes. All this week, but that should do it.'
'How was the hospital?'
'The same as ever. Terrible. Heartbreaking. Infuriating. It's impossible not to feel sorry for most of them, but some of the things they admit to... it's hard not to feel that they deserve everything that's happened to them. I know they're just following orders, so it's not really their fault, but it is their fingers on the triggers. But... I don't know. What would any of us do in the same situation?'
Russell stirred in the egg. 'The one thing I do know is how hard it is to break ranks. The pressure to conform, to go along with the consensus, is enormous. You need virtually everyone on board to start a mutiny.'
Like everyone screaming 'I can't do it anymore', Effi thought. She told him what Huiskes had told her about the SS hospital. 'It was Annaliese who gave me the drink,' she added. 'She has a bottle hidden in her drawer in the ward office. I expect they all do.'
'More than likely.'
'And there's no end in sight is there? It's all gone downhill in a few months. Victory after victory for two years and suddenly we're holding our breath. I was looking down the ward this evening and thinking that these are the casualties of success - what on earth is failure going to look like?'
'We'll know in the next few weeks. Whether or not he's failed, I mean. It's impossible to tell at the moment. We don't know how much the Soviets have left, or how quickly the winter will set in. One interesting thing I heard today - the weather's already turned in Siberia, so the Soviets are safe from the Japs until spring. That's a lot of men they can bring west.' 'Hmmm. How was your day?'
Russell took the loaded plate across to the table, placed it between them, and handed her a fork. 'The usual rubbish.' He told her about the press conference, and offered an edited version of his meeting with Dallin - despite precautions, they were never completely sure that the Gestapo hadn't managed to plant a microphone. 'Then I went to see
'Oh, did you?'
'You were really good.'
'I know.'
'And that makes you feel bad.'
She gave him a wry smile. 'Of course. It makes me feel part of it. Just like the boys I talk to, gunning down Jews. I'm sure they're good at their job too.'
'It's not the same,' Russell said, and it wasn't. Not completely.
'Isn't it? It feels like it is. I'm not doing another film like that, John. I'd rather quit.'
'Would they let you?'
'I think so,' she said, for the first time considering the possibility that they wouldn't.
'What would you do?' Russell asked.
'I've no idea,' Effi said getting up. She walked through into the living room, and a few seconds later the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra were easing into 'I'll never smile again'.
She reappeared in the archway. 'Come dance with me.'
Betrayals on offer
'Lunch at the Adlon?' Ralph Morrison asked, as he and Russell reached the pavement outside the Foreign Ministry. It was a miserable day, a thin mist of rain hanging in the air.
'Why not?' These days most Americans were
'Another hour I'll never get back,' Morrison complained, as they walked up Wilhelmstrasse. 'I even found myself missing that bastard Schmidt this morning. At least he lies with some panache. That idiot Stumm, well, what can you say?'
'If they really have taken Kerch, that's bad news,' Russell said. 'Puts them too damn close to the Caucasus oilfields.'
'I know.'
'Did you get any more on Udet? None of my contacts would tell me anything.'
'Oh yes. He shot himself all right. And left a note blaming Goering - 'Oh Iron Man, why have you deserted me?' or some such rubbish. Why do fighter aces never grow up?'
They reached the Adlon entrance and walked through to the restaurant. Gestapo technicians had invaded the hotel a few months earlier and planted hidden microphones everywhere, but over the intervening weeks most had been discovered by the staff, and the guests discreetly warned. Morrison and Russell headed for an area of the large room that was generally considered safe. There was no chandelier directly above their table, and the latter's underside was clear.
Russell had got to know Morrison quite well since his arrival some six months before, as Jack Slaney's replacement. A burly Mid-Westerner in his mid-thirties, Morrison had arrived knowing little about Germany, but he had inherited most of Slaney's excellent sources, and proved a quick learner. If he sometimes appeared even more cynical than his predecessor, that was probably because reporting from Berlin no longer bore any relation to traditional journalism.
