Read Online The Arms Maker of Berlin by Dan Fesperman - Free Book Online

we’ve been, and where we’re going. Those, after all, are the reasons we study history, correct? History plays for keeps, and so do I .
    Until Karen’s arrival he had always thought of his little intro as standard shock therapy for bored undergrads, a mildly clever alternative to merely handing out the syllabus. But as he sat across from her in a downtown eatery, telling her once again why it might be wiser to take Mainstream Currents in American Political Thought, he realized he would never be able to repeat those words with her in the audience. They were too much of a self-reproach, a confession of the sort of person he was becoming.
    Not long afterward they achieved a breakthrough, when Karen became infected by the same sort of intellectual fever that had possessed him at her age, under Gordon’s influence. For her the subject was poetry—specifically, the poems of Emily Dickinson. Hardly the first time a female undergrad had fallen under the spell of the Belle of Amherst. Then again, Nat hadn’t exactly been the first male smitten by the Past.
    In any event, it gave him an easy point of entry into her inner life, since he knew firsthand the excitement she was feeling. It was a little bit like watching someone fall in love. He was charmed, even a little jealous, wishing he could borrow some of her spark for his own hurtful romance with History.
    By encouraging her enthusiasm he first won her gratitude, and then her trust. He ordered a poster from the Emily Dickinson Museum, which she immediately tacked up above her desk. He then sealed the deal by beginning a father-daughter parlor game of swapping Dickinson quotes whenever they met, with each of them tailoring the passage to prevailing circumstances. Thank goodness the Belle wrote a zillion poems, giving Nat gobs of material. Their exchanges became well known in the history and English departments, prompting a colleague of Nat’s to remark archly, “If her life had stood a loaded gun, does that make dear old dad a vintage Luger?”
    So now, standing in the diner as her number rang, he searched his memory for an appropriate stanza. About then he happened to glance out the window of the diner, just as the door was opening on the Chevy that had followed him into town. The mystery woman from the courtroom got out and headed his way. His stomach fluttered. By the time Karen answered, he was fumbling for words.
    “Dad?”
    “I’m here. Just give me a sec. Got to load some quarters.”
    “I heard about your cell phone. That was a very dramatic note you left behind.”
    “So the FBI called?”
    “At, like, seven this morning. Just what my hangover needed.”
    “Sorry. I realized later I’d overreacted.”
    “Where did they take you?
    “Up to Gordon Wolfe’s summer house.”
    “The one with, like, fifty deer antlers in the living room?”
    “That’s called Adirondack style. I’d forgotten you’ve been there.”
    “I was only eleven. But even then I remember thinking he was a scary old guy.”
    “Not anymore. They’ve thrown him in jail.”
    “Wow. Crimes against humanity?”
    “Seriously, he’s in deep trouble. They found a stolen archive in his kitchen. That’s why they brought me in.”
    “To do what?”
    He quoted the stanza that had popped into his head:
    ” ‘He ate and drank the precious words, His spirit grew robust.’”
    “You’re, uhhhh, appraising the archive?”
    “Like, very good. Unfortunately they’re only giving me two days.”
    “What does Professor Wolfe think of all this?”
    “He’s surprisingly supportive. Seems to think I can help his case. None of which I’m supposed to be discussing, by the way.”
    “And with a blabbermouth student, no less. Does the FBI have your cell phone?”
    “They’re supposed to. Why?”
    “Well, about an hour after they called I got a hang-up from your number.”
    “Checking out my call menu, I guess. Natural-born snoops.”
    “Except this was some guy with an accent, wondering who I