Read Online Zoo Station by David Downing - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Downing
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Americans, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Espionage, Mystery, Germany, Fiction - Mystery, Journalists, Mystery & Detective - General, Berlin, spies, spy stories, Journalists - Germany - Berlin, Recruiting, Germany - History - 1933-1945, Americans - Germany - Berlin, Spies - Recruiting
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male clientele, most of whom seemed to be in uniform, left a lot to be desired. Four SS men took a neighboring table soon after their food arrived, and grew increasingly vocal with each round of schnapps. Russell could almost feel their need for a target take shape.
Effi was telling him about Zarahs latest neurosisher sister was increasingly worried that her infant son was a slow learnerwhen the first comments were directed at their table. One of the SS men had noticed Effis Jewish looks and loudly remarked on the fact to his companions. He was only about twenty, Russell thought, and when he succeeded in catching the young mans eye, he had the brief satisfaction of seeing a hint of shame in the way the man quickly looked away.
By this time Effi was rifling through her purse. Finding what she was looking for, and ignoring him, she stood up, advanced on the SS table, and held the fragebogen up to them, rather in the manner of a school-teacher lecturing a bunch of particularly obtuse children. See this, you morons, she said, loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Aryan descent, all the way back to Luthers time. Satisfied?
The manager was already at her shoulder. Fraulein, please. . . . he began.
I want these drunken pigs thrown out, she told him.
The oldest of the SS men was also on his feet. I would advise you to be careful, fraulein, he said. You may not be a Jew, but that doesnt give you the right to insult members of the Fuhrers bodyguard.
Effi ignored him. Are you going to throw these pigs out? she asked the manager.
He looked mortified. I. . . .
Very well. You wont get any more business from me. Or any of my friends. I hope, she concluded with one last contemptuous glance at the SS, that you can make a living selling swill to these pigs.
She headed for the door, as Russell, half-amused and half-fearful, counted out a few marks for their meal and listened to the SS men argue about whether to arrest her. When one of them took a step toward the door he blocked the way. You did call her a Jew, he said mildly, looking straight at the oldest man. Surely you can understand how upsetting that might be. She meant no disrespect.
The man gave him a slight bow of the head. She would do well to control her anger a little better, he said coldly.
She would, Russell agreed. Have a good evening, he added, and turned toward the door.
Outside he found Effi shaking with laughter, though whether from humor or hysteria he wasnt quite sure. He put an arm around her shoulder and waited for the shaking to stop. Lets go home.
Lets, she agreed.
They crossed the busy avenue and headed up one of the side streets.
Sometimes I wish I was a Jew, she said. If the Nazis hate them that much, they must be real human beings.
Russell grunted his acquiescence. I heard a joke the other day, he said. Hitler goes rowing on the Wannsee, but hes not very good at it, and manages to overturn the boat. A boy in a passing boat manages to haul him out and save him from drowning. Hitler, as you can imagine, is overcome with gratitude and promises the boy whatever he wants. The boy thinks for a moment, and asks for a state funeral. Hitler says, Youre a bit young for that, arent you? The boy says, Oh, mein Fuhrer, when I tell my dad Ive saved you from drowning hes going to kill me!
Effi started laughing again, and he did too. For what seemed like minutes they stood on the sidewalk, embracing and shaking with mirth.
NEXT AFTERNOON THOMAS AND JOACHIM were waiting in the usual place, sitting on a low wall with cartons of half-consumed frankfurters and kartoffelsalad between them. Russell bought the same for himself and Paul.
Once inside the Plumpe they headed for their usual spot, opposite the edge of the penalty area, halfway up the terrace on the western side. As their two sons read each others magazines, Russell and Thomas sat themselves down on the concrete step and chatted. Hows business? Russell asked.
Its good, Thomas said,
Effi was telling him about Zarahs latest neurosisher sister was increasingly worried that her infant son was a slow learnerwhen the first comments were directed at their table. One of the SS men had noticed Effis Jewish looks and loudly remarked on the fact to his companions. He was only about twenty, Russell thought, and when he succeeded in catching the young mans eye, he had the brief satisfaction of seeing a hint of shame in the way the man quickly looked away.
By this time Effi was rifling through her purse. Finding what she was looking for, and ignoring him, she stood up, advanced on the SS table, and held the fragebogen up to them, rather in the manner of a school-teacher lecturing a bunch of particularly obtuse children. See this, you morons, she said, loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Aryan descent, all the way back to Luthers time. Satisfied?
The manager was already at her shoulder. Fraulein, please. . . . he began.
I want these drunken pigs thrown out, she told him.
The oldest of the SS men was also on his feet. I would advise you to be careful, fraulein, he said. You may not be a Jew, but that doesnt give you the right to insult members of the Fuhrers bodyguard.
Effi ignored him. Are you going to throw these pigs out? she asked the manager.
He looked mortified. I. . . .
Very well. You wont get any more business from me. Or any of my friends. I hope, she concluded with one last contemptuous glance at the SS, that you can make a living selling swill to these pigs.
She headed for the door, as Russell, half-amused and half-fearful, counted out a few marks for their meal and listened to the SS men argue about whether to arrest her. When one of them took a step toward the door he blocked the way. You did call her a Jew, he said mildly, looking straight at the oldest man. Surely you can understand how upsetting that might be. She meant no disrespect.
The man gave him a slight bow of the head. She would do well to control her anger a little better, he said coldly.
She would, Russell agreed. Have a good evening, he added, and turned toward the door.
Outside he found Effi shaking with laughter, though whether from humor or hysteria he wasnt quite sure. He put an arm around her shoulder and waited for the shaking to stop. Lets go home.
Lets, she agreed.
They crossed the busy avenue and headed up one of the side streets.
Sometimes I wish I was a Jew, she said. If the Nazis hate them that much, they must be real human beings.
Russell grunted his acquiescence. I heard a joke the other day, he said. Hitler goes rowing on the Wannsee, but hes not very good at it, and manages to overturn the boat. A boy in a passing boat manages to haul him out and save him from drowning. Hitler, as you can imagine, is overcome with gratitude and promises the boy whatever he wants. The boy thinks for a moment, and asks for a state funeral. Hitler says, Youre a bit young for that, arent you? The boy says, Oh, mein Fuhrer, when I tell my dad Ive saved you from drowning hes going to kill me!
Effi started laughing again, and he did too. For what seemed like minutes they stood on the sidewalk, embracing and shaking with mirth.
NEXT AFTERNOON THOMAS AND JOACHIM were waiting in the usual place, sitting on a low wall with cartons of half-consumed frankfurters and kartoffelsalad between them. Russell bought the same for himself and Paul.
Once inside the Plumpe they headed for their usual spot, opposite the edge of the penalty area, halfway up the terrace on the western side. As their two sons read each others magazines, Russell and Thomas sat themselves down on the concrete step and chatted. Hows business? Russell asked.
Its good, Thomas said,
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