The Vengeance of Rome
- Автор: Муркок Майкл
- Серия: Between The Wars #4
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Vengeance of Rome». Краткое содержание книги:
How easily the human monster becomes an addict for money, power, oil or blood or all of those things! When will the day come when neither blood nor oil will be needed to fuel the ambitions of men? My machines would be powered by light. My cities would fly through the cold, pure ether. They would leave all those addictions behind them. They would be inviolable, incorruptible and eternal.
I did not get to the bed. Even as I chatted with Zoyea and sipped her delicious coffee, I fell into a deep sleep and did not wake up until twilight with a smiling Signor Frau and his somewhat unsmiling son standing over me. Signor Frau had food waiting for me, a tender veal cutlet with new potatoes and green beans. He had cooked it for me himself. He was delighted by my praise. Once, he said, he had cooked in his uncle’s restaurant. He was curious to learn what had happened to me but remarked that I must always remember he required no explanation from me. I had saved his living, he insisted, and that meant that he was for ever indebted to me.
I disagreed. I had done so little. Yet still he was firm. I would sleep in his bed tonight and then tomorrow. If I still needed shelter, he would see what he could do. I did not resist him. The luxury of clean sheets and a soft bed, together with the prospect of a breakfast as good as my supper, made me weaken. No sooner had I managed to reach his room, strip off my clothes and lie down, than I was asleep again.
I awoke after a bad dream, but I felt well rested. I heard sounds from below, and when I went down I found Signor Frau seated at the table reading a newspaper while his daughter prepared a breakfast of eggs and cheese. The smell of the coffee was enough for me to accept their invitation and join them. The boy had gone off to buy bread, said Signor Frau, and would be back soon.
I looked at the headlines. Hitler had clearly not been a victim. The newspaper was full of the plot against Hitler, foiled by Himmler and the SS. I had never seen so many lies published in such density. Röhm was described as a pervert and a glutton, who had plotted with exiled communists, Strasser and other traitors, both in and out of the Nazi Party, to assassinate Hitler and his closest allies and impose a reign of brute terror on the German people. This had been averted by some loyal SA men joining with the SS to nip the plot in the bud. The Fiihrer had been disbelieving that so many could be disloyal, yet even now was considering clemency for Röhm. This was an obvious lie, of course. I guessed well enough what had happened to Röhm in Stadelheim. I shuddered to think what would have become of me had I remained so close to him. I would realise later how much my friend had protected me. When the lion is abroad, as Röhm often pointed out, the best place to hide is in his cage.
Though I had to be guarded, I told Signor Frau I had reason to believe the SA were involved in no such plot. Any plot was almost certainly from the right of the party. In a whisper, Signor Frau begged me to tell him more, but I could not. I did make it clear that I was not at present a wanted man and was only avoiding the SS in case they associated me with Ernst Röhm. The Stabschef had been a good friend to me. He had been made a scapegoat by Himmler.
Frau had never himself trusted Himmler. ‘That little mouth of his looks like an arsehole,’ he said. ‘And we all know what comes out of an arsehole.’
I had become used to such coarseness in the prison and did not find his language as offensive I might have done.
‘With all the commies and Sozis rounded up,’ he continued, ’they’re now squabbling among themselves. And God help those of us who are caught between them.’
I said ‘Amen’ to that and together we drank a small cup of very strong coffee.
Frau had decided not to go out to work that day. He would keep me company. I think he felt protective towards me. I feared for him. I asked him if his action was wise. People noticed if you did not keep to routines. He saw the sense in this and reluctantly agreed. ‘But you will be careful, my dear friend?’ I assured him I would. These days I was nothing but cautious.
When the boy came back with the bread, his father suggested he have his breakfast before readying the barrel organ for the day’s work. He begged me to stay in for the day and rest. I should have his bed again. He would be out until the evening, and I would not be inconveniencing him. I could stay here as long as I needed.
I promised I would. Those months in Ettstrasse and Stadelheim had exhausted me. I fell asleep in the chair listening to the wireless. I had not even put on my boots.
The news on the radio was full of Hitler’s dismay at SA treachery, which could easily have led to civil war in Germany. It was miserable stuff. The German stations talked of communist perils and of the aliens among us who must be expunged. No wonder poor Signor Frau was worried. He was one of those aliens, as, of course, was I.
How strange, I thought, to consider yourself a loyal German citizen yet be regarded by everyone around you as some sort of interloper.
I was awakened around noon by the wireless, which I had not turned off: more news of Röhm’s so-called attempted putsch, reassurances that all the ‘criminal elements’ were being rounded up and that the threats of civil war or a socialist takeover had been averted. I knew I had best lie low. Signor Frau could continue to give me shelter for a few days, so I would eventually be able to make it back to the railway station and be on my way to Rome. I had been given a timetable with my ticket. If I did not go via Vienna, I would have to change in Innsbruck and Milan since no express ran from Munich, but I had no fears of Innsbruck, even though a nascent Nazi Party had been established there for some time. I wondered what had happened to Otto Strasser and the others who managed to be out of Germany. Had they escaped in large enough numbers to regroup in a friendly country and plan a return? Were they in Prague or Vienna? Possibly they had headed for Innsbruck. Or was there something I didn’t know? How big was the Black Front? How many ‘secret’ friends did Röhm and the others have among the Nazis? What chance did my old mentor have of escaping Stadelheim and getting to safety?
To be truthful I was more than grateful to Signor Frau for his insistence I remain in his house. The organ-grinder’s mews was a wonderful sanctuary after my terrible imprisonment. While I still felt the need to flee Germany, until it was safe Frau’s was the best I could hope for.
I was left alone in the mornings when the whole family set off for the market, and I ate well in the evenings when they returned. During the day I read whatever newspapers Signor Frau had brought in the previous evening or looked through Zoyea’s vast store of film magazines. A number of them had published pictures of myself and Mrs Cornelius. I was surprised how I had altered in those few months. When not playing Winnetou, I had been sleek, urbane, and conventionally handsome. Now I had a gaunt, wolfish look. I was much paler, probably from the poor nutrition. The terror and discomfort I had experienced had caused my cheeks and eyes to sink and even my mouth seemed thinner. Eventually, with a change of circumstances and improved diet, I could be restored to my old self, but it would take some time.
After about a week I agreed to go with Zoyea to a local cinema to watch two very miserable films, one of them American and the other Austrian. Letty Lynton featured the depressive Joan Crawford and Liebelei starred Magda Schneider, Wolfgang Liebeneiner and Gustaf Gründgens. Directed by Max Ophuls, it lacked much of his familiar gaiety. Zoyea seemed to enjoy both of them far more than I did, and at that moment, certainly, it seemed the magic had gone from our visits to the films. The best part of the programme was an episode of The Wolf Dog, starring Rin Tin Tin Jr. I could not help but be reminded of Hitler’s own ‘Wulf’, his Alsatian dog.