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:
The trailers did not promise much better to come. The news-reel was mostly about how the New Germany was restoring herself and consisted chiefly of shots of noble workers with spades and handsome men in uniforms. A smiling Chancellor hosted a party for equally happy foreign diplomats. We watched dutifully before leaving.
As Zoyea had already told me, the cowboys had all but disappeared from the screen. Tom Mix and Buck Jones had been replaced by women’s melodramas. Letty Lynton was a great success in America when it first appeared there, but in Germany it never had much popularity. The public mood was for more upbeat musical comedies and costume dramas. Glamorous English actresses continued to feature, though Gloria Cornish was clearly not getting the work she deserved. I would have preferred a musical or historical film to the gloomy, suicidal miseries we were forced to endure that evening.
I longed to restore my relationship with my little girl. Her companionship and admiration meant a great deal to me. But I was no longer the glamorous figure she had known while she was becoming a teenager. I was starved for female company. If LeBrun had been right, Mrs Cornelius had returned to Berlin to work for UfA there. By now, with her instinct for trouble, she might have departed from Germany altogether, moving to London or New York.
I was still nervous about leaving the little house and always glad to return to the comparative security of the mews. The SS and Gestapo were everywhere on the streets. Munich had been a stronghold of the SA. I jumped every time I saw a uniform and, having already suffered from prejudice in the prison, I was depressed by the notices in the shops which emphatically said they were German-owned and did not serve Jews. Ironically, I learned to avoid these places, as did the Fraus. Anyone of Mediterranean appearance was in danger of being insulted. Twice I was shoved into the gutter by men who voiced their disgust of me, and once I came under close scrutiny from the police who assumed that the dark-eyed girl with me was my daughter. But after a couple of weeks there were fewer SS about. Their action against the SA was clearly running down.
At the end of a fortnight I told Signor Frau I had better try to leave again and continue on my way to Rome. He was sympathetic. He himself was thinking of going to Madrid where he had relatives. Everyone said how wonderful life was in Spain these days. Was I sure it was entirely sensible of me to try to return to Italy? You never knew when they would turn on you, he said. The Spanish were more easygoing. There was not the same prejudice. Why didn’t I wait and see what he and his family decided to do. Then perhaps we could travel as a group? All he was waiting for was a letter from his cousin.
But I was growing anxious. I asked if I could leave the bulk of my papers and so on with him. Was there some place which would be safe? He suggested the old ‘show organ’ was as good a place as any to stow them. So I left my things, including my pistols, plans and other papers, with him to hide as he thought best. I decided to use my Spanish passport and travel as Señor Gallibasta, a Spanish tradesman. When I had settled again in Rome, I would ask him to send my possessions on to me by registered post. I took only one set of important plans and a couple of notebooks. The bulk of my cocaine I hid among the books. I did not wish to give a potential enemy any suspicion on which to arrest me. I would be able to replenish my supply once I was in Rome.
Though she was affectionate, Zoyea was disappointingly unmoved to hear I was leaving. Clearly I was no longer her glamorous hero, the sharer of her fantasies. I felt a pang, of course, but was not surprised. I, too, felt a lessening of emotional involvement. I had begun to think more and more of my lost Esmé. Why had she betrayed me so? Even now, from that scored and stained celluloid, she threatened me. If I had not tried to protect her, I should never have been compromised by Prince Freddy. I knew such women are always dangerous. I would not miss Zoyea as much once my sex drive subsided. My attention remained focused on potential danger. A threatened animal has little time for romance. Fraus little house was too small for all of us, and the boy remained, if not my enemy, certainly no friend.
What had happened to Kitty? Had she been arrested or had she followed the morphine back to Berlin? I was still in some danger from her. Half tempted to accept Signor Frau’s invitation, I knew I had no work in Spain and no one of any influence to help me. Rome remained my only immediate hope. From there I could make my way to London and pick up my money from Mr Green. Major Nye would help me contact someone of authority at the War Department. The English were bound to see the virtues of my designs. I prepared to say goodbye to the Fraus.
It goes without saying how grateful I was to the whole family. I knew I could trust them completely. They had a long history of keeping their mouths shut, of never betraying their friends. In helping me they had put themselves in a certain amount of danger. I did not wish to endanger them any further.
They would not accept direct restitution for their Christian decency, so discreetly I left an envelope of money on the little mantel and, wearing a smart summer suit, raincoat over my arm, carrying a small leather suitcase purchased at my request by the boy, I set off again for the railway station.
Restored in mind and body, if not exactly at ease with my situation, I reached the station to find it returned to normal. A few SS men and regular policemen stood around, but they were bored, not looking for anyone in particular. Approached by members of the public, the SS men would salute courteously and point out civil officers as the correct authority to help them. The boy had found out the times of the Innsbruck train for me. I went directly to the platform, presented my ticket and found a first-class compartment near the middle of the train. The express was already sighing and huffing, preparing to leave. I settled myself in the luxury of a comfortable seat and opened my copy of the Völkischer Beobachter, knowing an almost thrilling sense of relief as the train released its air brakes and began slowly to shunt away from the platform.
I was not yet free, of course, not by any means. I still had to fear the railway officials who could cause me trouble if they wished, but it would not be very long before we reached the border. In Innsbruck I would change trains for Rome, via Milan. I relished the coming pleasures of the Eternal City, of seeing my old friends again and hopefully restoring my relationship with Il Duce. I could put all my terrible experience behind me. I had been lured from my original path, which as a young man I had determined to walk. I recalled how I had sketched out my life plan, determined to serve the cause of mankind. My true vocation was calling to me again. After a diversion, for which I had paid dearly, I was now about to return to my vocation as an inventor and engineer.
The newspaper was full of Nazi triumphs. All reference to my old mentor Röhm had disappeared. Hanfstaengl’s art publishing firm, which had advertised portraits of the Nazi leadership, no longer mentioned him. The Stabschef had vanished from all official pictures, as if he, Strasser and the others had never existed, as if the world I had known was a false memory. What must rank-and-file Nazis make of this, let alone the German people?
I was not to be alone in my compartment for long. As the train drew away from the station, a well-dressed young man flung his bag on to the seat across from me and plunged in after it, stripping off his grey overcoat and throwing it casually on to the overhead rack. He raised his hat to me before putting that on top of his coat, reached into the side pocket of his bag, took out a book, a spectacles case and a newspaper, placed them on a seat, then lifted his luggage to sit it above him. He was tall, almost femininely good-looking, white-haired, a little on the plump side.