Good People (35 page)

…

At last Thomas had a plan.

The principle was simple: everyone reached a point where he had to do something. Either he took a great leap forwards, or he sank into torpor, and when he woke up he would be appalled by the opportunities he had lost. Most regrettably, in the midst of his great leap at Milton, while he was busy creating branches throughout Europe, events beyond his control destroyed the company's business in Germany. A few
months later, at the meeting with Weller, he understood that the kernel of the idea he had developed in Milton wasn't going to die, but its creator had to nurture it anew for the present masters. After he invented the Model of the Polish People (or of the Asiatic Slav, depending on where he presented it), his happiness and satisfaction were restored as he advanced, made new connections and adapted to a bureaucratic system with a thousand doors. But now his work was going nowhere while his routine remained exhausting. They had established an agency to advise for governmental bodies, but they weren't initiating events or partners in policy planning. They evaluated other people's plans and often didn't know whether their clients made use of their advice. Thomas had the familiar feeling of walking on a plain without mountains or valleys or rivers. A barren landscape where you marched, actually you were dragged forwards without understanding: but if that was all, why keep marching?

On Monday morning he hurried to work early. In March, after taking on ten more workers, their office had moved to Chmielna, a side street that was lit sparingly. On hot days you could feel the flutter of the wind, and on rainy days the trees and the tight spaces between the houses sheltered you. He imagined himself and Clarissa strolling there in the twilight. He knew exactly where they would stop for ice-cream and a celebratory dinner, and then for a last coffee: in Café Blikle.

He sat down, called Wolfgang and asked for a meeting with his superior. Today he would write a memorandum that would make a strong impression on Kresling, and he would add a few comments about Himmler's most recent memorandum describing events in Poland—he had secretly received a copy from Martin Luther.

He wrote:

As he was finishing the memorandum, Weller knocked on his door, greeted him with a ‘good evening' and departed. When Weller
discovered his plan to transfer the model to Göring's aegis, he would fight him with all his strength. Thomas was appalled by the thought that the man would stop at nothing to protect his status and the power he had attained.

For a moment he vacillated—should he delay his leap?—but when doubts began to buzz inside him, he rushed over to the mirror, looking for signs of ageing. Otherwise, how was it possible to explain his surrender to the whisper of fear? And fear of a sad mediocrity like Weller! Hadn't he overcome men far cleverer? So what if the entire Foreign Office struggled against him! Mid-leap, you hovered over the abyss, and you might fall; he had no illusions on that score. But if you believed your destiny lay on the other side, you jumped!

In any event, he consoled himself, if Kresling supported the idea and directed the power of Göring's influence his way, the battle would be decided with ease. And if Göring understood that subordinating the model to his office would give him an advantage in his struggle against Himmler for control of Poland, he would pester the Führer until he got what he wanted. The Foreign Office would raise a fuss, but after all, how could you compare Ribbentrop's status with that of Göring?

Thomas needed Göring's backing because he was thinking beyond Poland. With Göring's help the office responsible for the model would become one of the most influential in Poland; at the same time he would set up model branches in the countries that had just been conquered in the West. And all those branches—in Holland, Belgium, France—would be under Thomas's supervision. So what if he was selling the same idea as at Milton? There was no law against adapting a good thought to new circumstances. Besides, if a man resuscitated an idea and made a few changes in it, didn't the idea become new?

And there was a bonus: if Göring were his patron, Thomas could use the Reichmarschall's power to retaliate against Hermann. The idea gave him great pleasure: for an hour he sat in his office and embroidered plots that ended with Hermann being expelled from the
SS, and sent back to Berlin in miserable unemployment, understanding once and for all that Thomas was beyond his grasp.

…

Kresling's office was in the Reich headquarters on Aleje Jerozolimskie, a ten-minute walk from their office. Kresling received him warmly and immediately began to complain about the interminable struggles between Göring and Himmler.

Model aeroplanes hung from strings on the wall behind him, beginning with old examples from the Great War—two-engine Boeing planes, the Hawk II, a big Stuka and others. Wolfgang had told Thomas that Kresling came from a Catholic family, and during the Great War his elder brother, who was in Göring's squad, had crashed over the Somme. He had heard from Schumacher that Kresling had worked on the Four Year Plan along with Wohlthat, and, like him, was regarded as being close to the Americans. He had served as Göring's representative in negotiations to purchase aircraft from the American manufacturer Curtiss-Wright. Schumacher said that ‘we bought two Hawks, because in the industry they thought it was a good idea to build warplanes based on American models'.

Thomas stopped examining the model aeroplanes when his host's chilly gaze made it clear that his guest's interest in his hobbies did not give him pleasure. Kresling cursed Himmler again and looked at Thomas, a sign for him to outline his ideas. Thomas kept his memorandum in his briefcase; after consulting Wolfgang, he had decided it would be better to present his ideas to Kresling without leaving behind any written evidence. Kresling could exploit the memorandum, Wolfgang had warned. ‘He's that kind of man, an enthusiast who knows how to use people to get what he wants.'

‘A document of some kind, even if it's not official, could be very helpful,' said Kresling, who seemed satisfied with Thomas's lecture.

‘At the moment such a document might prove damaging,' Thomas answered, ‘because I can only answer questions in my role as an
employee of the Foreign Office, and only questions connected to the activities of your office. The model's mandate is to supply local solutions but not to intervene in matters related to general policy.'

Kresling didn't answer. He leaned back in his chair until his little paunch bulged out under the buttons of his white shirt.

Thomas tried not to look at it. ‘Herr Kresling, I am offering my assistance,' he said. He was determined not to let the meeting deteriorate into a drowsy exchange of ideas. ‘The model predicted all of the failures and successes in Poland. But we are not as smart as people think, only systematic and professional. The fact is that people ask our opinion so they can use it as a shield against errors made despite our warnings.'

‘Look, your model has gained respect that one couldn't have expected; perhaps its natural home is not the Foreign Office,' said Kresling.

Thomas swore he would kiss Wolfgang that evening for his help. ‘We have earned respect, and everyone enjoys praising us; that's much easier than taking our advice seriously,' Thomas complained.

‘The question is whether the Foreign Office will fight to keep such an impressive agency in its own hands,' Kresling commented.

Thomas felt that this compliment was delivered in a prickly tone. ‘In the final analysis, only one man has the authority to determine where it is possible to exploit the full potential of the model,' he said, studying Kresling for any further sign of the contempt he had heard in his voice. He was relieved to find not even a hint of it.

Kresling leaned over the desk. There were files on it, an ashtray, a coffee cup and framed photographs of a woman and small children on horseback. The pictures were all turned to face the chairs opposite Kresling. Didn't he like to look at his loved ones? On the wall, to the left of the desk, slightly obscured, hung a framed copy of a copper etching by Dürer. A tremor passed through his body. Sunlight appeared to slide over the grey print, leaving it in gloom. In his youth, Hermann had been drawn to Dürer, and had especially loved that etching, ‘Knight, Death and the Devil', which he thought the perfect German
work of art. ‘Death and the Devil are beneath and behind you, the city far above, the high point of the manly journey—inspired by heroism, in the midst of terror—to fame.'

‘You know Helmut Wohlthat, right?' Kresling asked.

‘I have participated in some meetings that he led.'

‘He took care of the Jewish businesses in Germany very well.'

‘On the subject of Jewish property in Poland, maybe I can be of assistance to you,' said Thomas, looking away from the etching. ‘In Berlin I helped with the confiscation of Bamberburg, the Jewish bank, and I bought—'

‘The problem,' Kresling interrupted, ‘is that, instead of dealing with the matter of Jewish property, I have to deal every day with strange requests that the Americans make to Wohlthat, and that he throws onto me. The latest one touches on all sorts of friends of theirs who are listed with us as disturbers of the peace.'

‘That's certainly an unnecessary inconvenience,' Thomas said, not understanding.

‘And they don't ask, they demand! The American masters,' Kresling snarled. ‘I have seen a lot of hypocrisy, but the Americans… forget about the Évian Conference, and forget about that ship, the
St Louis
. Now they have a new man in charge of immigration, Breckinridge Long, who likes Jews about as much as the Führer. He's increasing the restrictions on their visas, and demanding that relatives of the Polish Jews deposit five thousand dollars in their names. If you don't have money, as far as the Americans are concerned, you can be buried. They shout and protest, but they don't even want the Jews who are on their lists. They just want us to make sure nothing happens to them.'

‘Not long ago we held a discussion about the American question,' said Thomas. He was disturbed by the allusion to his former job. Since he couldn't determine whether it was useful or damaging to him, he decided to shift the discussion to other areas. ‘I'll say this with caution, although the data were incomplete, most of the participants believed that, if you compared anti-Jewish sentiment in England, France, Germany and the United States, the United States was closer to
Germany and France. The surveys of the Gallup company show that more than fifty per cent of Americans believe the Jews bear some of the blame for the events in Germany.'

‘That's entirely logical'—Kresling tapped the desk and leaned towards Thomas—‘but you still see how International Jewry manages to manipulate the President.' Angry creases formed around his eyes. ‘Where does that damn pressure come from? Even the Poles are suddenly complaining about our treatment of their Jews, and the Red Cross is bothering me about the supply of milk to Jewish children. Where were they after the war, when children in Silesia didn't even dare to dream about milk?'

‘There's no limit to hypocrisy,' Thomas said, determined to make it clear to Kresling that he was a man after his own heart. ‘You remember that the model described the efforts the Poles made to get rid of their Jews.' Kresling nodded gloomily, and Thomas realised he must have only skimmed the pamphlet. ‘The plan to transfer millions of Jews to Madagascar, which Franz Rademacher, the head of the Jewish Department in the Foreign Office, is working on right now,' he explained, ‘is actually a Polish idea! It was clear to everyone in Poland that their country had too many unproductive Jews.'

‘There's no more shame in the world,' Kresling muttered. ‘The Norwegians are also giving us trouble. I told them: please examine the section on Jews in your constitution of 1814.'

He stood up, holding a file, and walked across the room, where two sofas were arranged with a fine table between them. He sank down on one of them and gestured towards the other. His body smelled of talcum powder, his trousers were hitched up. Thomas took a look at the carefully folded socks—three folds—visible beneath the cuffs. He had never understood why people wore trousers that were too short. It was self-evident that trousers should reach your shoes even when you're sitting down. Kresling sat him down opposite the Dürer. The sky turned overcast again, and a grey veil was spread over the etching.