Keeping Secrets (36 page)

Little did I know the cylinder would prove a total blank.

9

“I just can't understand it,” I told Edwin.

“I'll try and get in there over the weekend to see if the machine's fouled up somehow. You're sure you've told me everything you overheard?”

“Yes, oh fudge!”

“Don't worry, these setbacks are part of the game. Just keep up the good work. Now you've got to focus your attention on the Cabots.”

“All right. Tetzel mentioned a ‘takeover' by someone they could trust—does that mean another revolution?”

“Most likely. The trouble is, there are so many over there all the time it's hard to know which of them to take seriously. We'll check out Barrista as far as we can, but that's going to be difficult.”

“Do you think they're only using him?”

“I don't know. It's possible … once he serves their purpose in stirring up trouble, they might ditch him.”

“That means Tetzel could be lying to Cabot.”

“It's possible. Just keep your eyes open. This guy Cabot keeps lookin' more vital.”

“All right. When he said copper I nearly fell through the floor. The way he talked, Germany must be depending upon him for a good percentage of their supply. He certainly seems to think he wields some influence, anyhow.”

“Well, that's somethin'. Either he has his hands on quite a few producing properties or he's paying a premium to Pancho Villa to keep some good ones open in the north. Maybe German money is footing that bill, too.” He paused, then continued, “It's hard getting great quantities of anything out of there right now, with all those wars going on, so unless …”

“What?”

“Nothing for now. Just keep your eyes open.”

“Who are those others with the queer names—Boy-Ed and von Papen?”

“Boy-Ed is German naval attaché; von Papen is the military attaché in charge of sabotaging munitions factories in this country. They probably resent von Rintelen's intrusion on their territory.”

“This is becoming awfully complicated.”

“You're not wolfing. Without your help we'd be a lot longer finding out as much as we know. By the way, how's your money situation?”

“Terrible.”

“I've put in a request for a little dough for you, but no answer yet.”

“It's all right. I'm making it.”

In fact I had looked at a pair of Lady Betty pumps in the window at Joske's, and, with holes worn nearly through the soles of my work shoes, I was tempted to break through the window and steal them out of sheer desperation. But there was also a shoe-repair shop nearby with one-day service, so I took my shoes and had them fixed. I could never tell Edwin of my true feelings about the financial straits I was in. Each time we got together there was so much of importance to be discussed, my meager needs seemed to dissipate by comparison, especially when I was working for a group that had little funding. And from the looks of Edwin's dowdy attire, he wasn't very well fixed either.

When Edwin wasn't in sight it was a different story. Sometimes I got so angry I came near calling him up and quitting. I could go back to the Y for a while, live with a roommate, and with my salary at the bank I could manage new clothes now and then if I budgeted carefully. As it was I could scarcely afford a matinee, and when Keith invited me to go with him to see Billie Burke in
Jerry
at the Grand, I couldn't accept because I had to meet Edwin that evening.

At the end of the month Cabot came back twice again to see Mr. Tetzel, and, although Edwin's surreptitious visit to the storeroom to check on the equipment proved it to be working perfectly, again we got nothing on the cylinders. Both times I was denied the chance to hear what was going on during the visits, because I was working on urgent letters when Cabot arrived. I could slip out only long enough to turn on the machine without arousing suspicion as to my whereabouts. Once I opened a file drawer near Tetzel's door, and listened hard. But I heard nothing, and couldn't chance putting my ear to the wall. In fact, the farther away from that side of the office I stayed, the better. I got back to my work, in hopes the clacking of the typewriter would encourage Tetzel and Cabot to raise their voices.

When Edwin and I discussed the continually blank cylinders, I was afraid he'd think me some sort of counterspy, withholding information. Yet he didn't seem to doubt my word, instead cautioning me to try and see what went on in that office during the Cabot visits. “See if the cabinet gets covered up somehow. That could muffle the sound and keep the recorder from picking it up.”

Mr. Tetzel left for a trip through his “old homestead country,” as he referred to it, during Fiesta Week. In a jovial mood the day before he left, he said, “What I'm really trying to do is avoid all the crowds that pour into the city during Fiesta. I haven't enjoyed the Battle of Flowers parade since the year one of Sophie's ladies' clubs had a float and I got hoodwinked into driving. You should have seen the flowers on that wagon—thousands of them—they wired them to the wheel spokes and even to the poor horses' harness and blinders. On top of that I sneezed and sniffled for a week because I was allergic to pollen and didn't know it. I told Sophie, ‘Never again.' …”

We both laughed over the story, and he told me he had a good picture of the float at home and would bring it someday for me to see. I was so taken off guard by the conversation I forgot myself and came dangerously close to asking him about the photo in his safe. Thank goodness he spoke before I did and began another funny reminiscence.

At the end of the day—we worked late because he had letters that must go out before he left town—he asked me into his office on a more serious note. Everyone else was gone; my heart quickened as he called my name. I was beginning to live more and more in fear of being suspected. So many conversations with Edwin. Had someone working for Tetzel and the Germans been listening in? So many trips to the storeroom. Had he gone in himself, to check on my activities in there? So many involuntary jerks of my shoulders if he should say something while I was occupied, startling me. Had he begun putting two and two together, just by watching me?

I walked in and sat down, pencil in hand.

“This doesn't concern any more work for today, Camille,” he said, looking through the lap drawer in his desk. “It's another little matter.”

“Yessir.” I gulped and gripped the pencil tighter.

“I've been very pleased with your work here, and as of the first of May I'm increasing your salary again by ten dollars a month.”

I let out an audible “gosh,” then added more calmly, “You're very generous, Mr. Tetzel. I don't know what to say.”

“Unlike many bankers, I believe in paying my good staff well. On the other hand, my employees who don't show so much initiative make considerably less, so I guess it evens the score. Banking business is improving all the time, you know. Since the Federal Reserve System went into effect it's much easier for banks to grow and prosper. We can hold less in reserve nowadays, without fear of people running scared and pulling their funds out.

“I believe those who take on more than their share of the extra work resulting should be repaid in kind.”

“It's so much, though … I really wish I could take on still more work for you in return. I know my job well enough. I could take over other things for you, or maybe help someone out in another department where the load is heavier. I could help more with your personal correspondence. You always seem reluctant to ask me, but believe me, I wouldn't consider it an imposition at all.”

“I'll have to do some thinking on that. For now … perhaps I ought to let you carry my late mail for me. Sometimes I get so exasperated with the mails nowadays. In fact I have a lot of envelopes ready to go out tonight, and I'd like to stay around for another couple of hours. Could you take them by on your way?”

I was up on my feet. “Anytime, sir,” I said, and reached out for the stack of paper and envelopes on his desk. I noticed they were turned facedown.

“Not quite yet. I'll bring them out shortly,” he said.

As I walked out of his office I felt lower than ever. Not only had I accepted more money from him, but I'd used my job to my advantage again, to hurt him. I almost wished he'd be unreasonable or impetuous instead of nice. Then I wouldn't feel so bad about betraying him, regardless of what he did on the outside of the bank. Soon he brought out the stack. The letters were now folded and inserted, the envelopes sealed.

I left around six-thirty and hurried home to have a look. What I found gave me the feeling of sinking little by little into quicksand. Again, to R. M. Francke in New York: “I shall endeavor to purchase several small newspapers in the Fredericksburg-Comfort area, where we have much sympathy for our cause. I believe I can get them for less than twenty-five thousand dollars. I will report upon return. I have made several inconspicuous overtures to the
Frie Presse
here, but have been met with cool reception.”

Still another memo to the same Mr. Francke: “I entreat you to consider the possibilities I hold in my power down here re Mexican situation. We all know already that V.H. has a history of betrayal. I remind you again, if we can get someone who believes in loyalty to his friends such as B., we are more likely to be able to deal with him should it become necessary. We can persuade him to support our cause in recompense for our services.”

Still another brief memo: “Perhaps M.K. has vision beyond mine, but I believe at this point third party he mentions is hardly plausible even in vague and remote future, due to lack of trustworthiness and industry. He is not serious, surely?”

Even if the recording machine proved of limited service to us, the letters surely helped. I called Edwin and had them picked up. They presented many cryptic messages, I was certain, but because he was extremely careful in his wording they surely could never be used as supportive evidence, only clues to an ever-unwinding spool of yarn.

Edwin and I discussed at length the memo on “B.”—Barrista. The BNA had done some checking, and believed the name to refer to a well-known family in Mexico. They were stumped by the fact that no first name or initial had surfaced at this point, however. There were five Barrista brothers, almost any one of whom might have political leanings. The most prominent among them was Fernando Barrista, the renowned historiographer and journalist, yet perhaps even more likely to have aspirations to power because of his fiery temperament and vast influence on the Mexican Pacific coast was Carlos Barrista.

“Those two are the best bets, even though the name Barrista is common enough down there that we might not even have the right family line.”

“Are you going to have them watched?”

“No. Unfortunately, we have no agents down there.”

The final memo on the “third party” baffled Edwin completely. Who was untrustworthy and lacking in industry? Certainly many Germans looked with contempt upon people who were not industrious, yet the memo had not mentioned if it was a German in Germany, or a citizen over here, or somewhere else. It said enough only to cause the BNA to continue digging into Tetzel's activities.

During Fiesta Week, when he was out of town, I became very ill with a mild case of influenza. (The doctor called it “mild.” I had several other names for it.) Torrential rains beginning on the weekend may have brought it on, as I got caught in a downpour with no umbrella or any other protective gear, but it was just as well because the streets were still so full of determined merry-makers I preferred staying in anyway.

I probably wouldn't have gotten a doctor except that Keith came by with a box of groceries on Monday night and I was too sick to go to the door. I was aching all over and running a high fever, and had lost count of the days. I had no idea it was Monday. I didn't even think to report for work, and I suppose no one there considered investigating my absence because Mr. Tetzel was out of town. Keith was frantic.

“I'll be back with a doctor. Stay right where you are,” he said through the door.

I could not have moved if I'd wanted to. He also went for his mother, who demanded the landlord admit her and looked after me until the doctor showed up, and, as I was told later though I had no idea of time passing, she stayed all night and into the next afternoon. The fever broke then and I was able to sit up and move around some, so she went back to the store and returned later with dinner for me. In between I watered my thirsty ivy plant, which seemed to like my apartment better than Cecelia's shelf in our room at the Y, and had accordingly sprouted runners in all directions. One was climbing steadily up the River Avenue wall. It seemed to me I lay in bed for hours just staring at it.

I recall also that, during the delirium of fever, someone asked, “Where's her family? Is she here all alone? Can't we reach her mother?”

When I was feeling better and able to think straight, that little interlude of conversation made me feel sorry for myself and brought a lump to my throat.

Tetzel was due to be gone for the whole week, not returning until May 3, so I stayed home and tried to take care of myself. The Butler family literally treated me as one of their own, Christie coming over two or three times during the day and Mrs. Butler coming whenever she had an opportunity to leave the store. Keith often came too, but stayed politely outside the door.

When the end of the week came he asked if I was up to a drive out to the San Jose Mission for a picnic. The weather was deliciously cool and breezy, bicycle-riding weather, but Keith insisted on borrowing his father's car and driving us out because of my weakened condition.

“You've lost weight, just look at you,” he said on the way.

“I'll gain it back again.”

“Camille, I don't know what you do at that bank, but you certainly are overworked. The doctor said you were exhausted. I think you ought to consider finding another position if that man overworks you so pitilessly.”