All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [119]
In the spring of 1960 I visited him in London. The telephone rang, he answered, and I heard him say in French, “What’s the date? Okay, I think I have someone for you. Wait a minute, let me check.” He turned to me. “What are you doing next week?” I told him I had no plans. “Can you get away for some urgent, well-paid work?” Of course. “He says it’s all right,” he told his caller. “Come over tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you.” He hung up and told me, “That was Prince Andronikov, De Gaulle’s personal interpreter, a wonderful man.… His problem is that Ben-Gurion is coming to Paris on an official visit next week with his own interpreter, and De Gaulle hasn’t one. The General thinks it’s a question of national prestige.” Andronikov had called on my friend to find a Hebrew interpreter. I agreed, of course. To be De Gaulle’s interpreter, to be present at his talks with Ben-Gurion, was an honor, a privilege. “Promise me you won’t pull another Geneva,” Teddy added. I promised.
The next day we had dinner with the prince. Teddy was right: He was quite a man, cultivated and well informed, capable and efficient, a master of his craft. He explained in detail how the summit would be organized. He, too, insisted on confidentiality, and I gave him my word. It was a full evening, and I was too excited to sleep. I pictured my encounter with the Israeli prime minister, and suddenly I froze. I realized I would have to back out of the project.
I had covered Ben-Gurion’s most recent visit to Washington, and he and I had played a kind of private game. I had a friend in his entourage who informed me of his whereabouts, and wherever he went, I would be there waiting for him: the White House, Vice President Nixon’s home, the Senate, the House of Representatives. And every time he saw me, Ben-Gurion would exclaim, “What, you again?” I was terrified at what would happen if he saw me standing alongside the General at the Elysée Palace, and I decided I couldn’t do it to him. Especially since, in a way, I would be part of the opposite camp.
Despite the late hour, I called Teddy and told him of my decision. He tried to reason with me. “All you have to do is inform Ben-Gurion in advance. I’m sure he’ll agree.” I stood my ground and finally came up with a decisive argument. “Teddy,” I said, “I may not be able to resist temptation. It would be a fantastic scoop and I wouldn’t want to embarrass you or your friend the prince.” There was a long silence. “Idiot,” Teddy finally said in his warm drawl. “This is going to cost you a lot of money and a historic opportunity to see two great men at work.” He sighed. “What you say is foolish, but once again I’m proud of you.” Professor Samuel Sirat, a future grand rabbi of France, acted as De Gaulle’s interpreter.
With hindsight I regret this decision. But perhaps I just wasn’t sure of myself. Perhaps I feared I would be unequal to the task.
I had similar worries when Maurice Carr, correspondent for the Jewish Chronicle of London, asked me to replace him for a few months. I was dying to accept: not only was the Anglo-Jewish weekly prestigious, it paid its correspondents well and reimbursed them for their expenses. But what about the language barrier? My English was inadequate. “Don’t worry,” the editor in chief declared. “You can send us your articles in Yiddish.” I finally accepted and was very unhappy when Carr returned.
• • •
The first official negotiations between West Germany and Israel opened in early 1952 at the Vassenaar Château in the Netherlands. My paper was eager for me to cover the event. Dov knew I was personally as well as professionally interested in these negotiations, and he made what he considered a generous offer: The paper would pay my travel costs. Visa formalities were settled in twenty-four hours. I was beginning to feel like a real reporter.
Only four journalists were accredited