Mila 18 - Leon Uris [75]
“I can work right here in my apartment. There’s an empty storeroom connected to my kitchen. It will work fine.” Chris was relieved at the idea that Von Epp was going to let him stay in Warsaw. He had dreaded this moment Now it had come and gone—just like that.
“Now, the phone lines are open to Switzerland. I’ll get you a direct connection with your agency—Swiss News, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“Fine agency. I know your boss, Oscar Pecora, quite well. We’re putting up a message center for the press corps at the Bristol so you’ll be able to have twenty-four-hour service—you might as well let us see your incoming messages first, because we’ll see them sooner or later. Now, anything particular that you want?”
“What’s the price?”
Horst von Epp smiled. “You’re a big boy—you know what you can and can’t do. All I want is your gentleman’s agreement to keep within reasonable limitations. I don’t want to work hard, and the best way to make things easy for myself is to make them easy for you. What do you say?”
Chris shrugged. “I’ve never had it better.”
“I am afraid there is one unpleasant bit of business on the agenda. So far as I am concerned a Jew can take a photograph as well as a blond Aryan and certainly report a story—but—”
“Rosenblum.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“He offered to quit several days ago. He knew this would happen.”
Horst von Epp flopped his arms. “I wish I knew what to do. It appears that Berlin simply won’t let me have room to maneuver on Jewish matters.”
Chris wanted to press the point. Rosy knew it would happen. But Rosy had been wrong about the Germans closing out Swiss News. Better hold his tongue ...
“It’s not your fault,” Chris said.
“I have an idea. How about dinner tonight? My suite?”
Chris shrugged. Why not? He had nothing better to do.
“Perhaps ... a little company later on?”
Chris walked to the window. So many times he had seen Deborah standing before that same window ... had watched her from the alcove. The last time he had looked at Deborah her eyes were mad and she plunged into darkness. Sienna Street was only four blocks away. So near ... so damned near. She was there with Paul now, on Sienna Street. Another lonely night, and another, and another. Would there ever be a moment of peace for him? He didn’t want to face the darkness alone again. Nagging, longing. Lonely. He would stand at the window and look toward Sienna Street and think about her. Rosy told him he was a fool, she would never leave Paul Bronski.
Chris turned and faced the German. “Ladies? Sure, why not? That’s just fine with me.”
Chris approached the dinner engagement with Horst von Epp with suspicion. It had all come too easily. He thought he would be on a train to Switzerland by this time, booted from Poland. Instead, he and Swiss News were still alive and operating in the middle of a German occupation.
Chris suspected that Horst von Epp would be a perfect host. He was. In fact, he was more comfortable with the German than he had been with anyone for months. Horst knew all the latest stories and had vast amounts of gossip about mutual friends in the newsmen’s world. Chris’s suspicions began to fade as the evening wore on. For a while he hung on every word, looking for some telltale sign of what Von Epp really wanted from him. The German would not tip his hand. Further, Chris was constantly amazed at Von Epp’s open expressions of disdain for many Nazis.
“Well,” Von Epp said, “speaking with realism, I am committed to Hitler’s policies. If he wins, I shall be an enormous man. If he loses, I’ll become a gigolo on the Riviera. I have one terrible aversion, and that is to perform honest labor. I’ll do anything to avoid it, and frankly, I’m not suited for much.”
Chris admired his candor.
“Now!” Horst said. “I have a surprise for you. Surprises should always go with dessert.”
The German handed a Kennkarte over the table. Chris opened it. It was a document signed by Kommissar Rudolph Schreiker. Ervin Rosenblum was to be allowed to continue his position with Swiss News. He was not obliged to wear