The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [29]
On the stage the comedian's rubbery face was exalted and flushed with the power he held over them. Exuberantly he did quick imitations: Rudolph Hess, drooling, raving insanely, escaping in a plane to England; Goebbels explaining a night put to his wife with the most ridiculous and outrageous lies; Goering promising that no bombs would ever fall on Berlin as he dived underneath a table to escape the falling debris. When the comedian made his exit there was a tremendous applause. It continued until he reappeared. The audience gasped and was still.
His hair was combed over his eyes and there was a smudge on his upper lip that could be a short, small mustache. He had screwed up his rubbery face into a startling Hitlerian mask. He stood near the wings, the look on his face half-parody, half-earnest. He radiated power and magnetism. He held the audience with his glance and in a loud voice that rang to the high-domed ceiling asked, “Do you want me back?”
There was a moment of shocked silence and as he stood there, slowly on that white-floured face appeared the deadly smile of a successful anti-Christ. The audience understood.
The room exploded. Some men leaped onto chairs and tables and shouted, “Yah, Yah.” The women clapped furiously. Some stomped on the floor with their feet, and others banged tables with their fists” The din filled the room, crashed against the walls, and reverberated against the ceiling.
Wolf was on his feet looking across the crowd at the stage with a grim smile on his face. Mosca had understood and leaned back in his chair sipping his drink. Frau Meyer was looking down at the table trying to restrain a smile of pleasure. Eddie was asking her, “What goes on, what the hell goes on?”
Frau Meyer said, “Nothing, nothing.”
Hella looked at Leo across the table. His face was rigid, but the tic on the left side was out of control. She flushed and unconsciously shook her head from side to side as if to disclaim any responsibility, any share in what was going on. But Leo turned his eyes away from her and stared again at the stage.
The comedian's rubbery face was normal now and he had brushed his hair back as he bowed. The illusion was gone, and he accepted the applause as if it were his due, given for the pleasure his art afforded.
The band struck up a tune. Wolf sat down nodding his head as if he understood many things. People moved out to dance. There were many glances at their table. Two young men seated near by had the girls with them almost hysterical with their murmured wit.
Leo stared down at the table, ‘fading his face twitching. He was angry, with a hurt and helpless despair. He hoped one of the others would suggest leaving.
Mosca, watching him, understood and said to Wolf and the others, “Let's get out.” As he stood up he saw that one of the young men had turned his chair so that he faced their table and could stare at Leo with an amused grin. The front of his head was bald, his face heavy, the features thick and forceful.
Mosca said to Wolf with a nod of his head, “Let's take that guy with us.”
Wolf studied Mosca as if he saw something he had guessed and hoped for. “Okay, I'll use my Intelligence card to get him outside. You got a weapon, just in case?”
“One of those small Hungarian things,” Mosca said.
Leo raised his head. “No, I don't want to do anything like that. Let us just leave.”
Hella took Mosca's arm. “Yes, let's leave,” she said. The others rose. Wolf was shaking his head up and down again as if he understood something. He glanced at Leo with a look of pity and contempt. He saw that Mosca had frowned and shrugged and was on his way out. As Wolf went past the other table he leaned over and put his face close to the young German's and looked into his eyes. “A loud laugh can be very unhealthy,