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Автор Филип Керр
Philip Kerr
A Man Without Breath
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Franz Meyer stood up at the head of the table, glanced down, touched the cloth and awaited our silence. With his fair hair, blue eyes and neoclassical features that looked as if they’d been carved by Arno Breker, Hitler’s official state sculptor, he was no one’s idea of a Jew. Half of the SS and SD were more obviously Semitic. Meyer took a deep, almost euphoric breath, gave a broad grin that was part relief and part joie-de-vivre, and raised his glass to each of the four women seated around the table. None were Jewish and yet, by the racial stereotypes beloved of the propaganda ministry, they might have been; all were Germans with strong noses, dark eyes and even darker hair. For a moment Meyer seemed choked with emotion, and when at last he was able to speak, there were tears in his eyes.
‘I’d like to thank my wife and her sisters for your efforts on my behalf,’ he said. ‘To do what you did took great courage, and I can’t tell you what it meant to those of us who were imprisoned in the Jewish Welfare Office to know that there were so many people on the outside who cared enough to come and demonstrate on our behalf. ’
‘I still can’t believe they haven’t arrested us,’ said Meyer’s wife, Siv.
‘They’re so used to people obeying orders,’ said his sister-in-law, Klara, ‘that they don’t know what to do. ’
‘We’ll go back to Rosenstrasse tomorrow,’ insisted Siv. ‘We won’t stop until everyone in there is released. All two thousand of them. We’ve shown what we can do when public opinion is mobilized. We have to keep the pressure up. ’
‘Yes,’ said Meyer.
‘And we will. We will. But right now I’d like to propose a toast. To our new friend Bernie Gunther. But for him and his colleagues at the War Crimes Bureau, I’d probably still be imprisoned in the Jewish Welfare Office. And who knows where after that?’ He smiled. ‘To Bernie. ’There were six of us in the cosy little dining room in the Meyers’ apartment in Lutzowerstrasse. As four of them stood up and toasted me silently, I shook my head. I wasn’t sure I deserved Franz Meyer’s thanks, and besides, the wine we were drinking was a decent German red – a Spatburgunder from long before the war that he and his wife would have done better to have traded for some food instead of wasting it on me. Any wine – let alone a good German red – was almost impossible to come by in Berlin.
Politely I waited for them to drink my health before standing up to contradict my host. ‘I’m not sure I can claim to have had much influence on the SS,’ I explained. ‘I spoke to a couple of cops I know who were policing your demonstration and they told me there’s a strong rumour doing the rounds that most of the prisoners arrested on Saturday as part of the factory action will probably be released in a few days. ’
‘That’s incredible,’ said Klara. ‘But what does it mean, Bernie? Do you think the authorities are actually going soft on deportations?’
