The Laughter of Carthage

SIXTEEN

THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER, as heavily used and as vast as the Volga, as important to American history as the Dniepr to our own, wide and shallow and winding through gentle hills, brought a frisson of recognition. It was as if I had never left Russia at all. As I raised myself in my bunk, peering through the gap in the blind, I could easily believe myself on a train bound for Kiev. All my experiences since 1917 might have been no more than a prolonged hallucinatory fever. Then the billboards and signs in English appeared and we shifted course in a scintillant dawn for the outskirts of Memphis: Little rows of miserable, unpainted shacks, sudden clearings in which stood grandiose Victorian houses whose carved wood imitated Gothic churches and French chateaux, all under a threadbare covering of snow. The impression of pre-Revolutionary Ukraine continued to persist. These suburban streets were low and wide. Tram cars in smart liveries of brass and primary paint moved decorously along avenues of bare trees. The brightly painted gables and shutters seemed those of a well to do small town rather than real city, even as the higher buildings of the centre emerged from a haze of sunrise. As the train took a bend I glimpsed rows of tall sternwheel and sidewheel paddle steamers moored to wharves on which stood piles of cargo. I might have been in Nizhni Novgorod, save for sharp Baptist steeples taking the place of our Orthodox onion domes. There was also far more motor traffic than was ever found in a Russian town. Consequently there were more metalled roads.

A little dark smoke drifted in the mist. The stillness gradually gave way to sounds of a busy trading port preparing for the day. Then the illusion of familiarity was further distorted by the sight of a gang of negroes who puffed short-stemmed pipes and joked amongst themselves as they walked up towards the levee from the railroad tracks. I was by now used to black faces, but sometimes they still materialised in unexpected contexts. All servants were black in the South, from the conductor on the train to the well groomed coachman who had been sent to take me from the station to my rooms. His name, he said, was Gibson. He wore an old-fashioned brass-buttoned uniform, brown top coat and white gloves. He spoke in a low, cultured voice, a surprising contrast to the whining sing-song of the porters, paperboys and other urchins who moved everywhere with that ground-watching, half bestial lope. This was largely absent in the niggers of the North East, whom I assumed to be of different stock. The carriage took me along Main Street, through a city far more modern than I had expected, with construction going on everywhere. Although not reaching the vast heights of New York’s, some of her skyscrapers were at least fourteen storeys. Her trolley cars, overhead electric lighting, illuminated signs, automobiles, department stores, as well as her plentiful restaurants, created that reassuring blend I had missed so desperately in Washington and found at its finest in New York. Relatively small, Memphis was still a real city. The carriage stopped outside the Adler Apartments on Linden Street. To one side of the entrance was a Western Union office, which I was glad to see. Here my bags were transferred to two porters while a white manager welcomed me and showed me to my suite on the second floor. Mr Baskin wore a dark gabardine suit. He carried a hat and overcoat, explaining he had an appointment to keep. He showed me the amenities, wished me a pleasant stay in Memphis and courteously told me he was at my service if I needed anything further. By noon a maid had put away my clothes and I was able to bathe, change and lock my blueprints safely in a drawer. I decided to have some lunch.

Lacking the vibrant texture of New York or the self-conscious grandeur of Washington, Memphis had an attractive atmosphere of her own which I found welcome after the unreality of my past months in the capital. Turning out of Linden Street onto Main I strolled past cinemas, a theatre, large stores and public buildings, all of which comforted me, as did the network of signs and billboards advertising everything from tobacco to paint, drugs and electrical goods. In a pleasant, middle-class restaurant with a German name I ate peculiar local dishes which were not at all European. It was my first experience of blackeyed peas and cornbread, which seemed compulsory. A sweetish thick white ‘gravy’ was poured liberally over my chicken and potatoes. Having eaten, I felt like a ship which had taken on concrete ballast. Moving with some shortness of breath I made my way back to the Adler to be saluted by the doorman who already addressed me as ‘Colonel Peterson’. The efficiency, conscientiousness and eagerness to please of these coloured servants was remarkable. The unkindest thing anyone ever did was to make them discontented (as Griffith showed in Birth of a Nation). The status quo worked excellently for all concerned. Moreover, I experienced no prejudice from the Memphians. I had had no trouble in the restaurant, though my accent was not readily identifiable to them. Old-fashioned Southern courtesy still existed here. In the coming weeks I would find the people quite prepared to accept my accent as regional English or French and while I received occasional badinage, being told for instance that I sounded as if I held an egg in my mouth, I experienced little of the suspicion allegedly extended to foreigners in the South. They shared with other Americans an open curiosity never offended if you reply there are some questions you would rather not answer. Mainly I was happy to answer, however, even if my replies were not always strictly to the letter of the truth. I was forced to support Jimmy and Lucius in their perhaps mistaken effort to invent a more acceptable identity for me. I did not want them embarrassed.

Back at the Adler, I stretched myself on my bed and read the local Memphis Commercial Appeal, most of which I found at that stage bewildering. I was interested to discover, however, that there was already talk of the city’s need for a permanent aerodrome. I was not quite sure what I was doing in Memphis, but decided it would be best to wait until I heard from either Mr Roffy or Mr Gilpin. The apartment was comfortable enough, though a little old-fashioned by New York standards. I had a bedroom, a sitting-room, a bathroom and a dressing-room. It had limited services, but self-catering facilities were provided. This was the first time I had experienced the phenomenon. It suited me well enough, though I was not very experienced at making tea, coffee and the like for myself. Being above all adaptable I would learn reasonably quickly. The maid, Mr Baskin had assured me, would be willing to prepare me breakfast for ‘a small consideration’.

Now that the first excitement was gone, my spirits began to decline again. Thoughts of Esmé, Kolya, my mother and Captain Brown returned. By way of consoling myself, I began to write letters describing my journey via Knoxville to Memphis, my first view of ‘Huckleberry Finn’s own river’ and my impression of Southerners, which was good. I had written several such letters when I heard a knock on my door. I got up from the desk to answer it. Charlie Roffy stood there, full of enthusiasm and apologies, his belly rising and falling, his face red from climbing the stairs, ‘I’m real sorry we couldn’t meet you at the station, colonel. You must think us the worst kind of ill-mannered rogues. Dick and I were travelling in from Jackson and were held up. I do hope everything is to your liking.’

I told him I was perfectly comfortable. I thought I might have a few minor difficulties adjusting to the flat and might need a few words of advice later, but was sure I would feel like a native in a day or two.

‘Of course you will, sir. We’ll get a boy for you, if you like. Is there anything else you need? Cash?’

‘I’ve adequate means at present.’ I hesitated. ‘I take it you’ll be able to direct me to a source of female company.’

He was amused. ‘We’re not as backward as some people choose to think. One has to be discreet, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate. The smaller the city the more eyes it has, eh? But certainly all that can be arranged. Now, tell me, have you brought your designs with you?’

‘They are in this drawer.’

‘Splendid!’ Charlie Roffy drew his chin back into his neck, a quizzical rooster, and looked sideways at me from his sharp, grey-blue eyes. His rosebud mouth curved in a smile. ‘I’m real pleased, sir, that we met when we did. It was most fortunate. It was fate. Memphis is about to boom again. She’s eager to move into the future as rapidly as possible. We could not have come together at a better time. Tell me, sir, would you care to dine with Dick Gilpin and myself later?’

I told him it would be a pleasure. I found myself echoing the older man’s elaborate courtesy. Again his style was frustratingly reminiscent of my own past. Southern etiquette is persuasive; often, in a strange way, aggressive. It indicates a culture and institutions carefully preserved and maintained. It challenges the outsider while seeming to do the very opposite. As I discovered, a Southerner could frequently decry his own uncouth ways in direct proportion to his genuine arrogance. It was the habit of a beleaguered culture and immediately familiar to me. Since the Southerner shared our Russian taste for racy speech and colourful sayings I was often more at ease than anywhere else in America. I rarely had to offer an opinion; they had the trick of always assuming my agreement, and this of course proved particularly convenient. (As it emerged, there was little conflict of opinion in any case.)

‘I’ll pick you up here at around six,’ said Charlie Roffy as he left. ‘Meantime you might like to see the sights. There’s a hack outside now.’ Again I was impressed by his Southern thoughtfulness. I would leave the rest of my correspondence until later.

Like many towns founded on river trade, Memphis’s ‘centre’ was her quaysides. Fronting the river were warehouses, then came exchanges and offices, next shops, hotels, services, public buildings. Finally the residential areas shaded through a spectrum from black poor to white rich. I found the run-down prospect of Beale Street and its neighbours, with their pawnshops, miserable cafés and second hand clothing stores, without attraction for me. A glimpse of shambling black figures, the sound of some howling babies were more than enough to deter me. I could not (and still cannot) share in a sentimental admiration for singers of jungle chants and slave laments who lived lives of licence and immorality in disgusting streets. Even in the nineteen-forties I would meet people who wanted eagerly to know if I had met Memphis Minnie or W. C. Handy. I told them: I never spoke to, and neither had I ever listened to, these or any other caterwauling negroes. Only a generation sated on every possible sensation could make heroes and heroines of wretched drug fiends and alcoholics, most of whom died deservedly early deaths. And as for their white imitators, they were traitors to their heritage. Now I see they have put a statue of some Blind Melon in a public square and named a street after the effeminate dervish Presley. When I was in Memphis she represented the best of the South. Now, apparently, she honours the worst. Where white apes black, there Carthage has entirely conquered.

Is modern Memphis drowned now beneath a weight of Oriental shmaltz? Has she gone the way of the others? Have they substituted false fronts of plastic and plaster in celebration of some nostalgic never-never world where once stood impressive stone and rich marble? Those great brick structures spoke of dignified success and old wealth, of civic pride and social ambition. Her central arteries carried telephone wires, electrical current cross-hatching the sky wherever one looked. Her trolleys sang like the bells of Notre Dame and from the river her great steamers called out a lament to a departing past. Her cotton and her lifeblood were threatened by chemical silk. Once she had fed the dockers of Liverpool and the mill workers of Manchester and they in turn rewarded her. She had christened her greatest hotel after the English philanthropist Peabody whose name can still be seen on London’s Peabody Buildings. She was no provincial settlement to be destroyed by a single shift in the economic wind. She had known one great period of prosperity and now prepared for another. She would build the first municipal airport and eventually, by a mysterious historical and geographical process, would become the medical capital of the South, the home of dozens of hospitals, nurses’ colleges, clinics and research centers. A guide book might say that where her chief industry had been based on cotton now it was based on disease. My own theory concerns the curative properties of the Mississippi mud and its similarity to that found in the old Odessa limans before the Revolution. Sometimes I imagine Memphis transmogrified into a thousand featureless white skyscrapers surrounding a few acres of an idealised nigger town encased in preservative where tourists come to listen to darkies play banjoes, wailing of their miseries for a hundred dollars a day. At other times I dream nothing has changed, that I ride down Main Street just as I rode the first time. She is jammed with traffic. Horns are blaring, horses rearing, trams and omnibuses clatter and clank while frantic policemen fight to control the flow of automobiles and goods wagons.

I remember how my cabby reined in his horse with a fatalistic shrug. He said such congestion was unusual but it could never be anticipated. He suggested I walk the few blocks back to my apartment if I was in a hurry. It would soon be six. Since the cab had already been paid for, I gave him a good tip and wished him luck. I enjoyed making my way through that busy city thoroughfare. Unlike Washington, Memphis was a natural city. She had grown up spontaneously, out of the need to trade. If New York was the future, then Memphis was the familiar present. I moved amongst yelling drivers and dancing pedestrians, smiling with sheer pleasure. For too long I had known only capitals. Here at last was a city still chiefly characterised not by her ancient power, her monuments, but by her inhabitants. I did not feel overwhelmed by her. Indeed, it seemed possible to impress her. Perhaps here I could find a new starting point, as Kiev had been my first. I had been born in a city owing her existence to a river. Therefore I might easily flourish in Memphis.

I dined that evening with those generous elders, Roffy and Gilpin, at a restaurant called Jansenn’s, not far from my apartment. The food was unremarkable, but it was wholesome and seemed to the taste of my hosts. They had brought a young woman with them and I thought at first, with some delight, she was to be my companion. Pandora Fairfax was a bright-eyed, dark-haired little thing with a pert, bold manner who reminded me a little of Zoyea, the gypsy girl. To my astonishment I learned she was an aviatrix. She had recently come to Memphis to give flying displays. She was now thinking of settling. She and her husband were both flyers. ‘We’ve been barnstorming all over,’ she said, ‘but we think it’s time to quit.’

Charlie Roffy beamed. ‘Your teeth are bound to get too loose after a while.’ He explained genially: ‘Miss Pandora’s most famous trick is to hang by her teeth from a trapeze fixed to her husband’s plane. She also does wingwalking and parachute jumps.’

I was extremely impressed. Miss Fairfax was attractive and entertaining. She was eager to hear my own flying stories. Where had I flown, in what type of machines? I answered as best I could. She said she envied me the Oertz (‘for all it’s supposed to be a pig’). I was welcome to take up their De Havilland DH4 if I felt like it. Touched by her generosity I said I would clamber into that cockpit in a flash if the opportunity ever came. Gilpin had already told her about the new airport and aircraft I had designed. She wanted to see my plans. ‘You may study them whenever you wish,’ I said. She and her husband were in the process of trying to establish a private airfield, but our plans were complementary. ‘The more of us the merrier at this stage,’ she said. She left early. Shaking hands with me she smiled warmly. ‘I hope we’re able to help each other out, Colonel Peterson.’

When she had gone Dick Gilpin spoke of her admiringly. She was famous all over this part of the country. She had begun adult life as a typist but had learned to fly after only a few days of office work. ‘She proved a natural. Her husband’s a War ace. You might even have met him.’ I said I could recall nobody named Fairfax. ‘A fine man,’ said Charlie Roffy, offering me a large cigar. ‘And with more downright common sense than most of his breed.’

Dick Gilpin told me that, unless I objected, they had arranged for me to be interviewed for the Commercial Appeal. The paper was the best in Memphis. It might also wish to run a photograph of me, perhaps in uniform. I readily agreed. Charlie Roffy said it would help their case considerably. He asked if he could call on me at around nine the following morning. I was at his disposal, ‘I am here as your guest,’ I said. ‘And I wish only to do what will best serve our mutual interests.’

My friends dropped me off at the Adler Apartments before going their separate ways. For the first time in many months I went directly to bed and fell into a deep sleep. I dreamed of Memphis rising above the river on a silver cloud and I was the captain, steering a course over the prairies of Kansas and Dakota. Old Shatterhand, the buffalo hunter, was at my side, dressed in deerskins, his long gun crooked in his arm. The prairies will belong to the nomad cities of America again and death shall be abandoned. I could not have seen Brodmann in Memphis and mistaken him for Hernikof. Hernikof was murdered and his body desecrated on the cobbled wharves of Batoum. Why should Brodmann follow me? He was a Jew and a Communist. They would never have allowed him through. The city dips and wheels as I direct her towards the sun. I am blinded by too many reflections. What did I find in the City of Dogs that Brodmann desired so greedily? The horizon re-emerges. Saat kactir? Jego widzialem, ale ciebie nie widzialem. The dream shifts always to the West, always just a little out of reach. Surely it must stop at the sea. I am a man of courage. I can pilot the ship. I am in control. But what is this pursuit? I must concentrate. We are falling. I feel sick. Ich will nicht Soldat werden! What could Brodmann do to me? They think a piece of metal makes me their slave? I would not become a Mussulman. I am an enemy of the Sultans. Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt im Abendsonnenschein. Gibt es etwas Neues? I shall not go to Berlin.

After breakfast I found myself at the newspaper’s studios. The journalist who interviewed me said the story would be out next day. What did I think of Memphis? And the South? Both were beautiful. I said, and the people were very well-mannered. He asked me where I was from in England. Whitechapel, I told him (I almost believed I knew it, so often had Mrs Cornelius spoken of it). He asked if Whitechapel were anything like Memphis. I said it had quite remarkable similarities. The river, of course, and the numbers of darkies. The reporter wished me to elaborate. It was impossible to tell him much more than our darkies were decently behaved and worked chiefly in the docks and public conveniences, which proliferated everywhere in London: a fact frequently remarked upon by travellers. It was close enough to the truth, after all. My invention has often anticipated the actuality. The interview proved more exhausting than I had guessed and I was glad, that afternoon, to motor out with Pandora Fairfax to meet her husband. He was a tall, aquiline man whose good looks were unharmed by a couple of small scars on the right side of his face. Like many flying veterans he was not much of a talker and had a modest way with him which tended to add to his charm, as well as his authority. We agreed how terrible flying had been during the War. He had flown mainly English planes, as well as one or two French and American machines. He hoped I would stay for supper. That evening I said very little myself but drew Henry Fairfax out, or rather I asked him questions which frequently Pandora would answer on his behalf. He was from Minnesota and liked this part of the world better. The Memphians were very open-minded on the subject of flying. An air base had been sited nearby during the war and the local people had become familiar with all types of planes. He had been an instructor there briefly. I could do worse than to invest in Memphis. They were far more forward looking than was thought.

It would have been foolish to tell him I had nothing save my talent to invest. If Memphians thought I had come to put money into their city it would only make for improved relations. The Fairfaxes asked how long I had known Messrs Gilpin and Roffy. I mentioned that we had met in Washington the previous year. Henry Fairfax was curious about my friends. Mr Roffy had contacted them only recently. He wanted their support for the proposed airport. Some thought it could be based on Mud Island which lay out beyond the wharves. I knew nothing of this but was dubious. ‘I wonder if the island will be big enough. It makes the possibility of future expansion almost impossible.’ They agreed. ‘But land isn’t particularly cheap in Memphis,’ said Pandora. ‘There are plans for several big hotels and other buildings. You’ve probably seen some of them going up. Everyone’s saying Memphis will boom. So everyone’s speculating.’

‘We’re speculating ourselves in a way,’ said her husband.

She laughed. ‘I’d call that just taking a chance.’

Their little wooden house, on the outskirts of the Memphis suburbs, had an almost rural quality. They normally had electricity but the cable was down so they lit their rooms with oil lamps. It was a comfortable sensation to feel oneself back in the past, talking wonderfully about the future. After supper an acquaintance of theirs, another flyer, dropped by. His name was Major Alexander Sinclair. For all his honest, matter of fact manner, he was a little mysterious about the reasons for his visit. He had recently come from Atlanta. I asked him if he knew Tom Cadwallader. ‘Only by repute,’ he said. He was rather withdrawn, though evidently doing his best to be sociable. Later, after a tot of fairly good ‘moonshine’, he warmed to me. He was interested to learn I was a French airman. He was obviously relieved when the subject turned to the Catholic church and I expressed my view that the Pope had much to answer for. Only a very strong man, taking an anticlerical stand, could save Italy. He mentioned some of his own experiences in Europe and asked if I knew any of his surviving comrades. I told him the truth, that I had flown principally on the Eastern Front. I had been with the Allied Expeditionary force during the Russian Civil War. By now he had become deeply interested in my opinion of both Bolsheviks and Jews. I gave him my honest views at some length, apologising that he had ‘woken up the bee in my bonnet’. But he was enthusiastic. ‘You don’t have to hold back with me, colonel. You’re a man after my own heart.’ Had I ever thought of addressing a public meeting on the dangers of Catholicism and Bolshevism? I told him any warning I ever gave the American people would be heartfelt and based on solid experience. ‘But I am really a man of action more than a man of words. Major Sinclair.’ It was very late and I could see my hosts growing tired. He insisted on driving me back into Memphis, even though he was staying with the Fairfaxes, and I rather selfishly accepted his offer. We had taken to each other in that way people sometimes do, though culturally we had almost nothing in common. We were both, however, intellectuals who believed in ‘doing’ rather than ‘moaning’, as he put it. He dropped me off outside the Adler Apartments at two in the morning, noted my address and said he looked forward to seeing me again.

This time when I prepared myself for bed I was in far better spirits. I had received an excellent impression of my new friends, particularly Major Sinclair. Here were people with whom I could most comfortably work: clear-eyed young Americans who were prepared to face the dangers of the modern world and at the same time take advantage of the great opportunities opening up to them. Thereafter I was again to find myself something of a social lion. During the coming days I would be introduced to other Memphians, young and old, who were deeply concerned for their city’s future - and for the future of the whole Christian world. Any impression I had received in the North that the Delta region was old-fashioned and slow was proven wholly false. Dixielanders might set great store by their historic traditions but they had no lack of faith in modern technology or new ideas. All they had lacked until now was finance, for since the Civil War Northern industrialists had systematically milked the South. The North, with its nerve centre in New York, had up until now totally controlled the American economy. Plantation owners, encouraged to grow enormous quantities of cotton, were then told in their best years that their price was too high. Thus New York and Chicago bought themselves artificially cheap raw materials. But I knew as well as anyone that what a defeated nation sometimes lacks in material wealth is frequently compensated for in a deeper spirituality and punctilious pride. These qualities might seem abstract to the scallawags and carpet-baggers so accurately drawn by Mr Griffith, but in the end they always prove far more valuable than any number of sweatshops and spinning jennies. They are qualities which provide men with the will to bide their time. This singular obstinacy allows them to choose their own terms, their own moment, their own form of action. I began to realise how true this was of modern Memphis. Without relinquishing the principles for which her people had fought a great war, she now prepared for a carefully engineered forward movement on all fronts. I could not help but be reminded by a similar determination I had witnessed in Italy, for so long impoverished by Papal tyranny, and now ready to move with relentless, measured step into the second quarter of the twentieth century.

Not for Memphis the hellish factory towns of the North, the urban poverty, the miserable conditions which, as in Russian cities, created a breeding ground of anarchy and unrest. Memphis was about to march from cotton and mules into engineering and services. Here small work forces could exist in ideal environments while producing something for which the whole world would willingly pay! I enjoyed the confidences of the city’s most influential leaders. My opinions were sought by ‘Boss’ Crump, whom everyone recognised as the strongest force in the city: the charismatic possessor of enormous political energy and brilliant insight, his only mistake would be to turn his back on those who most wished to help him. But for a single mistake of judgment he might have become the South’s own Mussolini. Crump’s sophisticated opinions on the Negro Question were illuminating. They expanded my horizons considerably. His plans for Southern self-sufficiency were years ahead of their time. Another far-sighted individual was then a leading businessman in Memphis, the inventor of modern supermarkets in his famous Piggly Wiggly grocery chain. He was building himself a magnificent house of pig-coloured marble near Overton Park and one afternoon treated me to an individual tour of his half built palace. Jewish interests ruined him before he could occupy his own mansion; his name, of course, was Clarence Saunders. I remember him being particularly interested in my ideas for an electrically operated automatic self-service market. I believe that towards the end of his life, still battling bravely against the combined might of Carthage, which by then had all but crushed the entire country, he attempted to make my dream a reality. He was dragged down in the end, however, by the Great Depression. People seemed to think this some sort of natural force, like a drought or an earthquake. Ask any Ukrainian if Stalin was an earthquake.

But these were golden days for me, and the burden of my heartache at being separated from Esmé was considerably lifted. It was wonderful to share a vision in common with so many others. I had never experienced this before. I had always felt isolated, a lone prophet with only a few good friends who, like Kolya, offered their loyalty without fully understanding my dream. We were striving to build an enlarged, more beautiful, more efficient Memphis, epicentre of the South’s cultural and financial renaissance. She would be a city where railroad and automobile were totally outmoded; a city of the electronic plane and the dirigible, with moving walkways, multi-levelled shopping arcades, art galleries in which were displayed the world’s finest works. A city where crime and poverty were abolished, where the black race was no longer required. All manual work would be accomplished by machines. We were not prepared to abandon the negroes. They would have a township to themselves where they could grow at their own pace, with their own schools, churches and theatres. The Southerner feels his duty to the negro most strongly (that he is a heartless tyrant is another misconception encouraged by the North). On principle I always made it clear that while I willingly provided my services, I had no intention of settling permanently in the United States. It suited my idealism, at that time, to link my fortunes, however temporarily, with Tennessee’s leading city. The Fairfaxes were by now firm friends. They, too, were ‘outsiders’ who had been fully accepted by the hospitable South. Though I never actually flew their DH4 I was taken up by Pandora Fairfax twice and profited both intellectually and spiritually from the experience. From the air it is a unique sight, giving one a fresh understanding of the size and nature of the vast Delta flatlands and the broad shallow river twisting into what seems the infinite distance, arriving eventually at New Orleans. I was all the more impressed by the people who had first negotiated this river, who had fought their way across such enormous distances so their children might cultivate and civilise the land; by the rivermen who sailed flatboats back and forth with furs and cotton and gold to make St Louis and New Orleans two of the richest and most vital cities of their age. Sometimes I could wish that my father, in all his revolutionary nonsense, had been one of those who emigrated to America. Then, at least, I might have had a chance to grow without fear, without the perpetual threat of being drawn back into the nightmare. As a native American I could have done so much more for my country and in turn I would have received a fair reward. Mein Vater kam bis an die Grenze. Wohin gehen wir jetzt? Who knows? The same forces which destroyed Clarence Saunders might equally have destroyed me. At least I remain alive to remind others of a time when there was genuine hope and optimism in the world and men and women were still able to recognise the enemy. What does it matter today? The enemy is so strong he laughs at me. Even those who listen to me in the pub think I am joking.

In Memphis I was taught to drive the new Buick Mr Gilpin put at my disposal: a simple enough matter, for all I was frequently hampered by the stupidity of other drivers possessing neither the natural instinct for automobile manipulation nor sufficient imagination to consider the wishes (or indeed the very existence) of their fellow road users. In the Buick (and later, when that was being repaired, a Ford) I motored through tree-lined suburbs of Memphis or took the great road over the bridge into Arkansas. I had very soon grown more than fond of the city and was not at all impatient when Mr Roffy explained how the government and local authorities were moving rather more slowly than he had hoped in finalising the grants necessary to begin work. Everywhere along Main Street sites were being prepared for finer and bigger buildings. New trolley cars were soon to be introduced. That complicated cat’s cradle of wiring crossing and recrossing the city’s streets indicated, in its own simple vocabulary, our continuing progress. On a day in February warmer and damper than most, when the city suddenly smelled of fresh tar and the coal smoke from the trains or riverboats for once was not dissipated in the colder atmosphere, I received a welcome visitor. It was Major Sinclair. He had come to Memphis by air this time. He was full of excitement for his new vessel. The small non-rigid airship was tethered in one corner of the Fairfax airfield. On its side it prominently advertised the name of a new journal, which was his other abiding obsession. He was ebullient. ‘The paper will sweep the country. It’s the foremost banner of the greatest crusade America has ever known! There’s a fresh wind blowing through the United States, Max, and it has its origin in Atlanta!’ The ship (like the newspaper it advertised) was called The Knight Hawk.

Sinclair and I walked out to the mooring mast the evening after he had arrived. We were both smoking cigars, in that calm, rather comfortable silence old comrades share when they are merely enjoying each other’s company. The little airship’s gondola almost touched the ground. It was made from light metal, rather dented and scratched, and had been sprayed white. A large red Maltese Cross was painted on either side. Although several cables secured it, the whole ship swayed in the mild south-westerly breeze. Occasionally it creaked a little, as if struts were somewhere under strain. The gondola was not enclosed. It had three open cockpits, rather like aeroplane cockpits, in one of which the steering gear was located. The ship was the last made, said Sinclair, in the British SSZ class, most of which had been sold to America. The British had nicknamed them ‘blimps’ after the legendary Colonel Blimp, one of their great patriots. Behind the cockpits was mounted a single Rolls Royce 75hp Hawk engine. Major Sinclair was evidently proud of his machine. ‘It’s only the first,’ he said. ‘I already have plans to build an improved type. I was hoping for some advice. But that’s not the main reason for coming to Memphis. I’ve been entrusted with a mission. There are one or two places I must visit before I go back to Atlanta. I’m here to promote the paper. To drum up subscriptions if I can.’ He had other business here, too, but was not as yet prepared to speak of it. He planned to spend at least a week here. ‘Anyway, look her over. I’d like your opinion.’ He helped me climb the short ladder into the main cockpit and inspect the controls. I studied the steering mechanism for achieving height and direction, the engine switches, the various gauges. Major Sinclair was not to know this was my first close view of an ordinary airship and I was fascinated with the workings of the rudder and ailerons. I told him I thought it an excellent machine of its type.

‘Of course it’s a bit primitive.’ He was almost apologetic. ‘But we have to make a start.’

I agreed with him. I was still unsure what he meant.

‘There was some idea of providing canopies for the cockpits,’ he said. ‘But I gather they were next to useless most of the time. She’s no worse than the average plane and the gasbag helps keep some rain from your head.’

Standing up in the swaying cockpit I steadied myself with one of the six hawsers which attached the gondola to the main bulk. The bag was faintly yielding silvered fabric of the usual kind. Though she was a far cry from my own planned ship, she was nonetheless a genuine and thoroughly tested aerial vehicle. I was as delighted as a schoolboy at a cockfight. Major Sinclair enjoyed my pleasure. Soon he had climbed into one of the two rear cockpits. Leaning over me while I sat at the controls he explained the special techniques involved in flying this particular craft. I worked the foot pedals (which controlled both height and angle of flight) and rapidly mastered the whole thing. It was much simpler than flying a heavier-than-air machine. I imagined myself a thousand feet above the ground, flying wherever I chose, and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. It would not be much longer before my dream was fully realised. Then I would pilot a far larger ship. I would be admiral of my own aerial armada!

Light was fading as I descended the little metal ladder to the ground. Major Sinclair followed me; then he made an odd sort of gesture which I could not interpret. He lowered his head, rubbed a gloved hand across his aristocratic mouth and frowned to himself. I was now expectant.

At length the flyer looked up. He seemed very serious, either reluctant to speak or unable to find appropriate words. Silently he took my arm. We walked back through the twilight towards the wooden shacks which presently functioned as the Fairfaxes’ administrative buildings. There was a stillness about the evening. The wind had dropped and the air felt warmer, even as the sun vanished. Major Sinclair began to speak in a low, sober voice, addressing me formally where before he had used my first name, as if what he had to say needed increased objectivity.

‘Colonel Peterson, sir, I know you’re of French and English blood. I gather, welcome as you are, you one day intend to return to Europe.’

‘That’s so, major.’

‘I understand you’re of the Protestant religion. We can take that for granted. I hope you’ll forgive me for seeming ill-mannered. I wonder if you could bear with me and tell me again your views as to the current plight of this country’s native born Anglo-Saxon citizens.’

I gave him my unhesitating answer: ‘I am not afraid to speak my mind on the question, major. I believe them to be in mortal danger. I have reason to know they are threatened by an increasingly unified army of Bolshevik Hebrews and Papists, plotting tirelessly to rouse the black and yellow races against them. I have witnessed at close hand the violence and lawlessness unleashed by these forces in Russia. I live in horror of the same nightmare spreading further across the world.’

He nodded slowly in profound agreement. ‘You have confirmed what I already understood. What would you say if someone offered you the opportunity to play an active part in the struggle?’

‘I am not a man of violence, major.’

‘You have made that perfectly clear also.’ He sucked in his cheeks. He stopped suddenly in the semi-darkness, just before we reached the buildings. ‘I am about to ask you a great favour. You should feel no obligation to me if you decide to refuse.’ He buttoned up his flying coat. ‘Would you be prepared to address a group of sympathetic friends on your own direct experience of Red Revolution? You’d be doing them and America a mighty important service.’

‘You wish me to make some kind of speech?’

‘An informal talk, Max, to concerned individuals, all these people of substance in the community and sharing the same views.’

I had never spoken publicly in English before and was of course nervous. Secondly I had no great desire to call unnecessary attention to myself. Yet the offer had a number of attractions. Moreover, I felt as strongly as I do now that what happened in Russia should serve as a dreadful warning to the rest of the world. It was, of course, my duty to accept. I asked what was entailed.

Major Sinclair continued to speak in low, deliberate tones, ‘In a few days time, a certain steamboat will leave the landing stage at Memphis and steam downriver towards Vicksburg. At a given hour she will turn back to Memphis where, before morning, her passengers will disembark. All aboard are sworn to the deepest secrecy. Decisions will be taken that night which will affect the fate of the entire nation.’

I was both intrigued and impressed. ‘I am honoured, major, by your confidence.’

‘Can you spare a few hours to be aboard that boat next Wednesday evening, Max?’

I assured him, come what may, I would make the time.

He reached out and firmly shook my hand, staring into my face with an intensity I had never seen before. ‘Thank you.’

No sooner had we returned to the road and the Buick than he was ordinarily cordial again. It was as if he had never made his request. I told him I should one day like to see how The Knight Hawk handled in the air. He promised to take me aloft whenever I desired. By now, of course, it had dawned on me that Major Sinclair was rather more than he had claimed. Plainly he represented powerful political interests. I must congratulate myself on being fortunate enough to gain his friendship. Even then I had not understood the full significance of his questions and his request. It would not be the first time someone of his type would know instinctively I was trustworthy. I have never clearly understood what is in me which encourages this. Probably it has something to do with my lifelong hatred of hypocrisy and intolerance, the directness with which I am prepared to approach important issues of the day. I have always loathed compromise.

That same evening I sat at my desk and by the light of a gas reading lamp wrote Esmé another long letter describing all my successes. America was accepting me far more readily than I could reasonably have hoped. I would make every effort to have her join me as soon as possible. In a short note to Mrs Cornelius I recommended America as being full of tremendous opportunities. If she chose, she could rise as high as she wanted. For my part, there was every chance I would soon be a household name like Marconi or Wellington. Soon she would hear of the Peterson plane, the Peterson domestic washing machine and the Peterson radio-powered automobile. Actually, it did not matter to me if my real name were used or not. My ego had no need for popular acclaim. To accomplish the work was enough, even if Pyatnitski were forgotten forever.

Memphis had taken me to her large and benevolent heart. And she was the city abused by the Northern press as ‘the murder capital of the USA’ because a few partial statistics had been arranged to confirm accusations of the city’s high homicide rate! Memphis was in fact the friendliest city I had known since I left Odessa. The murder figures came as a direct result of her very tolerance since she admitted so many black and Catholic immigrants to her poorer suburbs. What was more, because of her hospitals’ splendid reputation many victims were sent to Memphis to be saved. If they died, they increased the irony by adding another number to the statistics! Memphis was growing, as my political friends were forever telling me, and growth is never achieved without pain.

That evening I dined with Mr Roffy and a Mrs Trubbshaw. She was the thin-faced but attractive president of a local women’s club. I spoke enthusiastically of Major Sinclair’s airship. We should consider manufacturing several such smaller vessels as auxiliaries to our main fixed wing fleet. Charlie Roffy thought the idea very sound. Mrs Trubbshaw was greatly impressed. Evidently, she said, I was a man of enormous scientific and political vision. She envied me my adventurous life, which reminded her so much of Count Pulaski’s.

That left me entirely baffled. ‘Forgive me, madam, if I admit to ignorance.’

‘You must read about him in the library. He came all the way from Europe.’ Her style became hushed, intense, ecclesiastical. ‘To fight in our War of Independence. He was a great believer in freedom, colonel. A Polish nobleman, a soldier. A true American in all but nationality. He gave his name to Pulaski, Tennessee, where my father was born, and died in the service of Washington. You could be Count Casimir reincarnated. Do you, by chance, believe in having lived before, Colonel Peterson?’ Her dark curls shook with sincerity.

Since I was neither a Pole nor a Catholic, I said, but an ordinary Christian, I believed of course in redemption and rebirth. If that were the same, then I shared her faith. She was, like many women I met in those circumstances, a peculiar mixture of hard practicality and wild romanticism. We shared a motor cab when we left. Almost as soon as we were in it she kissed me passionately, then, somewhat clumsily, seizing my private parts, declared me a hero she could not resist. I, too, found resistance impractical, thus the cab was directed to the Adler Apartments where we rapidly consummated our mutual admiration. Most of my other women during that time were of Mrs Trubbshaw’s class. I believe they found me attractively exotic and unlikely to remain in Memphis long enough to embarrass them. I in turn became fascinated with learning the desires and inhibitions of the American bourgeoisie. Although I periodically visited (with Mr Gilpin and others who referred to themselves as ‘sporting men’) the city’s thriving and famous red light district, I came to prefer the more bizarre and educational adventures frequently offered by outwardly respectable matrons most of whom, oddly, were not Memphis born. The usual theory was that post-war life had abolished repressions and people were frequently making up for what they thought they had missed in a climate of ‘Victorian morality’. My own view was simpler: a shortage of men made many women behave as if they were at a garment sale. They became at once more ruthlessly competitive and less discriminatory, frequently finding they had picked up material they would normally not have blessed with a second look. This state of affairs suited me perfectly, since I remained loyal in spirit to my Esmé, saved money and stood far less chance of catching a social disease. (It was at a bawdy house, however, I had my first experience of a full-blooded negress.)

Like many American cities of those days, Memphis presented a contrast of extreme public puritanism and unchecked private lechery, greater than any I had encountered in Europe. With her weighty inheritance of low-church morality, America’s attempt to check her native exuberance and vitality by creating laws having nothing to do with her natural and historical expansionist character merely fostered further hypocrisy and confusion. A nation’s laws must always reflect to some degree the national temperament. America’s often did not. They were cold, English laws which became virtually meaningless, say, in California. In seeking to shape herself through the dreams of her founders rather than the needs of her living inhabitants she weakened herself, became schizophrenic. Of course she was a threatened nation. The settlers who had suffered and died to establish the United States did so in the name of a great Anglo-Saxon egalitarian ideal. In 1922 that ideal was being exploited and abused by immigrants demanding the benefits of struggle but unwilling to pay the price. It was too late to control this population by the methods of the Pilgrim Fathers. Most newcomers did not even recognise the Faith on which the principles were based. They had loyalties to the Chief Rabbi, the Pope, to Karl Marx and V. I. Lenin; they served an ideal above nationalism. No wonder that however many Baptist ladies tried to abolish alcohol there were as many Italians and Hebrews (not to mention the renegade Irish) to sell it. Americans sought desperately to establish order and stability in a world threatening Chaos from all sides. Those who condemn them have no proper understanding of their fears. I helped fight that last battle against America’s enemies; a noble and doomed defence, like the last stand of the South against the Union. It was conducted with courage, honour, decency and common sense by ordinary people, the brave descendants of Kit Carson, Buffalo Bill and Jesse James. Their attempt to fight with the moral weapons of Protestantism was understandable, if misguided. A time comes when only political strength and fortitude will win the day; an unpalatable but courageous ruthlessness. Christ is our champion, that gentle Greek shepherd. Yet the Lamb must be protected from wolves and jackals by other weapons than Old Testament texts or a ban upon the few comforts which lessen the burden of our journey through this Vale of Tears. I had no desire to offend worthy pastors and churchwomen who saw evidence of overwhelming Evil in the abuse of life’s pleasures, but I refused to relinquish those pleasures in private moderation. I used to see drunkenness on the streets of Kiev (we had prohibition in Russia long before Volsted) for in the uneducated person the element of self-control is usually absent, so I shall not argue against the need for a firm, paternal hand, but a general ban leads only to general crime. Democracy is powerless to control the degenerate refugee, who all his life has understood only tyranny.

I saw Mrs Trubbshaw several times over the next few days and enjoyed her considerably for all it sometimes proved difficult negotiating the various items of underwear which her own version of morality insisted she somehow retain at all times on her person. It was she who at about noon brought me some sandwiches and a copy of the Commercial Appeal with the appalling news which was to have a far greater consequence on my life than I could guess. The Roma had gone down at Hampton Roads Army base. This semi-dirigible, bought from Italy only recently, had crashed when her rudder failed. Exploding on contact with the ground she killed thirty-four out of forty-five crew members. My chicken and mayonnaise was set aside half eaten. I grieved for those poor aviators. The splendid story of the airship has been written in the blood of those brave pioneers who, in a spirit of joyful discovery, flung themselves into the upper atmosphere, never quite certain what their fate would be. Mrs Trubbshaw stood fiddling with the pale blue bows of her camiknickers. ‘What’s wrong, dear?’

I began to weep.

With a snort of disappointment, she began awkwardly to comfort me.

So fickle are financiers than almost any minor shift in the social climate can frighten them. This is what I knew as I plunged into the folds of sweet-smelling silk, cotton and flesh and sought, with some initial difficulty, the consolations of Mrs Trubbshaw’s feminine charms. It was not long before we were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door and a voice calling my name. Mrs Trubbshaw recognised Mr Roffy. She gathered her outer clothes together before disappearing into the little dressing-room.

Roffy looked like a turkey who had been bought an axe for Christmas, as they said in the South. He was distraught and he held a crumpled copy of the newspaper. ‘I won’t keep you long, Colonel Peterson. I see you’ve already read the report. What do you make of it? Can it affect us?’

‘Since we’re proposing an aerodrome and fixed wing planes, I hardly think there’s a comparison. What’s more, that ship wasn’t even American made.’

He calmed down a little, but remained worried. ‘I still think it could seriously affect our plan. If our people in Washington lose their nerve, our Memphis business interests will also get cold feet. Where will that leave us?’

‘With a sound, practical and worthwhile scheme, Mr Roffy.’ I searched for the cord of my dressing-gown. ‘I share your fears, of course. But I suspect it will at worst involve a very small delay.’

‘You’re more confident than I am, sir.’ He looked vaguely, without understanding, at my rumpled bed. ‘And considerably more confident than Washington’s likely to be, what with everything else that’s going on.’

‘Then we must restore their optimism.’ I was positive and rather disapproving of his nervousness.

I think my tone made him attempt to pull himself together. ‘The problem, colonel, is how do we do it? They’ll only keep their nerve if we’re seen to be doing the same thing. We have to show that we’re completely confident in our company’s future.’

‘Perhaps another interview in the newspaper?’ I suggested.

His smile was hopeless. ‘It might help. But words aren’t enough. Not just now. For a while we might have to lay our money on the table.’

‘I don’t understand you, Mr Roffy.’

He sighed and ran his fingers through his distinguished locks. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m willing to put up $150,000 in cash right now. If each of us invested the same amount in the company that would show we meant business. It would also keep our credit good. What we lose from Congress we might gain locally. That way, there would be no loss of momentum. There are a lot of smaller people in this city who depend on us, even now.’

‘I realise that, Mr Roffy.’ Of course I was thoroughly taken aback. Having allowed them to believe I was as wealthy as themselves I now had no way of refusing what was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. ‘My money is tied up in foreign bonds and banks, as I’m sure you appreciate. There is no way in which I could rapidly raise the sum you suggest.’

He was regretful. ‘It might prove our only answer, colonel, believe me.’

When he had gone I returned to bed and was joined by Mrs Trubbshaw with whom I shared a small sniff from my declining cocaine supply. She had heard only a fraction of the conversation and of course she was the last person in whom I could confide my dilemma. I felt my position not merely embarrassing but also to some degree dangerous. In Memphis the six-shooter was still regarded in many quarters as the best means of settling affairs of honour, ‘Is Mr Roffy worried about the airship accident?’ asked Mrs Trubbshaw later. ‘Did you have a financial interest in it?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’ I could afford to admit to no one that I was virtually destitute. Everything depended on my blueprints gaining the reality of metal and wood. Thereafter without doubt the money would come in. Until then I would be separated from Esmé. I could not bear the thought. She trusted me to send for her. Memphis, too, had high expectations of me. My gigantic six-engined passenger aeroplane with the four stacks of wings and four separate ‘carriages’ was due to begin production the following year. Local factories were expecting orders. My radio-beam energy projector should be at the prototype stage within months and my radio-controlled automatic landing system was to grace the main tower of the aerodrome, now due to be sited at Park Field. Models had been made, artist’s projections prepared. Every stage was planned and a great many Memphians were expecting their fees. Once we had news from Washington confirming our Federal funding, every major financial personage in Memphis was ready to invest, as was the city under the guidance of Boss Crump. Yet now it seemed all of this was in peril unless I could raise what to these people was a tiny sum. I had at least to make some attempt to raise it.

As soon as Mrs Trubbshaw had left to keep her afternoon appointments I went downstairs to the Western Union office and sent a wire to Paris, to Kolya, my only real hope. There was no time for mysteries. I wrote: must have $150,000 for important venture, matter of grave urgency. Peterson. I took the risk and for my return address gave c/o Western Union, Memphis, Tennessee. The officer assured me he would let me know as soon as there was a reply. He gave me a copy of the wire. This would enable me to prove to Mr Roffy my serious intention of raising the capital. I telephoned my partner at the rented house in Poplar Avenue, near Overton Park, which we also used as a business address. I said I had some information for him. He suggested we meet that evening at a private club called May’s in Front Street.

For the next hour or so I walked aimlessly around downtown Memphis, staring in store windows, inspecting the wrought-iron pillars of those covered sidewalks which seem to exist nowhere these days but which were so functional, buying a paper cone of chocolate candy, studying the mass of signs along Main Street, and eventually finding myself on the steps of the eight-storeyed neo-Arcadian fortress which was actually the Union Station. Once there, I picked up several timetables, praying that I would not have to leave Memphis as hastily as I had left certain other cities in the past. I had still not allowed enough time for Kolya’s reply. I took a cab to the Zoo in Overton Park and wasted another hour with the somewhat miserable representatives of American and African wildlife. At dusk, I returned to the Adler building and the Western Union office. No reply had yet been received to my telegram.

Determined to maintain morale, I dressed in my best evening clothes and took a taxi to Front Street. The club was in a private house, once used as a steamboat company’s offices, a few blocks from the Post Office. There were a few lights on the iron bridges over the river and some from the cluster of steamboats by the levee but otherwise the area felt deserted. I entered May’s and had my topcoat and hat taken by a pretty octoroon wearing a frock so short it resembled a Greek tunic. I began to feel more comfortable. There was a warmth about such establishments which excluded all the outer world’s cares. Mr Roffy, too, had made some attempt to improve his appearance. Again he looked the dignified Southern elder he was. He smiled as he got up from the couch in the corner of what May called her ‘ballroom’ and came towards me. We went upstairs to a private apartment whose walls were completely covered in dark yellow and red velvet drapes and whose main furnishings consisted of a huge ornamental bed, a gilt chair and a wash stand. I showed him the copy of the message I had sent. He beamed with relief. ‘That will do the trick, I’m sure. I’m so sorry to put you to this inconvenience, colonel. But confidence has to be maintained. It’s crucial as I know you understand. As soon as you receive confirmation, have the funds cabled to the First National Bank. Then we’ll turn them into cash.’

I was surprised. ‘Surely that will invite unwelcome attention?’

‘We need all the attention we can get, colonel. Mr Gilpin’s in Washington right now, getting his money moved and mine’s already at the bank, in a safety deposit. The moment it’s all together I’ll be standing by with the photographers. Believe me, colonel, there’s nothing impresses people more than the sight of a pile of real dollar bills. In these parts that will provide better proof of our sincerity and dedication than a letter of unlimited credit on the Bank of England.’

‘Well, Mr Roffy, I pray you’re right. It’s extremely tiresome and a little complicated for me to have so much money cabled all at once. You know how the French are about such things.’ I did not for a moment believe Kolya could lay hands on so large an amount, but even if he sent a sixth of it I knew it would be enough to prove my financial standing. In a few days the Roma disaster would fade from the public eye and things would return to normal. The American newspapers required fresh sensations more than most. Doubtless some terrible fire or a collapsing building would serve to drive the airship crash from any place of importance in the public’s imagination. Meanwhile I would explain how my funds were being sluggishly liquidated, on account of French government policy, and then they would no longer be needed. This rational view of the matter was coloured a little with anxiety. Next day, when no cable arrived from Kolya, I sent another: money matter of urgent moment, please respond. This one I did not show to Mr Roffy when he called by on his way to lunch with Mr Gilpin (‘Back from Washington with a carpetbag full of bills’) who was staying at the Gayoso Hotel. It occurred to me I had heard nothing from Kolya because I no longer had his current address. Ironically, he might even be on his way to the United States, bringing Esmé with him.

It was frustrating to me that I could not let Kolya know more, but I neither wished to involve him in my troubles nor did I intend to reveal my whereabouts to the French police. Perhaps I had already gone too far. Kolya might believe he protected me by not responding. On the following Wednesday I had still heard nothing. I placated Mr Roffy by telling him my French bank was actually the branch of a Swiss one. The Swiss bank was claiming that there was no branch of the First National in Memphis. I next resorted to sending a cable (as ‘Peterson’) to my old bank, the Credit Lyonnais in Boulevard St-Germain, giving the address of the Memphis Bank and telling them it was important they cable the ‘agreed sum’ at once. A copy of this satisfied Mr Roffy, although he still continued to display a certain grim nervousness. Mr Gilpin I encountered only once near Court Square, a small park in the centre of the city. The meeting was accidental and he looked at me strangely. It was as if he believed I had already betrayed his trust. I told him with mock-cheerfulness that everything was in order. He said ‘pleased to hear it’ and hurried on. He seemed to be taking the setback with less fortitude than his friend.

It came as a welcome relief to be collected that evening in a large limousine and driven by Major Sinclair towards the levee. The steamboat, he told me, had been hired from the ailing Lee Company (who had owned the original Robert E. Lee of the song). ‘Not long ago there were a hundred big boats going up and down this river. Now there can’t be more than ten.’ Showboats and private tourist trips were mostly what maintained the little business there was. He asked if I had mentioned the meeting to anyone. I assured him that I had not. ‘Tonight’s a big night,’ he said. He repeated this several times on our way to the landing stage, important decisions are going to be made.’ I thought of asking him for help with my financial problem but stopped myself. It would be the most foolish thing I could do at that stage.

The sun set over the muddy sluggish waters of the Mississippi. Filtered by cloudy moisture it gave a dull shine to the iron struts of the various massive bridges and made the wharves unreal, like a poorly focused cinema film. There were four boats moored at the landing stages, two of them fairly small and one impressively large. The sun stained their white paintwork a shifting, brownish red. A shadowy party of negroes trudging towards Front Street might have been Chickasaw Indians returning from a hunting expedition in the days when Davy Crockett drank at the Bell Tavern. A celebrated frontiersman and representative to Congress, a man of vision and action, like myself; and like myself abandoned by his friends. Crockett died a martyr in one of the earliest battles against the Pope’s minions. A dozen black cars, similar to our own, were already drawn up on the levee. From them issued a number of men wearing heavy overcoats and wide-brimmed hats. It was impossible to see more than a glimpse of their faces. Indeed, they seemed to be taking great pains not to be recognised as they went aboard the large stern-paddler which dominated the other boats moored nearby. Her name was newly painted in gold on her high cream-coloured sides. In the tower of her wheelhouse uniformed sailors could be seen preparing for departure. Other hands stood by to cast off. The Nathan B. Forrest was already making steam. Every so often she would hiss and shudder and her hull would bump against the sturdy wood of the wharf. With our own coat collars turned up to protect us from the cold we made our way through bales and casks to the gangway where we joined the line of men. Unlike the seagoing vessels I had grown used to, the steamboat had three decks topped by the wheelhouse, the first deck being virtually on the waterline, since in common with all such craft she had a flat bottom making her able to negotiate the river shallows. She smelted of paint. When I put my hand on a wooden pillar to steady myself it felt sticky. She had been redecorated not more than a day or two earlier, primarily in red, white and blue. Major Sinclair led me by a series of metal staircases up to the top deck occupied by a number of small private cabins. ‘We’ll share this one.’ He opened a louvred door and turned up an oil lamp which hung by a chain from the ceiling. ‘Make yourself at home.’ He spoke with all his usual courtesy, but it was plain his mind was on other matters. He pointed out the cabin’s facilities, the range of soft drinks in a small locker above the single bunk. The cabin was also done up in the national colours, with blue walls, red carpet, white sheets and pillows. On the wall over the bunk were arranged the crossed flags of the Union and the Confederacy. It now seemed obvious that this secret convention, so momentous it had to take place where there was not the slightest chance an outsider might witness it, was to do with State politics. I could not imagine what they wanted from me, unless they wished to offer me an official post, perhaps as Tennessee’s first Scientific Adviser. In that capacity I could oversee the development of revolutionary new aerodromes at Nashville, Memphis, Chattanooga and elsewhere. Tennessee could easily become the model for the rest of the United States. Within a matter of a few years I could see myself returning to Washington, perhaps as first Secretary of Science. I would coordinate massive scientific and engineering schemes from California to the Canadian border, building power stations, aerodromes, factories to produce my planes, cars and locomotives, modern shipyards to facilitate the new kinds of super-ship I dreamed of creating. I am no ligner, like that arrogant shnorrer Einstein who fooled them all so thoroughly they made him a national hero. My flying cities would rise from Kansas to hover, scintillating and roaring, over prairies where Sioux and Pawnee had once wandered. Man would become nomadic again, yet truly civilised. But where he had once used the wigwam and the travois, now he would use electrical energy, moving to wherever the weather was good and raw materials plentiful. By 1940 the United States would be a citadel of enlightenment and scientific wonders. She would stand firm against Oriental Africa, bring salvation to Europe and offer to Russia the promise of her new Byzantium. How could I know enough then? Carthage would creep through all our defences, attacking our most vigilant guardians while they slept. The gift of prophecy was granted me and I was too self-involved to make proper use of it. They put a piece of metal in my womb. It threatens to grow. All the time it threatens. But I can control it. I will not bear their monstrous child. I am not their n’div. I am a true son of the Dniepr and the Don. I am the light against dark. I am Science and Truth and I shall not be judged as you judge ordinary men. Ho la febbre. I am Prometheus come down from Mount Caucasus. I bring the words of the Greek and the lamp by which ye shall read His words and know all heretics. I nachalnika zhizni nasheya. Christ is risen! Christ the son and the only God has cast down the Father who betrayed Him. He has exiled the Jewish Jehovah. Their God wanders the earth with a begging-howl and an outstretched claw. Abraham betrayed his son. Jehovah betrayed us all. Let the Greek know we follow Him. Let the Pope and all his legions fall upon their knees crying: ‘Kyrios! We acknowledge thee!’ And Rome shall have a new master and He shall be a lord of strength. He shall look to the future and see that it is good. And His chosen ones shall be men of knowledge, builders of miracles, and wonders; captains of the flying cities.

I must admit I was in an over-excited condition as Major Sinclair offered to show me the rest of the boat (‘since there’s a little time to kill’). The second deck, with tables and benches, was evidently a restaurant in the summer. Partly enclosed and partly covered by a canvas awning, it was deserted and there was plainly no intention to use it tonight. We descended to the first and largest deck, virtually one vast room, a miracle of ornament, of gilded scrolls and carved muses, of crystal and copper and silver filigree, of marbled columns and mirrors; all with the predominant theme of red, white and blue. Again the twin flags were prominently displayed everywhere in the hall, particularly on the good-sized stage at the far end. The Nathan B. Forrest had plainly once been a queen amongst the great showboats which in their heyday had plied the Mississippi for its entire negotiable length. Major Sinclair stood with arms folded, his back against a pillar, smiling a little as I marvelled at the opulence. ‘I used to come aboard as a boy,’ he said, ‘and watch the minstrels.’ His voice had a melancholy note. ‘But now the railroads and the movie theatres between ‘em have almost made this kind of transport, not to mention entertainment, a thing of the past. And men like ourselves are to blame, eh, Max? We’ll be putting a lot of the modern world into the past soon, I should think.’

I was sympathetic. ‘It’s ironic how we hurt ourselves with our own power of invention.’

My friend looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get out of here.’ Taking a short cut between the rows of widely spaced seats, he led me from a side door out into the open air, then up to third deck. It was dark now. I heard a muffled shout from the wheelhouse and saw sailors busying themselves with ropes and chains below. The steam whistle sounded a long, low moan. There came a rattle and a massive shudder, then the great stern paddle smashed into the water. Electric light glittered on white foam. The boat’s machinery was engaged. Her boilers boomed and growled, her pistons squealed. Suddenly we were free of the wharf. We moved with slow majesty out into a dark infinity that was the Mississippi River. The lights of Memphis fell away from us as we sailed steadily into midstream. From other parts of the boat I heard the tramp of feet. At this Major Sinclair hurried me inside our cabin. The whole vessel was filled with that regular beat, positive and military. It kept time with the sublime rhythm of oiled brass, rotating steel and trembling iron. My friend picked up a small bag, asking me to bear with him for a short while. He would be back to collect me as soon as he could. I poured myself a Coca-Cola and sat on the bunk, considering the prospect of meeting the Governor and his staff. Deciding to steady my nerve with cocaine, I was just able to return the packet to my pocket as the steam whistle sounded for the second time. The marching sound died away entirely. The boat was silent again, save for the vibration of the engines, the steady splashing and groaning of the paddle. I was tempted to go out on deck, but respected Major Sinclair’s wishes. A few moments later the pale-faced aviator opened our door, apparently more relaxed than before. He had something tucked under one arm and his body was covered from throat to feet by a long, blue silky robe. Upon the breast of the robe, over his heart, was embroidered a yellow Maltese cross in a blue circle. It was identical, save for the colours, to the one on his airship.

‘Are you ready, colonel?’ His voice was low, as serious as it had been when he first asked me those mysterious questions and issued his equally mysterious invitation. My immediate response was of relief. I was not to undergo the ordeal of meeting the Governor after all. I was to be inducted into a Society of Free Masons, in itself a useful honour. The long gown rippled in the breeze from the river and looked incongruous on the tall flyer as he stood aside to let me out onto the deck. Against the darkness he might have been a householder roused from his bed and caught accidentally wearing his wife’s housecoat. At his request I followed him back down the steps to the lowest deck. The water was black and the banks invisible. We could be drifting in space as easily as on the river, save for the spray from the paddle. He opened a small metal door in the stern and we passed through into dim electric light. We were evidently in a dressing-room area, where the coons had once blacked-up before going out to entertain their audience. The place had a musty smell to it and I thought I could still detect stale greasepaint.

Then Major Sinclair had raised his arms over his head, pulling material down to obscure his face before opening a door. Light almost completely blinded me as he lead me out onto the stage.

I blinked, trying to get my bearings. Gradually I saw that the stage was illuminated by a gigantic cross consisting of hundreds of tiny bulbs. In front of me curtains had been drawn back. In the gloom of the auditorium, lit only by the great crucifix behind me, was a mass of variously coloured hoods and robes, each robe bearing the bold insignia of encircled cross, each right hand raising a clenched, gauntleted fist in salute. There were other robed and masked figures around me on the stage. It was one of the most inspiring moments of my entire life. I gasped. Like some ancient, saintly hero in the presence of the Grail I had to resist an inclination to fall immediately to my knees. I knew now I was in the presence of those legendary Knights of the Fiery Cross, the Freedom Riders who had saved their land from total chaos, who until now I had seen only in news photographs or, of course, on the screen in Birth of a Nation. My legs began to tremble. Sweat formed on my skin. From these satin hoods stared several hundred pairs of eyes, as if in judgment on me. Ich war dort! I was under the steady gaze of the warrior-priests of America, the highest officiaries of the famous Ku Klux Klan!

The sense of power emanating from the men in that room was tremendous. It was psychic energy so enormous I momentarily imagined that floating hall, unable to contain it, must burst like an exploding sun and bring sudden daylight to the shores of Mississippi and Arkansas. In the eery brilliance of the fiery cross, amidst the rustle of robes - white, green, grey, crimson, black and blue - and the growing murmur of deep, manly voices, Major Sinclair led me to a seat at the side of the stage. An impressive banner hung behind the cross, a flying dragon with the legend Quod Semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus, red and black, framed by an isosceles triangle. My senses were profoundly affected by all this and especially by the vibrant presence of the mysterious figure which now stepped forward, his shining purple outlined against the cross, a ripple of light and shadow. It dawned on me how tremendous a privilege had been granted me as it was sonorously announced that we were graced by the presence of the Imperial Wizard himself. Then the opening ritual began.

They bowed visored heads in prayer, led by the firm, musical tones of their Grand Kladd: a simple yet heartfelt plea to God to help them maintain and uphold at all times the most holy ideals of their Klan. The prayer completed, the Imperial Wizard raised flowing sleeves to bring complete and reverential silence upon the gathering.

‘All Genii, Grand Dragons and Hydras. Great Titans and Furies, Giants, Exalted Cyclops and Terrors, and all other citizens of the Invisible Empire, in the name of the Valiant and Venerated dead. I affectionately greet you and welcome you to this most Special and Secret Klonverse. Ye have been summoned from every Realm of our Empire on a matter of great and terrible import, to discuss the very future of these United States of America, to which ye have all sworn undying loyalty unto death.’

I remember only hazily the rituals which followed. There were chants and counter-chants, declarations and revelations, most of which were conducted in the secret language of the Klan. It was impossible to follow the cries of ‘Ayak!’ and ‘Akia!’ or ‘Kigy!’ and ‘San Bog!’, but the chant of The Klansman’s Creed will never leave my memory, for I was to hear it more than once in the time which followed.

I believe in God and the tenets of the Christian religion and that a godless nation cannot long prosper. I believe that a church not grounded on the principles of morality and justice is a mockery to God and to man. I believe that a church that does not have the welfare of the common people at heart is unworthy. I believe in the eternal separation of Church and State.

I hold no allegiance to any foreign government, emperor, king, pope or any other foreign, political or religious power. I hold my allegiance to the Stars and Stripes next to my allegiance to God alone. I believe in just laws and liberty. I believe in the prevention of unwarranted strikes by foreign labour agitators. I believe in the limitation of foreign immigration.

I am a native-born American citizen and I believe in my rights in this country as being superior to those of foreigners.

The sound of those heartfelt voices moved me almost to tears. It was as if I was in the Alexander cathedral in Kiev again, listening to the chanting of the priests, hearing the names of the Heroes of Kiev pronounced in holy memory, though now they spoke of the Knights Kamelia, the Knights of the Midnight Mystery, the Order of American Chivalry, the Knights of the Great Forest. Pyered bogom klyanus klyalvoy vyernoyu: Klyatvoy tyazhkoyu, klyatvoy strash-noyu: Pyered bogom klyanus klyatvoy strashnoyu na Rusi Gosu-daryu, kak pyos sluzhit Spasi, gospodi, lyudi tvoya! O Lord, save thy people! God Save The Tsar! How we wept and kissed that sacred book. And they called out the days, weeks and months according to the Klan: Deadly, Wailing, Hideous and so on. Even the years they dated from the first year of the third reincarnation of the Klan, which was 1915, only a short while after Birth of a Nation itself was first released as The Clansman. Here was religion and morality become militant and glowing with a just anger. O, the Greek has taken up his sword. Christ has risen! Christ has risen! Those noble, valiant men stood and listened in awed silence as the Imperial Wizard began to speak. It was a statement of the Klan’s ethic, a reminder to all present, of the noble ideals and true purpose of the Order. He quoted Colonel Winfield Jones who was not, he said, a Klansman, but an objective outsider who had written The Story of the Kit Klux Klan. The Imperial Wizard stressed the importance of winning and maintaining such friends.

‘Colonel Jones, fellow Klansmen, has told us that the Anglo-Saxon is the typeman of history. To him must yield the self-centered Hebrew, the cultured Greek, the virile Roman, the mystic Oriental. The Psalmist must have had him in mind when he struck his soundless harp and sang: “O Lord, thou has made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou hast made him to have dominion over the works of thy hands, thou hast put all things under his feet.” The Ku Klux Klan desires that its ruling members shall be of this all-conquering Blood. The Ku Klux Klan stands for the noble, the true and the good, for the majesty of the Law, for the advancement of the human race. Our most mystical order, fellow Klansmen, now numbers millions. It has come to speak for the great mass of Americans of the old pioneer stock who are opposed to the intellectually mongrelised “Liberals”. A blend of various peoples of the so-called Nordic race, the race which, with all its faults, has given the world almost the whole of modern civilisation, these Americans have found themselves increasingly uncomfortable and distressed. The sacredness of our Sabbath, of our homes, of chastity, and finally even of our right to teach our own children in our own schools fundamental facts and truths were torn away from us. Those who maintained the old standards did so only in the face of constant ridicule. We suffered economic distress. The assurance for the future of our children dwindled. We found our great cities and the control of much of our industry and commerce taken over by strangers, who stacked the cards of success and prosperity against us. They came to dominate our government.’

The Imperial Wizard’s speech was one of the most moving, one of the most truthful I have ever heard. He went on to say how native Americans were discriminated against in business, legislation and administrative government. He pointed out how the World War revealed that millions who had been allowed to share the Nordic American heritage actually had other loyalties. At last we realised an alien usually remains an alien no matter what is done to him, what veneer of education he gets. The melting-pot was a ghastly failure. The very name was coined by a Jew; a member of the race most determinedly refusing to melt. The American could outwork the alien, but the alien could underlive the American. Aliens from Eastern and Southern Europe were accustomed to squalor. And alien ideas were as dangerous as the aliens themselves no matter how plausible such ideas sounded.

‘The Klan goes back to the American racial instincts, to the common sense which is their first product. Modern research finds scientific backing for these convictions. Three of these racial instincts are vital to our Order’s intention of building an America fulfilling the aspirations and justifying the heroism of the men who made the nation. These are: Loyalty to the white race, to the traditions of America, and to the spirit of Protestantism. They are condensed in the Klan slogan: Native, white, Protestant supremacy!’

Then, like a tidal wave, the response roared from the floor: ‘Native, white, Protestant supremacy!’

As if lifted by this wave, the Imperial Wizard swept his arms above his head. He spoke of patriotism, of keeping pioneer stock pure. ‘Racial integrity means good citizenship. Races and stocks of men are as distinct as breeds of animals. One does not train a bulldog to herd sheep!’

As the applause went on, the Imperial Wizard made a gesture for silence. The cheering stopped at once. ‘The Klan is not opposed to aliens, only to aliens who attempt to rule Americans!’ The Western Jew had great abilities, but his separation from the Nordic race was religious even more than racial. Far worse were the Eastern Jews of recent immigration, known as Askhenazim, the Judaised Mongols called Chazars. They show a divergence from the Nordic denying any hope of assimilation. ‘The white race must be supreme, not only in America but in the world!’ The idea of white and coloured races living in harmony was absurd. The whole of history had been one of racial conflict. This fact disagreed with maudlin theories of cosmopolitanism, but it was a truth.

‘The Klansman says whites will not become slaves! The Negro is a special duty and problem of white Americans, the Negro is here through no fault of his own. Nevertheless, we should not make promises of social equality which can never be realised. The Klan looks forward to the day when the Negro problem will be solved on a sane basis, when every State enforces laws making sex relations between white and coloured a crime! The Wizard again dampened the applause. He spoke of Rome’s attempt to rule America. ‘Our first Colonies were settled for the purpose of wresting America from the control of Rome.’ He explained how Protestantism and the Nordic people were the same thing. All other peoples wished to destroy it, particularly the Catholics. ‘As the biggest, strongest, most cohesive of all the alien blocs they frequently form alliances with other alien groups against American interests, as with the Jews in New York today. It is a Klan duty to make as many people as possible aware of all this. It is our duty to use the democratic system to ensure Klansmen are candidates in every possible type of election and that Klansmen win! That is how we shall save America. Not through violence or mob rule, but through the purity of our ideals. To this end we are already working!’

Wie lange wir es dauern? Not long. Other Klansmen rose to speak of Klokards working in all walks of life. Kludds preached that Klan and Church were synonymous. Friends in high places, non-members supporting Klan views, were willing to help. Distinguished visitors from abroad applauded the Klan fight. ‘They deny the wicked lies of those newspapers who say we are a narrow, illiterate people!’

When this clamour died away the Imperial Wizard said in even, thrilling tones. ‘One such visitor is with us tonight. The Grand Dragon of the Realm of the Air will introduce our guest.’ For some moments there was polite applause, dying down until again the steady pumping of engines and paddle were the only significant sounds. Then Major Sinclair stepped forward to intone: ‘Brothers of the Fiery Cross we are honoured by the presence of a great scientist and aviator visiting us from Europe. He has fought the Turk, the Bolshevist, the Catholic and the Jew, and he shares blood with our ancestors who explored and settled this land. His mother was French, his father British. He has often spoken in private of his own ideas which are, I think you’ll agree, one hundred percent American. He does not come to us to criticise and confound, like many strangers to the South. He respects our traditions. It was the British, we shall always remember, who supported the Confederacy. But if I seem narrow in my loyalties to the South, I beg to be forgiven by my brothers. I seek merely to demonstrate that not all outsiders are critics, bigots or agitators.’

He told them how I was a professor of science, an engineer, a flyer and a God-fearing Protestant. ‘An opponent of all we fear and hate. I have invited him to this Klonverse as a representative of those who support us objectively and freely. But also, brothers, he is one who has personally witnessed the horrors of unchecked alienism. We take to our hearts a true Knight of the Air, who has fought hand to hand with bloody Bolshevism, saved thousands from the Red Terror. I give you my friend - as I know he will be yours - Colonel Max Peterson!’

The applause I received was generous but reasonably cautious. I had not expected to speak and was nervous. Nonetheless now that I was here I determined to speak from the heart. All I had was sincerity. I was moved almost to tears as I began my address. While the Nathan B. Forrest continued down the muddy Mississippi on her way to Vicksburg I told them of the terrible dangers facing Europe, how I had been a prisoner of the Bolsheviks. Indeed I gave them in a sense my whole life story. Gradually I captured their interest and their sympathy. Encouraged by this my oratory began to soar to heights it had known only once before, when I made my matriculation speech in Petersburg. I described the pathetic sight of desperate women and children begging to board refugee ships, the victims of jealous and vindictive Jews. The Catholic church weakened Italy, France grew feeble by allowing Jews to control business and parliament. Even England was in danger from the same atheists, Socialists and Zionists who attacked beaten Germany. I described how Mussolini and his people resisted the Pope, and consequently building a nation which would attract back many U.S. immigrants. In Ireland the Orange Lodge and other Protestant organizations were directly attacked by Catholic republicans seeking to impose tyranny upon Ulster. (I knew many Klansmen had been recruited from such lodges and noticed a stirring of interest.) Then I spoke of the threat of Islam. I explained how Jewish money, Catholic guns and Negro bloodlust formed a united threat to all our great institutions. I went on for at least an hour, describing the virtues of Americans, their originality in all fields, particularly science and engineering. I showed how industrial centres were threatened, how aliens crept into the entertainment world at every level, many owning newspapers, some already planning radio stations. Only strong legislation could fight the lure of gin and jazz. Russia was destroyed, Europe teetered on the brink. If America were not to fall to Chaos she must set an example. They were on their feet now and stamping, waving their assent. I was elated. I concluded with my own vision of an American future. It would be strong and untainted. Clean, independent cities and towns and richly cultivated land would provide for people in plenty; they would never be afraid to walk down a street or lane at night. The alien, discouraged from procreating by heavy taxes imposed for every child he fathered, would disappear in a matter of decades. Genetic science would produce stronger, healthier Nordic Americans to impress the world.

‘And finally,’ I concluded, above the steady rise of applause, ‘it will be an America where the word “Klansman” is synonymous with honour, nobility and good blood. Your descendants shall again lead this nation. The Klansman alone, as Mr Griffith has shown, stands for progress and decency. He is willing to fight to the death for his Christian purity, for a faith whose vitality has created the finest civilisation in the world, which mighty heroes have defended down the centuries with strength and courage, since the glorious days of Athens and Sparta!’

My idealism, my honest spontaneity, impressed every man aboard. I sat down to sustained applause. My accent, normally a matter of suspicion, was confirmation of my integrity and proof of their own Christian tolerance. I had no selfish reason for holding my opinions and this gave my words extra meaning. I felt I had found my own at last. The Grand Kladd acknowledged my stirring testament. I was so elated I hardly noticed when the Kladd began the ordinary reports of the meeting. Klan recruiting was proving enormously successful in all Realms, particularly the Western and Mid-Western heartland, where Klansmen or Klan-backed candidates held many important offices. They remained misunderstood, savagely resisted in places, but their strength grew daily. I was impressed by their trust in allowing me to be present at these secret speeches, particularly when the Grand Klokard rose to report on the various prominent men who could be relied upon. ‘Elections come up all the time. And we’re taking them. Next year, for instance, when Memphis holds her elections we’ll win across the board. We’ve already picked candidates for State elections. Our momentum simply can’t be stopped. Membership counts in millions while millions more will vote Klan. Republican and Democrat candidates are being prepared by us for the Presidency itself. Within five years a Klansman could be our nation’s Chief.’

This last piece of news was as novel and as exciting to those on the floor as it was to me. I now realised why this particular Klonverse was so important. Both funds and morale had to be raised to embark upon an important new phase in the Klan’s political programme. From the crowd stepped a Grand Cyclops who announced his rank and Realm. He was in accord with all that had been said. However he was unhappy about bad publicity which could lose the Klan key elections. Certain members had taken the white hood merely to fulfil personal vendettas. Twice in Missouri recently Klansmen had shot to death members of families with whom they had feuded for years. ‘Even the niggers have rights. I know of a case where a nigger girl and her father got killed on account of her having a Klansman’s child. These iniquities, however rare, are fuel for the alien-backed press. They’re blown out of all proportion by our political enemies. I believe the Imperial Wizard should issue an edict banishing transgressors from the Klan. If he doesn’t, we’ll lose support when and where we need it most.’

Raising a purple- and gold-trimmed arm, the Imperial Wizard showed his willingness to reply. ‘Wouldn’t you agree that what’s appropriate for Massachusetts, Brother Cyclops, isn’t necessarily okay for Texas?’ His accent was slow and reasonable. ‘Those people have specific and serious problems out there. The same goes for California with her Jap farmers. If some of our boys brand or whip the people who step out of line - and I don’t say I approve - it could be it’s the only way, in that part of the country, that makes sense. I’m sure none of us here bears any man ill-will, irrespective of his race, colour or creed. But we must never forget the fundamental reasons for our Order being reborn that fateful night on Stone Mountain, Georgia, seven years ago. We have to bear in mind what attracts ordinary folk to our Order. We’ve shown we’re prepared to take action which others are afraid to take. In defence of a decent Christian way of life, we must always be prepared to take up arms when the occasion demands. Fear has to be a weapon in our arsenal as much as conviction or faith. It’s our duty to set an example.’

A grey Klansman raised his hand for the Klonvener’s attention. ‘I say we can’t compromise Christian principles in order to win a few liberal votes.’

‘Exactly so.’ The Imperial Wizard approved this attitude.

A Grand Klabee from Iowa spoke next. ‘If a Klansman is to become next President of the USA, we have to condemn mob violence wherever it occurs!’

There was a pause, a certain tension, before the Imperial Wizard answered with measured dignity. ‘That is also true. Today it’s within our power to elect half the country’s Governors, maybe more. Since I’ve been organising this Order we’ve risen in three years from a membership of a few thousand to a force large enough to make Washington think twice.’

Near the back of the floating hall a voice cried: ‘That’s a fact!’

Graciously, the Imperial Wizard acknowledged this, adding: ‘We must also acknowledge the redoubtable efforts of Mrs Mawgan in the membership drive.’

The Grand Kladd motioned from where he sat on the far side of the stage. As he got up the boat shuddered, perceptibly altering course. ‘I’d be the first to agree. The Imperial Wizard and Mrs Mawgan came up with a damned near foolproof method of swelling the ranks. This puts money into our campaign chests and like it or not that’s our prime consideration here. Until we can elect both Republican and Democrat presidential candidates, preferably on an open Klan ticket, we might as well be throwing shit at a dungheap.’

‘We are Americans!’ The Imperial Wizard’s dramatic tenor cut through the general murmur. ‘We have a fundamental belief in democratic processes, the cornerstone of our nation. That means winning votes. Votes cost money, particularly when it comes to nominations. We must have strong candidates. Men above reproach. True white men to speak up for our principles and our religion. The men we need do not come cheap. We need the nickels and dimes of every possible member.’

The Iowan Grand Klabee replied forcefully. ‘The men you want are the very people who draw the line at nightriding and lynching. By restraining the rougher elements now we’ll soon be able to have our own judges and police chiefs. They’ll do what we do now as vigilantes. I say we should have no truck with the branding-iron boys. Use your power to cancel or suspend their charters. Then tell the press. Look at how many join the Klan for business reasons. Insurance salesmen, storekeepers, bankers, factory owners, all kinds of solidly respectable men. Educated men. How long will they stay with us if they believe too many wear the white hood simply because they’re outside the Law?’

‘The mask makes us equal,’ said Grand Klaliff from the shadows. ‘An insurance clerk has as much anger, as much wish to right a wrong as a fieldhand. A banker enjoys the thrill of the nightride as much as any blacksmith. You’re underestimating how many approved of what our boys did in Harrison last year but would never say so right out. We smashed that strike and run that so-called Methodist out of town. Ninety-nine percent of Arkansas was behind us.’

‘Washington’s more important.’ Another Grand Cyclops stepped from the ranks, gesturing urgently. ‘Blood likes money, but money don’t like blood.’

Suddenly Major Sinclair was on his feet. ‘Remember why we exist, sir. If we ever forget that we are primarily the protectors of the White Race we might as well disband this minute. We must be seen to be firm, strong, right minded. I joined this brotherhood in the early days, in Atlanta, because our women were threatened on the street, leered at by niggers and aliens. I will not live to see my children seduced into a life of drudgery by marriage to a money grubbing Jew, persuaded into renouncing their religion by some Jesuitical jazz baby. Surely, gentlemen, I need say no more!’He was enthusiastically applauded and the Imperial Wizard said soberly, ‘Thank you, Grand Dragon. I think you speak for all.’ But even this did not completely silence the approving grunts, the occasional shout or whoop from individual Klansmen. I felt immediate comradeship with these people and their direct, honest habits of speech and action. Idealistic principle has always moved me deeply, wherever it manifests itself. Had it been appropriate, I know I would also have leapt to my feet and clapped.

The Imperial Wizard was stern. ‘No man has ever cast doubt on my dedication, nor on my ability to build this Order into the power it has become. When Colonel Simmons made me responsible for running the Klan it was in full knowledge of my faith in his ideals. He will tell you so himself when he returns from his well deserved rest and stands amongst us as our Emperor. Colonel Simmons wrote the book by which we all stand or fall, our great Kloran. I swear by that book, or by the Holy Bible itself: he’ll endorse all I’ve done and all I shall do. For now I beg you to tolerate our more exuberant brothers. And I agree we must use subtler means wherever possible.’

In clipped New England accents another Grand Dragon endorsed this. ‘I don’t believe anyone here doubts Colonel Simmons’s faith in our Imperial Wizard.’ He hoped to reduce tension, though I saw no harm in their debate. King Arthur’s Court, after all, was not without its disagreements. That subject was brought to a close and the atmosphere became more relaxed. The Imperial Kladd spoke next. ‘While the Imperial Klabee makes his financial report, some dignitaries must leave you for a short while to discuss certain matters raised here tonight.’ At this Major Sinclair signed to me and we followed the Imperial Wizard through the side door to the little dressing-room. Here the leader let out a long sigh as he removed his conical headdress. ‘These things get awful stuffy, even in winter.’ He smiled for my benefit, extending a well kept hand. ‘Thanks for coming, colonel. I’ve heard all about you. I’m Eddy Clarke. I gather you’re a drinking man.’

I told him I drank moderately.

‘Then let’s all revive ourselves in my cabin.’ He was slim and graceful. His cultured, intellectual manner gave the lie to those who depicted Klansmen as brutes with unshaven jaws. Horn-rimmed glasses and dark curly hair lent him the appearance of an academic from some dreamy campus rather than a powerful political force. His easy charm demonstrated how he had achieved much of his success. He had joined the Klan as its recruiting Kleagle in 1920. Now he was effective leader. Colonel Simmons, a romantic and noble old Southerner, lacked enough political ambition to make the Klan the genuine threat it now was, but ‘that fateful night on Stone Mountain’ when he had gathered a few fellow spirits together to re-form the Knights of the Fiery Cross again was still recognised as the most important moment in the movement’s history.

The Imperial Wizard’s stateroom was at the forward end of the boat where the vibrations were less pronounced. He crossed to the wall, pressed a secret button and revealed a small cabinet of good-quality alcohol. ‘This is part of the service, apparently, when you rent the boat.’ I accepted a straight vodka. The American habit of adulterating drinks so they taste like soda-pop never transmitted itself to me. Major Sinclair and Mr Clarke both had rye whiskey. We raised our glasses in a toast. ‘Here’s to a long and profitable association, colonel.’ Clarke was openly enthusiastic. ‘I was mighty taken by what you said and how you put it across. From the horse’s mouth. It was well worth the risk of inviting you. This Klonverse, you probably realise, is especially significant to us. What’s more it was a good chance for our top people from all over to get a good look at you. Now you, in turn, have a good understanding I’m sure of our specific ambitions and problems.’

He spoke calmly but significantly. This was not merely an amiable discussion. He was almost courting me, treating me, I sensed, with unusual respect. ‘You know my admiration for the Klan, Mr Clarke. While still in Europe I was fired by the dedication and courage of your Knights. Though she surely needs it, Europe has nothing to compare with your Order.’ I spoke sincerely, yet was curious to know what he wanted from me.

Clarke refilled our glasses. ‘We’ve a large and constantly expanding membership, Colonel Peterson. In certain States it has a preponderance of what they call “poor whites”. Doubtless you noticed there’s pressure on me to discipline folks who go a little too far in their enthusiasm. I’m reluctant. My answer is to strive with every means at my disposal to attract the better class of citizen who presently supports us in spirit but not in deed. To go forward as a real political power we have to win over that class and its finances. Do you follow me?’

‘Given the record of the Klan in handling strikes, I’m surprised you don’t have more large industrialists funding you already. Your interests are surely identical. It can only be bad press which makes them hesitate.’ I hoped this assessment seemed intelligent.

‘In a nutshell. Colonel Peterson.’ Mr Clarke clapped Major Sinclair on the shoulder. ‘You were right about this man, Al. I’m beholden to you.’ He turned to me again. ‘That’s why we want to sponsor you, colonel. To make a nationwide lecture tour. Every newspaper in every town you visited would report your words. I’ve read the Memphis papers. You have a fascinating reputation. You speak with authority as one daily exposed to the terror of unchecked alienism. Respectable, intelligent, well to do people would listen to you. A distinguished professor, with no axe to grind in American politics, your quiet support of the Klan could prove invaluable to us in our recruiting drive. We would propose to fund you indirectly. The fees would be generous and all travel accommodation and so forth would be first-class. The Klan can be an implacable enemy -’ he paused and I wondered if this were some sort of warning to me ‘- but it is a loyal friend.’

Naturally I was gratified. His offer could be of substantial use in improving my status. Sadly, I thought, it conflicted with my desire to oversee our Memphis aerodrome and aircraft scheme. Yet there were many advantages to forming an association with so powerful a political group. It could mean ultimate security for Esmé and me, perhaps the important government position I so much deserved. For this reason I did not refuse point-blank. ‘I’m flattered, sir. However, I have pressing business interests at present, so would be grateful for a few days to consider your proposal.’

The Imperial Wizard had already assumed I would need time. ‘Major Sinclair will be in Memphis for the next few days. He’ll be flying back to Atlanta in The Knight Hawk. You’re off to Little Rock tomorrow, aren’t you, Al?’

‘If the weather’s okay. I might make the whole trip at once. Whatever I decide I’ll be in Memphis for quite a while.’

Mr Clarke beamed. ‘So when you reach a decision, Colonel Peterson, simply inform Major Sinclair. He’ll convey the news to me at Klankrest, our Atlanta headquarters.’

‘I’ll be able to let you know shortly, sir.’ There was a strong, almost supernatural rapport between the three of us as we stood in that red, white and blue stateroom. Mr Clarke told Major Sinclair a story about ‘some Federal snooper’ who had ‘met with an accident’. If the tale was for my ears it was unnecessary. I already knew how the Klan punished spies and traitors and was thoroughly approving. At length we lifted our glasses in one last toast. ‘To America!’ Major Sinclair, the light of idealistic patriotism shining from his eyes, reminded me in stance and expression of those brave White Russian aristocrats who pledged their lives for Tsar and Christ in the fight against Bolshevism. Again I came close to tears. ‘To America,’ I said.

In the small hours of a bitter Memphis morning the Nathan B. Forrest steamed slowly towards the landing-stage. With Major Sinclair, I stood at the rail, watching the water turn the colour of mercury under a gradual dawn. During my time aboard I had made friends with leading Klansmen from every part of the country. We were all jubilant. The Klan had grown rapidly since 1920. There had hardly been time to draw breath. Many members scarcely realised how powerful they had become. An Indianapolis Kleagle had explained to me how the Klan had been forced to secrecy. The ‘Invisible Empire’ was formed in direct reaction to foreign-born groups with supranational loyalties and societies: Zionist, Knights of Columbia, anarchist, Sicilian Black Hand, Mormon, Tong. Mr Clarke had amplified this, if they openly declared their interests and ambitions so should we. In the interests of democracy we’re forced to adopt enemy methods until we have power in Washington. Then we’ll force ‘em into the open by Law. They’ll pay the price for all those years of hypocrisy and deceit, whether they’re voodoo cults in Louisiana or Catholics in Tammany Hall.’ Like me, he never lost sight of his moral goals, no matter how circuitous the route sometimes seemed.

Major Sinclair was in particularly good spirits as he drove me back to the Adler Apartments. Before I went inside, we shook hands warmly, standing together in that white sunrise. He said I had made a fine impression. He sincerely hoped I would choose to help the cause, his life’s work. I climbed the steps to my rooms, considering the notion of a worldwide Klan. I thought how much in common Greek Orthodoxy had with Protestantism. Both opposed Rome. Shoulder to shoulder the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan could defeat all the enemies of Christendom. In bed I dreamed of a future where the fight was won at last. Free men in a free world stripped off their masks; regalia now only to be worn on ceremonial occasions as distinguished Southerners still sometimes assumed the uniforms of the Confederacy. Then great shining cities would ascend to the heavens free forever from alien threat. I think I was also a little fearful. By accepting the invitation to board the Nathan B. Forrest I had actually taken an irretrievable step. From somewhere in the shadows the figure of Brodmann, grinning and mocking, wagged its finger, hinting at a subtle and unguessable revenge. I looked up to see the last of the cities departing. I had been marooned.

I slept only a few hours. I was thankful, in fact, to be awakened by a loud banging on my door. Stumbling in a hastily donned dressing-gown, I answered. It was Mr Roffy. ‘You’re sleeping late, colonel.’ His manner was disgruntled, almost impatient. He strode into the dark, curtained room and sat down in my armchair. Pulling aside drapes and shutters I was dazzled by unexpected sunshine. Meanwhile Mr Roffy smoothed his hair, adjusted his waistcoat, recovered his manners. ‘Forgive the intrusion. I have some tremendously good news, sir. I had to come straight round to let you know.’

I was surprised at the contrast between his appearance and his words. ‘Would you care for some coffee?’ I began to hunt for the can.

‘Thank you, I’ve already breakfasted. However, I’ll smoke if you’ve no objection.’ Lighting his large cigar he sucked like a starved baby at the breast. ‘Mr Gilpin had a wire this morning. Our strategy is working perfectly. We are within an ace of everyone signing at once - the Chamber of Commerce, the State legislature, all the way up to Congress. They’re calling this the “Memphis Experiment”, you know. The whole country’s going to be watching us. If it succeeds, Nashville’s ready to begin her own scheme, using our company as overall controller.’

I still could not equate this with his distracted and harassed manner. ‘When do we begin work?’ I asked.

‘Early June, if we get the land we want.’ He sighed deeply, perhaps to control himself, ‘It was our offer of $450,000 as security which turned the day for us. All we do now is put up the cash. Everything else will go ahead like clockwork. We’ll get our money back immediately, of course. Our profits will be a hundredfold within the first year. You’ve heard from Europe?’

I sat down heavily on the edge of my bed. I had heard nothing, of course. I did all I could to stop myself shaking.

Mr Roffy stared at me through the cigar smoke. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I rather hoped you were the boy from Western Union. My agents tell me German inflation’s creating a panic throughout the Continent. That’s why things are moving so slowly.’

‘This scheme stands or falls on your contribution, colonel. Maybe you’ve funds in New York you could liquidate.’

‘Not enough.’ I could think of no further excuses. Soon, unless Kolya responded, I would be forced to admit I was virtually penniless. Irrationally, perhaps, I believed there would then be a chance my life would be put in danger. At last I added: ‘The reply will come today. In the meantime will my note of hand be of any help?’

‘Better than nothing.’ His voice sounded both suspicious and frightened.

Excusing myself I went into the bathroom for some cocaine. When I emerged the trembling was scarcely better, but I prepared a sheet of paper guaranteeing funds up to $150,000 to the Memphis Aviation Company. ‘The cash will follow,’ I promised.

‘It’s today or never, colonel.’ He folded the document carefully and put it in his breast pocket. Rising slowly to his feet, he turned towards the door, ‘It depends on you. Tomorrow we three will either be at the helm of a great enterprise or we’ll be tarred and feathered, run out of town on a rail. Mr Gilpin and myself have made personal assurances to banks, senators, congressmen, State officials and current creditors. If your money fails to materialise, we’ll all be ruined. It will be bad enough for Mr Gilpin and myself. We are men of honour. The ridicule and the disgrace, would probably kill Gilpin. But it will be that much worse for you, colonel. Prison? You would certainly be extradited. Where would that be to?’ His hand twitched as he lifted his cigar to his face. ‘France?’

This prospect alarmed me most. I would be arrested the moment I stepped off at Le Havre. I hurried him out. Allowing myself a further liberal dosage of cocaine I bathed, dressed, drank the lukewarm coffee I had prepared. I had to risk another telegram to Kolya. What alternatives were there? Then suddenly it occurred to me. Our wild Italian friend had once offered to put me in touch with his successful cousins in America. In French I composed a wire and went downstairs to Western Union. I sent the wire to Annibale Santucci, care of the Ristorante Mendoza, Via Catalana, Rome. I explained I needed to borrow a large sum for a few days. Did he know anyone in America who could help me? He should reply to Colonel Peterson. In my panic I sent further wires to Esmé, telling her I loved her and had not forgotten her, to Mrs Cornelius, asking her to contact me as quickly as possible. I had done all I could. As I took the stairs back to my rooms, Mrs Trubbshaw, whom I had arranged to see, entered the main door and called up to me. She was the very distraction I needed. The rest of the afternoon was spent with her buttons and bows, her inventive, guilty lewdness, and my last supplies of that universal healer the locals called ‘candy’. Mrs Trubbshaw remarked at one stage how neither Mr Roffy nor Mr Gilpin looked as well as usual. She was afraid they had been burning the candle at both ends. They would find themselves dead of heart attacks if they were not careful. ‘Those two old rogues just won’t grow up,’ she said. By early evening, when Mrs Trubbshaw rushed home to prepare her husband’s supper, I had received no replies to my telegrams. If I was to face my partners again I must have an especially good reason for not having the money. I toyed with the notion of a share crash, incompetent brokers who had invested in some fly-by-night scheme. But that would require confirming evidence. Once again I dressed myself carefully in my best evening clothes, then sat down to wait for the inevitable knock on the door. If they did not arrive within the hour, I had decided, I would visit the nearest bordello, if only to replenish my cocaine.

At seven-thirty I put on my top coat. As I reached for my hat and gloves, I heard a knock. Opening the door to Mr Gilpin I was shocked by his appearance. His normally healthy face was pallid. It seemed to have sagged, no longer a soldier’s but a prisoner’s; even his moustache had drooped. He said nothing as he shuffled in. I told him at once that I had as yet received no news.

‘We figured as much, colonel.’ He sighed deeply. ‘We’re buying what time we can. I’m a fair judge of character. I know you wouldn’t welsh on us.’

‘I’ve been sending wires all day. To France, Italy, England.’

He nodded vaguely. ‘You understand the consequences will be drastic?’

‘Our scheme’s rock solid. Surely in reality we only face a delay. We’ll weather the embarrassment.’

‘It’s not so simple, sir. Mr Roffy has made firm guarantees. Our $300,000 can’t cover them. Your share will make the difference between life and death. Roffy’s on the brink, sir. He’s contemplating suicide. I hope you’re not in any way suspicious of our credentials . . .’

‘I have no lack of trust in you, Mr Gilpin. It’s the problem in Europe. Almost every government blocks the flow of funds as a matter of course.’

‘But $150,000 can’t be a great deal of money to you, sir?’ He passed his hand through what a day or two before had been a white leonine mane. Today it was a dead cat.

‘The funds are solidly tied up, chiefly in securities. My agents are doing all they can. I hope to borrow from my bank against what they know exists. But no word so far.’

Lost in his own thoughts, Mr Gilpin let his bleary eyes wander about my room. When he next looked at me his expression was tragic. ‘It’s Roffy’s family, you see. He’s a man of honour. If he finds he cannot keep his word . . .’ He sighed deeply and returned this attention to my writing desk.

I believe he was growing suspicious of me, yet was still unwilling to air his opinion. My moral position was appalling. Through my fabrications it now seemed I might drive another human creature to take his own life. ‘It will not come to that, Mr Gilpin,’ I said.

‘I have secured a short extension.’ He looked at me as if I had already personally assassinated his old friend. He did not offer his hand as he left. I went out shortly afterwards and walked up Madison Street. The trolley cars bellowed and steamed in the cold air; light from various cafés and stores failed somehow to penetrate the darkness. Turning a corner I found myself outside a very respectable speakeasy where I had been carrying on a casual affair with a young Chattanooga girl who worked there. I knocked and entered. With what was almost the last of my cash I bought several large packets of ‘candy’. I was determined to do everything I could to avoid anxiety and yet save Roffy from ruin. I spent the night with my lady friend, returning to my apartment the next morning. To my delight a telegram was waiting for me. Santucci had replied. He had not bothered to condense his message. It was as voluble as if he were speaking to me in person. I had been lucky to find him in Rome. He was normally in Milan these days. All our friends were doing well and had become ‘very serious about polities’. Everyone sent their best wishes to myself and Esmé. He gave me two addresses, one in Chicago, the other in San Francisco. Both people were called Potecci or ‘Potter’. He was not sure which city was nearest Memphis. Where, in fact, was Memphis? Was I the prisoner of a lost Egyptian tribe?

This uneconomical reply, so full of friendly good will, so typical of Santucci’s exuberance and generosity, cheered me considerably, even though I had hoped for something a little more useful. Nothing had come from Kolya, Esmé or Mrs Cornelius. I found my folded map of the United States. With a piece of cotton I was trying to work out which of the two cities was, in fact, closest to Memphis, when the janitor arrived at my door. He gave me a note. To my great joy it was from Jimmy Rembrandt! He had just arrived in town and was lunching at Plunkett’s Cafe on Monroe Street If I was free would I please join him. He urgently wished to discuss a personal matter. My first thought was that he had news of Kolya. Then it occurred to me he merely wished to return the $500 he had borrowed. Jimmy might even help me find the money to save myself and my partners. Accordingly, my hopes coloured by desperation, I changed and hurried to the restaurant. It was an old-fashioned establishment, of oak booths, marble-topped tables and rococo brasswork. Jimmy had already started eating as I called to him down the aisle and he looked up irritably. His expression did not change when he recognised me but froze into lines of grim anger. Almost reluctantly, he stood up behind the table, wiping his lips on his napkin, avoiding my eye, as if I had caught him eating human flesh. I could make nothing of this. As he sat down I saw he had plainly been travelling all night, for his suit was crumpled. With almost mechanical deliberation he rearranged the lines on his face and smiled. He asked the waiter to delay the main course until I could order. I said he seemed very tired. He made an effort to be his usual courteous self. This gesture served to make me rather more nervous.

For a while our conversation was stilted and conventional. By the time my food arrived I was wanting to ask Jimmy what was wrong. Was he getting round to admitting he could not yet pay back my $500? When he had finished his own pork chop he put his knife and fork carefully together in the plate, drew a breath, then turned his clear, grey eyes directly on me. ‘Max, I’m here as a pal to wise you up.’

He spoke in a different accent, harsher and somehow lazier, in style closer to Santucci’s. He used slang normally confined to private conversations with Lucius Mortimer. I could follow him thanks chiefly to my familiarity with hookers, who used a similar patois. I understood the gist of his opening remark, therefore, but had no idea what it actually implied.

‘It’s Roffy.’ Rembrandt paused. ‘He’s mad enough to bite. He thinks you’re a yentzer. That’s why I’m here. To try to get you to see reason.’

‘Mr Gilpin said Mr Roffy was very anxious.’

‘He’s going crazy. He told me you’re holding out on him. Your cash will save the airport scheme. What’s up, Max? Are you planning to cop a sneak? D’you think they’re a couple of skin-gamers or what?’

‘Of course I trust them. I’ve done everything in my power to get the money. I feel terrible about it, Jimmy. Mr Gilpin told me Mr Roffy’s considering suicide.’

‘Let’s just say he’s a little unstable at the moment, Max. He’s sure angry enough to blow the whistle.’

‘On what?’

‘On you. He’s saying he’ll turn you over to the cops. Maybe belch on you to the papers. About why you left France in a hurry. He’s got the goods on you, pal. Your whole sidetrack.’

I fell back in surprise. ‘How could he have found out? Jimmy, I insist -’

‘Someone must have slipped the info to him. Or he saw the same stories I did.’

I felt very sick. I pushed my plate away. ‘You know those charges are completely false! I explained that when we first met in New York. You believed me!’

‘It’s not making any difference to Roffy, the way he is now. Look at your position. Max. A bum monicker? That’s enough for the front office. You’d be deported to France. It’d be the hatch for sure.’

Weakly I signalled the waiter to remove my plate. I asked for a glass of water. My entire body began to shake. This time I could not stop it. ‘He has my IOU, Jimmy.’

‘So what?’

I put my head closer to his, speaking in an intense undertone. ‘You know the charges were false!’

‘So it’s a hype. But it could stick. You must believe that or you wouldn’t be here. They’ll beef you. Max, unless you come up with your third. What’s it to you? A hundred fifty measly grand? Thaw it as soon as you can. Square Roffy and Gilpin. You’ll get it back fast. You can’t want to see your friends go down. At least take my tip. I owe you one. Roffy’s crazy enough to do anything. If this goes on the wire I wouldn’t lay evens you’ll leave Memphis in anything but a case of ice.’

‘He’d kill me?’

‘Maybe not Roffy personally. But he has friends who aren’t squeamish.’

I believed him. I was already sweating. I could hardly breathe for the terror which suddenly struck me. Familiarity with the threat of death made it no easier to accept. Something seemed to press hard on my chest. ‘Can’t you appeal to him? Tell him I’m doing my best?’

‘Max, just give Roffy his kick-back. What if he does doublecross you? It’s a small enough slice of your pie. The papers said you took twenty million. They always bullshit, I know. I’d guess at ten. You can afford it.’

‘Jimmy, I told you the papers lied!’ I was by now soaking in my own juices.

‘Five, then?’

‘I stole nothing. I arrived in New York almost penniless. I’ve been living off Roffy and Gilpin here. In New York I sold some jewellery, but I haven’t a cent now!’ My whisper became almost a shriek. I tried to lower my voice again. I was hoarse. I had at least admitted the truth to someone. I felt the burden lifting from me. But a worse one was settling and I had completely lost control of my tongue. ‘A patent in Washington went for a pittance. That’s how I could lend you the five hundred. If I’d told them I was broke they wouldn’t have trusted me. You said yourself you had to pretend to be rich for people to take you seriously, no matter how good your ideas. I listened to your advice, Jimmy!’

Rembrandt’s face lost all colour. He lit a cigarette and he looked at me through careful eyes. ‘Max, you’re caught in a snowstorm. How can I know this is the m’coy?’

‘Cocaine doesn’t affect me that way.’

‘You’re telling me you’re actually innocent? The Frogs really did set you up? You’re down to the cotton?’

I nodded. ‘You believed me before.’

‘You can’t even raise a couple hundred bucks?’

‘If I pawn my clothes, maybe.’

Jimmy swore under his breath. ‘But every damned paper agreed you were the big shill, Max. The gyp of the century!’ He looked at me like a stricken child. ‘Jesus Christ.’

I felt obscurely guilty. ‘Someone benefited, I suppose. It was not I.’

In an expression of incredulity he blew smoke through pursed lips. ‘So you’re the friggin’ yap! Setup for the gum job. Freighted out of the country before you knew what was happening. Perfect! Well it sure makes us look like boobs!’ He shook his head. ‘So Christmas has been cancelled,’ he added, as if to the restaurant at large.

‘If you’re suggesting Kolya betrayed me you’re wrong. I suspect de Grion. My friend is a prince of the royal blood. He saved me, Jimmy. He’d save me now if he could. I don’t have his latest address. However, a friend in Italy -’

‘What a beautiful scam!’ Jimmy was hardly listening to me. I found it odd he reacted as he did. It was as if he was admiring the criminals who betrayed me while also laughing at himself. Yet only minutes before he had warned me my life was in danger. Possibly ironic amusement was his way of disguising his own fear, but it disturbed me. A smile began to form, then he frowned. ‘And what a bunch of suckers we turned out to be. Conned by a Michigan roll! All those months of planning. The outlay. We blew every dime on this. It was me got Lucius to talk those old pros into it! Oh, Christ.’

Though many of his remarks remained obscure I could tell he was genuinely upset. ‘I assure you, Jimmy, I’m heart and soul behind the scheme. I never meant to deceive anyone, least of all you and Major Mortimer. I offered my services, my patents, my skills, my brains. There’s nothing wrong with any of them. If I had the cash I’d give it to Mr Roffy immediately! I’ve as much stake as he has. I don’t want our scheme to collapse.’

He was plainly bitter. He had vouched for me to his friends and I had let him down badly. I could not stop babbling. I leant across to take his arm. He was unaware of my touch. Jimmy had lost all concentration. He stared vacantly up at the gas-globes overhead, grinning to himself. Had we both gone mad? I could not then see any reason for his reaction.

It was shock, of course. I had to make notes, puzzling over that meeting many times before I realised why, quite suddenly, he began to laugh. I stared at him in amazement.

‘Oh, Jesus Christ!’ He was helpless. ‘We’ve sweet-lined our own asses!’

He had no reason to take the whole blame. Part of the moral responsibility was mine.

I have never been one to deceive myself in such matters.

Biddena natla’ ila barra. Mashi yesma’.