The Romanian Question

DON’T TOUCH ME THERE

I had hoped to be able to secure interviews with the leading figures in the political drama which had set the world wondering and had created consternation in Roumania. I was hopeful of being able to discuss the situation with the King himself, with Goga, and with the most significant figure in Roumania, Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, leader of the Iron Guard, fascist, terrorist, murderer and most rabidly violent of Jew-baiters. Arrangements to see King Carol and Goga were made with comparative ease; to meet Codreanu proved a much more difficult task.

King Carol, Hitler and Lupescu

JERRY WASN’T EVEN sure of immortality any more. The rules kept changing on him and the chronic vibrations were making him ill.

“You’re overstretched, lad.” With a flourish of his pale grey moustache, Major Nye guided the helicopter away from Dublin where he had discovered Jerry wandering on the frozen Liffey. “You need a bit of time to yourself.”

“I didn’t think it was allowed.”

Clearly Major Nye found this remark in doubtful taste.

“There’s not a lot left, after all,” Jerry added lamely. “What with the Ukrainian going off like that.”

“You’re just depressed because of your dream of anarchy. Well, old son, it seems it isn’t to be.”

“Are you sure there’s been no news from Scotland?”

“Not the kind you’ve been hoping for. I doubt if there’s a black flag left flying or an anarchist keel still in the sky. Those days are over, dear boy, even in your fantasies. They never had a chance. Too romantic, even for an experienced India hand like me!”

The references were getting blurred. Jerry understood now why the only bits of history that were interesting were the bits that were almost never recorded. The slow turning of an honest Bavarian burger into a Waffen SS fanatic, for instance. These mysteries remained, so it seemed, the province of unreliable liars and braggarts, falsifiers of their own identities, the novel-ists.

“One’s qualifications stand for nothing these days,” said Major Nye, turning happily towards Wilton and poetry. “But I’m sure there’s some sort of niche you can find for yourself.”

Jerry felt the old spirit slipping away again. He was regretful. He had never been able to reach Bucharest in the hey-day of his powers.

“Here we are, dear boy. Keep your chin up.”

With cheerful confidence Major Nye put them down.