The Sixth Key(5)

‘Perhaps I should say something about the state of Germany at that time. Your character had arrived back in his homeland when there was a general feeling of enthusiasm for the promise of a new life and for the return of German pride. After all, the re-arming of Germany had been achieved without conflict, and the endless political wrangling of Weimar was over. These events were like the herald of a new age.

‘The supposed Nazi vision of cultural rebirth should have fitted quite nicely with your character’s own idealistic views, had he been a man of his times. But he was not a man of his times. If you were to ask him about the war against the Cathars, or something concerning Spanish politics at the time of the Reconquista, he would have expounded clear and concise views that were based on genuine insights; if you had asked him about Don Quixote, or Parzifal, or even Sherlock Holmes, he would have had you listening for hours! You see, when it came to the happenings of his day, he could tell you about the latest Georg Wilhelm Pabst film, or the most recent jazz recordings by Django Reinhardt – and not much else. The truth is, talk of politics sent his mind into a fog and for this reason he was not in the least bit interested in Hitler. This confounded his friends and irritated his family. They argued that Hitler had united the nation by erasing inflation and reducing unemployment and poverty; they even pointed out to him the language of symbolism used by Hitler, as a way of raising his interest, but your character was simply not convinced. He felt there was something rather sinister about the way the little moustached man used the ideal of oneness that all Germans longed for, and the symbols that they only half-understood, to gain power over them. These things your character sensed, in the same way a deer senses the presence of a hunter. It was an instinctive disquiet. For the ruthlessness of the new leaders had not yet become outwardly apparent – except for the issue with the Jews.

‘In his view, Hebrews were as well educated, as polite, astute, sensitive and cultured as any other race. In fact, quite a few of them were exceedingly talented in diverse fields and were, for the most part, possessed of impeccable ethics and moral dispositions. He couldn’t understand Hitler’s obsession with blaming them for everything, from the “stab in the back”, to bad weather. On top of that there was the regime’s stern attitude towards homosexuals, Communists and artists. In France he had grown rather fond of bohemians and, he had to admit, since his return to Germany he had found it rather bland. He was starved for good conversation! Where were the intellectuals? Where were the poets, artists and philosophers?

‘Right now, standing before that apartment, he weighs the risks. Who would believe him should it turn out to be a Jewish publisher, or an enemy of the Reich, or a homosexual, or a liberal, or a Communist waiting for him in that apartment? On the other hand, he knows he can’t continue his research into the Cathar treasure without money. After all, there are only so many radio interviews he can do – and only so many times he can recount his exciting experiences potholing in the caves of southern France looking for the Grail – without feeling like a parrot. Moreover, his scripts for the filmmaker Pabst have come to nothing, and he’s had enough of traipsing about the country working on film sets for a pittance. No, this interview is his last resort and he resolves that should he not like the look of the publisher, he will thank him politely and simply walk out. He need never see the man again. After all, no one is going to hold a gun to his head!

‘He knocks on the door. There is no answer. This is the fork in the road, so to speak.’

‘What does he do?’ I said, watching the fire.

The Writer of Letters allowed a little silence to pass. ‘If he had done differently, perhaps you wouldn’t be here? Perhaps there would be no need for you to write this book at all? No, he knocks again and when he hears nothing, a sudden relief washes over him. Providence has saved him, he thinks – but from what? The truth is, had he left one minute earlier he would never know, but his hesitation on descending those steps now means that he is visible to the man who has, by now, unlocked the door behind him. When he turns, he recognises the uniform. Who in Berlin wouldn’t have?’





2


In the Belly of the Dragon

‘But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the door, was sore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the maliceful hermit; but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly and prodigious demeanour.’ Edgar Allan Poe, ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’


Berlin, 1938

A long corridor led to an elegantly furnished room overlooking the street. At the threshold to this room a peculiar calmness came over Otto Rahn. He could have screwed up the telegram or even refrained from knocking on that door, but he hadn’t, and now he had to surrender to the moment, for good or ill.