The Man in the High Castle: Chapters 7–9

Tasteful in the extreme. And—so ascetic. Few pieces. A lamp here, table, bookcase, print on the wall.

“Not knowing your appetites in dining,” Betty said, “we have played safe. In kitchen electric oven is broiling T-bone steak. Along with this, baked potato with sauce of sour cream and chives. Maxim utters: no one can err in serving steak to newfound guest first time.”

From his coat pocket he brought small tissue-paper-wrapped thing. He laid it discreetly on the low table. Both of them immediately noticed, and this required him to say, “Bagatelle for you. To display fragment of the relaxation and enjoyment I feel in being here.”

Bit of ivory carved a century ago by whalers from New England. Tiny ornamented art object, called a scrimshaw. Their faces illuminated with knowledge of the scrimshaws which the old sailors had made in their spare time.

From Ray Calvin he had received restitution for the Colt .44, plus many written assurances of no second recurrence.

“That recalls fine speech I heard by Doctor Goebbels,” Robert Childan said. “On radio, year or so ago. Much witty invective..."

Ranged throughout gamut of emotionality. No doubt; with original Adolf Hitler out of things, Doctor Goebbels A-one Nazi speaker.

“Family man, in contrast to number of other grand moguls there,” Paul said.

“Of questionable...mores.”

“Yes,” he said, “this does look interesting. I would very much like to read it. I try to keep up with what’s being discussed.” Was that proper to say? Admission that his interest lay in book’s modishness.

“Please come, two hungry gentleman businessmen.” She cajoled Robert and Paul to the dining table, already set with white tablecloth, silver, china, huge rough napkins in what Robert recognized as Early American bone napkin rings.

“But we did it for a good cause. To stop Slavic world inundation.”
Betty said in a low voice, “Personally, I do not believe any hysterical talk of ‘world inundation’ by any people, Slavic or Chinese or Japanese.”

Pilfer customs right and left, wear, eat, talk, walk, as for instance consuming with gusto baked potato served with sour cream and chives, old-fashioned American dish added to their haul.

What had they misunderstood? Stupid inability on their part to grasp alien tongue, the Western thought. Eluded them and so they took umbrage.

They don the dress but they’re like monkeys dolled up in the circus.

He wondered if they, too, sensed the unbridgeable gap between themselves and him. Hope so, he thought. They deserve to. A shame—just have to ferret out book’s message on their own.

He meandered down the apartment house stairs with no genuine concern as to the occasional Japanese residents who, on their way to and from the communal baths, might notice him and stare.

He decided, I’m simply not capable of deceit and that renders me helpless.

Relations between Reiss and Kreuz vom Meere were rather strained. Their jurisdiction overlapped in countless matters, a deliberate policy, no doubt, of the higher-ups in Berlin.

The commission had been bestowed several years ago, and at that time Reiss had discerned the purpose.

But he could do nothing about it. Nonetheless, he chafed still.

He could imagine Doctor Goebbels at this moment, in the apartment of some stunning movie actress, disdaining the Wehrmacht units bumping through the streets below.

Another life. Ice cream, a taste that could never have existed. Now they boiled nettles and were glad to get them.

And what was it, now that the last dot had been put on that incredible record, that journey from the isolated rustic town in Austria, up from rotting poverty in Vienna, from the nightmare ordeal of the trenches, through political intrigue, the founding of the Party, to the Chancellorship, to what for an instant had seemed near world domination?

We see your bluff, Adolf Hitler. And we know you for what you are, at last. And the Nazi Party, the dreadful era of murder and megalomaniacal fantasy, for what it is.

The death of Adolf Hitler, the defeat and destruction of Hitler, the Partei, and Germany itself, as depicted in Abendsen’s book...it all was somehow grander, more in the old spirit than the actual world. The world of German hegemony.

Broach subject with SS General Otto Skorzeny, or better yet Otto Ohlendorf at Amt III of the Reichssicherheitshauptamt.

They had bought a few semiprecious stones, too, for mounting in the pins: baroque pearls, spinnels, jade, slivers of fire opal.

And superb jewelers’ tools. Pliers from Germany and France, micrometers, diamond drills, saws, tongs, tweezers, third hand structures for soldering, vises, polishing cloths, shears, hand-forged tiny hammers...rows of precision equipment.

They certainly looked good, these few select pieces, each painstakingly gone over for bad welds, rough or sharp edges, spots of fire color...their quality control was excellent.

Shutting his eyes, he tried to imagine how she would look with one of their bracelets on. Or one of their large silver necklaces. With her black hair and her pale skin, doleful, probing eyes...wearing a gray jersey sweater, a little bit too tight, the silver resting against her bare flesh, metal rising and falling as she breathed...

And he is shrewd; I’ll bet he’s right in his analysis of me—I have a neurotic fear of the masculine.

Synthetic image distilled from hearing assorted talk. Myth implanted subtly in tissue of brain.

By merest inflection manage to rub my nose in it, make my life miserable.

He turned his attention to them and their wishes, and forgot the salesman laboring over his display. The salesman, recognizing the situation, became stealthy in his movements; he made himself inconspicuous.

“What we’ve done here,” the salesman said, “is to adapt tried and proven industrial techniques to jewelry making. As far as I know, nobody has ever done it before. No molds. All metal to metal. Welding and brazing.” He paused. “The backs are hand- soldered.”

Childan said, “Our policy, with untried merchandise, has to be consignment.”

As he came back with his tag book he added, "You understand that when merchandise is left on a consignment basis the store doesn’t assume liability in case of theft or damage.”

...that might be the harbinger.

Just she and I, midday in the apartment. Husband off at work. All on up and up, however; brilliant pretext.