The Man in the High Castle: Chapters 10–12

The death of Martin Bormann had caused immediate consternation in Tokyo.

To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope. Falling into an interminable ennui.

The orders had to be superseded. By more practical advice. His own, in this case, since there was no one else to consult.

All we get in New York is heavy German bombastic Wagner and Orff, and we have to go every week to one of those corny U.S. Nazi Party dramatic spectacles at Madison Square Garden, with the flags and drums and trumpets and the flickering flame.

“And the same with the book business,” Joe said, unperturbed.

His tone was earnest, almost beseeching.

Veins in his forehead became distended and he began once more to shake.

Respiration and all somatic processes, including all manner of diencephalic-controlled autonomic responses to crisis: adrenaline, greater heartbeat, pulse rate, glands pouring, throat paralyzed, eyes staring, bowels loose, et al.

“I took the liberty of showing this to a number of business acquaintances,” Paul said, “individuals who share my taste for American historic objects or for artifacts of general artistic, esthetic merit.”

To have no historicity, and also no artistic, esthetic worth, and yet to partake of some ethereal value—that is a marvel.

Just precisely because this is a miserable, small, worthless-looking blob; that, Robert, contributes to its possessing wu. For it is a fact that wu is customarily found in least imposing places, as in the Christian aphorism, ‘stones rejected by the builder.’

Here, an artificer has put wu into the object, rather than merely witnessed the wu inherent in it.

I took it upon myself, as I have done with you just now, to deliver an expostulation devoid of tact.

This subject carries authority which compels an abandonment of propriety, so great is the necessity of delivering the awareness itself.

“The result,” Paul said, “was sanguine..."

They were able to adopt under such duress my viewpoint; they perceived what I had delineated.

They were able to adopt under such duress my viewpoint; they perceived what I had delineated.

You are the sole agent for this piece and others of its ilk.

It could stick with him the rest of his life, once incurred.

But Childan’s; ah, that regrettably had the earmark of being unending.

But still the young Japanese showed no reaction. Too true, Childan thought, what we used to say: they are inscrutable.

There’s no avenging this; we are defeated and our defeats are like this, so tenuous, so delicate, that we’re hardly able to perceive them.

His voice, he noted, croaked in sickly escape; no control, no modulation.

Such a stern, coherent spirit there. No fogging of wits. Certainly lucid transmission of all the stable ancient traditions.

Mr. Ramsey, no doubt still ignorant of the old man’s identity, assisted with the chair but showed no particular deference.

Weird discourse, Mr. Tagomi thought. But not unpleasant. Certain near-musical quality to it.

We cannot enter the monstrous schizophrenic morass of Nazi internecine intrigue; our minds cannot adapt.

We cannot enter the monstrous schizophrenic morass of Nazi internecine intrigue; our minds cannot adapt.

“The blackshirts utterly revile us. They’ve been trying for twenty years to get Partei approval for liquidating us in toto.”

“Active but inept,” Mr. Baynes said.

Out came a nonlisted phone line, especially installed for esoteric communication.

Accented brisk male functionary voice. Undoubtedly underling.

"Waste of effort, to say the least,” he said, feeling discomfited.

He began to dial the number formally—euphemistically—listed in the San Francisco phone book as the "Lufthansa Airport Terminal Precious-Shipment Guard Detail.”

As the phone buzzed he said, "Vituperate in high-pitched hysteria.”

On the other end the SD flunky was sputtering anxiously.

“Formidable triumvirate, in this office.”

“Lying either dead or dying. Advance and verify empirically.”

“They will deny complicity,” Mr. Baynes said.

But the man manipulating the vegetable stalks could not think of that; the present, the actuality, was too tangible, the dead and dying Germans on the floor of his office.