House of All Nations (58 page)

‘For lunch, where do I go? I know they'll follow me. I go to the poor kosher lunchroom. Sure enough, a few minutes later, I see them going past and looking in. They don't come in, they're too poor. But it's all right—it proves I have a bit of money, not too much. After lunch I go back and say, “Well?” “Well,” they say, “mister, we would sell the name cheap for a good cause, but there is—” and they start to tell me the seas of troubles they have. “I know,” I say, “I'm reasonable. How much?” “Well,” they say (and I can see they're frightened to drop a sledge hammer on the eggshell), “would one thousand pounds be about what you could pay? If you collected enough?” By jing, Michel, I had to admire them. There they are in a miserable room not good enough for an outhouse trying to sell a miserable couple black shirts to make a living and they ask one thousand pounds! So I let my face fall for a bit, and I can see they're terrified. But finally I say, “Well, boys, I'll bring a lawyer and we'll draw up the sale and we'll talk about the price together, eh?”'

‘You can see they're nearly fainting for the money, now they've heard it mentioned. So I go and cable the Lord,

WILL YOU PAY UP TO THREE THOUSAND POUNDS? TOUGH BABIES.

NOT MORE, he telegraphs back.

‘All right, the next day we draw up the contract but leave out the price. We go back to the little room where the two boys have their business, and I see they already have taken the little sign off the window
Black Legion Shirts
and they have put up another:
White Dove Shirts
.

‘
“
Poor boys,” I think, “why should I rob them?” I can see they haven't slept all night and have been asking advice of their wives and second cousins. “Well, Kone,” I say, “I went to see a rich Jew yesterday and he's going to give me some money. He doesn't think Jews ought to make black shirts with all the trouble in Germany.” They watch me. Good. “Now,” I say, “I know you boys aren't doing any business. I know. I made inquiries.” They start up, but I quiet them. “Now, boys, I've got some money and we'll put down the price.” “What price do you mean?” says Kone in a little voice. “Put it down, lawyer,” says I. “One thousand pounds.”'

‘The boys nearly fell off their chairs. They never expected to get the half, I don't think. I could see them getting brain fever on the spot. “Ai, we've been robbed, it's worth a lot, our name, and we've sold it for one thousand pounds. Someone wants it … we should have held out.” Blah-blah. I couldn't resist getting a bit of fun out of it. I thought I'd torture them some more … I thought I'd give them something to think about on their deathbeds. When the Angel of Death comes they'll still have a second to think about me. So I said, “Wait, lawyer: I've changed my mind. I've just thought of another rich Jew might help me out. Write down the price now: fifteen hundred pounds.”

‘You should have seen those boys! But they signed it. They thought I might be mad, too. Yes, at that, they went white again; they thought I was mad and there was nothing to it. When I shook hands with them and no money, I thought their hearts would break. Then I get out my portfolio and give them three hundred five-pound notes. They thought I was a forger. They refused them unless I would promise to go to the bank and see them changed. They didn't dare ask me who I was acting for. I think they thought it was maybe someone in Germany. Poor little fellers!

‘I came back to the Lord and said, “I had an awful time getting that name. I beat them down to fifteen hundred pounds. They think it's going to be a wow, that name.” “So do I,” said he. “You've got to be a Jew to deal with Jews,” said I. “I keep you for that,” says he. “Open the factory now.”'

‘But,' objected Alphendéry, ‘there aren't any novelties in England called “Black Legion.” I happen to know because Léon's been investigating the novelties business in England.'

‘Oh, no: the Lord decided finally the time wasn't ripe for fascist names yet, so we changed the name for the time being. We've just got it on the hob … Then when it was all going about a month I bring Zinovraud the balance sheet and he looks at it and then throws it aside: “Don't show me that, Judas: that's your department. You run it, if you can. If you lose money, tell me; if you make it, wait till I ask you.”'

‘See how nice he is to me? But say nothing, mind you. He would kick me out. He hates to be thought generous.'

‘He doesn't suffer much, on that account, then,' laughed Alphendéry.

‘Oh, he's all right … Say, Michel, I tell the Lord about you: he thinks you're a wow. He told me to tell you you're mad to stay with Bertillon. That's the reason I wouldn't take your pay if you gave me twice as much. I can write fancy figures on paper myself.'

‘You think it's as bad as that? The Lord told you to say that? They exaggerate so much in that hothouse of the City of London. Listen, if it's from Carrière—'

‘Oh, that's only one thing. The Lord says, “Get a job in the City while the going's good.” You got a lot of clients, haven't you?'

‘This fellow Carrière is criminal. Why, Jules is rolling in gold! I know what he's got.'

‘Do you know what he owes? I don't like to contradict a clever man like you, Michel, but you're wrong and you're goddamn wrong.'

Michel, after some minutes of trifling conversation, said with some agitation, ‘Zinovraud really knows something?'

‘Oh, rumors, rumors.'

‘I say, I'd like to meet the old rascal when I go to London. I might consider Stewart, Murthen, and Company. Stewart invited me to go in with him. Do you think you could arrange for me to meet the Lord?'

‘Well, Michel, you know how I am. He's my bread and butter. I don't introduce my
donah
to a pal. If you do me some big favor, say like swinging some of your accounts to Ganz and Genug, I will. That's fair.'

‘Surely, surely.'

‘Well, what does Davigdor want?' Jules was unusually insistent. ‘He said no—and double no.'

‘I'll pay him whatever he wants.'

‘Calm yourself. He wouldn't come at any price.' Jules was hurt. Alphendéry soothed him, ‘I guess he does better than he says with G. and G. and the Lord.'

William, watching his brother, drawled, ‘You bet. That guy doesn't lick the Lord's boots for nothing. Besides, every firm in Europe has offered him a job. We're not good enough for him, that's all. Did he give you any tips?'

‘He says nothing doing in tips, unless we pass him some business. He's honest about it.'

‘Nonsense!' Jules cried, much irritated. ‘G. and G. don't make a cent on the Lord. It doesn't pay them to. Would we? What would Zinovraud's business be to us? Could we monkey with his account? Not likely. It would be good only as advertisement. Therefore Davigdor doesn't make many commissions on it; he can only get a salary; and how big a salary? What's the secret now?'

Alphendéry watched him with anxiety. ‘Jules, don't get excited: you can bet this is the three thousandth proposition Davigdor has turned down. He's dizzy … he doesn't know who's offering it, or what it is, by this. Davigdor, one of the great open secrets of Europe … Zinovraud's undercover man, travels incognito like a King-Emperor, preceded by stage whispers that can be heard from Balbriggan to Ekaterinoslav.'

There was a silence. William finally put into words the thing weighing on them. ‘Michel, did he offer to introduce you to the Lord?'

‘No. He said the Lord is his game.' They laughed and were all relieved. Alphendéry prattled on, ‘He's going to Portugal. I'd like to know why he flits about Europe. He's going to buy estates for the Lord (he says) in Portugal. The Lord thinks Portugal with a bloody dictator, Carmona, with Reds in prison, workers dying on the streets and the rich enriching, by morning gray and evening red, is paradise for him. He's laying up treasure for himself near the Spanish frontier. One: he's afraid of the English workers. Two: he's afraid of the English finances. Three: he swears the republic won't last in Spain and when labor is cheaper he'll buy olive fields there.'

‘I'll bet Davigdor knows a lot he doesn't say,' Jules sighed, longing.

William remarked, ‘Everyone tries to suck him.'

The eddy of Davigdor's incursion died down, but left long after-ripples; for weeks they were maneuvering to get Zinovraud's account or part of it from Davigdor and for weeks Davigdor was objecting, over the telephone, with pain and protest in his voice, that he was poor, they were trying to double-cross a poor plain dealer who couldn't defend himself, and that he wouldn't yield a single inch if they didn't transfer some of their giant accounts to Ganz and Genug. But neither would move. Ganz and Genug were convinced that the Bertillons would fail because no one knew their backers, and Bertillon heard, similarly, that Ganz and Genug would fail and were a scraggy crowd, beneath the notice of a society firm like Bertillon Brothers.

* * *

Scene Fifty-two: Rumor

T
hey next attacked the morsel thrown them by Schicklgrüber: the ‘common knowledge' that Carrière had lied to Bertillon and that the brewery had never been sold and that the drafts that would be sent to Bertillon and the papers accompanying them were therefore a conspiracy, a concealed bet on the currency—the ‘common knowledge' that Jules had really signed a contract with Carrière and that Carrière would bleed him to death.

‘I always knew it,' Jules lied, to seem less the fool. ‘I was just waiting to get the goods on him.'

Léon came in to find out Alphendéry's opinion of the market and heard jealously that Schicklgrüber had visited them. ‘That boy knows something … he must know something. Otherwise why did he drop in? Not for business.'

‘He knows nothing. That's his charm,' said Michel.

‘No, sir, don't you believe it. Why should Zinovraud employ a fool?'

‘He's the only one who doesn't try to rob him,' explained Michel. ‘Everyone else who comes within hailing distance thinks he owes it to his own self-respect to try to promote Zinovraud.'

‘Yes, yes—and the Black Legion. How can a Jew put out Black Legion?—and—no, it doesn't
stimm
. Chuckle-headed—and the Black Legion story. No my boy. Let's put it he
was
stupid when Zinovraud met him. But no one could live with Zinovraud for fifteen years and remain stupid. Now it's just a good disguise. H'm? A fox. Foxy … He sent me a prospectus, Parthis Goldfields. Do you? … I bought some. How did he … you told him you knew me?'

‘Yes. Did he remember your address?'

‘Oh-ho: my address …' The telephone rang; he grabbed it. ‘My call. Graetz? … Send me one copy more of every letter … I know I had copies but I left them somewhere … I know I took them but I left them. Can't you send me some more, Graetz? I know the girls are busy … Graetz! That shipment: documents into bank with accompanying letter, copy to—got that? Safe custody, allowing for release to our order. Liverpool, Liverpool, if Liverpool up 3/8 to 2d. sell two-loads-March. March in Rotterdam very firm, ten cents and market not too—very firm looks like a—sell four hundred to six hundred Rotterdam—no gulden margins, get back guilder margins—Manitobas four loads Columbia, all grade, sell old, new: ALL; firm offer to have in hand so can sell Monday, take firm offers, give us firm offers. Graetz! Send me those letters like a good boy. I don't know where I lost them. Can't you do what I ask? … Danube—do not sell until sample. Graetz! Those girls got not too much to do. Now post them right away. What? Yes. If yes on Berlin yes, if yes, satisfied, happy. Sell in strong spots. Yes, and Graetz! The letters.'

He rang off, dimpled to Alphendéry. ‘I lost a whole batch important letters in the House of All Nations, or maybe—yes, the hotel. I wouldn't go back. Let him—those girls got nothing to do. He always wants me to explain … When are you coming in with me, Alphendéry?'

‘How can I help you, Henri? Short of a grandfatherly throwback, somewhere in Mannheim—and I guess he sold canary seed—I know zero of the grain trade.'

‘You could learn. And it's my bonds. I want someone for that. Now this—Schicklgrüber's—he offered to introduce you to Zinovraud, eh? You ought to make money, Michel. You've got all the pipe lines.' He whispered, ‘I got an answer from the Minister, from Honfleur.'

Everywhere that Davigdor went he left insomnia and the gold dust of hope: nobody could sleep thinking of Zinovraud's uncounted millions which had passed them by, in the trail of the comet Davigdor; no one could stop wondering how this yellow-headed chump had ensnared the Lord: no one could stop calculating how much he had snared. And those who had brushed against him, found themselves, for the moment, the object of admiration and desire. No athletic beauty married to an invalid, no youth of sixteen, no debonair valetudinarian in a low vaudeville show, no dowager in pink organdie at Nice, ever felt the desires that rich men felt when Davigdor passed their way.

In his room, Jules, laughing for the world, frowned to himself, called William and Paul and Francis to him for a family council. ‘We've got to stop these rumors Carrière started.'

William, in usual vein, ‘I'd rather spend my time getting accounts than stopping rumors.'

‘I had Adam Constant up here this morning,' said Jules. ‘He's literary. I want to see if we can't start sending in pars and comic poems about Carrière to some of the dirt sheets. Also Jouhaud is putting in pars for me about Carrière in the
Agence Boursière
. De Ville-de-Ré is getting in touch with
Aux Ecoutes
this week. Those are the first rifleshots. I'll bring up my heavy artillery next week … What he can do, I can.'