The Clowns of God (19 page)

This, he understood clearly, was the syndrome that produced spies, defectors, fanatics and professional destructors.

Society is a stinking slum; blow it up! Parliament is a nest of nincompoops and hypocrites; destroy the filthy brood! God is dead; let’s polish up Baal and Ashtaroth, call back the Witch of Endor, to make the spells we need.

The best remedy was the sight of Lotte, busy and cheerful, dusting and polishing and chatting with women friends on the telephone, knitting a winter jersey for Katrin. He had no right to trouble her with his own dark dreaming. So he retired to his study and addressed himself to the pile of work that had accumulated in his absence.

There was a stack of books, which he was begged to read and recommend. There were student reports to be assessed, revisions to be made in his lecture text, the inevitable bills to be paid.

There was a note from the President of the University, inviting him to an informal meeting with a few senior colleagues on Tuesday forenoon. The President’s ‘informal meetings’ were well known. They were designed to preempt any problems before they were raised at the full meeting of the faculties in mid-August. They were also intended to persuade the gullible that they were privileged members of an inner cabinet. Mendelius had small taste, but a reluctant admiration, for the President’s skill in academic intrigue.

The next letter was a communication from the Bundeskriminalamt, the Federal Criminal Bureau in Wieshaden.

We are informed by our Italian colleagues that as a result of recent incidents in Rome you may become the target of attack either by foreign terrorist agents or by local groups affiliated with them.

We advise you, therefore, to take the precautions outlined in the enclosed pamphlet, which we circulate normally to government officials and senior executives in industry. In addition, we advise you to exercise special vigilance within the precincts of the University, where political activists may easily conceal themselves in a large congregation of students.

Should you notice any suspicious activity, either in your neighbourhood or at the University, please contact the Landeskriminalamt in Tubingen without delay. They have already been apprised of your situation.

Mendelius read the pamphlet carefully. It told him nothing he did not know; but the final paragraph was a chill reminder that violence was as infectious as the Black Death.

These precautions should be strictly observed, not only by the subject, but by all members of his household. They too are under threat, because the subject is vulnerable through them. A common and concerted vigilance will reduce the risk.

There was a brutal irony in the fact that an act of mercy in a Roman street should expose a whole family to violent invasion in a provincial town in Germany. There was an even grimmer corollary; that a shot fired on the Amur River in China could plunge the whole planet into war.

Meantime, there were more pleasant thoughts to distract him. The Evangelicals had written a joint letter expressing their thanks for yur openness in discussion and your emphatic affirmation of Christian charity as the binding element in our diverse lives’. There was also a second letter from Johann, addressed to him personally.

Before I left on this vacation I was in deep depression.

Your gentleness about my religious problem helped very much; but the rest of it I couldn’t explain. I was worried about my career. I couldn’t see any point to what I was doing. I didn’t want to join some big company, planning the economics of a world that could blow up in our faces. I was afraid of being called up for military service in a war that would produce nothing but universal disaster. My friend Fritz felt exactly the same way. We were angry with you and your generation because you had a past to look back on, while we had only a question mark before us.

Then we found this place Fritz and I and two American girls we met in a bier keller in Munich.

It’s a small valley, with only a footpath leading into it.

There are high cliffs all around, covered with pines to the snow-line. There is an old hunting lodge and a few cabins grouped around a lake, surrounded by lush meadows.

There are deer in the woods and the lake is full of fish.

There’s an old mine tunnel that goes a long way into the mountain.

Fritz, who is an amateur archaeologist, says it was worked in the Middle Ages for bloodstone. We’ve found broken tools and a leather jerkin, and a pewter drinking mug and a rusted hunting knife.

Last time we went into town I made enquiries and found that the place is private property, owned by a very old lady, the Grafin von Eckstein. Her husband used to use it as a hunting preserve. We traced her to Tegernsee and went to see her. She’s a spry old girl, and after she got over her surprise at being invaded by four young people she’d never met before, she gave us English tea and cakes and told us she was happy we were enjoying the place.

Then, purely on impulse, I asked her whether she’d consider selling it. She asked what for. I told her it would make a wonderful holiday place for students like us. At the beginning it was just something to talk about; but she took it quite seriously.

Anyway, the upshot of it all was she named a price a quarter of a million deutsch marks I told her there was no way we could raise money like that. Then she said, if we were serious, she’d consider leasing it to us. I said we’d think about it and get back to her.

I’d love to do it. It’s so quiet, so remote from today; and it could be made to pay for itself. It’s one of the things we’ve talked about often in class: the small, self-contained economy where a quality of life can be preserved. When we come back I’d like to talk to you about it and see what you think.

I spend my nights by lamplight trying to set down a plan. I find it a much more satisfying exercise than the currency problems of the European community or the relations between the oil-producers and the industrial economies and the agricultural nations. Somehow, as Fritz says, we have to scale things down to human size again, otherwise we all go mad, or become indifferent robots in a system we can never control. I’m running on, I know; but this is the first time I’ve felt free to open myself to the father I truly love. It’s a pleasant sensation.

Later, as they ate supper together, Mendelius read the letter to Lotte. She smiled and nodded approval.

“That’s good! He’s coming out of the dark forest, at last. It isn’t easy to be young these days. I’d encourage the idea, Carl; even if nothing comes of it. We can’t afford money like that; but still …”

“We might,” said Mendelius thoughtfully.

“We just might.

I’ve got some big royalties due in September; and once the new book is delivered… Besides, Johann isn’t the only one with a private dream.”

Lotte gave him a swift reproachful glance.

“You wouldn’t care, perhaps, to share yours with your wife?”

“Come on, dear!” Mendelius laughed.

“You know I hate talking about things until I’ve got them clear in my head. This one’s been simmering for a long time. What happens to elderly professors when they give up the chair? I can go on writing, I know; but I’d like to go on teaching, too, with small, selected groups of advanced students. I’ve had thoughts of founding a private academy, offering annual specialist courses to postgraduates. Musicians do it all the time violinists, composers, conductors. A place like the one Johann describes could be ideal.”

“It could.” Lotte was dubious.

“Don’t misunderstand me.

I love your idea, Carl; but it would be a mistake to mix it up with Johann’s project. Show him you’re interested; but don’t meddle. Let him follow his own star.”

“You’re right, of course.” Mendelius leaned across and kissed her cheek.

“Don’t worry! I’ll keep my big hands out of the pie-dish. Besides, we’ve got another problem to face.”

He told her about the letter from the police in Wieshaden.

Lotte frowned and sighed unhappily.

“How long will we have to live like this, always looking over our shoulders?”

“God knows, darling! But we can’t panic. We just have to make it a routine like watching traffic lights and locking the house at night, and driving within the speed limit. After a while it will become automatic.” He changed the subject abruptly.

“Georg Rainer called. He’s arriving Wednesday evening. Lars Larsen arrives in the morning from Frankfurt.

That gives us a chance to talk before Rainer gets here.”

“Good!” Lotte nodded a vigorous approval.

“You must see the terms are right before you go one step further with Rainer.”

“I will. It’s a promise. Do you need any extra help in the house?”

“I’ve got it. Gudrun Schild is coming in each day.”

“Good. I wonder what our noble President has in mind for Tuesday’s meeting?”

“He worries me, that one.” Lotte was terse.

“He’s a conjuror. He makes you think he’s pumping wine out of his elbow. What you really get is …”

“I know what you get, darling,” said Mendelius with a grin.

“The trick is never to drink the stuff.”

The President’s notion of an informal gathering was strictly Old Empire. Each colleague was treated to a firm handshake, a solicitous enquiry about his wife and his family, a cup of coffee and a slice of apple cake, freshly baked by the President’s wife and served by a maid in a starched apron.

The ceremony was a careful contrivance. With a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate in the other, the guests had to sit down. The chairs, each with a tabouret table beside it, were arranged in a semi-circle facing the President’s desk. The President did not sit down. He perched himself on the edge of the desk in an attitude intended to suggest informality, intimacy and openness among colleagues. The fact that he spoke from three feet above their heads and had his hands free for gestures and punctuation was only a gentle reminder of his primacy. His speech was unctuous and usually banal.

“I am in need of your expert advice. The ah responsibilities of my office preclude me from the day-to-day contact which I should like to have with the junior faculty and the students. I look to you, therefore, to interpret them to me and me to them.”

Brandt, from Latin Language, leaned across to Mendelius and whispered: “He’s thefons et origo and we’re the bloody water carriers.”

Mendelius stifled a grin behind his paper napkin.

The President went on: “Last week I was invited, with the heads of other universities, to a private meeting with the Minister of Education and the Minister for the Interior, in Bonn. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss the ah academic implications of the present international crisis.”

He paused a moment to let them consider the solemnity of the occasion in Bonn and what the ah academic implications might be. They were startling enough to dispel any boredom in his audience.

“In September this year the Bundestag will authorise full mobilisation of both men and women for military service. We are asked to prepare recommendations for exempted categories of students, and to supply lists of those with specialist qualifications in physics, chemistry, engineering, medicine and related disciplines. We are further asked to consider how courses in these subjects may be accelerated to meet the needs of industry and the armed services. We have also to face the depletion of students and junior staff as a result of the call-up.” There was a ripple of surprise in the audience. The President hushed it with a gesture.

“Please, ladies and gentlemen, let me finish! There will be time for discussion afterwards. In this matter we have no choice. We, like everyone else, will have to comply with regulations.

There’ is, however, a more contentious issue.” He paused again. This time he was obviously embarrassed and groping for the right words.

“It was raised by the Minister for the Interior, prompted, I believe, by pressure from our NATO allies. It is the question of internal security, of protection against subversion, espionage, and ah the activities of disaffected elements, in the student body …” The only reaction was a hostile silence. He took a deep breath and hurried on.

“In short, we are asked to cooperate with the security service by supplying them with copies of student dossiers and any other information which may be required from time to time, in the interest of public security.”

“No!” The sound erupted from the gathering. Someone dropped a coffee cup which shattered on the parquet.

“Please! Please!” The President pushed himself off the desk and raised his hands in a pleading gesture.

“I have conveyed the Minister’s request. It is now open for discussion.”

Dahlmeyer from Experimental Physics was the first on his feet, a big shaggy fellow with a jutting jaw. He challenged the President harshly.

“I think we have a right to know, sir, what response you made to the Minister.”

There was a chorus of approval. The President shuffled uneasily.

“I told the Minister that while we were all conscious of the need for ah adequate security in a critical time, we were ah at least equally concerned to preserve the ah principles of academic freedom.”

“Oh, Christ!” Dahlmeyer exploded.

There was an audible groan from Brandt. Mendelius stood up. He was white with anger but he spoke with quiet formality.

“I wish to make a personal statement, sir. I hold tenure to teach in this place. I do not hold, nor will I accept, a commission to investigate the private lives of my students. I am ready to resign rather than do so.”

“I would point out, Professor,” the President was cold, “that I have conveyed a request, not a ministerial order;

which would, in the present circumstances at least, be illegal.

However, you must understand that in conditions of national emergency the situation may change radically.”

“In other words,” Hellman from Organic Chemistry was on his feet, “we have a threat, as well as a request.”

“We are all under threat, Professor Hellman the threat of armed conflict, when civil liberties must inevitably be curtailed in the national interest.”

“There’s another threat, which you should also consider,” said Anneliese Meissner.