Unity (32 page)

Share lift with Sir H. Explain that I am returning to room to catch up with latest on Schleyer. He comments that ‘there is altogether too much news these days' (as if events accumulated to fill slots). Recalls occasions pre-war when BBC announced ‘There is no news today.' Wondering whether to link with the ignorance behind his own visit to Nuremberg when reach my floor. Besides, what would be point?

Relief that not called. Spend day glued to TV. Last night,
Lufthansa
Boeing with 86 passengers on board hijacked on flight from Majorca to Frankfurt.

According to reports, a previously unknown group claimed
responsibility
, announcing in Beirut that hijack an extension of Schleyer kidnap, designed to ‘secure the release of our comrades detained in the prisons of the imperialist-reactionary Zionist alliance'.

Authorities playing shuttlecock with plane. Allowed brief stops to refuel in Rome and Larnaca, but succession of pusillanimous Middle Eastern governments refused it permission to land. Finally, with fuel running dangerously low, touched down in Bahrain. Statement released in Paris and Geneva by Struggle Against World Imperialism Organisation that Schleyer and all passengers aboard jet will be killed if 11 jailed West Germans and 2 Palestinians held in Turkey not freed by 8 a.m. Sun.

Consensus of opinion that, after playing for time for 5 weeks, government has no choice but to agree to guerrillas' demands. The Nazi will be released but so will Baader and companions.

Harder than ever to focus on events 40 years in past. Trailer a cacophony of radio broadcasts. No news. Passengers sweltering on tarmac in Dubai. Government sweating it out in Bonn.

Shooting Goebbels' Olympics party (day for night) at backer's country house outside Munich. ½ cost or 2 x profit? Driveway lined with barebreasted young women holding torches. 1 of them v. distressed. Her aunt (diabetic) and uncle on plane, having won late holiday in church raffle. Assure her that hijackers not monsters. Item on last night's news of their accepting delivery of insulin. Am preparing to discuss broader picture when called to wardrobe.

Wardrobe trailer plastered with photos and sketches of actual party as reference. G.M. and F[elicity] inspect them closely. All at once, pinched shriek (F.). She rips down picture and hands it to
me. Hannelore Kessel, instantly identifiable. Not only a guest but deep in conversation with Goebbels.

Stunned.

Interminable takes. Constant battle with noise. Every plane in Germany seems to be flying overhead. Werner: ‘Pity they couldn't hijack some of those as well.' Strain tells on worried niece who faints (scorching hair with torch).

10 p.m. Return to hotel in low spirits. Nip to bar for quick
pick-me
-up to find Kessel holding court to group including Dora, Sir H[allam] and Per (fawning like spaniel). Pathetic how such men seduced by tawdry glamour. Other side of coin from ones who dress up as SS and worship jackboots. No acknowledgement that, while he was being brutalised in camp, she was hobnobbing with murderers.

Determine to ignore her – brain too frazzled for confrontation – but comments on hijack force issue.

My need for corroboration forestalled by Kessel's tears.
Expressions
of regret rise above the sobs: only an actress; knew nothing of politics etc (no wonder G.M.'s own commitment is mocked!). Admits that it may have been a mistake to return to the screen. But so many years have passed. Trusted her fellow actors to
appreciate
her dilemma.

Dora and Per comfort her. Dora asserts that, if Nazis had invaded, she would have been 1
^st
to play Schiller at Old Vic. Per glares at me as if my accusations were the real crime. Meanwhile, Sir H. ashen. Says he has no right to condemn Kessel. At least she helped her friend. When did he raise finger to save anyone? Reassure him that, on other side of Channel, there was nothing he could do.

Sir H.: ‘Oh, but there was.'

G.M. the party animal. Straight from Goebbels's to Wolfram's. Amazed that he can find the energy 2 months into filming. What's more, no regular weekend get-together but his annual birthday bash.

Presentation of gifts. My bottle of champagne looks
embarrassingly
modest beside F[elicity]'s Nancy Mitford 1
^st
edition (
appropriated
from uncle's library). F. unduly apprehensive. Fears that the author's name not enough to outweigh W.'s well-known
antipathy to reading. Pondering last-minute substitution. At which, L[uke] volunteers his head on a plate.

Renate in charge of catering (by default). M[ahmoud] has made cous-cous. Hands bowl (peace-offering?) to A[hmet], who declines it, preferring to share salad with F. Glad to see them so chummy. Know that, despite L.'s predictable inability to conceive of
friendship
between sexes that doesn't involve sex, there's nothing between them. Lela. Lela. Lela. Although for once A. is being equally obtuse with his repeated protestations of fidelity. Why won't he realise that it's not his body I want but his mind? Hard to have both when proximity to his body leaves me utterly
incapable
of thought.

Guests cover spectrum from black tie to tye-n-dye. Not much fraternisation between groups. ½ way through evening, W. ropes
Unity
contingent into game. Players each given scrap of paper on which to write fact about themselves that no one else knows. These then placed in bowl, from which 1 picked out and everyone has to discover who wrote it.

Low-key opening:
I'm not wearing any underwear
(Renate!);
I'm not a natural blonde
(Liesl). Game grows increasingly vicious. 3 rounds essential to record.

1)
I betrayed a friend
. Various wild suggestions. Medhurst even proposes me. Bitch! Then G[erald] claims it must be Sir Hallam. Sir H. protests vigorously, demanding to compare writing. W. declares it against rules and calls on G. to state case.

G. reads it as reference to Sir H. having failed to help Per to escape Nazis. He wanted to come to England (had all necessary papers), but government insisted on sponsor. So he wrote to Sir H., only person he knew (intimately!) asking him to fulfil requirement. But Sir H. refused: v. protective of reputation. Scared to be associated with obvious fairy. Replied, expressing regret but leaving London
for lengthy tour. Enclosed copy of
Barchester Towers
as keepsake. Silence broken by W., who asks Sir H. if true. Sir H.: ‘Yes. Gerald is always so perceptive. I'm the Judas.' Then walks away.

G. triumphant. Clear that must have prised story out of Per and written words himself. Triumph short-lived as balance of sympathy tilts towards Sir H. for courage of admission.

2)
I'm in love with Felicity
. Narrow field considering no overt lesbians and so many fags. Obvious from start that it's L. but no one willing to allow him satisfaction of correct guess. He left increasingly disconcerted by bogus candidates, most notably Dieter who delights in being taken for stud. Finally, F. herself proposes W. who responds with one of his most cryptic smiles and asks her to give reasons. Flushing beetroot, she complies:

i: His having cast her in spite of inexperience.

ii: Recent interview in which he deemed it essential for director to be a little in love with leading lady.

iii: Intensity she feels in relationship between Unity and Hitler that she never felt with Ralf.

L., provoked beyond endurance, confesses that paper his. F. furious: ‘You're supposed to write something that nobody knows – like the fact that you pick your teeth or you call your penis Billy.'

3)
I have killed somebody which I loved
. Silence. Admission so shocking that no one dares to suggest attribution. Eventually, L. takes up challenge, naming Wolfram. Repeats open secret that Ernst, W.'s last boyfriend but 1, committed suicide when dumped. General embarrassment. L. defensive: ‘No one said it had to be literal.' W. laughs – all teeth. Clear that game over even before Renate summons him to cut (heavily laced) cake.

Speculation on writer continues in private. Misused pronoun points to German, but G.M. suspects double bluff. 100% sure of identity. And, when I look at him standing beside F., he smiles.

11 a.m.: Coffee with A[hmet]. High drama at Serpent's Nest after I left last night. M[ahmoud] finally roused to action – though
typically
trivial cause. Attacked L[uke] with fists and cous-cous. Accused him of trying to worm his way into W[olfram]'s bed. Seems that W. took L. to some club, got him smashed and fucked him. Weeks ago. Why rake it up after so long? Sad but on the cards since day 1. Maybe we can now have a little peace.

L. racked with shame. Goes into full ‘Lord, was I drunk last night!' routine. Kept trying to justify himself to F[elicity] who, according to A., displayed total indifference. No concern of hers and only hoped it was pleasurable for W.

Surely she can't be that cool? They broke up barely 2 weeks ago. On other hand, never forget our opposing reactions to Dieter's story of Renate stealing from church to pay for W.'s hustlers. G.M.'s disgust v. F.'s admiration.

Is she slightly unhinged?

Revelation confirms suspicions about L.:

Reaction confirms suspicions about men:

G forbid that I should ever become one of those brittle actresses surrounded by fags, all supposing their lives are unique because different from their parents!

p.m.: After Luke's non-appearance on set this a.m., W. summons him. Inspects black eye and decides that tomorrow, when bruising
fully developed, will film scene in which Brian Howard visits Unity after being beaten up by boy she has pimped for him at
Fasching
. L. against it both as actor & writer: ‘There are no lines.' W.: ‘We don't need them. Your eye and Felicity's face will be enough.'

Meanwhile, back in real world, hijacked plane flown out of Aden and landed in Mogadishu. Schmidt steadfastly refuses to release prisoners. The hostages' blood will be on his hands.

Black Tuesday (mark 2).

Personal concerns insignificant in the face of unfolding disasters.

West German commando unit stormed hijacked plane at Mogadishu, killing all 4 guerrillas and freeing passengers. Mixed emotions. Gratitude for safety of hostages tempered by disgust at triumphalism of brass band/brass hat reception at Cologne Airport. Everyone hailing conquering heroes. Not a single
expression
of regret for 4 fallen revolutionaries. No matter, their names will never be forgotten.
146

One tragedy follows fast on another. After news of the failed mission reached the 4 comrades imprisoned in Stammheim, they gave up the struggle. 3 of them found dead in their cells: Andreas Baader and Jan-Carl Raspe of gunshot wounds; Gudrun Ensslin from noose tied to window.
147
The 4th, Irmgard Moller, found with stab wounds, although her life not believed to be in danger.

Who needs
Oktoberfest
? Whole country in carnival mood. Radio and television given over to constant news broadcasts (poor Sir H[allam]). Telegrams of congratulation pouring in from world leaders, including Begin and Dayan who are keen that tactics should set an international precedent.

All too neat. Suspect subterfuge – although it's as yet too obscure to make out. Might whole stunt have been staged by CIA and Mossad to divert attention from Schleyer and rally support behind their puppet, Schmidt?

Go through motions on set and off.

F[elicity] commiserates with W[olfram] on Baader's death. W. counters that he barely knew him. He attended productions at
Bettlertheater
in order to heckle. At first, good publicity but rapidly became an irritant. Story of his life: disrupting the
spectacle
, but to what end?