Zoo Station by David Downing Page B

there are seventy-five million people out there keeping their heads down. Im just one of them.

    Fine. If you want to keep your head down, wait until it all blows overwell . . . fine. But I cant do that.

    Okay.

    They walked the rest of the way in silence.

    THE CONVERSATION WITH MCKINLEY or, more precisely, the sense of letting himself down that it engenderedlurked with annoying persistence at the back of Russells mind over the next few days. He finished his first article for Pravda a paean to organized leisure activitiesand delivered it himself to the smiling blonde at 102 Wilhelmstrasse. He received a wire from his US agent bubbling with enthusiasm for the two series. And, by special delivery, he received the letter he had asked Sturmbannfuhrer Kleist for. It was typed rather than written, which was something of a disappointment, but the content left little to be desired: John Russell, it seemed, had full authority from the Propaganda Ministry and Ministry of the Interior to ask such questions as would widen the foreign understanding of National Socialism and its achievements. Those shown the letter were asked and expected to offer him all the assistance they could. All of which would have felt much better if he hadnt seen the disappointment in McKinleys eyes.

    The weekend gave him a welcome break from worrying about his journalistic integrity. On Saturday afternoon he and Paul went to the zoo. They had been there so many times that they had a routinefirst the parrot house, then the elephant walk and the snakes, a break for ice cream, the big cats and, finally, the picce de resistance , the gorilla who spat, with often devastating accuracy, at passersby. After the zoo, they strolled back down the Kudamm, looking in shop windows and eventually stopping for cake. Russell still found the Hitler Youth uniform slightly offputting, but he was gradually getting used to it.

    Sunday, a rare treatan outing to the fair at the end of Potsdamerstrasse with both Paul and Effi. Getting them together was always harder than the actual experience of their being together: Both worried overmuch that theyd be in the others way. It was obvious that Paul liked Effi, and equally obvious why. She was willing to try anything at least once, was able to act any age she thought appropriate, and assumed that he could, too. She was, in fact, most of the things his mother wasnt and never had been.

    After two hours of circling, sliding, dropping, and whirling they took a cab to Effis theater, where she showed Paul around the stage and backstage areas. He was particularly impressed by the elevator and trapdoor in mid-stage which brought the Valkyries up to heaven each evening. When Russell suggested that they should build one for Goebbels at the Sportspalast, Effi gave him a warning look, but Paul, he noticed, was mercifully unable to suppress his amusement.

    The only sad note of the weekend was Pauls news that he would be away for the next weekend at a Hitler Youth adventure camp in the Harz Mountains. He expressed regret at not seeing his dad, and particularly at missing Herthas next home game, but Russell could see he was really looking forward to the camp. Russell was particularly upset because he would be away himself on the following weekend, delivering his first oral report to Shchepkin. And on that weekend he would also be missing Effis end-of-run party Barbarossa had apparently raised all the national consciousness it was going to raise.

    EARLY ON MONDAY MORNING, he took the train to Dresden for a one-night stay. It was only a two-hour journey, and he had several contacts there: a couple of journalists on the city paper; an old friend of Thomass, also in the paper business; an old friend of his and Ilses, once a union activist, now a teacher. Ordinary Germansif such people existed.

    He saw them all over the two days, and talked to several others they recommended. He also spent a few hours in cafes and bars, joining or instigating