There was a pause as the speaker seemed to gather his thoughts. In the stillness beneath the trellis, Eleanor could hear her heart beating.
‘The United States is a new power in the world, Avery,’ the voice began, ‘a power that, happily, does not feel threatened by enemies. Perhaps because it feels so assured, so safe, it has not seen the need to strengthen its national fibre through policy…’
‘I’m not sure that I follow.’
‘You are a loose body of amateur sports organisations, are you not? What you need is training through a national organisation on the German model…’
‘I wholeheartedly agree, sir. That is exactly what I’ve been advocating-’
‘… and that means a more scientific approach to athletics, and to the-how shall I put it? — the biology of your athletes.’
Brundage fell silent. She heard a match being struck and the German inhale.
‘Success in the Olympic Games reflects the moral and racial quality of the competing nations, Avery-nations whose help Germany may one day need in fighting the threat of Judeo-Bolshevism. Communism.’
Eleanor leaned her head farther into the roses.
Brundage seemed to hesitate. ‘It’s true that I believe the United States must take steps to stamp out communism, but-’
‘I knew we would see, how do you say, “eye to eye.”’ The voice sounded pleased. ‘So perhaps as a small token of your solidarity with me on this matter… you might reconsider the selection of certain athletes-on your relay team, for example.’
The man’s voice had dropped so low that Eleanor strained to hear.
There was a baffled silence from Brundage before he spoke. ‘On our relay team?’
‘Yes. Let’s say it may not be helpful to our cause if your two Jewish athletes should win.’
Brundage was silent, at an apparent loss. ‘Marty Glickman and Sam Stoller?’
‘We Germans have had to allow one Jew on the German team, of course, to show the world we’re being fair, but with the pressure she’s under I doubt she’ll win. Your two Jews on the relay team, however, seem certain to win. We’ve been watching them train at the Olympic village.’
Eleanor winced. Was he being serious?
‘Mr von Halt-Karl-I don’t understand. We have Negroes running on our team. Why object to the Jewish athletes?’
‘Oh-ho, the niggers, yes. I watched your Jesse Owens win today. Quite a spectacle, and he had the crowd with him. But there you are cheating.’
‘Cheating?’
‘Of course! The blacks have an enlarged heel bone, like jungle animals. They have an unfair advantage. You may as well enter racehorses.’
‘Sir-’
‘But the Fuhrer does not care about the blacks, Avery.’ Again the voice lowered to a hush, like a supplicant in a confessional box. ‘It is the Jews that concern him.’
Eleanor felt the nape of her neck crawl. Another long pause, and she pictured this man, this von Halt, looking straight into Brundage’s eyes.
‘To him the threat of the Jews to our lifeblood, to all that is vital in our folk community, has a… spiritual significance. You understand that the prospect of Jews winning races, breaking records, receiving medals on the podium in front of the German people, has a most unfortunate symbolism…’
‘Karl, I want to help but I don’t see how I can simply-’
‘He has spoken lately of his vision for the Olympiad. We will send our athletes in Zeppelins to Tokyo for the 1940 Games, but thereafter it is his desire that the Games should take place in Germany for all time to come. Germany is the only nation willing to give the resources the Games are due… the only nation with the strength to lead the world’s struggle against Judeo-Bolshevism. It is a vision of the future, Avery. Think about it. The British Empire grows old and weakens. It is America’s help that Germany will need to stop the Jews from Bolshevising the earth, and the fight starts here’-there was a smack as a fist hit a palm-‘with the selection and training of our finest men and women. In this fight I foresee that you, my friend, will have an important role to play… To begin with, I can tell you in confidence that you are our preferred candidate for the presidency of the IOC.’
About a minute seemed to pass without either man speaking. Jesus Christ, Avery Brundage, don’t do it, Eleanor thought.
‘The two Jews,’ Brundage said at length. She heard him inhale as he made his decision.
‘Thank you, Avery. I assure you that I will mention this gesture of friendship to the Fuhrer in person. Now let’s drink to it. This is a party after all…’
Eleanor caught a glimpse of the man slapping Brundage on the shoulder as they departed across the arbour.
She lifted her heels onto the nook’s stone bench, drew her knees up to her chin, and began to rock backwards and forwards. She did not look up from her knees because of a sickening feeling that the arbour had begun to spin.
She did not snap out of it even when the first explosion split the sky. A bloom of fuchsia-red light lit the arbour like a ship’s flare, casting fast-moving shadows through the trees. Rockets whistled upwards, with one burst overlapping the next into bouquets of coloured sparks. The crowd on the lawn applauded as the display became louder and more lavish. She felt each detonation reverberate like a mortar in the hollow of her chest.
T he carriage juddered over the points, shaking Denham’s bones on the wooden seat. His head lolled against the window. He’d undone his tie and taken off the rented woollen tailcoat, which in the warmth seemed to give off the accrued odour of a thousand dinner-dances. An elderly couple watched him with sour faces, sniffing the alcohol on him. Berliners were not afraid to stare. He put a foot up on the seat opposite. The couple exchanged glances. An infraction of the S-Bahn rules. He put the other foot up and tapped his shoes together.
He’d had to wait a long time for a chance to meet Sir Eric. The ambassador was beset with introductions, talking to guest after guest in French, German, or Italian, nodding away, poker-faced. A monocled curiosity from the days of the Great Game. Now and then he’d laugh judiciously, allowing some Nazi boor to feel he possessed the wit of Voltaire. In the end, Denham caught him as he towelled his hands in the gents’ washroom. His face registered no surprise, as if he’d been expecting this approach at precisely this moment.
‘ “The Rhineland-Backyard Belligerence,” ’ Sir Eric said, taking time to adjust his sash and buttonhole rose in the mirror. ‘I’ve sent transcripts of that piece you wrote to every appeaser in the cabinet. Surprised you got away with that one.’
‘My luck may have run out.’
They walked back to the party, the ambassador a foot shorter than Denham. His shoulder was hunched on one side, like an aged cat’s.
‘We’re running a team of fielders at the moment, Denham. Players who can only watch patiently in the hope of catching our opponents out and limiting their innings. Regrettably, we’re not supported much by our home crowd… Plenty of them, you know, are very “pro.” Quite a few here this evening. Lord Londonderry, for instance, thinks he can placate a monster by cooing…’
Beneath the tact and avuncular manner Denham detected a steely directness.
‘So, my question is,’ Phipps said, patting Denham’s shoulder, ‘are you willing to field for us…?’
‘Well sir, I-’
‘ Good man.’
They could say no more. Someone was presenting the tombstone figure of Avery Brundage.
And then that girl, that beautiful American from the magazine.
If she had talked of anything else-whatever girls her age talk about-he would have stayed as quiet as a mouse in stockings. Instead she and her friend had blundered with panache into the most loaded of subjects. Why hadn’t he just let her be?
But he’d had to put her right, enlighten her.
The train careened into a tunnel with a metal scream. A loud crack, and he saw that he’d rammed his heel into the wooden slat of the bench.
W hen she arrived home at the Dodds’ house on Tiergartenstrasse Eleanor placed a telephone call to Gallico’s hotel.
‘Eleanor? Too late for a drink. I’m in my pyjamas.’
‘Paul, honey, I know you and the boys are planning to petition the AOC about getting me back on the team…’
‘Yeah, we’ve got a meet with Brundage tomorrow. I think there’s a pretty fair chance that-’
‘Well, look. Thanks for thinking of me, but I don’t want you to do it.’
‘Are you drunk?’
‘Stone-cold sober. I’ve changed my mind. I’m through. I don’t want to be on the goddamned team, or have anything to do with these Games.’