A Quiet Flame

“Yes, I know.” He drew me to one side, thought better of what he had been about to say, and then took me into the manager’s office. He closed the door. “There’s something I want you to do. And it might well be dangerous.”

I shrugged it off.

“Do you know where the Chinese Embassy is?”

“Yes, it’s on Kurfürstendamm. Next to the Nelson Theater.”

“I want you to go there, to the Chinese Embassy, in the hotel laundry van,” said Louis Adlon, handing me some keys. “I want you to pick up some passengers and bring them straight back here. But on no account let them alight at the front door of the hotel. Drive them through the gate to the tradesman entrance. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Might I ask who it is, sir?”

“You may. It’s Bernard Weiss and his family. Someone tipped him off that the Nazis were coming to his house tonight to lynch him. Fortunately, Chiang Kai-shek is a friend of Izzy’s and agreed to let him and his family take refuge there. He just called me a few minutes ago and asked if I could help. Naturally, I agreed to let him stay here. And I assumed you would want to help, too.”

“Of course. But wouldn’t he be safer remaining in the embassy?”

“Perhaps, but he’d be more comfortable here, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, we are used to having people stay here in our VIP suites in conditions of almost total secrecy. No, we shall look after him very well, and for as long as is necessary.”

“This has something to do with Reichstag fire, I’m certain of it,” I said. “The Nazis must be planning a complete overthrow of the republic. And to declare martial law.”

“I think you must be right. Are you carrying a gun?”

“No, sir. But I can fetch one.”

“There’s no time. You can take mine.” He took out a key chain and unlocked the safe. “The last time I took this gun out of the safe was during the Spartakist uprising of 1919. But it’s been well oiled.” He handed me a broom-handled Mauser and a box of ammunition. Then he upended a leather briefcase, emptying the contents onto his desk. “Put the Mauser in this. And be careful, Bernie. I don’t think it’s going to be the kind of night that makes one feel proud to be a German.”

Louis Adlon was right. The streets of Berlin were full of marauding gangs of storm troopers. They sang their songs and waved their flags as if the fire were cause for celebration. I saw some smashing the windows of a Jewish-owned store near the zoo. It was all too easy to imagine what would have happened if they’d met up with an old rabbi or some luckless idiot wearing a Lenin-style peaked cap and a red flag on his lapel. There were police vans and armored cars everywhere, but I didn’t suppose they were intent on protecting Communists and Jews. And seeing the SCHUPO men doing very little to stop disorder in the city, I was very glad I was no longer a policeman. On the other hand, it was an excellent night to be Chinese. When I arrived, I saw that no one was paying any attention to the Chinese Embassy or its occupants.

Leaving the engine running and the doors open, I got out of the van and rang the embassy’s doorbell. A Chinese answered the door and asked who I was. I told him Louis Adlon had sent me, at which point the double doors to a ground-floor anteroom were flung open and I saw Izzy and his family waiting there with their luggage. They looked at me anxiously. Izzy shook my hand and nodded silently. We didn’t say anything much. There wasn’t time. I grabbed their suitcases, threw them in the van, and when I was satisfied that it was quite safe, I waved my passengers out of the embassy, slamming the doors of the van shut behind them.

When I reached the Adlon, I drove through to the tradesman entrance as instructed and found Louis Adlon waiting. Max, the hall porter, loaded the Weiss family belongings onto a baggage trolley and disappeared into a service elevator. He didn’t even look for a tip. Everything was strange about that night. Meanwhile, we hurried the refugees into another service elevator and along to the best suite in the hotel. That was typical of Louis Adlon, and I knew the significance would not be lost on Izzy.

Inside the magnificent suite, the heavy silk curtains were already drawn and a fire was burning brightly in the grate. Izzy’s wife disappeared into the bathroom with her children. Adlon was pouring some drinks for us all. Max showed up and began to put the luggage away. While you couldn’t see anything of what was happening outside, you could hear a lot. Some storm troopers had come along Wilhelmstrasse and were chanting, “Death to the Marxists!” Izzy’s eyes were full of tears. But he tried to smile.

“It sounds as though they have already found the people to blame for the fire,” he said.

“People will never believe that,” I said.

“They’ll believe what they want to believe,” said Izzy. “And right now they certainly don’t want to believe in the Communists.”

He took the glass offered by Louis, and the three of us toasted one another.

“To better days,” said Louis.