Flotsam by Erich Maria Remarque

Author:Erich Maria Remarque [Remarque, Erich Maria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8129-8557-3
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2013-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

THE VILLA THAT BELONGED to Arnold Oppenheim, Councilor of Commerce, lay close to Lucerne. It was a white house perched like a castle above the Lake of the Four Cantons. Kern laid siege to it for two days. In the list of addresses that the expert Binder had given him there was a note after Oppenheim’s name: “German. Jew. Gives, but only under pressure. A nationalist. Say nothing about Zionism.”

On the third day Kern was admitted. Oppenheim received him in a large garden full of asters, sunflowers and chrysanthemums. He was a good-humored-looking, powerful man, with stubby fingers and a small, thick mustache. “Have you just come from Germany?” he asked.

“No, I’ve been away for more than two years.”

“And where are you from originally?”

“Dresden.”

“Oh, Dresden.” Oppenheim ran his hand over his gleaming bald head and sighed nostalgically. “Dresden is a magnificent city. A jewel. Nothing can compare with the Brühl Terrace. Can it?”

“No,” Kern said. He felt hot and he would have liked to have a glass of the wine that stood on the stone table in front of Oppenheim. But it did not occur to Oppenheim to offer it. He stared into the clear air, lost in thought. “And the Zwinger—the Castle—the galleries—I suppose you know all that well?”

“Not so very. I know it from the outside, of course.”

“But my dear young friend!” Oppenheim looked at him reproachfully. “Not to know something like that! The noblest example of German Baroque! Haven’t you ever heard of Daniel Pöppelmann?”

“Oh yes, of course!” Kern had never heard the name of the great architect of Baroque, but he wanted to please Oppenheim.

“Well, that’s better,” said Oppenheim, mollified, and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, our Germany! No one can copy it, eh?”

“Certainly not. And a good thing too.”

“What’s that—good? What do you mean by that?”

“Simply this—it’s a good thing for the Jews. Otherwise they’d be done for.”

“Oh, that! You’re bringing politics into it. Now listen to me—‘done for, done for,’ those are big words! Believe me things aren’t so bad. There is a great deal of exaggeration. I have it on the best authority, conditions aren’t nearly so bad as they’re painted.”

“Really?”

“Most certainly.” Oppenheim bent forward and lowered his voice confidentially. “Let me tell you. Just between us, the Jews themselves are responsible for much of what is happening today. They have a huge responsibility. I tell you it’s true and I know what I’m saying. Much of what they did wasn’t necessary; it’s a subject I know something about.”

How much is he going to give me? Kern wondered. Perhaps enough to get us as far as Berne.

“Now just take the East Jews for example, the immigrants from Galicia and Poland,” Oppenheim explained, taking a sip of cool wine. “Was there any good reason for letting all of them in? What business have such people in Germany anyway? I am just as much opposed to them as the government is. People keep saying Jews are Jews—but what is there in common between

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