FICTION
LESLIE EPSTEIN
Mr. Moto Meets the Sphinx
In
the fall of 1941, when Granite Films was about to go under, Alexander
Granite, the aged founder of the studio, sailed to Hamburg in a last-ditch
attempt to save his company. I must have been out of my mind when I -
born Laszlo Loewenstein, but known
to
the world as Peter Lorre - agreed
to go with him. That's how desperate I was to get out of my Granite con–
tract, under which I had already made six Mota pictures, wi th a seventh,
Mr. Moto Meets the Sphinx,
upon an endless horizon. Together, we hoped
to persuade Magdalena Mezaray, who had been one of the studio's great
stars, to break her relations with the leader of the Reich and return with
us to California . Hitler himself had promised an interview, but had kept
us cooling our heels for over a week in Berlin. The excuse was that the
Fuhrer was directing his armies from the Wolf's Lair in East Prussia and
could not leave that headquarters during the offensive. Meanwhile, Granite
rested inside our hotel, while I traveled about taking pictures of various
monuments and the grilming people in the streets. Then, of a sudden, and
in an extraordinary gesture, Herr Hitler sent none other than Hermann
Goering to bring us from the capi tal to Munich.
Thus it was that on the evening of September 18th we two natural–
ized Americans found ourselves driving in a Daintier limousine through
the night-time streets along the Isar. [ leaned against the window glass. No
blackout here. The reflections of street lamps, of electric bulbs from store
fronts , of flashing neon sli thered over the waxed surface of our automo–
bile. The plump Reichsmarschall in the front seat seemed to be reading
my mind. "You see our gay lights? When the RAF bombs by day and by
night? Might [ be forgiven for thinking they are a personal tribute? A
necklace, perhaps, or a decoration to be worn alongside my
Verdienstkreuz?
Please report back to the important men in America that our people are
fearless. They know my Luftwaffe will protect them."
Neither Granite nor [ said a word. Goering, from deep in his throat,
gave a chuckle. " If your Roosevelt after all succeeds in drawing us into
war, do you think N ew York City will be as brave? Eh? Do not believe it!
