116
PARTISAN REVIEW
Even with the ocean on one side and a continent on the other, the
Broadway lights, the lights in the windows of the skyscrapers and on the
speeding taxis - all will be extinguished. Well, that would be at least one
happy result of the war: all those cosmopolitans, eh, the sophisticates, will
get to bed at a decent hour."
Now Alexander Granite leaned forward to look at the bright lights
through his rolled-up window. "What's that? That theater? Der
Volkspalast? The People's Theater. Is that a joke? This was the
Montezuma. It had a what-do-you - call-it? - an Aztec design." The old
man struck his cane, to little effect, upon the pi ush carpet of the floor.
"You. Driver. Take us to Briennerstrasse.
Schnellsfens, ZJ,/m Excelsior Kino!"
The driver of the limousine, a youth, an air cadet, did not react. Then
Goering, in the passenger seat, made a nearly imperceptible movement of
the head. The Daimler leapt forward, raced through two blocks, and
swung left at the next intersection. Granite peered eagerly through every
window. His voice, high and rasping, sounded like an off-key violin. "I see
it! What does it say? Kino Horst Wessel' That was the Excelsior. A great
Granite house. Fifteen thousand seats. An imported Wurlitzer organ. How
dare you change the names of these theaters?"
"But Herr Granite," said Goering, "you sold them to us yourself. Have
you forgotten? As a down payment on the agreement we shall conclude
tonight."
It was true. And now the studio was going to relinquish the remain–
der of the Granite properties - the theater chains in the rest of Germany
and Belgium and France, a sound stage in Antwerp, and offices through–
out occupied Europe: all of this in exchange for Magdalena Mezaray and
a symbolic three thousand marks. No wonder Hi tler had been so eager to
please us, two sons of Israel, not on ly allowing us into the Reich, but pro–
viding such a remarkable escort for the last leg of our journey. On the
other hand, so Moto mused, why had he refused to meet with us? Was it
really because he couldn't leave Wolfsschanze at a crucial stage in the war?
Then why, on this very night, had he suddenly agreed to come to
Munich? Was he to abandon one hundred and twenty divisions to settle
the fate of a middle-aged actress?
"Look!" cried Granite. "Look, Loewenstein. Am I seeing things? Is it
a mirage?"
I leaned over, so as to peer through Granite's side window. The good
people of Munich were lined up under the dazzling Horst Wessel mar–
quee. The blinking lights spel led out the title,
Liebe
auf
den ErstCl1 Blick.
I
followed the sequence of bulbs that led me, as surely as parallel landing
lights would guide the Reichsmarschall on a foggy night, to the names of
the stars.
