The Dark Frontier A. Decker (i like reading TXT) 📖

nights that we’ve been through these last few months, you reach a point where dreams are just a forgotten luxury you can no longer afford.”

At that moment, it was as if the whole substance of Frank’s life had been knocked out of him. All the meaning that his thoughts had been fixed on those past weeks was suddenly counterfeit and worthless. He reached across the table and placed an imploring hand on his friend’s arm. But Achim was unmoved.

“As you said yourself, Frank, there are any number of theatre groups here already. They have everything they need, and more political cabaret than they can cope with. Look at Erika Mann. From what I hear, she had enough to contend with from the local fascist thugs, until they forced her to close and hounded her out of the country. That’s why they prefer to examine the Confederation’s navel. We have nothing to offer. Even here in Switzerland, the arm of the Third Reich is not far away.”

“But what else do you have apart from theatre?” Frank asked forlornly, raising his voice further to compete with the cacophony of the crowd. “What else do you plan to do? What are you going to live on?”

If fanciful dreams could elicit no response, he thought, then perhaps the practicalities of life in exile might.

“I’ll find work,” he replied with cool matter of fact.

“Just like that?”

Frank grew angry with his friend, whose grasp of reality seemed even weaker and more questionable than his own.

“Do you have any idea how much unemployment there is here? And what about a work permit? You’re not even legal. How do you expect to get a job?”

Achim smiled. “We’ll manage. I have one or two ideas.” He paused briefly, then turned the tables. “But tell me, Frank, how do you manage to keep your head above water?”

Frank was all too aware of the implications of this question. And it made him slightly uneasy. He had been living on his unearned inheritance for too long. And he knew that he would soon find himself dipping below the waterline if he failed to change the hotel life to which he had become so comfortably accustomed.

“I’m still living on what my father left me. But you’re right. I need to adjust my living habits if I’m to stay afloat.”

“That reminds me, Frank.” He had the impression that Achim was more than pleased to have an opportunity to change the subject. “Apropos your family, we came via Cologne and took the chance to visit your mother.”

“How is she?” Frank asked, trying not to appear too indifferent, as much for his own conscience as for any other reason.

“She’s not too well, I’m afraid. She obviously took your father’s death very hard. And now that she’s lost the dog as well, she hasn’t a companion left in the world. Except the dragon of a nurse. It was quite upsetting to see her after all these years. I had always remembered her as a rather cheerful lady.”

“What happened to the dog?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know. It was hard to get any sense out of her. Some bully-boy thugs by the sound of it, but it was hard to tell.”

“I must try and get up to see her soon,” Frank said in an unconvincing tone.

“What about somewhere to stay, Achim?” he added, keen to change the subject himself. “From your letter I wasn’t sure what your plans were, so I had a look around at a few possibilities, but I don’t have anything concrete as yet.”

“Don’t worry. That’s taken care of already,” he replied with an air of mystery. “I was recommended to stay in the Hotel St. Gotthard, so we’ll be there for a few days at least, until we find something more permanent.”

Achim clearly saw the sense of alarm in his friend’s expression, because he quickly followed this with: “Why?”

“I just wonder who might have recommended that place to you. You know that was Wesemann’s stamping ground?”

“Who?” Achim asked.

“Come on, you must have heard about the Gestapo agent who’s just been put away for abducting that journalist? It was a huge story. In all the papers.”

Signs of a wakening memory began to show in Achim’s eyes.

“Yes, I heard about it,” was all he said.

“Heard about it? It caused a major diplomatic row, almost put the country’s neutrality at stake, and you just heard about it. Well, just in case you hadn’t heard this: the Gotthard is where he used to hang out. And he may still have friends there. So take care.”

His expression gave way to a look of concern, and Frank could not escape noticing the way he gave Gertrude a reassuring squeeze of the hand.

“But you don’t need to worry,” he continued, trying clumsily to put their minds at rest. “I’m sure they wouldn’t try anything like that a second time. And anyway, what possible interest could they have in a stage designer?”

Another uneasy silence spread over the table. Achim and Gertrude became submerged in unspoken exchanges with one another. Frank noticed how they had both changed almost beyond recognition since he had last seen them. Gertrude had grown so quiet and timid; her bubbling enthusiasm, her electrifying beauty had all been swallowed up by anxiety. Her eyes resembled those of an animal in captivity, the lids now drawn with depression where once they had displayed her magnificent eyelashes with such pride. Achim for his part had exchanged the carefree excitability he once knew for an almost suffocating, protective concern, continually but silently comforting Gertrude throughout their conversation. But Frank told himself they were probably just suffering the rigours of their long journey. As he was contemplating this idea, Achim looked over the table at him with an oddly pained expression on his face.

“Were you always such a naive optimist, Frank? Of course they’ll try it a second time. And a third. And as often as they want. That whole Berthold Jacob affair, and Motta’s nauseating two-faced response to it simply reinforced them in