It had been a terrible two weeks for Mr. Baynes. From his hotel room he had called the Trade Mission every day at noon to ask if the old gentleman had put in an appearance. The answer had been an unvarying no. Mr. Tagomi's voice had become colder and more formal each day. As Mr. Baynes prepared to make his sixteenth call, he thought, Sooner or later they'll tell me that Mr. Tagomi is out. That he isn't accepting any more calls from me. And that will be that.
What has happened? Where is Mr. Yatabe?
He had a fairly good idea. The death of Martin Bormann had caused immediate1 consternation2 in Tokyo. Mr. Yatabe no doubt had been en route to San Francisco, a day or so offshore3, when new instructions had reached him. Return to the Home Islands for further consultation4.
Bad luck, Mr. Baynes realized. Possibly even fatal.
But he had to remain where he was, in San Francisco. Still trying to arrange the meeting for which he had come. Forty-five minutes by Lufthansa rocket from Berlin, and now this. A weird5 time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale6 and hope. Falling into an interminable ennui7. And meanwhile, the others are busy. They are not sitting helplessly waiting.
Mr. Baynes unfolded the midday edition of the Nippon Times and once more read the headlines.
DR. GOEBBELS NAMED REICHS CHANCELLOR8
Surprise solution to leadership problem by Partei Committee. Radio speech viewed decisive. Berlin crowds cheer. Statement expected. G?ring may be named Police Chief over Heydrich.
He reread the entire article. And then he put the paper once more away, took the phone, and gave the Trade Mission number.
"This is Mr. Baynes. May I have Mr. Tagomi?"
"A moment, sir."
A very long moment.
"Mr. Tagomi here."
Mr. Baynes took a deep breath and said, "Forgive this situation depressing to us both, sir --"
"Ah. Mr. Baynes."
"Your hospitality to me sir, could not be exceeded. Someday I know you will have understanding of the reasons which cause me to defer10 our conference until the old gentleman --"
"Regretfully, he has not arrived."
Mr. Baynes shut his eyes. "I thought maybe since yesterday --"
"Afraid not, sir." The barest politeness. "If you will excuse me, Mr. Baynes. Pressing business."
"Good day, sir."
The phone clicked. Today Mr. Tagomi had rung off without even saying good-bye. Mr. Baynes slowly hung the receiver.
I must take action. Can wait no longer.
It had been made very clear to him by his superiors that he was not to contact the Abwehr under any circumstances. He was simply to wait until he had managed to make connections with the Japanese military representative; he was to confer with the Japanese, and then he was to return to Berlin. But no one had forseen that Bormann would die at this particular moment. Therefore the orders had to be superseded11. By more practical advice. His own, in this case, since there was no one else to consult.
In the PSA at least ten Abwehr persons were at work, but some of them -- and possibly all -- were known to the local SD and its competent senior regional chief, Bruno Kreuz vom Meere. Years ago he had met Bruno briefly12 at a Partei gathering13. The man had had a certain infamous14 prestige in Police circles, inasmuch as it had been he, in 1943, who had uncovered the British-Czech plot on Reinhard Heydrich's life, and therefore who might be said to have saved the Hangman from assassination15. In any case, Bruno Kreuz vom Meere was already then ascending16 in authority within the SD. He was not a mere17 police bureaucrat18.
He was, in fact, a rather dangerous man.
There was even a possibility that even with all the precautions taken, both on the part of the Abwehr in Berlin and the Tokkoka in Tokyo, the SD had learned of this attempted meeting in San Francisco in the offices of the Ranking Trade Mission. However, this was after all Japanese-administered land. The SD had no official authority to interfere19. It could see to it that the German principal -- himself in this case -- was arrested as soon as he set foot again on Reich territory; but it could hardly take action against the Japanese principal, or against the existence of the meeting itself.
At least, so he hoped.
Was there any possibility that the SD had managed to detain the old Japanese gentleman somewhere along the route? It was a long way from Tokyo to San Francisco, especially for a person so elderly and frail20 that he could not attempt air travel.
What I must do, Mr. Baynes knew, is find out from those above me whether Mr. Yatabe is still coming. They would know. If the SD had intercepted21 him or if the Tokyo Government has recalled him -- they would know that.
And if they have managed to get to the old gentleman, he realized, they certainly are going to get to me.
Yet the situation even in those circumstances was not hopeless. An idea had come to Mr. Baynes as he waited day after day alone in his room at the Abhirati Hotel.
It would be better to give my information to Mr. Tagomi than to return to Berlin empty-handed. At least that way there would be a chance, even if it is rather slight, that ultimately the proper people will be informed. But Mr. Tagomi could only listen; that was the fault in his idea. At best, he could hear, commit to memory, and as soon as possible take a business trip back to the Home Islands. Whereas Mr. Yatabe stood at policy level. He could both hear and speak.
Still, it was better than nothing. The time was growing too short. To begin all over, to arrange painstakingly22, cautiously, over a period of months once again the delicate contact between a faction23 in Germany and a faction in Japan. . .
It certainly would surprise Mr. Tagomi, he thought acidly. To suddenly find knowledge of that kind resting on his shoulders. A long way from facts about injection molds. . .
Possibly he might have a nervous breakdown25. Either blurt26 out the information to someone around him, or withdraw; pretend, even to himself, that he had not heard it. Simply refuse to believe me. Rise to his feet, bow and excuse himself from the room, the moment I begin.
Indiscreet. He could regard it that way. He is not supposed to hear such matters.
So easy, Mr. Baynes thought. The way out is so immediate, so available, to him. He thought, I wish it was for me.
And yet in the final anaylsis it is not possible even for Mr. Tagomi. We are no different. He can close his ears to the news as it comes from me, comes in the form of words. But later. When it is not a matter of words. If I can make that clear to him now. Or to whomever I finally speak.
Leaving his hotel room, Mr. Baynes descended27 by elevator to the lobby. Outside on the sidewalk, he had the doorman call a pedecab for him, and soon he was on his way up Market Street, the Chinese driver pumping away energetically.
"There," he said to the driver, when he made out the sign which he was watching for. "Pull over to the curb28."
The pedecab stopped by a fire hydrant. Mr. Baynes paid the driver and sent him off. No one seemed to have followed. Mr. Baynes set off along the sidewalk on foot. A moment later, along with several other shoppers, he entered the big downtown Fuga Department Store.
There were shoppers everywhere. Counter after counter. Salesgirls, mostly white, with a sprinkling of Japanese as department managers. The din9 was terrific.
After some confusion Mr. Baynes located the men's clothing department. He stopped at the racks of men's trousers and began to inspect them. Presently a clerk, a young white, came over, greeting him.
Mr. Baynes said, "I have returned for the pair of dark brown wool slacks which I was looking at yesterday." Meeting the clerk's gaze he said, "You're not the man I spoke29 to. He was taller. Red mustache. Rather thin. On his jacket he had the name Larry."
The clerk said, "He is presently out to lunch. But will return."
"I'll go into a dressing30 room and try these on," Mr. Baynes said, taking a pair of slacks from the rack.
"Certainly, sir." The clerk indicated a vacant dressing room, and then went off to wait on someone else.
Mr. Baynes entered the dressing room and shut the door. He seated himself on one of the two chairs and waited.
After a few minutes there was a knock. The door of the dressing room opened and a short middle-aged31 Japanese entered. "You are from out of state, sir?" he said to Mr. Baynes. "And I am to okay your credit? Let me see your identification." He shut the door behind him.
Mr. Baynes got out his wallet. The Japanese seated himself with the wallet and began inspecting the contents. He halted at a photo of a girl. "Very pretty."
"My daughter. Martha."
"I, too, have a daughter named Martha," the Japanese said. "She at present is in Chicago studying piano."
"My daughter," Mr. Baynes said, "is about to be married."
The Japanese returned the wallet and waited expectantly.
Mr. Baynes said, "I have been here two weeks and Mr. Yatabe has not shown up. I want to find out if he is still coming. And if not, what I should do."
"Return tomorrow afternoon," the Japanese said. He rose, and Mr. Baynes also rose. "Good day."
"Good day," Mr. Baynes said. He left the dressing room, hung the pair of slacks back up on the rack, and left the Fuga Department Store.
That did not take very long, he thought as he moved along the busy downtown sidewalk with the other pedestrians32. Can he actually get the information by then? Contact Berlin, relay my questions, do all the coding and decoding33 -- every step involved?
Apparently so.
Now I wish I had approached the agent sooner. I would have saved myself much worry and distress34. And evidently no major risk was involved; it all appeared to go off smoothly35. It took in fact only five or six minutes.
Mr. Baynes wandered on, looking into store windows. He felt much better now. Presently he found himself viewing display photos of honky-tonk cabarets, grimy flyspecked36 utterly37 white nudes38 whose breasts hung like half-inflated volleyballs. That sight amused him and he loitered, people pushing past him on their various errands up and down Market Street.
At least he had done something, at last.
What a relief!
Propped comfortably against the car door, Juliana read. Beside her, his elbow out the window, Joe drove with one hand lightly on the wheel, a cigarette stuck to his lower lip; he was a good driver, and they had covered a good deal of the distance from Canon City already.
The car radio played mushy beer-garden folk music, an accordion39 band doing one of the countless40 polkas or schottishes; she had never been able to tell them one from another.
"Kitsch," Joe said, when the music ended. "Listen, I know a lot about music; I'll tell you who a great conductor was. You probably don't remember him. Arturo Toscanini."
"No," she said, still reading.
"He was Italian. But the Nazis44 wouldn't let him conduct after the war, because of his politics. He's dead, now. I don't like that von Karajan, permanent conductor of the New York Philharmonic. We had to go to concerts by him, our work dorm. What I like, being a wop -- you can guess." He glanced at her. "You like that book?" he said.
"It's engrossing45."
"I like Verdi and Puccini. All we get in New York is heavy German bombastic46 Wagner and Orff, and we have to go every week to one of those corny U.S. Nazi43 Party dramatic spectacles at Madison Square Garden, with the flags and drums and trumpets47 and the flickering48 flame. History of the Gothic tribes or other educational crap, chanted instead of spoken, so as to be called 'art.' Did you ever see New York before the war?"
"Yes," she said, trying to read.
"Didn't they have swell49 theater in those days? That's what I heard. Now it's the same as the movie industry; it's all a cartel in Berlin. In the thirteen years I've been in New York not one good new musical or play ever opened, only those --"
"Let me read," Juliana said.
"And the same with the book business," Joe said, unperturbed. "It's all a cartel operating out of Munich. All they do in New York is print; just big printing presses -- but before the war, New York was the center of the world's publishing industry, or so they say."
Putting her fingers in her ears, she concentrated on the page open in her lap, shutting his voice out. She had arrived at a section in The Grasshopper50 which described the fabulous51 television, and it enthralled52 her; especially the part about the inexpensive little sets for backward people in Africa and Asia.
. . . Only Yankee know-how53 and the mass-production system -- Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, the magic names! -- could have done the trick, sent that ceaseless and almost witlessly noble flood of cheap one-dollar (the China Dollar, the trade dollar) television kits42 to every village and backwater of the Orient. And when the kit41 had been assembled by some gaunt, feverish54-minded youth in the village, starved for a chance, for that which the generous Americans held out to him, that tinny little instrument with its built-in power supply no larger than a marble began to receive. And what did it receive? Crouching55 before the screen, the youths of the village -- and often the elders as well -- saw words. Instructions. How to read, first. Then the rest. How to dig a deeper well. Plow56 a deeper furrow57. How to purify their water, heal their sick. Overhead, the American artificial moon wheeled, distributing the signal, carrying it everywhere. . . to all the waiting, avid58 masses of the East.
"Are you reading straight through?" Joe asked. "Or skipping around in it?"
She said, "This is wonderful; he has us sending food and education to all the Asiatics, millions of them."
"Welfare work on a worldwide scale," Joe said.
"Yes. The New Deal under Tugwell; they raise the level of the masses -- listen." She read aloud to Joe:
. . . What had China been? Yearning59, one needful commingled60 entity61 looking toward the West, its great democratic President, Chiang Kai-shek, who had led the Chinese people through the years of war, now into the years of peace, into the Decade of Rebuilding. But for China it was not a rebuilding, for that almost supernaturally vast flat land had never been built, lay still slumbering62 in the ancient dream. Arousing; yes, the entity, the giant, had to partake at last of full consciousness, had to waken into the modern world with its jet airplanes and atomic power, its autobahns and factories and medicines. And from whence would come the crack of thunder which would rouse the giant? Chiang had known that, even during the struggle to defeat Japan. It would come from the United States. And, by 1950, American technicians and engineers, teachers, doctors, agronomists63, swarming64 like some new life form into each province, each --
Interrupting, Joe said, "You know what he's done, don't you? He's taken the best about Nazism65, the socialist66 part, the Todt Organization and the economic advances we got through Speer, and who's he giving the credit to? The New Deal. And he's left out the bad part, the SS part, the racial extermination67 and segregation68. It's a utopia! You imagine if the Allies had won, the New Deal would have been able to revive the economy and make those socialist welfare improvements, like he says? Hell no; he's talking about a form of state syndicalism, the corporate69 state, like we developed under the Duce. He's saying, You would have had all the good and none of --"
"Let me read," she said fiercely.
He shrugged70. But he did cease babbling71. She read on at once, but to herself.
. . . And these markets, the countless millions of China, set the factories in Detroit and Chicago to humming; that vast mouth could never be filled, those people could not in a hundred years be given enough trucks or bricks or steel ingots or clothing or typewriters or canned peas or clocks or radios or nose-drops. The American workman, by 1960, had the highest standard of living in the world, and all due to what they genteelly called "the most favored nation" clause in every commercial transaction with the East. The U.S. no longer occupied Japan, and she had never occupied China; and yet the fact could not be disputed: Canton and Tokyo and Shanghai did not buy from the British; they bought American. And with each sale, the workingman in Baltimore or Los Angeles or Atlanta saw a little more prosperity.
It seemed to the planners, the men of vision in the White House, that they had almost achieved their goal. The exploring rocket ships would soon nose cautiously out into the void from a world that had at last seen an end to its age-old griefs: hunger, plague, war, ignorance. In the British Empire, equal measures toward social and economic progress had brought similar relief to the masses in India, Burma, Africa, the Middle East. The factories of the Ruhr, Manchester, of the Saar, the oil of Baku, all flowed and interacted in intricate but effective harmony; the populations of Europe basked72 in what appeared . . .
"I think they should be the rulers," Juliana said, pausing. "They always were the best. The British."
Joe said nothing to that, although she waited. At last she went on reading.
. . . Realization73 of Napoleon's vision: rational homogeneity of the diverse ethnic74 strains which had squabbled and balkanized Europe since the collapse75 of Rome. Vision, too, of Charlemagne: united Christendom, totally at peace not only with itself but with the balance of the world. And yet -- there still remained one annoying sore.
Singapore.
The Malay States held a large Chinese population, mostly of the enterprising business class, and these thrifty76, industrious77 bourgeois78 saw in American administration of China a more equitable79 treatment of what was called "the native." Under British rule, the darker races were excluded from the country clubs, the hotels, the better restaurants; they found themselves, as in archaic80 times, confined to particular sections of the train and bus and -- perhaps worst of all -- limited to their choice of residence within each city. These "natives" discerned, and noted81 in their table conversations and newspapers, that in the U. S. A. the color problem had by 1950 been solved. Whites and Negroes lived and worked and ate shoulder by shoulder, even in the Deep South; World War Two had ended discrimination. . .
"Is there trouble?" Juliana asked Joe.
He grunted82, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Tell me what happens," she said. "I know I won't get to finish it; we'll be in Denver pretty soon. Do America and Britain get into a war, and one emerges as ruler of the world?"
Presently Joe said, "In some ways it's not a bad book. He works all the details out; the U.S. has the Pacific, about like our East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. They divide Russia. It works for around ten years. Then there's trouble -- naturally."
"Why naturally?"
"Human nature." Joe added, "Nature of states. Suspicion, fear, greed. Churchill thinks the U.S.A. is undermining British rule in South Asia by appealing to the large Chinese populations, who naturally are pro-U.S.A., due to Chiang Kai-shek. The British start setting up" -- he grinned at her briefly -- "what are called 'detention83 preserves.' Concentration camps, in other words. For thousands of maybe disloyal Chinese. They're accused of sabotage84 and propaganda. Churchill is so --"
"You mean he's still in power? Wouldn't he be around ninety?"
Joe said, "That's where the British system has it over the American. Every eight years the U.S. boots out its leaders, no matter how qualified85 -- but Churchill just stays on. The U.S. doesn't have any leadership like him, after Tugwell. Just nonentities86. And the older he gets, the more autocratic and rigid87 he gets -- Churchill, I mean. Until by 1960, he's like some old warlord out of Central Asia; nobody can cross him. He's been in power twenty years."
"Good God," she said, leafing through the last part of the book, searching for verification of what Joe was saying.
"On that I agree," Joe said. "Churchill was the one good leader the British had during the war; if they'd retained him they'd have been better off. I tell you; a state is no better than its leader. Fuhrerprinzip - Principle of Leadership, like the Nazis say. They're right. Even this Abendsen has to face that. Sure, the U.S.A. expands economically after winning the war over Japan, because it's got that huge market in Asia that it's wrested88 from the Japs. But that's not enough; that's got no spirituality. Not that the British have. They're both plutocracies89, rule by the rich. If they had won, all they'd have thought about was making more money, that upper class. Abendsen, he's wrong; there would be no social reform, no welfare public works plans -- the Anglo-Saxon plutocrats wouldn't have permitted it."
Juliana thought, Spoken like a devout90 Fascist91.
Evidently Joe perceived by her expression what she was thinking; he turned toward her, slowing the car, one eye on her, one on the cars ahead. "Listen, I'm not an intellectual. Fascism has no need of that. What is wanted is the deed. Theory derives92 from action. What our corporate state demands from us is comprehension of the social forces of history. You see? I tell you; I know, Juliana." His tone was earnest, almost beseeching93. "Those old rotten money-run empires, Britain and France and U.S.A., although the latter actually a sort of bastard94 sideshoot, not strictly95 empire, but money-oriented even so. They had no soul, so naturally no future. No growth. Nazis a bunch of street thugs; I agree. You agree? Right?"
She had to smile; his Italian mannerisms had overpowered him in his attempt to drive and make his speech simultaneously96.
"Abendsen talks like it's big issue as to whether U.S. or Britain ultimately wins out. Bull! Has no merit, no history to it. Six of one, dozen of other. You ever read what the Duce wrote? Inspired. Beautiful man. Beautiful writing. Explains the underlying97 actuality of every event. Real issue in war was: old versus98 new. Money -- that's why Nazis dragged Jewish question mistakenly into it -- versus communal99 mass spirit, what Nazis call Gemeinschaft -- folkness. Like Soviet100. Commune. Right? Only, Communists sneaked101 in Pan-Slavic Peter the Great empire ambitions along with it, made social reform means for imperial ambitions."
Juliana thought, Like Mussolini did. Exactly.
"Nazi thuggery a tragedy," Joe stuttered away as he passed a slow-moving truck. "But change's always harsh on the loser. Nothing new. Look at previous revolutions such as French. Or Cromwell against Irish. Too much philosophy in Germanic temperament102; too much theater, too. All those rallies. You never find true Fascist talking, only doing -- like me. Right?"
Laughing, she said, "God, you've been talking a mile a minute."
He shouted excitedly, "I'm explaining Fascist theory of action!"
She couldn't answer; it was too funny.
But the man beside her did not think it was funny; he glowered103 at her, his face red. Veins104 in his forehead became distended105 and he began once more to shake. And again he passed his fingers clutchingly along his scalp, forward and back, not speaking, only staring at her.
"Don't get sore at me," she said.
For a moment she thought he was going to hit her; he drew his arm back. . . but then he grunted, reached and turned up the car radio.
They drove on. Band music from the radio, static. Once more she tried to concentrate on the book.
"You're right," Joe said after a long time.
"About what?"
"Two-bit empire. Clown for a leader. No wonder we got nothing out of the war."
She patted his arm.
"Juliana, it's all darkness," Joe said. "Nothing is true or certain. Right?"
"Maybe so," she said absently, continuing to try to read.
"Britain wins," Joe said, indicating the book. "I save you the trouble. U.S. dwindles106, Britain keeps needling and poking107 and expanding, keeps the initiative. So put it away."
"I hope we have fun in Denver," she said, closing the book. "You need to relax. I want you to." If you don't, she thought, you're going to fly apart in a million pieces. Like a bursting spring. And what happens to me, then? How do I get back? And do I just leave you?
I want the good time you promised me, she thought. I don't want to be cheated; I've been cheated too much in my life before, by too many people.
"We'll have it," Joe said. "Listen." He studied her with a queer, introspective expression. "You take to that Grasshopper book so much; I wonder -- do you suppose a man who writes a best seller, an author like that Abendsen, do people write letters to him? I bet lots of people praise his book by letters to him, maybe even visit."
All at once she understood. "Joe -- it's only another hundred miles!"
His eyes shone; he smiled at her, happy again, no longer flushed or troubled.
"We could!" she said. "You drive so good -- it'd be nothing to go on up there, would it?"
Slowly, Joe said, "Well, I doubt a famous man lets visitors drop in. Probably so many of them."
"Why not try? Joe --" She grabbed his shoulder, squeezed him excitedly. "All he could do is send us away. Please."
With great deliberation, Joe said, "When we've gone shopping and got new clothes, all spruced up. . . that's important, to make a good impression. And maybe even rent a new car up in Cheyenne. Bet you can do that."
"Yes," she said. "And you need a haircut. And let me pick your clothes; please, Joe. I used to pick Frank's clothes for him; a man can never buy his own clothes."
"You got good taste in clothes," Joe said, once more turning toward the road ahead, gazing out somberly. "In other ways, too. Better if you call him. Contact him."
"I'll get my hair done," she said.
"Good."
"I'm not scared at all to walk up and ring the bell," Juliana said. "I mean, you live only once. Why should we be intimidated108? He's just a man like the rest of us. In fact, he probably would be pleased to know somebody drove so far just to tell him how much they liked his book. We can get an autograph on the book, on the inside where they do that. Isn't that so? We better buy a new copy; this one is all stained. It wouldn't look good."
"Anything you want," Joe said. "I'll let you decide all the details; I know you can do it. Pretty girl always gets everyone; when he sees what a knockout you are he'll open the door wide. But listen; no monkey business."
"What do you mean?"
"You say we're married. I don't want you getting mixed up with him -- you know. That would be dreadful. Wreck109 everyone's existence; some reward for him to let visitors in, some irony110. So watch it, Juliana."
"You can argue with him," Juliana said. "That part about Italy losing the war by betraying them; tell him what you told me."
Joe nodded. "That's so. We can discuss the whole subject."
They drove swiftly on.
At seven o'clock the following morning, PSA reckoning, Mr. Nobusuke Tagomi rose from bed, started toward the bathroom, then changed his mind and went directly to the oracle111.
Seated cross-legged on the floor of his living room he began manipulating the forty-nine yarrow stalks. He had a deep sense of the urgency of his questioning, and he worked at a feverish pace until at last he had the six lines before him.
Shock! Hexagram Fifty-one!
God appears in the sign of the Arousing. Thunder and lightning. Sounds -- he involuntarily put his fingers up to cover his ears. Ha-ha! Ho-ho! Great burst that made him wince112 and blink. Lizard113 scurries114 and tiger roars, and out comes God Himself!
What does it mean? He peered about his living room. Arrival of -- what? He hopped115 to his feet and stood panting, waiting.
Nothing. Heart pounding. Respiration116 and all somatic processes, including all manner of diencephalic-controlled autonomic responses to crisis: adrenalin, greater heartbeat, pulse rate, glands117 pouring, throat paralyzed, eyes staring, bowels118 loose, et al. Stomach queasy119 and sex instinct suppressed.
And yet, nothing to see; nothing for body to do. Run? All in preparation for panic flight. But where to and why? Mr. Tagomi asked himself. No clue. Therefore impossible. Dilemma120 of civilized121 man; body mobilized, but danger obscure.
He went to the bathroom and began lathering122 his face to shave.
The telephone rang.
"Shock," he said aloud, putting down his razor. "Be prepared." He walked rapidly from the bathroom, back into the living room. "I am prepared," he said, and lifted the receiver. "Tagomi, here." His voice squeaked123 and he cleared his throat.
A pause. And then a faint, dry, rustling124 voice, almost like old leaves far off, said, "Sir. This is Shinjiro Yatabe. I have arrived in San Francisco."
"Greetings from the Ranking Trade Mission," Mr. Tagomi said. "How glad I am. You are in good health and relaxed?"
"Yes, Mr. Tagomi. When may I meet you?"
"Quite soon. In half an hour." Mr. Tagomi peered at the bedroom clock, trying to read it. "A third party: Mr. Baynes. I must contact him. Possibly delay, but --"
"Shall we say two hours, sir?" Mr. Yatabe said.
"Yes," Mr. Tagomi said, bowing.
"At your office in the Nippon Times Building."
Mr. Tagomi bowed once more.
Click. Mr. Yatabe had rung off.
Pleased Mr. Baynes, Mr. Tagomi thought. Delight on order of cat tossed piece of salmon125, for instance fatty nice tail. He jiggled the hook, then dialed speedily the Adhirati Hotel.
"Ordeal concluded," he said, when Mr. Baynes' sleepy voice came on the wire.
At once the voice ceased to be sleepy. "He's here?"
"My office," Mr. Tagomi said. "Ten-twenty. Goodbye." He hung up and ran back to the bathroom to finish shaving. No time for breakfast; have Mr. Ramsey scuttle126 about after office arrival completed. All three of us perhaps can indulge simultaneously -- in his mind as he shaved he planned a fine breakfast for them all.
In his pajamas127, Mr. Baynes stood at the phone, rubbing his forehead and thinking. A shame I broke down and made contact with that agent, he thought. If I had waited only one day more. . .
But probably no harm's been done. Yet he was supposed to return to the department store today. Suppose I don't show up? It may start a chain reaction; they'll think I've been murdered or some such thing. An attempt will be made to trace me.
It doesn't matter. Because he's here. At last. The waiting is over.
Mr. Baynes hurried to the bathroom and prepared to shave.
I have no doubt that Mr. Tagomi will recognize him the moment he meets him, he decided128. We can drop the "Mr. Yatabe" cover, now. In fact, we can drop all covers, all pretenses129.
As soon as he had shaved, Mr. Baynes hopped into the shower. As water roared around him he sang at the top of his lungs:
"Wer reitet so spat130,
Durch Nacht und den24 Wind?
Es ist der Vater
Mit seinem Kind."
It is probably too late now for the SD to do anything, he thought. Even if they find out. So perhaps I can cease worrying; at least, the trivial worry. The finite, private worry about my own particular skin.
But as to the rest -- we can just begin.
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immediate
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consternation
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offshore
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consultation
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weird
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6
morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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7
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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8
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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9
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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10
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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11
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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12
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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13
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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14
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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15
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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16
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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17
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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18
bureaucrat
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| n. 官僚作风的人，官僚，官僚政治论者 | |
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19
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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20
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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21
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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22
painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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23
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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24
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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25
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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26
blurt
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| vt.突然说出，脱口说出 | |
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27
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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28
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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29
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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30
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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31
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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32
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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33
decoding
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|
| n.译码，解码v.译（码），解（码）( decode的现在分词 )；分析及译解电子信号 | |
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34
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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35
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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36
flyspecked
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| v.弄脏( flyspeck的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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38
nudes
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| （绘画、照片或雕塑）裸体( nude的名词复数 ) | |
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39
accordion
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|
| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
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40
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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41
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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42
kits
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| 衣物和装备( kit的名词复数 )； 成套用品； 配套元件 | |
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43
Nazi
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| n.纳粹分子，adj.纳粹党的，纳粹的 | |
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44
Nazis
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| n.（德国的）纳粹党员( Nazi的名词复数 )；纳粹主义 | |
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45
engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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46
bombastic
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|
| adj.夸夸其谈的，言过其实的 | |
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47
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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48
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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49
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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50
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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51
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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52
enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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53
know-how
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| n.知识；技术；诀窍 | |
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54
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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55
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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56
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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57
furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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58
avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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59
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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60
commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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62
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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63
agronomists
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| n.农（艺）学家( agronomist的名词复数 ) | |
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64
swarming
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|
| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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65
Nazism
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| n. 纳粹主义 | |
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66
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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67
extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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68
segregation
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| n.隔离，种族隔离 | |
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69
corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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70
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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71
babbling
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|
| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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72
basked
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|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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73
realization
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|
| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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74
ethnic
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|
| adj.人种的，种族的，异教徒的 | |
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75
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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76
thrifty
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|
| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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77
industrious
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|
| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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78
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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79
equitable
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|
| adj.公平的；公正的 | |
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80
archaic
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|
| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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81
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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82
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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83
detention
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|
| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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84
sabotage
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| n.怠工，破坏活动，破坏；v.从事破坏活动，妨害，破坏 | |
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85
qualified
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|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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86
nonentities
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| n.无足轻重的人( nonentity的名词复数 )；蝼蚁 | |
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87
rigid
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|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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88
wrested
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|
| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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89
plutocracies
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|
| n.富豪统治，财阀统治( plutocracy的名词复数 )；富豪[财阀]统治集团，富豪，财阀 | |
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90
devout
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|
| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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91
fascist
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|
| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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92
derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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93
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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94
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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95
strictly
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|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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96
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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97
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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98
versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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99
communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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100
Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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101
sneaked
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|
| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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102
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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103
glowered
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| v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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105
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
dwindles
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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107
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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108
intimidated
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|
| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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109
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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110
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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111
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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112
wince
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|
| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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113
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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114
scurries
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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116
respiration
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| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
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117
glands
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| n.腺( gland的名词复数 ) | |
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118
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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119
queasy
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| adj.易呕的 | |
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120
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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121
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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122
lathering
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| n.痛打，怒骂v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的现在分词 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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123
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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124
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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125
salmon
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|
| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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126
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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127
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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128
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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129
pretenses
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| n.借口（pretense的复数形式） | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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