"Michael Moorcock - An Evening at Home" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

An Evening at Home

By Michael Moorcock


Of course she had not changed. She was still my angel. Only Mussolini gave off
that almost supernatural wave of animal magnetism. My eyes as full as my
heart, I bowed, embracing her hand, kissing it. "My dear Mrs Cornelius."

"You orlways was a smarmy bugger, Ivan?" She was amiable as ever. "Still, I
must admit it's good ter see a familiar face. Got yerself somefink official
an' steady,I see, workin' fer th' corporation. I don't blame yer. I'm done for
in ther talkies it's me accent, so I took up with ther Baron over there," she
indicated a stooped shadow in a wig, "'oo was good enough ter 'elp me back on
me feet, but I'm thinkin' of goin' inter cabaret, maybe in Berlin. It's orl
wide open fer English artistes, I'm told. 'Ave yer met -- " She turned to
address the enormous beaming German, who was clearly enraptured by her, an
infatuated zeppelin.

"'Ermann, is it?"

He bowed, clicked his heels and shook hands again. He did not recollect me. I
supposed we all looked the same to him in our black uniforms. Although not
quite as tall as he seemed from his photographs, Herman Goering was
considerably wider. He spoke now in confident, but not very good English.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, professor. We have heard much of your
achievements in Germany."

To my discomfort I was beginning to realise that I had attracted the attention
of various governments' secret services. The newspaper pictures had done
exactly what Mussolini had said they would do -- whet the curiosity of the
other powers and put them off balance. Slipping easily into German I made
small talk with the man. He was grateful and commented on the excellence of my
vocabulary. I told him that I had worked with Germans in the Ukraine, during
the Civil War, when we were all trying to get rid of the Reds. This interested
him. He had assumed I was an American, he said. "Naturalised," I told him,
"but before then I had direct experience of the Bolshevik terror."

"You're bein' borin' boys," chided Mrs Cornelius, smiling up at the bulky
emissary, who was there, I would learn, directly on Hitler's orders. As
Mussolini had done, Goering's job was to attempt a raprochement between the
Nazis and the Pope. It was as well I did not know this at the time or I would
have spoken my mind. One of the worst things Mussolini and Hitler did was to
reach accomodation with the Catholics who did as much to sabotage their
efforts as they helped. "You tol' me, 'Ermann, you woz lookin' fer a party ter
go ter afterwards."

The man was well-bred and immediately dropped the subject of politics, saying
only to me: "We must talk again. We have a great respect for the scientific