The Story of Henri Tod Read Online Free Page B

at the official one-to-one rate?”
    â€œThat is a capital idea, von Hausen,” the Chairman said.
    â€œWhy not tattoo all workers who cross the border into West Berlin?”—once more, Caspar Allman turned down his newspaper.
    The Chairman stared at his nephew. It occurred to him that the suggestion was ironic. But then it occurred to him that perhaps it was not. From time to time during the months his nephew had been taken on as personal aide, he had shown a rather ingenious turn of mind. The Chairman decided to be patient.
    â€œThat would not be feasible, Caspar. In the first place, the exercise is elaborate. In the second place, it would attract entirely too much attention. It isn’t as though it could be done to all fifty-three thousand East Berliners in one evening. There is the further problem that tattoos are not easily erased, making it difficult for the traitors to become integrated after their rehabilitation.”
    â€œJust trying to be useful,” said Caspar, going back to his newspaper and resuming the crossword puzzle.
    â€œWe need”—the Chairman began to stride along the length of the room, his head bowed in concentration—“more public … emphasis on the nature of the treasonable activities of the Germans who go over to the capitalist-imperialist side of town. I have studied the breakdown you gave me last week. The number of doctors. Of engineers. Of technicians. We are a society of only seventeen million people. Who, at the rate at which this lesion is proceeding, will build our bridges tomorrow, cure our ills, repair our telephones?”
    â€œCould we perhaps hire them to work here?” Caspar volunteered.
    â€œYou idiot! Hire our own workers to come back to their native country, and to do there their own work!”
    He reached his desk chair and sat down, in silence. “The problem,” he said, his voice steady, “is the problem of Comrade Khrushchev. He must be made to recognize this. Meanwhile we must do what we can do, pending a final solution.… Von Hausen, assemble your staff and come up with supplementary discouragements we might use. Either at the border-crossing points or this side of them. I want that emigration figure halved during the month of May. Halved. We will discuss other matters at our afternoon meeting.”
    â€œYes, Mr. Chairman.” Von Hausen bowed his head slightly, and left the room.
    The Chairman turned to his nephew. “Ah, Caspar. The problems of governing are sometimes of very near superhuman difficulty. What we must do, of course, is close the Berlin border. Permanently.”
    â€œI thought that was illegal under the postwar arrangement?”
    â€œWhat is illegal and what isn’t illegal is a matter of definition. We have excellent legal interpreters here and in the Soviet Union.”
    â€œWhat if the legal interpreters in the United States and Great Britain and France decide that their understanding of freedom of movement throughout Berlin is the correct understanding?”
    â€œWe would need to disabuse them, Caspar. We would need to disabuse them.” Walter Ulbricht looked out his window in the direction of the border. “I see there,” he said, “a great wall.”
    â€œOh Uncle, walls don’t work anymore. Walls were for Chinese, way back when.”
    The Chairman paused, considering whether to expand on his thoughts in the matter. He decided against doing so, and instead called the meeting to a close. “Tell your mother I am expecting her tonight at the reception at the House of Ministries for the winners of the bicycle tournament. She is to present the main cup. She should be here”—the Chairman looked down at the time schedule on his desk—“not later than 5:45. I am lunching with the Polish Ambassador, and we are conferring during the afternoon. I won’t be back here until tomorrow. Get done whatever work you have pending, and take