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home. Would I help him? I said I would. With me in charge, the United States could have con-quered
the world. Not a doubt of it! Russia first - use up all those rusty old H-bombs! pffft! - then Europe
invaded and rationalized. Then the rest of the world would just be erased, wiped clean, starting probably
with South America. Wiped clean. Nothing namby-pamby.'
'Why didn't LBJ take you up on it? It sounds like his big chance!'
'If you can believe it, he had some hare-brained scheme for preserving India from destruction. He was a
yellow liberal at heart and the deal fell through.'
I was aghast. 'Why should anyone wish to preserve India from destruction, India of all places?'
'My dear man, American colonialist ambitions are as much of a mystery to me as to you! A pity -
together, or preferably me alone, we could have built a tidier world, an altogether tidier world where
people would have to doexactly what they are
TOLD TO DO!'
'Cowardice is at the bottom of it all,' I said, after a pause. 'During the war, we had group leadership and
bombing raids and discipline, and people all worked hard. Now we're stuck with the permissive society.'
He was following his own line of thought. It was a moment or two before he spoke again and I could see
the bar was about to close.
'I'm getting old and sentimental, as you know, Brian. But I begin to wish more and more that I had
conquered England instead of Poland. It's a prettier part of the world. The people are nicer. I could have
settled down in Torquay or somewhere and married a nice pure English girl. But there ... it wasn't meant
to be. No use being sentimental.
It was time for him to go. We trudged back to his flat to-gether through the streets of Ostend. He was
wearing his old grey trench coat which still bore the swastikas he had never bothered to remove. What
symbols of nostalgia they were! In a flash I had found a title for the musical of his life which I had come to
discuss with him: 'Swastika!' Of course! 'Swastika!' I shall always think of that moment as one of the
most dramatic in my whole life, the war notwithstanding.
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We halted on his doorstep.
'I won't ask you in,' he said. 'The concierge is down with flu.' He always referred to Martin Bormann as
'the concierge', in his humorous way.
'It's been wonderful talking to you,' I said.
'I've enjoyed it, too,' he said. 'And I promise to come over to London for the premiere - provided that
Jewish chap doesn't write the music.'
'Count on me,' I said simply. 'And don't forget - two-and-a-half per cent of the gross.'
We eyed one another in complete understanding. For senti-ment's sake, I knew how I wanted to bid
him good-bye; but there were people passing, and I was a little embarrassed. In-stead, I grasped his
worn frail hand in both of mine.
'Good-bye, Geoffrey!'
'Auf wiedersehen, Brian, dear boy!'
Blinking moisture from my eyes, I hurried for the airport, the contract in my pocket.
Acknowledgements
My thanks go to the editors of the magazines and anthologies in which the stories concerned first
appeared:Moment of Eclipse and ...And the Stagnation of the Heart in New Worlds;The Day We
Embarked for Cythera in Nova;Orgy of the Living and the Dying in The Year 2000;Super-Toys
Last All Summer Long in Harper's Bazaar;The Village Swindler in International;That Uncomfortable
Pause Between Life and Art in Queen;Down the Up Escalation in London Magazine;Confluence and
Working in the Spaceship Yards in Punch;Heresies of the Huge God in Galaxy;The Circulation of
the Blood in Impulse;The Worm that Flies in The Farthest Reaches;Swastika! in Nova 1.
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