Smiley’s People by John le Carré

‘No.’

‘Nothing to show? That’s a pity.’

‘Perhaps when I have seen him, I shall understand your question better.’

‘But you have seen it evidently, this photograph? You have it with you, maybe?’

Smiley took out his wallet, and passed the contact print across the desk. Holding it by the edges, Herr Kretzschmar studied it for a moment, but only by way of confirmation, then laid it on the plastic surface before him. As he did so, Smiley’s sixth sense told him that Herr Kretzschmar was about to make a statement, in the way that Germans sometimes do make statements whether of philosophy, or personal exculpation, or in order to be liked, or pitied. He began to suspect that Herr Kretzschmar, in his own estimation at least, was a companionable if misunderstood man; a man of heart; even a good man; and that his initial taciturnity was something he wore like a professional suit, reluctantly, in a world which he frequently found unsympathetic to his affectionate character :

‘I wish to explain to you that I run a decent house here,’ Herr Kretzschmar remarked, when he had once more, by the clinical modem lamp, glanced at the print on his desk. ‘I am not in the habit of photographing clients. Other people sell ties, I sell sex. The important thing to me is to conduct my business in an orderly and correct manner. But this was not business. This was friendship.’

Smiley had the wisdom to keep silent.

Herr Kretzschmar frowned. His voice dropped and became confiding : ‘You knew him, Herr Max? That old General? You were personally connected with him?’

‘Yes.’

‘He was something, I understand?’

‘He was indeed.’

‘A lion, huh?’

‘A lion.’

‘Otto is still crazy about him. My name is Claus. “Claus,” he would say to me. “That Vladimir, I love that man.” You follow me? Otto is a very loyal fellow. The General too?’

‘He was,’ said Smiley.

‘A lot of people do not believe in Otto. Your parent company also, they do not always believe in him. This is understandable. I make no reproach. But the General, he believed in Otto. Not in every detail. But in the big things.’ Holding up his forearm, Herr Kretzschmar clenched his fist and it was suddenly a very big fist indeed. ‘When things got hard, the old General believed in Otto absolutely. I too believe in Otto, Herr Max. In the big things. But I am German, I am not political, I am a businessman. These refugee stories are finished for me. You follow me?’

‘Of course.’

‘But not for Otto. Never. Otto is a fanatic. I can use that word. Fanatic. This is one reason why our lives have diverged. Nevertheless he is my friend. Anyone harms him, they get a bad time from Kretzschmar.’ His face clouded in momentary mystification. ‘You are sure you have nothing for me, Herr Max?’

‘Beyond the photograph, I have nothing for you.’

Reluctantly Herr Kretzschmar once more dismissed the matter, but it took him time; he was uneasy.

‘The old General was shot in England?’ he asked finally.

‘Yes.’

‘But you consider nevertheless that Otto too is in danger?’

‘Yes, but I think he has chosen to be.’

Herr Kretzschmar was pleased with this answer and nodded energetically twice.

‘So do I. I also. This is my clear impression of him. I told him many times : “Otto, you should have been a high-wire acrobat.” To Otto, in my opinion, no day is worth living unless it threatens on at least six separate occasions to be his last. You permit me to make certain observations on my relationship with Otto?’

‘Please,’ said Smiley politely.

Putting his forearms on the plastic surface, Herr Kretzschmar settled himself into a more comfortable posture for confession.

‘There was a time when Otto and Claus Kretzschmar did everything together – stole a lot of horses, as we say. I was from Saxony, Otto came from the East. A Balt. Not Russia – he would insist – Estonia. He had had a tough time, studied the interior of a good few prisons, some bad fellow had betrayed him back in Estonia. A girl had died, and he was pretty mad about that. There was an uncle near Kiel but he was a swine. I may say that. We had no money, we were comrades and fellow thieves. This was normal, Herr Max.’

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