“Would you like some coffee, perhaps?” The man asked as he nodded to a guard, who then left the room.
Payne did not answer. He was still naked and angry at being so. Also, the memory of being marched around the building in such a condition compelled him to be totally uncooperative. He was now dealing with the shock this seemingly young and extremely skinny man somehow knowing his first name. The Germans obviously had more on him than he realized when he was captured. How long ago was that?
The guard returned with a mug of coffee, and with a nod from the man doing the questioning, went towards Captain Payne and handed it to him.
“Would you like anything with your coffee?”
“Yes, my clothes.” Payne sighed, finding the opportunity to vent his feelings, but knowing this request was probably useless.
“Oh… yes. Your clothes.” The man acted as if it took Payne’s comment to notice. “Well, you see, your clothes are being analyzed for foreign material – strictly a military procedure – I assure you. It is not often that we have one who declared war on us crossing our border from a neutral country for a visit. If you wanted to come to Germany so bad, why didn’t you just apply for a visa at the border? As it stands now, you have certainly complicated what would have been a very simple matter.”
Payne didn’t like the man’s sense of humor, or his appearance, now that his sight was returning and could get better look at him. The man had hair that appeared to be artificially colored and curled, and eyebrows that were penciled in. Best Payne also didn’t like the fact he was cold and humiliated, and it appeared this man, who was in civilian clothing, wasn’t going to do anything about it. The British captain decided to make his clothes the only issue of any further conversation. He let the guard keep his arm extended with the coffee and said:
“You asked if I wanted anything with the coffee – if you don’t have my clothes, then I would like some clothes.”
The guard pulled his arm back which held the coffee, it seemed that he understood English, or at least the intent of what Payne just said.
“Of course, of course!” The man said loudly and dramatically, as if being on a stage, “We requested some while you were sleeping, and they should have arrived by now. Corporal, would you please go and check if the clothes we requested for Captain Payne have come in. I believe it was gray shirt and brown pants are for him.”
The corporal handed the coffee to the man in civilian clothing, who Payne named the Painted Man.
“Some coffee?” The Painted Man asked while the corporal left.
“I’ll wait until the clothes arrive.”
“Very well. Now let us talk about you visit Germany. You know, you entered a very dangerous area, you could have been shot.”
“Like my colleague?”
“Oh the Sargent– Sargent Riley – was it? Unfortunately he fell into a most undesirable circumstance. Is seems he was going for his gun when he should have kept lying down with his face in the mud as you did.”
Now Payne’s dislike for the painted man reached a crescendo, for spiteful arrogance was one of the characteristics Payne despised most in a personality. The Painted Man in front of him appeared to have this quality in spades and in a very warped way. As the Painted Man bent down to put the coffee on the floor, Payne noticed a Gestapo pin that was hidden by his coat lapel, which flapped down as he leaned forward. He also noticed the man had burn patches all over the left side of his neck and head.
“Such things happen in war,” the Painted Man continued seeing Payne stare, “and so does the occurrence of prisoners, which brings us to you.” Payne remained silent. “The Führer has pointed out in countless speeches that Great Britain is not a natural enemy of the Third Reich.”
Payne titled his head to the right and looked down at his bare toes wiggling, as if to point out that clothing was still and issue. However the Painted Man continued his political monologue. “There had not been one act of aggression by Germany to the British Empire, not even to one British citizen, and yet you have declared war on us! Why is that so?”
Payne turned his head and looked at his other toes, which he wiggled also. He was relieved the Painted Man apparently was more concerned with Hitler’s policy than what his mission was in Nazi Germany, at least for now. He didn’t know which was worse, being a prisoner, being humiliated, or listening to the Painted Man preaching Nazi propaganda.
“But you have chosen to be against us, and that is sad, very sad indeed.”
Just then the corporal entered with a neatly folded, but very worn, pair of pants and shirt, both of which were handed to Payne.
“Oh, your clothes have arrived! How nice! You will forgive me if they do not fit as well as we would like, unfortunately we do not have a tailor on duty with us as you probably do in England.”
Payne put on his new clothes while both men watched intently. He felt both of them were thoroughly enjoying his humiliation. Once his clothes were on, the Painted Man tilted over to pick up the mug of the coffee – which was now cold – and handed it to Payne, who now accepted it and took a sip.
“There! Now a true spirit of co-operation is beginning to develop!” The Painted Man almost shouted, looking over to the corporal.
In a pig’s eye! Payne thought to himself.
“Corporal, I think that will be all.” The Painted Man motioned to corporal, who clicked his heels and departed.
“Oh, Captain Payne! What a tragedy we had to meet under such conditions! To think if your government would have simply let us solve the Polish problem and leave it at that, our peoples would not be in this unpleasant situation. We might have accidently met in a Paris café, exchanged some old war stories from the last war. Instead, I now have to lock you in a cage, like an animal.”
“Well, we still might have that chance to meet in Paris.” Payne shot back.
“Ha!” The Painted Man shouted with a hint of anger that Payne had interrupted his monologue, “The captain has a sense of humor! Good! Very good! I like that, oh, I really like that!”
“I’ll even tell Churchill what you’ve just told me, and see if we can call this whole war off.” Payne said with a straight face. He was surprised how weak his voice was and wondered if his lack of food, the cold, or the fact he was a prisoner – or all three – was the cause of it.
“Excellent!” The Painted Man seemed beside himself. “I’m sure we will get along just fine, Captain! You know, I have been studying your profile – and we have a lot in common, you and I, yes, we do!”
“Such as?”
“Well, you seem to like visiting the Purple Unicorn in Venlo, and you know, that place is one of my favorite taverns too… when I go to Holland!”
With the mention of this bar in Holland, Payne suddenly realized the Germans somehow must have known of his mission even before he left England.
A door slamming down the hall of the Reichstag brought Goebbels out of his reminiscent daydream. Genius. The woman was indeed, at times, a real genius.
It was now 2:40 a.m. as Goebbels looked up from the passage that would create a new direction in his propaganda agenda. Nostradamus, thanks to his Frau Goebbels, would now be a tool used by the Nazi war machine to manipulate the minds of enemy population. He loved the idea of using this great Frenchman against his own people and was certain Hitler would too. Since last night’s conversation he began to see other ways to use these allegorical and mystical lines than just demoralize the enemy civilian and military populations into believing their loss was inevitable.