Since I was neither a Pole nor a Catholic, I said, but an ordinary Christian, I believed of course in redemption and rebirth. If that were the same, then I shared her faith. She was, like many women I met in those circumstances, a peculiar mixture of hard practicality and wild romanticism. We shared a motor cab when we left. Almost as soon as we were in it she kissed me passionately, then, somewhat clumsily, seizing my private parts, declared me a hero she could not resist. I, too, found resistance impractical, thus the cab was directed to the Adler Apartments where we rapidly consummated our mutual admiration. Most of my other women during that time were of Mrs Trubbshaw’s class. I believe they found me attractively exotic and unlikely to remain in Memphis long enough to embarrass them. I in turn became fascinated with learning the desires and inhibitions of the American bourgeoisie. Although I periodically visited (with Mr Gilpin and others who referred to themselves as ‘sporting men’) the city’s thriving and famous red light district, I came to prefer the more bizarre and educational adventures frequently offered by outwardly respectable matrons most of whom, oddly, were not Memphis born. The usual theory was that post-war life had abolished repressions and people were frequently making up for what they thought they had missed in a climate of ‘Victorian morality’. My own view was simpler: a shortage of men made many women behave as if they were at a garment sale. They became at once more ruthlessly competitive and less discriminatory, frequently finding they had picked up material they would normally not have blessed with a second look. This state of affairs suited me perfectly, since I remained loyal in spirit to my Esmé, saved money and stood far less chance of catching a social disease. (It was at a bawdy house, however, I had my first experience of a full-blooded negress.)
Like many American cities of those days, Memphis presented a contrast of extreme public puritanism and unchecked private lechery, greater than any I had encountered in Europe. With her weighty inheritance of low-church morality, America’s attempt to check her native exuberance and vitality by creating laws having nothing to do with her natural and historical expansionist character merely fostered further hypocrisy and confusion. A nation’s laws must always reflect to some degree the national temperament. America’s often did not. They were cold, English laws which became virtually meaningless, say, in California. In seeking to shape herself through the dreams of her founders rather than the needs of her living inhabitants she weakened herself, became schizophrenic. Of course she was a threatened nation. The settlers who had suffered and died to establish the United States did so in the name of a great Anglo-Saxon egalitarian ideal. In 1922 that ideal was being exploited and abused by immigrants demanding the benefits of struggle but unwilling to pay the price. It was too late to control this population by the methods of the Pilgrim Fathers. Most newcomers did not even recognise the Faith on which the principles were based. They had loyalties to the Chief Rabbi, the Pope, to Karl Marx and V. I. Lenin; they served an ideal above nationalism. No wonder that however many Baptist ladies tried to abolish alcohol there were as many Italians and Hebrews (not to mention the renegade Irish) to sell it. Americans sought desperately to establish order and stability in a world threatening Chaos from all sides. Those who condemn them have no proper understanding of their fears. I helped fight that last battle against America’s enemies; a noble and doomed defence, like the last stand of the South against the Union. It was conducted with courage, honour, decency and common sense by ordinary people, the brave descendants of Kit Carson, Buffalo Bill and Jesse James. Their attempt to fight with the moral weapons of Protestantism was understandable, if misguided. A time comes when only political strength and fortitude will win the day; an unpalatable but courageous ruthlessness. Christ is our champion, that gentle Greek shepherd. Yet the Lamb must be protected from wolves and jackals by other weapons than Old Testament texts or a ban upon the few comforts which lessen the burden of our journey through this Vale of Tears. I had no desire to offend worthy pastors and churchwomen who saw evidence of overwhelming Evil in the abuse of life’s pleasures, but I refused to relinquish those pleasures in private moderation. I used to see drunkenness on the streets of Kiev (we had prohibition in Russia long before Volsted) for in the uneducated person the element of self-control is usually absent, so I shall not argue against the need for a firm, paternal hand, but a general ban leads only to general crime. Democracy is powerless to control the degenerate refugee, who all his life has understood only tyranny.
I saw Mrs Trubbshaw several times over the next few days and enjoyed her considerably for all it sometimes proved difficult negotiating the various items of underwear which her own version of morality insisted she somehow retain at all times on her person. It was she who at about noon brought me some sandwiches and a copy of the Commercial Appeal with the appalling news which was to have a far greater consequence on my life than I could guess. The Roma had gone down at Hampton Roads Army base. This semi-dirigible, bought from Italy only recently, had crashed when her rudder failed. Exploding on contact with the ground she killed thirty-four out of forty-five crew members. My chicken and mayonnaise was set aside half eaten. I grieved for those poor aviators. The splendid story of the airship has been written in the blood of those brave pioneers who, in a spirit of joyful discovery, flung themselves into the upper atmosphere, never quite certain what their fate would be. Mrs Trubbshaw stood fiddling with the pale blue bows of her camiknickers. ‘What’s wrong, dear?’
I began to weep.
With a snort of disappointment, she began awkwardly to comfort me.
So fickle are financiers than almost any minor shift in the social climate can frighten them. This is what I knew as I plunged into the folds of sweet-smelling silk, cotton and flesh and sought, with some initial difficulty, the consolations of Mrs Trubbshaw’s feminine charms. It was not long before we were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door and a voice calling my name. Mrs Trubbshaw recognised Mr Roffy. She gathered her outer clothes together before disappearing into the little dressing-room.
Roffy looked like a turkey who had been bought an axe for Christmas, as they said in the South. He was distraught and he held a crumpled copy of the newspaper. ‘I won’t keep you long, Colonel Peterson. I see you’ve already read the report. What do you make of it? Can it affect us?’
‘Since we’re proposing an aerodrome and fixed wing planes, I hardly think there’s a comparison. What’s more, that ship wasn’t even American made.’
He calmed down a little, but remained worried. ‘I still think it could seriously affect our plan. If our people in Washington lose their nerve, our Memphis business interests will also get cold feet. Where will that leave us?’
‘With a sound, practical and worthwhile scheme, Mr Roffy.’ I searched for the cord of my dressing-gown. ‘I share your fears, of course. But I suspect it will at worst involve a very small delay.’
‘You’re more confident than I am, sir.’ He looked vaguely, without understanding, at my rumpled bed. ‘And considerably more confident than Washington’s likely to be, what with everything else that’s going on.’
‘Then we must restore their optimism.’ I was positive and rather disapproving of his nervousness.
I think my tone made him attempt to pull himself together. ‘The problem, colonel, is how do we do it? They’ll only keep their nerve if we’re seen to be doing the same thing. We have to show that we’re completely confident in our company’s future.’