The Orchids

FROM THE VERANDAH it is easy to envision what would happen should the forces currently embattled in the northern provinces gain dominion and close in around the capital of El Presidente. The small, tidy airport at the edge of city would fill with mink-coated and bejeweled refugees. They would raise their tents under the cupola of the terminal and drink wine while waiting for news of the enemy’s advance. Over the backgammon boards, and through the mist of pink champagne, they would converse on the former splendors of the Republic and mourn the death of petty empire.

In the Leader’s capital city, that blessed locale which he had destined to be the Eldorado of the world, the high officials of the New Order gathered together in the dank squalor of their underground abode. There they drank tea and ate custard while listening to the Leader’s glittering tales of what might have been, if all men were as mighty as himself. Overhead the city turned to rubble, filling the sewers with the homeless and dismayed.

But as the advancing armies moved closer to the Camp, all became chaos and terror, with both guards and surviving prisoners sensing some final drama of absolute destruction. For Langhof, there became only one duty, to warn Ginzburg.

Glancing over his shoulder, Langhof made his way down the hall to Ginzburg’s room. He knocked on the door.

“Yes?” he heard Ginzburg say.

Langhof opened the door. “I’ve just heard news,” he said. “The Camp will fall in a matter of days.”

Ginzburg rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “So?”

“So? What do you mean?”

Ginzburg shrugged. “So, the Camp will fall. What am I to do about it?”

“You must save yourself, Ginzburg. You must do it now. No one can say what might happen to the prisoners who remain here.”

“Then there are many to save, Langhof,” Ginzburg said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re doomed.”

“And what about you?”

Langhof shook his head. “I don’t care about me.”

Ginzburg smiled. “But you do care about me, is that it?”

“Well, yes. I do.”

“Why is that, Langhof, may I ask?”

Langhof looked at Ginzburg quizzically. “Well, because you are …”

“What?”

“Because you’re an intelligent man, Ginzburg. There’s no need for you to die.”

“Intelligent?” Ginzburg said, amazed. “Intelligent? You have piped half the scholarship of Europe up those chimneys and you speak to me of intelligence!”

“That cannot be undone, Ginzburg,” Langhof said pleadingly. “But you can save yourself.”

Ginzburg laughed derisively. “Save myself? Really? How, Langhof?”

“Speak to Kessler. He may help you.”

“To do what?”

“To escape, for God’s sake. Don’t you understand what I’m telling you?”

Ginzburg sat up in his bed. “Forget it, Langhof. There is no way for me to escape.”

“Are you sure Kessler wouldn’t help you?”

“Kessler would kill me himself before letting me get out of here alive,” Ginzburg said. “My God, do you think he would let me live, with what I know about him?”

Langhof straightened himself. “Then I will help you,” he said.

“You? You are nothing, Langhof. A petty functionary. You would not be able to save yourself, much less me.”

Langhof sat down on the bunk next to Ginzburg. “Surely there must be something I can do for you,” he said.

Ginzburg looked at Langhof a moment. “Yes, perhaps there is.” He got down from the bunk, lifted a loose plank from the floor, and brought out a small metal box.

“Here, take this,” he said.

Langhof looked at the box. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

Langhof slowly opened the box and saw the diamonds. He looked up, astonished. “My God, where did you get all this?”

“I’ve been here a long time. You’d be surprised what’s passed through my hands.”

“But so much!”

Ginzburg smiled. “I have friends everywhere, Langhof.”

Langhof looked down at the diamonds. “What were you going to do with these?”

Ginzburg smiled. “What do you want, a noble answer? Perhaps I was going to use them to build a great monument for the victims of this place. Does that satisfy you?”

“Why did you keep them, Ginzburg?”

Ginzburg shrugged. “Because they were too valuable to throw away. I used to buy things with them. But this is not a great place to shop, you know. There wasn’t much to buy. They just kept accumulating.”

“These could get you out of the Camp,” Langhof said.

Ginzburg shook his head. “No. Nothing could do that now.”

Langhof lifted the box toward Ginzburg. “So keep them, then.”

“No,” Ginzburg said, “that would be ridiculous. The Camp will be overrun soon, as you said. They mean to kill us all, all the people who look like me.”

Langhof continued to press the box toward Ginzburg’s hands. “I don’t want these. What would I do with them?”

“Whatever you like.”

“No,” Langhof said, “I could never take them.”

“Look, Langhof,” Ginzburg said, “if I had other choices I might keep them. But there’s no hope for me. No hope at all. There’s no way I can escape. There’s no way anyone can escape now. You may not even make it yourself. But you have a better chance than anyone else I know.”

“Do you really think I could take such things and live off them? Please, Ginzburg, I’m not that monstrous.”

“I want you to take them, Langhof,” Ginzburg said, “because I think that as long as you have them you will think about this place. There must always be someone who thinks about this place. Not someone who just remembers, but someone who thinks.” He pushed the box back toward Langhof. “Please take them.”

Langhof stood up and tucked the box under his arm. “Perhaps we will both make it out of here.”

Ginzburg smiled. “If we do, then we’ll go out one night, and I’ll show you the best burlesque in Paris.”