Iron Gustav (63 page)

He would see, the nebbish! smiled Herr Roest to himself, and gave his customer careful and prudent advice. He knew that you first had to feed your birds before you could trap them in the net.

That spring the mark was remarkably firm, even recovering by fifty per cent. Erich, who believed he knew more about the fluctuations of the mark than anyone else, did no business at all. Throughout the whole of March and April the telegrams said the same thing: ‘Dora's condition unchanged. Father.' This Cuno government continued unyieldingly to support the mark through all this; the bears either experienced miserable shipwreck or were simply stranded.

Erich, getting impatient, once or twice speculated on the franc, which, however, proved incalculable. He gained a couple of thousand francs, did not sell out and eventually lost fifteen thousand. By the middle of May he was further from his object than he had been at the beginning of February. On the whole he had lost money, and living expenses in Amsterdam were exorbitant. By now his life differed in no way from that of any other habitué of the Stock Exchange. He used his hotel room only for a couple of hours in the morning; the rest of the day he hung about banks and offices, listening to the brokers' jargon or waiting feverishly for the New York opening quotations (even if he was not involved). His nights were spent in cafés and bars – not having carried out his original intention of acquiring a permanent lady friend, he contented himself with the pleasures occasionally to be found in such places. He was now twenty-six years of age and had already noticed that women had lost much of their attractiveness for him – much more important was the best of food and wine, though not to excess. Rapidly he became fat and slothful.

At
heart, however, he was more restless than ever, obsessed by the thought of money; he wanted to get back what he had lost and multiply it twenty times over. And on this idea he would brood for hours, sitting over his coffee, a dead cigar between his lips. He made a thousand plans but even when one of them appeared reasonably safe he shrank at the last moment from the risk. Poverty scared him. He had had a taste of that once – of what he considered poverty – with his parents. Never again! He must hold onto his money. And as a last resource there was always his friend in Berlin. But maybe this friend was no longer a friend, although he had entrusted him with so considerable a sum of money. It might be a trap.

Early in May, arriving at his hotel about five o'clock in the morning, he was informed that a gentleman had been waiting for him since the previous evening; from the night porter's expression it could be gathered that this gentleman was of no great importance. And in truth the visitor, who had to be shaken out of a deep sleep in an armchair, did not look very impressive; he was a young fellow, poorly dressed and badly nourished, like all those now inundating Amsterdam from Germany. He stated that he came from the gentleman's friend in Berlin and his message could be delivered only in private. Erich Hackendahl took the lad up to his room. Here, without further ado, the visitor slipped off his jacket and took out from its lining a slip of paper folded several times.

Erich took it reluctantly and unfolded it. It was a typewritten message to the effect that within three or four days the Reichsbank would withdraw its support from the mark and that Erich should be a bear with all he possessed. ‘What I foretold is now about to come off.'

Erich gave the lad a ten-guilder note and promised him a further hundred if the message brought him luck. He should come and enquire in a week's time.

He did not sleep that night, brooding over what he should do. Might this not be the moment his friend had chosen for his revenge? Nothing on the exchange had pointed to any such collapse. During the last four weeks the mark had slowly fallen but it was still higher than at the end of January. Supposing he did as instructed and
speculated for a fall with all he possessed – supposing his friend was deceiving him and the mark remained firm? He shuddered.

The expedient upon which he finally decided was characteristic of Erich. He himself would wait for a time but the money his friend had entrusted to him should be invested in conformity with the message. Roest urged him to desist. ‘The Germans are standing firm in the Ruhr. The mark is like iron.' But Erich was also of iron, with his friend's money.

A fortnight later he was cursing himself. Support had been withdrawn and the mark had fallen; he had earned on his friend's money fifty thousand marks, but he could easily have earned half a million. The friend had been a genuine friend and he a suspicious fool. Of little consolation was the studied respect paid him by Herr Roest. The greenhorn had known more than the whole Stock Exchange in Amsterdam – if he'd given me a hint I'd have gone in with him – and we'd be in clover now, I can tell you!

And Herr Roest dried his sweating face on a silk handkerchief.

From that day onwards Erich's affairs became lively. Telegrams from Berlin announced a worsening of Dora's condition; Erich no longer mistrusted them or his friend, but rather his own timidity – it was now a question of estimating how quickly the mark would fall. And on that point also messages came from Berlin, telegrams or sometimes by hand.

Towards the end of July Erich was a millionaire. But a million was nothing – Roest was involved on the Stock Exchange to the extent of fifteen! In August, when the Cuno government fell and was replaced by a Cabinet under Dr Stresemann, when once again friendly tones were to be heard vis-à-vis France, when the dollar rose from one to ten million marks, Erich possessed over five millions in gold marks. But he had done it on his nerves, sleeping only with the help of drugs, avoiding all exercise, conversing unwillingly. He sat two hours over his lunch and could talk the jargon of the Stock Exchange to perfection; brokers greeted him respectfully, bankers asked in a friendly way for his opinion on the Norwegian currency. His hair was getting very thin …

But all this was only a beginning – the riot hadn't started yet. In
September passive resistance in the Ruhr was given up and within three weeks the dollar had risen from twenty to one hundred and sixty million marks. Erich no longer knew how much he was worth. The greater part of his fortune was involved in various commitments, with quotations fluctuating continually. Sometimes he pulled himself together and tried to work it out, but he got confused; the endless columns of figures exhausted him and he gave it up.

I'll stop now, he swore to himself. Only once more …

Erich Hackendahl had always been a bear; he had made his fortune on the collapse of the mark, on the collapse of the German currency. Never go back to Germany, he said often, and everyone agreed. But he knew that the mark must stop falling one day, and be stabilized somehow. Already there were rumours of a gold currency, even of one based on rye. Throughout the whole of October, while the mark plunged down into milliards, there was a noticeable uncertainty. When would it stop? Would it be possible to get out in time?

Erich was preoccupied with these questions. He had known beforehand when the mark was no longer to be supported and had been a coward about it. This time he would get his tip, and this time he would risk everything. Risk? No risk at all. The friend was a real friend. Every tip of his had come straight from the horse's mouth. Once only – just once – Erich wanted to be a bull, and then he would get out. He even intended to settle accounts honestly with his friend, who should have no cause for regret.

During the latter part of October, rumours and uncertainty about the mark increased. A Rentenbank had been established in Berlin. At what level would the mark be stabilized? Erich decided to send a messenger to his friend. He found a German waiter who, because he was homesick, wanted to go back to Germany (what a great idea!), paid him his travel money and sent him back to Berlin with a note.

On 1 November he received through a messenger the information that the mark would be stabilized at a dollar parity of 420 milliards, the dollar then standing at 130. One day … another day … and Erich still hesitated. Then, on the third day, the dollar being quoted
at 420 milliards, he made his decision, cursing his cowardice and putting everything he possessed on at 420. The bear for the first time became a bull.

‘God save you,' exclaimed Roest. ‘You're in for it! I shall hear you bellowing tomorrow.'

Herr Roest was mistaken: 4 November came and went; the mark remained firm. Erich triumphed and trembled. On the 5th Herr Roest became doubtful. Was the greenhorn right after all? The fellow had been recommended from Berlin. Ought he himself to jump in now? There was still time … No, no, no, he wouldn't, he put no faith in the Germans. Despairingly he wiped his face.

On 6 November the mark was still like iron, standing at 420 milliards. Erich calculated his gains, his fortune. If he deducted half a million gold marks for his Berlin adviser, there remained about twenty-three million marks.

I've brought it off, he thought, and fell asleep.

But an hour or two later he was woken by the telephone. ‘Where are you? Why are you sleeping?' exclaimed Herr Roest from the receiver. ‘The mark's opened weak, the dollar has come in at 510, and the man's asleep! You're done for.'

Very quietly Erich put the receiver back. He did not get up. He stayed in bed; there was no strength in his limbs. I'm beaten, he told himself. He's taken me in.

Yet he could not believe it. All those months of merciless hell – and to what end? The loss of everything! It was impossible. He rang up a broker. The dollar was quoted at 590.

‘Come and see, the mark's done for. What a currency! Enough to make you sick.'

But he didn't go, he didn't cut his losses. He lay in bed, trembling with fright. It was exactly the same fright as he had known in the trenches. If I'd gone with him into that café, he thought, I'd be well off now.

Yesterday, even twelve hours ago, he had believed that success was his – twenty-three millions! And he recalled how he had had to cringe, cheat, deny himself to scrape together the first twenty thousand. I'll never be able to do it again, he thought despairingly. And
what then? For a man of his sort, who had become what he had become, it was impossible to return to nothingness, to poverty, to some petty job, for instance. Well?

Twice he put through a trunk call to Berlin and each time cancelled it.

Roest implored him to come and rescue all that could be rescued. Actually there was still something to save, even with the dollar quoted at 630 milliards. He could have retrieved part of his money.

He dressed and left the hotel. No, he didn't drive this time; he walked. He went to neither broker nor banker, he went to the Rijksmuseum. He wanted to see the Rembrandts.

But 7 November, almost exactly the fifth anniversary of the armistice, was not his lucky day – the museum was closed. I'll come again tomorrow, he thought. I would like to have seen the Rembrandts at least …

On his way back to the hotel he had an inspiration, and slapped his forehead. It was quite clear: the German government was behind this fall in German currency. It wanted to buy back its marks cheaply, so as to stabilize at 420. A colossal deal at the expense of the world's money markets!

He spoke like his father. ‘I'm of iron. I'll hang on till the mark goes to 420. Iron!'

For six days, from 7 to 12 November, he held on, the dollar standing without fluctuations at 630 milliards; he still hoped for stabilization at 420, in accordance with his friend's message. The brokers, since his deposits still covered his losses, left him in peace. Only the banker Roest said: ‘You've got to be as cast-iron as the mark is! You're lost.'

On 13 November the dollar was quoted at 840 milliards – exactly double what Hackendahl counted on. That day the brokers closed his accounts, collecting his margins to cover his losses. Hurrying from one to another, he begged them to wait only another day; he swore that the mark would be stabilized at 420.

They shrugged, they smiled. Roest said: ‘They all like to win, these small fry, but not to lose … Herr Hackendahl, be a man. You've still got a fine car, a diamond ring, no family – I've been worse off in my time.'

Again
and again Erich put through a call to Berlin – not till evening did he get his friend on the telephone. But by the sound of his voice he felt at once there was no hope.

Nice of Erich to ring him after all this time … How was he doing? Why had he been silent so long? What was he doing in Amsterdam? Ah, business going badly? Really? Business bad, eh? Worrying … for Erich! What was that? Written? By wire? He was joking, surely! Hopefully, Erich hadn't been taken in by some practical joker. But of course he was much too shrewd for that. No, not that tone, please, in spite of their friendship. Letters? Telegrams? One moment, please, Erich.

‘The Managing Clerk speaking. Yes. Herr Justizrat has just asked me to take down your grievances in case the matter goes further. You allege you received letters and telegrams from Herr Justizrat? Herr Justizrat asks me to inform you that he has neither written nor telegraphed you at any time. His name must have been used, then. Oh, the letters weren't signed? But what makes you assume …'

Hopeless. Erich hung up. He thought of suicide the whole night, but no way of doing it seemed sure and painless enough. The two had to go together. And nothing there corresponded to Erich's wishes.

The dissolution of his Amsterdam household went much quicker than the Berlin one. He only had to sell his car. As much money as he might temporarily have possessed in Amsterdam, he hadn't owned anything but the car. So this time he had nothing to fear from Customs; even if he was still well kitted out, none of his things looked new any more.

With three suitcases, one gentleman's fur coat, a diamond ring and a gold watch, Erich Hackendahl departed from Amsterdam with a burning, heartfelt hatred for his former friend. It was 16 November 1923. The dollar stood at 2,520,000,000,000 against the mark. The question as to what rate of exchange the mark would be stabilized at was still unanswered.