Fear of Mirrors. Tariq Ali

of his own in Dresden, a new publishing house in Munich or Vienna or, indeed, anything else that Vlady desired.

      Vlady smiled gratefully, but shook his head.

      ‘Listen to me carefully, Vlady. You saved my life. Can I ever forget? Now I am rich. More money than I ever dreamt of. My children, my wife will have enough after I am gone. The money still keeps coming. I want to help you. What’s the problem, Vlady? A moral dilemma? Yes? Why?’

      Vlady was touched and his expression softened.

      ‘The dilemma is existential, not moral. How to live is far less important a question than whether to live. Gerhard resolved the problem by hanging himself in his garden in Jena, but I …’

      ‘But not you, Vladimir Meyer.’ Sao gripped his friend’s arm as if he were a prisoner of war. ‘Not you. I will not, I cannot believe that you can just give up. So you’ve been sacked by a bunch of bastards from the West. Fight back with both fists. I’ll fund your counterattack. Remember the line from Brecht you taught me so many years ago: “Were a wind to arise I could put up a sail; were there no sail I’d make one of canvas and sticks.”’

      Vlady smiled.

      ‘Not only is there no wind, but the whole sea is occupied by giant ships with only one shanty to sing. Not Brecht, but “Deutschmark, deutschmark uber alles”. The reunification has gone to their head, Sao. Do you know what some of them are saying? Unless we grow even greater, we shall become less.’

      Sao grinned, pleased to see Vlady angry again. ‘What about the snails?’ he asked, referring to the SPD. ‘Young Karl is doing well, which is good for me. If I have a friend in the Chancellery my business will prosper even more. You just calm down, Vlady. The new Germany is not an embryo of a Fourth Reich. Some idiots may dream of that, but the German bourgeoisie will not make the same mistake twice. Never. I’m sure the SPD will win again.’

      ‘Not for some time. They need a brain transplant to halt the decline. But enough of dead politics and living-dead politicians. I want to know where your money is coming from, Sao. And I want the truth.’

      Sao smiled. ‘You mean you’ve forgotten? I told you everything. About myself, my family, my money. Everything. Remember the week we spent together. The week before reunification. You have forgotten. You were very drunk on freedom and democracy. My life story, by contrast, seemed insignificant. Never mind. You were right. It is insignificant. Vlady, I must go next door and call the West Coast. Business. I won’t be long. Have some more cognac. There are many things I have to tell you.’

      Vlady was indignant. He looked at his watch. Thirty-seven minutes past midnight.

      ‘You can make your filthy phone calls later. First I want the truth. And, by the way, I’ve forgotten nothing. It’s just that your life story has acquired a new instalment. Am I right or wrong?’

      Sao settled back in his chair again and sighed. ‘Well?’ said the Vietnamese, refilling his glass.

      ‘I still want my answer, Sao. Where’s it all coming from now? Drugs or weapons?’