Unity (28 page)

I should be anywhere but here. For years longed for return to cameras and now can't wait for filming to be over. No wonder actors seen as fickle! Besides, what's the alternative? To spend the
rest of my life getting up at dawn in order to sell
The Warrior
outside Elephant and Castle tube? To give my all (body, soul & £) to Party, only to be sneered at in Press as a dilettante and by comrades as a dreamer with no experience of shop floor? G.M. on shop floor when rest of them still in playground!

10.30 p.m. Solitude so oppressive that threw on clothes and went down to bar. Mistake no 1. All the usual suspects exchanging idle gossip. L[uke] has a friend who saw Dora in
Camille
at Chichester. So what? It's a big theatre. Talks as if he'd been present at private perf for Princess Grace. Dora launched into discourse on agony of playing ‘in full corsets. It was a toss-up as to which would come first: death by constriction or consumption.' Pause for sycophantic laughter (L.). ‘Audiences are so suggestible. I've never heard such a cacophony of coughing as at the end of the play.'

Discerning patrons might take a different view. L., needless to say, lapped it up. He's an intelligent man: how can he respect a woman who calls herself spiritual just because she reads her
horoscope
each morning in the
Daily Mail
?

11.30 p.m. Bar as unbearable as bed. Ventured outside. Mistake no 2. Streets crammed with drunken revellers reeling home from
Oktoberfest
. Tried (without success) to enter into spirit of
celebration
. Small wonder that Hitler engaged in deadly virility contest when the ability to down quarts of beer is a source of national pride.

1 a.m. Returned to suite. Room service (19-year-old. Straggling moustache. Acne). Mistake no 3, 4 + 5.

He's here! Covering Schleyer case for paper. So why Germany? Surely he'd find out more abroad? Schmidt as skilful as Goebbels at manipulating media. Built up wall of silence. Kidnappers only break through by contacting foreign press.

Hence today's
Libération
prints message from guerrillas demanding that government stop playing for time. Front page picture of Schleyer with placard: ‘For 20 days a prisoner of the Red Army Group.'

He'd have done better to go to Paris.

And if Germany, why Munich? Why not Bonn to make contacts or Cologne where attack took place? Claims to have come to see Mahmoud but little love lost between them. Plain truth is that he's come to see me.

Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!

Not that he would admit it. Feigned astonishment at finding me, followed by anger at Mahmoud for not warning him. So
transparent
. But I refrain from challenging him. His male pride is the only pride that has not been crushed.

He's here and G.M. nineteen again!

He's here and as handsome as ever: the slick black hair combed back from the broad forehead; the resolute face with the angular nose and square jaw; the skin pulled tight on the rangy frame – skin as warm & soft as sand. How can a revolutionary have such soft skin? But then how can a Palestinian have such blue eyes?

Question answered at Berkeley: Crusader ancestors.

‘The imperialists raped my country six hundred years ago and have been doing so ever since.'

Such bittersweet memories. Lying beside him on a manicured lawn and listening to stories of growing up in Beirut. The only Palestinian in his school. Lebanese children refusing to sit next to him because he stank. Him – the sweetest-smelling man I ever knew! But he got his revenge. Top of the class even though he was out on the streets every night hawking gum. ‘The rich Lebanese looked away from us like fat women from a mirror. They spoke
French as if Arabic would burn their tongues like
foul
.'
130

Lebanon refused to educate Palestinians, but his teachers turned a blind eye because he was so bright. Then, one day, an official document-check after a disturbance revealed he had none, just an identity card with a large X next to nationality. ‘A man with no country has even less of himself than a man with no name.' Worse, to save his own skin, the Principal accused him of
deception
, expelling him in front of the entire school. Left to complete his education in the camp, he was brilliant enough to win a
scholarship
to Berkeley.

He showed me history with a human face.

Just to know that he's in same city makes me strong. Every street is a possibility, every stranger a friend. Enough (almost) to bring out the bourgeois in me & make me believe in the stars.

Notice that last entry didn't name him. Am I being unduly cautious? If so, I shall make up for it now. Ahmet! Ahmet! Ahmet!
131

Unsure how much of today happened yesterday & how much of yesterday today. From now on, I pledge to write this journal every night. I have no problem reconstructing events – this afternoon, we went for walk through city – but am confused by emotions (as tortuous as the streets). Thank G. not recognised! A[hmet] thought my sunglasses affected but he has no notion of
Heidi
's popularity. Wish he could have seen how I was mobbed at Ludwig's castle – just so that he could have dismissed it. He has no time for superficial celebrity. Scorned Berkeley students in awe
of G.M.'s stardom. Why should a man who works alongside George Habbash
132
be impressed by a girl who sang duet with Frank Sinatra?
133

Strolling through
Marienplatz
, spotted Sir H[allam] slumped on bench. Nurse Geraldine to the rescue. But no cause for alarm. He was simply waiting for the glockenspiel. Introduced him to A. Surprised (annoyed!) by nakedness of Sir H.'s glances. As if dark skin removed the need for discretion. Prayed that A. wouldn't notice.

Clock chimes plunged the square into silence. All eyes on
Rathaus
facade as miniature figures sprang to life. Sir H. deeply moved. ‘I come here every afternoon that I'm not called. It's like the toy theatre I had as a boy.'

Left him to lachrymose memories and proceeded to tea.

A.'s tourist talk depressed me. Plied him with questions. Wanted to know everything about everything in last 4 years. He,
tight-lipped
, claimed G.M. a temptress. Passing (joking?) ref to
sun-bathing
in training camp.

Blamed my watery eyes on scalding tea.

A., finally relaxing, revealed that he was married. Willed my blood to keep flowing. To Lela.

G.M.: Simple name.

A.: But not a simple woman. Three children, one for each year of marriage. The future of Palestine.

Couldn't help thinking of Ralf, and Himmler's attempt to
populate
Reich. Didn't know who was to be more pitied: the wife enjoined to be fertile or the children brought up in squalor of camp.

Pressed hand to A.'s chest. He jumped back as if it were rubber bullet. Assured him (with deceptive nonchalance) that I wasn't trying to force myself on him, just wondering whether he still had keys. He drew out chain. ‘Of course,' he said. ‘I shall have them until the day I die. And then my son will have them. And then my son's son. Until one day, a Samif will go back to Haifa and unlock his own front door.'

That dynastic vision explained everything. Marriage to Lela not a love match but a duty. His affections were less easily constrained. Habbash himself acknowledged as much when A. introduced us. Praised him as one of his finest men who would do great honour to the cause unless betrayed by his weakness for women. His meaning was unambiguous. Nevertheless G.M. more flattered than frightened. It confirmed my power. And A.'s unease showed that it remained undiminished. Recoiling not from me but from himself.

His feelings clear but only ½ the equation. What about mine? Is it him I want to recapture or the past? I can revisit my childhood at regular afternoon screenings, but my youth remains elusive. A. the one person who can bring it back.

Over the course of tea, he grew more expansive, admitting that his trip not simply journalistic but to liaise with various groups on behalf of PFLP. Beirut has considerable interest in the liberation of Baader.

No surprise, except for his moment of panic at having said too much (maybe G.M. a temptress after all?). Assured him that talking to me just like talking to himself – only safer.

He escorted me back to the hotel. Every nerve in my body a nettle.
He shook my hand so formally in the foyer that it would have been undignified to press for more. I went up to my suite. To my horror, found myself casting Sir H.-like glances at lift boy. To my greater horror, found them returned. Escaped post-haste down corridor. Ordered dinner in room. As a precaution, insisted that trolley be left outside door.

Last 2 days it's been easy to forget I'm working on a film – or, at any rate, this film. More like remake of classic love story. G.M.: Garbo/Claudette Colbert. A[hmet]: Rudolph Valentino in
The Sheik
.

(NB: Ahmet, if you ever read this, ref romantic not racist).

Fraught a.m. on set. W[olfram] punishing me for intimacy with R[alf]? Want to reassure him: ancient history. As things now stand, we're almost related. But respect A.'s wishes & keep mum.

W. playing Hitler to manner born. Hate to be disloyal but it may well be an improvement. R.'s agonies about part coloured the character, whereas W.'s no-nonsense approach perfectly suited to a man without self-doubt. Instructive to watch him slip between roles: one minute setting up complicated reverse shot of study; the next, preparing to annexe Austria. Assisted by attitude of unit. Everyone doubly deferential since he put on moustache &
hair-piece
.

Interior. Apartment. Diana nursing Unity through tonsillitis contracted from heiling Hitler at Anschluss. H. visits. D. runs down corridor to alert Unity, who is determined to look her best for him even on sickbed.

Point out to W. that Diana would never run. Contrary to her entire personality & training. W. deaf to reason. Complains that
Eng actors always looking for something called Character inside which they can hide. Adds that all camera requires is for person to be truly present in scene. Don't have to act being there.

G.M.: That person called Geraldine not Diana.

W.: Find Geraldine in Diana. Find Diana in Geraldine.

(Very easy when woman a fanatical fascist!)

Gerhard to rescue. Explains to W. that I'll have to walk slowly because camera too close to pan at speed.

Saved by a technicality.

Lunch with F[elicity]. As always full of latest Schleyer
developments
(proof that her boyfriend not purely decorative). Japanese government today bowed to demands of guerrillas who hijacked plane at Dacca. Agreed to release 9 revolutionaries along with ransom of $6,000,000.

F.: ‘So why is Schmidt dragging his heels? He can't win. There are millions of young people ready to take up the cause. Ours is the freedom generation.'

Felt sure she was trying to tell me something. First time she has expressed herself so clearly. Resolved to introduce her to A.

Easier said than done. Where is he? After filming, head straight to Serpent's Nest but no one has seen him all day. M[ahmoud] thinks he may have gone to Berlin to meet contacts. Why didn't he say? He can't just walk in and out of my world like a
Hollywood
father.

Go up to his room. So little luggage for such a big life. Shirts and pants scattered on floor. Press them to face and drink in clean heat of his body. Caught unawares by M. Too late for subterfuge, so slowly drop hands to sides. Surprised by the compassion of his gaze.

6 a.m.: Drove to Regensburg (standing in for Nuremberg). Bus
reminiscent of Magnolia's. Broke into the Adventure Song.
134
No chorus.

W[olfram] adopted similar solution to shooting Nuremberg rally as Anschluss. Hitler and Goebbels visit studios and watch Leni Riefenstahl editing sequence from
Triumph of the Will
.
135
W. unperturbed by discrepancy between the two Hitlers. On contrary, sees it as another means to prevent easy identification.

Only 2 scenes to be shot here.

Last night at dinner, Sir H. described visit to 1936 Rally.

Amazed … appalled. Was he a crypto-Fascist?

‘Good Lord, no! Whatever can have given you that idea?'

Attending Nuremberg Rally for a start.

‘I went courtesy of von Ribbentrop.
136
He was a friend of Emerald Cunard.
137
You met everyone at Emerald's: Wallis Simpson; Noel Coward. She'd changed her name from Maud. And who can blame her? Of course you remember her last words. “Pagne … pagne.” “Yes, dear,” the nurse said. “We know you're in pain.” “No,
champagne
. Champagne.” Such spirit. Such style. Happy days.'

He rambles like a drunk.

‘I'd started to have a certain – if I may say so – modest success in the West End and I was deluged with invitations. Von
Ribbentrop
's
was one of many. He can't have imagined that I had any influence. I abhor politics. That's why I've steered clear of Bernard Shaw.'

But Nuremberg?

‘I expect it sounds bizarre but it was almost like being in Emerald's salon. Half of London society was there. In the 1930s, an awful lot of people thought that there was something to be said for Hitler. All those clean-limbed young men on the march (such co-ordination!). One rather wished there'd been a leader like him in England. And that wasn't just the view of a ninny like me. I recently narrated a BBC documentary series about the War. I was surprised – shocked even – to discover that, as late as 1937, Churchill himself expressed admiration for Hitler's
achievements
.
138
I ventured to suggest that it might be better to omit the reference. But that cut no ice with the producer. One of the new breed of debunkers.'