Pas Robles

Short Story

It was as dry as dust for the grasses were yellow and the few pine trees were like tinderboxes waiting to catch on fire. The only passenger to depart the train was looking out the open door and saw naked hills and a few buildings along Spring Street. He looked at his newspaper and saw the date for the millionth time: 12 July 1940. At this point to where his hat rather than carry it with the bag because he could see that and was going to be hot outside even in the valley. He reset the handle and then adjusted his gloves. He searched and found a stand of oaks perhaps it was good luck.

At least there was nothing coming from the sky. He hefted his typewriter case and weighed it. It was heavy.

Soon the connection would be made to Railroad Street and he could hide in the Paso Robles and await his brother. He was not the highest class of visitor. It was a very different world from San Francisco, where the streets were busy, and pedestrians went up and down the sidewalk. There was night and fog on the streets there. Dahl thought there would be more people on Powell Street than would be seen in this small sleepy village about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. A world away from fire breaking out in China and England.

The nearest town was only a few miles south. It was called San Luis Obispo, but it only had about twice as many people as here and would be unnoticed by travelers from the East. He felt the train move onto the running track in front of the station. He could tell that such buildings as could be found became more numerous, but the hills remained dry. But it was that way for most of the southern part of the state because it did not have for seasons but only two: the dry season and the wet season, and the wet season was very short.

The conductor in front of him looked back and asked: “Are you going to Paso Robles?” but the town name was Anglicized in his pronunciation because the last syllable became indistinct. Funny how a conductor who heard Spanish all the time could not say a few words. In fact, Dahl had heard some on the way down. It was easy enough to learn.

He looked at the conductor and said, “Yes this is my destination, I came from San Francisco to be with my brother.” Which was enough of a lie that it held the kernel of truth. He looked out on the hills and noticed that there were trellises for wine production, something that was new here.

The conductor popped up the floor to expose the downward stairs. Dahl smirked because there had been a long-running fight to have the station raised, but nothing had come of it. He watched the ground fluctuate through the stairs with gravel and stones creating a collage that turned gray. Slowly the train eased its way to a stop. The conductor got off first and Dahl lifted his suitcase in one hand and his typewriter in the other waving goodbye to the conductor he went into the station.

The station itself was two stories with a low-angled roof that betrayed its origin in the last century. He could see that the train line divided the village into two distinct pieces: there was the nice, neat grid of the business district and the low rolling hills of the wealthy divided by El Camino Real and the muddy Salinas River. The former was the main North-South divide here in California.

Already waiting for him was his brother who reached out with an open hand. They greeted each other first with a handshake and then with an open embrace. His brother took his suitcase and went out to a blue DeSoto sedan. This too was familiar and while it had a few more dents was still comforting. Dahl noted that his brother had gotten a new license plate number – “DDD 88.” Dahl got into the car and was driving south’s brother looked up and down the highway looking a little uneasy.

“I take it your coming here was no coincidence.”

“Of course not, I am scouting here for Uncle Sam.”

“I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but is a war coming?”

“There has been a war since the 1930s in China and last year in Europe. So, you have to forgive me in say, there is a war here now and the US is probably going to join it.”

“You sound very certain.”

“This is all off the record officially the president remains neutral, but it is a loud kind of neutral.”

“The be the view from Washington and the East, but here in the outline regions, we part of the colonial hinterlands. We are broke and poor beyond recognition.”

“Well, that at least is going to change. Because there will be two wars one in Europe and one in the Pacific. And a lot of changes are going to be felt in every region of these United States.”

They were going out into the countryside to where the family had a ranch with a side business of almonds that kept the mortgage paid. “ you can tell me more about the large picture later, but what I want to know is what is going to happen here.”

They walked their way into the ranch house where the almond trees were dark green, and the grass was that distinct yellow that comes with the dirty dry season.

Once they got into the kitchen Dahl put down the typewriter case and took off his hat.

His brother started speaking: “How are you so sure that the USA is going to get into this war? Many people feel that this war is something being fought over there.”

“Do you know who Edward R. Murrow is?”

“I have heard him on CBS on their program World News Roundup.”

“First he reported from Berlin, and now the United Kingdom for several months and reports on the fear and bravery of the London people.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with us here.”

“The Government of France has fallen. And now there are gusts that England will be next. Italy has joined Germany. And the Nazi Aircraft has gone over London. Bombs are hitting. Famine is rumor everywhere and civilians suffering is like putting your head in the fire.”

“I have heard this. Do you think that we will join England?”

“Twisted metal and pulverized concrete. That is why Simpson has been appointed the Secretary of War. It is coming here. I don’t think there is any other decision but to side with Winston.”

The brother looked out the window. “But the words from the president say otherwise.”

“He needs to get reelected. And the president is also a politician. And whenever politicians need to say to win the election, they will say it.”

“You work for the man.”

“I’m just telling you what I’ve seen in the last seven years.”

“You think he will run?”

“There is no doubt about that, is just that there has never been a third term, even if the then-president wanted it. After all, Grant wanted a third term.”

His brother stood up, turned his back, and went to a drawer that contained cutlery. Thrashing about trying to find just the right utensil. From this angle, his brother asked: “Do you think that the United States can defeat Germany and Japan?”

“It is going to be a close-run thing, but we have the industrial might that will eventually turn out a military machine likes of which no one has dreamed of.”

Then his brother turned around and in his hand there was Mauser C96. “I’m afraid you made a tremendous mistake coming here.”

Dahl looked down into the muzzle.

“That looks like the product of German engineering.”

“You are quite right. I have been a member of the party for three years. I was hoping he would not return.”

“Which is why you were surprised when I sent you a letter two weeks ago?”

“It did sound suspicious but then you did work for the government. So, I assumed you were looking for places to set up military bases and so on.”

“No, actually I had a more specific mission.”

“Oh? What was that?”

“It does not matter now. Are you going to shoot me?”

“They told me it would be hard to shoot my brother.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, very. Though disposing of the body is easy.”

Then his brother seemed to lose his grip and the Mauser slipped from his hand. Then he slumped.

Then Dahl stood up and went over to his brother who was now lying on the floor.

“I too needed to have stern stuff. Because I too was sent to - how do you not say it? Abbeförderung? That is a euphemism for killing. You knew I had a gift for languages.”

The brother tried to mouth words, but no sound came out.

“Don’t bother with words. I put cyanide on my luggage. I knew that you would take that from me.” And then showed his gloves. “It did not occur to you to ask why I had gloves on such a hot day.”

It was at this point that the brother looked into his face.

“There were signs, things like the license plate that you ordered. That was a year ago. DDD 88. DDD stands for Deutschland den Deutschen and 88 is for Heil Hitler.”

His brother clasped his neck, but it was clear he was still holding on.

“Of course, I had to make sure, which is why I inserted Berlin as Edward R Murrow's first stop. Murrow never reported from Berlin. But you knew the exact name of the program. So you had to be a regular listener. Now ease down and go to sleep.” Dahl shut his brother’s eyes.

A week later, the car was found in the valley with his brother at the wheel.