The Berlin Connection by Johannes Mario Simmel

death used up the last of my savings. You iust don't know how much a reasonably decent funeral costs!"
    "When did your daughter die?"
    "On the twenty-fifth of April. Why shouldn't I tell you

    the truth? She was a morphine addict." Another bite. "Out of the hospital. Back in the hospital." A bite of bread. "At the end she loathed herself." A bite of ham. "In one of her lucid moments she drowned herself in the Elbe." A drink of beer. "He is responsible, that man!"
    "Who?"
    "Schauberg."
    "Her husband?"
    "Yes, her husband, God help us! This criminal, this scoundrel. He was addicted first! Then he made an addict of her. Many doctors who are addicted do that, I've read a book about that. They want the people close to them to sink as low as they themselves."
    "Your son-in-law is a doctor?"
    "He was. He is not allowed to practice now."
    "Why not?"
    "WeU, because of this addiction. And something happened in his office. He was an internist. He gave a wrong injection. The man died. His wife demanded an investigation. Mr. Jordan, please buy those scrapbooks from me. Help a poor old woman. Do a good deed for a woman who is the last member of a once respected family ..." She continued to talk. That I could see. But I could not hear her any more.
    Mrs. Gottesdiener's son-in-law is a doctor. He has violated his oath and the law. He is probably willing to transgress again.
    Shirley now needs a person like that. On the other side of the world, in California, Gregory will find such a person for her. Here in Hamburg I have almost found such a man for myself. How curious that Shirley and I should

    simultaneously be in need of illegal services by unscrupulous people.
    If Shirley were here now Schauberg could probably help both of us. As it is I alone can hope for his help. A million is at stake. My movie is at stake. Shirley's and my future is at stake.
    The day after tomorrow is my examination by the insurance company. "Every student in his third year of medical school could make the same diagnosis." Natasha said. What if this Schauberg were to treat me first? A doctor without scruples has so many possibilities. And this Schauberg obviously has no conscience. I hope. This is my only chance.
    And here sits Mrs. Gottesdiener, of all those people in Hamburg, eating and talking. Were I to read this in a script I would think it unbelievable and improbable.
    Chance?
    Whatever occurs outside our believable concepts is surely chance. But I think I recognize a law in all that is happening to me! I have provoked and blasphemed God. So He—assuming He exists—first dealt me a victory and then these blows. Now He lets this woman cross my path. And perhaps He is showing me a way out of my need, my darkness. I am convinced He is directing me to a definite goal.
    But if He does not exist I am just another individual.
    Among millions of destinies only my fate is unique; it is mine alone, different from all others—^by an incalculable difference, the nuance of a moment, different because I want it to be, because I, aware and of my own volition, am going toward my goal.
    Whether or not I am a toy in God's hand, there is the hand indicating the path I am to travel. I am still alive and I can still think, do, choose. Or God acts, chooses and thinks for me and pushes me toward the next break in my journey.
    Its name is Dr. Schauberg.

    "That man made her life miserable. He gambled, deceived her. And when he came back wounded from Russia she had to nurse him for two years." Mrs. Gottesdiener's voice brought me back to reality.
    "And she could have married a general!"
    "Who?"
    "My poor Victoria. He admired her greatly. And is there something better for a woman than a general? No. Not in war or in peace. Even if he loses the war! Friend and enemy show him respect. He always receives his money, his wife, his pension. No one would ever fire him." Mrs. Gottesdiener siehed. "But she wouldn't listen to me. She practically threw herself at Schauberg .. ."
    "How much do