The Need for Better Regulation of Outer Space by Pippa Goldschmidt Page A

dusty cinema off Schönhauser Allee? Why does he have to be here in a city so full of film sets and flimflam and fake emotions that nobody can tell what is real anymore? His eyes fill.
    ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ asks Laughton.
    ‘Dear Charles!’ Brecht places a hand on his arm, ‘I was just thinking about Elsa in that film. Who could ever forgether performance as the monster’s bride? The most terrifying hairstyle ever seen in the movies.’
    I’m due to meet Walter. We’ve arranged to meet on a street corner like proper spooks, and when I get there he’s wearing this long mac and pulled his hat down low over his face, so that he looks a bit like a coat stand propped up against the wall.
    ‘Any news on Brecht since your last report?’ He starts to pick dirt out from under his fingernails with one of his matches.
    ‘He’s still working on that play with Laughton,’ I try not to sound bored. I guess that’s why Walter arranged to meet me here, to add a bit of excitement to the whole affair. Following people is boring, but I know it beats the hell out of any other possibilities available to me so I hold my tongue.
    ‘You’ve been able to follow them? Every day?’
    ‘Sure. Apart from one day. They went to a studio.’
    ‘Never mind that. You told me Brecht is talking to someone about some music?’
    ‘Yeah, Eisler. He’s written a song for the play.’
    ‘Do they talk about anything else?’
    ‘No. Well, sometimes, they reminisce about Berlin. I guess it’s their equivalent of the good old days.’
    ‘Do they talk about Eisler’s brother?’
    ‘His brother? No I don’t think so. What’s his name?’
    ‘Gerhard. Let me know if they do.’
    ‘Right.’ I stifle a yawn.
    He glances at me from underneath the brim of his hat, ‘You heard about this ceremony at Pasadena campus next week? To give Oppenheimer an award for the Bomb.’
    ‘Yeah?’ As far as I’m concerned Oppenheimer can have every award going for dropping the Bomb on Japan and stopping the war. Should have blown up the whole damn country, not just two cities.
    ‘You know about the demonstration that’s been planned to disrupt it?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Really? I’m surprised. It’s your little friend who’s organising it. Seems she’s quite a ringleader. As soon as you told us about her wanting to see Brecht, we looked her up. Interesting, very interesting.’
    ‘You want me to – stop seeing her?’
    ‘Stan… of course not. She’s your friend. And she could be a very useful friend. So, when you meet her tonight and try and charm your way into her panties, just make sure and ask her about this demonstration. We want to know what she’s planned. Otherwise, she may find herself helping us with our enquiries. And buy her a gardenia. She’ll like that.’
    He walks off at this point, leaving me just standing there, thinking about too much and not looking at what’s right in front of my nose, so that a fat woman carrying a lot of bags collides with me and curses under her breath.
    ‘Ma’am,’ I tip my hat at her before walking away in the opposite direction to Walter. That’s the way I’ve been taught by him and there’s no doubt he’s instructed me well. That’s why I told Walter about meeting Hiroko because it seemed relevant to the job. But I didn’t tell him everything, so how did he know about our date?
    I walk along this street, impatient to get home and prepare for the evening, but the façades of LA are endless and I am walking for a long time.
    Helene is always so calm, thinks Brecht, but she has nothing to do here. Hardly anyone knows her for what she really is. She does not fit in with the girls who sip sugary drinks in the diners on Wilshire Boulevard, waiting to be discovered and transformed into starlets. She is so calm because she has faced it all, the murder of her relatives, the imposition of being anexile over and over again in too many countries. And lastly, the baby. His but not hers. She was