Free Black Dogs by Ian McEwan Page A

Americans will want, what will suit them best. But none of it matters. The Germans will have unity because they want it and they’ve provided for it in their constitution and no one can stop them. They’ll have it sooner rather than later because no Chancellor in his right mind is going to let the glory go to his successor. And they’ll have it on West German terms because they’re the ones who’ll be paying for it.’
    He had a way of presenting all his opinions as well-established facts, and his certainties did have a sinuous power. What was required of me was to present another view, whether I believed in it or not. Bernard’s habits of private conversation had been formed by years of public debate. A fair bout of adversarial discussion was what would bring us to the truth. As we headed towards Heathrow I obligingly argued that the East Germans might retain attachments to some features of their system and therefore might not be so easy to assimilate, that theSoviet Union had hundreds of thousands of troops in the GDR and could certainly affect the outcome if it wanted, and that marrying the two systems in practical and economic terms could take years.
    He nodded in satisfaction. His fingers still supported his chin, and he was waiting patiently for me to finish so that he could set about my arguments. Methodically, he took them in order. The enormous popular momentum against the East German state had reached a stage where lingering attachments would only be discovered too late, in the form of nostalgia; the Soviet Union had lost interest in controlling its eastern satellites. It was no longer a super-power in any but military terms, and it badly needed Western goodwill and German money; as for the practical difficulties of German union, they could be dealt with later, after the political marriage had ensured the Chancellor his place in the history books and a good chance of winning the next election with millions of new and grateful voters.
    Bernard was still talking and seemed unaware that the taxi had stopped outside our terminal. I leaned forwards and settled the fare while he was addressing at length the third of my points. The driver turned round in his seat and opened his sliding glass door to listen. He was in his fifties, completely bald, with a rubbery, babyish face and large staring eyes of a blazing fluorescent blue.
    When Bernard was done he chipped in. ‘Yeah, and then what, mate? The Krauts’ll start throwing their weight around again. That’s when the bother’ll start ...’
    Bernard flinched the moment the driver began to speak, and fumbled for his bag. The consequences of German unity were probably the next subject for debate, but instead of being drawn in, even for a condescending minute, Bernard was embarrassed and scrabbling to get out.
    ‘Where’s yer stability?’ the driver was saying. ‘Where’syer balance of power? On your eastern side you got Russia going down the tube and all them little countries, Poland and stuff, deep in the shit with debts and everything ...’
    ‘Yes, yes, you’re right, it is indeed a worry,’ Bernard said, as he gained the safety of the pavement. ‘Jeremy, we mustn’t miss that plane.’
    The driver had wound down his window. ‘On the west, you got Britain, not a European player is it, not really. Still got its tongue up the American fundament if you’ll pardon my French. Which leaves the French. Christ, the French!’
    ‘Goodbye, and thank you,’ Bernard cooed, and was even prepared to seize his own bags and totter with them to open up some distance. I caught up with him by the terminal’s automatic doors. He put his bag down in front of me and rubbed his right hand with his left as he said, ‘I simply cannot stand being harangued by cabbies.’
    I knew what he meant, but I also thought that Bernard was rather too fastidious about whom he debated with. ‘You’ve lost the common touch.’
    ‘Never had it, dear boy. Ideas were my thing.’
    Half