We all stood about while his little parable was supposed to be sinking in. He added that the natives believed white blood to be talismanic against the powers of hell. It was the only way that they could explain the unpunished recklessness of the Europeans.

I made no comment. Finally, Flaherty blurted out, “They’re dying, for God’s sake! The main thing is to let them die in peace.”

****30 August. Received a card from Wagner in Berlin. He is well. Max Schreck is going to star as General von Seeckt in a play called Poison Gas Over Berlin. Apparently based on a real incident, hushed up, involving a medium bomber that almost crashed the previous summer in the Tiergarten. Sure to raise a hullabaloo about the rearmament policies. Reminds me of the furor surrounding a Toller play at the Grosses Schauspielhaus about an infernal machine that stood for something pernicious in German society (authority? bureaucracy? beer?). The play was always being shut down in the second act by a storm of applause, or of whistling, seat-pounding, and catcalls.

****2 September. Finally: Spiess.

An envelope addressed to me was discovered at the Residency on an island due north of here, Starbuck Island. Inside was a latitude and longitude. I left that day, with Crosby.

It was a two-day sail to a place called Phoenix Island. On the second afternoon it emerged from a blue haze, the culmination of all this searching. Then the clouds rolled in and took it away.

At the pier we asked about Europeans. No one knew anything. Crosby suggested using francs, and it quickly became evident how many francs were involved. Crosby reminded me that the amount further damaged our already chaotic budget.

We were led through the jungle, streaming sweat. The heat was otherworldly. We dream-walked through the vegetation in a covered house of heat. The air was breathless, though overhead the river of trade winds streamed without pause.

Finally we came to the wreck of a hut, surrounded by high weeds. Behind the hut was a long, cleared field. On the field: Aviatiks!

Three old two-seaters, two with cannibalized engines. All three had long since lost their fabric.

War relics, it was explained.

I stood among them, speechless. Allmenröder’s face came back to me. I’d heard of aircraft shipped around the world to protect German interests.

“Did you fly in these?” Crosby asked.

Our guide demanded payment. Crosby took him aside.

An oilskin packet was lashed to the stick in the first plane’s forward cockpit. On it someone had drawn one of Grau’s old cabalistic signs from Nosferatu. The letter inside read:

My Inhibited Murnau, if you get this far—

Remember these? I thought it would be salutary for you to view them again.