The House on 92nd Street or Life With The FBI

To New Masses.—Many things happen in a person's lifetime, and many things happened to me, too. But what is going on right now is quite unusual, and that is why I want to write about n.

There was a time, way back in Germany, when I was trailed by the Gestapo. They came across some pamphlets in a working-class district, denouncing their Fuehrer and nis ideas, and they got a hunch I might have something to do with it. So they followed me wherever I went, and young and inexperienced as I was, I was completely unaware of the shadows that followed my path. It was quite a surprise and a shock to me when later one of the bandits told me that on such and such a day he and his colleague ate in a certain restaur ant at the same time as I did. Well, to make a long story short, it did cost me a bad time in Hitler's prison, and looking back I was certainly lucky to have got away so "cheaply."

I found asylum in many countries, but wherever I went Hitler went too, and finally I had to cross the ocean and came to the U.S. With Hitler Germany defeated and the Nazis crushed I thought it might be a good idea to go back there and work in the ranks of decent, democratic Ger-mans in their terrific job despite the fact that I am Jewish, and that it was from the hands of Germans that my family met their most cruel fate.

There were very exciting days of saying goodbye to all my dear American friends, and it was not easy to say farewell to New York, which I love and which was home to me for so many years. But one morning I woke up and found myself the wife of a super-duper "Kremlin agent," with my name and picture in all the papers and all the fanfare the American press gives so-called "sensations."

I must have had a very naive notion of the FBI, thinking of it as a kind of secret police that follows one very discreetly and in such a way that one is not aware that all his movements are watched. I learned better these last days.' I and the whole street on which I live can watch them. I know all their habits, their gestures and their peculiarities. There are about six to eight FBI men attached to us day and night, posted at strategic points. Two in the courtyard, two half a flight above our apartment, sitting on our stairs, sticking their heads out as soon as the door opens or some-one rings the bell. The rest sit in two, sometimes even three cars, always ready to turn the motor on. When we leave the house, the employees of that great American educator, J. Edgar Hoover, go with us. When we go shopping they post themselves right in front of the door, frightening the storekeepers who would like to talk to us a little. When we go to a restaurant they occupy the table next to us; when we go to the movies they sit in the row behind us. The other day we thought they should get something good for their money and we went to see the picture "Russia on Parade."

My husband likes to take long Walks, and whether they like it or not (chances are they do not like it) they have to walk with him quite a few city blocks. I think they like restaurants and movies best. We, of course, do what we can for them. Sometimes they get bored standing around downstairs, so they play with the children in my street. The most popular game with the children now is "FBI." They sing in a chorus and print the three letters on the sidewalk.

There is sightseeing, too. People from the neighbouring streets come around and the natives show them where the "Moscow Spy" lives. I don't blame the people in my street for keeping the vigil with the FBI. They have the time of their lives. After all, how often does it happen that a neighbour, whom they thought to be a nice, mild-mannered man, turns out to be the boss of all the Reds? That sensation has to be enjoyed to the last drop. But they are kind of bewildered by our behaviour. We walk through the street, go to the grocer as if nothing happened. One woman expressed the good instinct of the common people and their sense of justice when she asked the simple question: Why Were the Communists good enough to help us win the war, and why are they persecuted now?

Why that psychological warfare against us? What kind of "ersatz" prison is this supposed to be? Even if "Life With Father" had a run of several years, I hope our "Life With the FBI" will end soon. We bore each other to death.