The Virus by Stanley Johnson Page B

turned to his wife. “Heidi, are you coming?”
    Frau Schmidtt seemed in two minds. It was clear to Kaplan that she was anxious not to let her husband too far out of sight, but a look of resignation suddenly passed over her face.
    “No, you two go. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. Try not to be late.”
    Schmidtt and Kaplan walked together through the town. Even though it was past eleven o’clock, the steep narrow streets were still crowded, and from the bars and wine cellars came the noise of students.
    “The university is still in session,” said Professor Schmidtt. “They’ll be breaking up for the summer in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, they’re getting in some drinking before they go.” He laughed again. “We may join them eh, Lowell, old friend?”
    The sound of singing blared up from one of the cellars. Kaplan recognized the tune. “Isn’t that the old Horstwessel song? I thought it had been banned in Germany since the fall of the Third Reich.”
    Schmidtt looked a bit embarrassed. “These things tend to creep back, you know. In any case, the Horstwessel song was never officially banned. It just wasn’t sung. We in Germany prefer not to be remembered of the Nazi era.”
    Schmidtt’s English — or rather American — was normally so perfect that Kaplan was surprised at the grammatical mistake: “remembered” for “reminded”. He hoped his host had not been too rattled by his reference earlier that evening to the Marburg virus.
    He put his hand on the other man’s arm as they walked. “Franz, I hope you didn’t mind what I said. I didn’t mean to upset Heidi. You know me well enough to know that.”
    “Of course, I realize that.” Franz half-turned as he walked to look his friend in the face. “But you must be aware, Lowell, that even though some things have crept back, like the song you just heard, there are other things we still prefer not to talk about. What happened here in Marburg in 1967 is one of those things.”
    “Can you tell me about it now?”
    “Later. I want to show you something first. I think it will help you to understand.”
    They ducked under an archway and climbed down half-a-dozen steps. The street was so narrow that three people could not have walked along it abreast.
    “This is the oldest part of the old city. It dates back to the earliest part of the Middle Ages. The university’s clubs have always met here. Remember that the university is almost as old as the town itself. They have grown up together. Each one needs the other. Ah, I think we have arrived.”
    Franz Schmidtt gave three short knocks, followed by three long knocks.
    “Is that a code?”
    “Yes, of a sort.”
    The door opened. A young bearded man confronted them, and Schmidtt said something to him in German. The man laughed.
    “What’s he saying?” Kaplan asked.
    “He’s saying you’re never too old. Once a Hessenkraut, always a Hessenkraut.”
    “And who or what is a Hessenkraut?”
    “Literally, a cabbage from Hesse. Actually, it’s the oldest fraternity in Marburg. And the most famous. The Chancellor himself is a member, and so is half the German cabinet. They’ve all been at Marburg University at one time or another. They were all Hessenkrauts.”
    “As you know, we have Phi Beta Kappa in the States. Is it the same kind of thing?”
    Franz Schmidtt smiled. “I have several friends who are Phi Beta Kappa, but I’m not sure how they would make out as Hessenkrauts.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Wait and see.”
    They went inside. A wave of sound hit them. Wreaths of smoke obscured the interior, and visibility was poor. Groups of students were sitting at tables, drinking and talking. There was a great deal of laughter.
    They sat down at one of the tables and ordered beer. While they were waiting for their drinks to arrive, Schmidtt explained: “We will all be going upstairs in a few minutes. Drinking is downstairs; upstairs is . . .” he paused “. . . er, the