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WHEREVER THEY MAY BE
© 1972, The
Beate Klarsfeld Foundation
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six months before to slap the Chancellor, and told
him of my problems in getting into the Congress.
"Get a photographer
into the act," Reinhard suggested. "In exchange for giving you his pass he can
get some good shots of your slap."
He gave me the name of Michael, a
free-lance photographer at the big picture magazine Stern. I met him
that same afternoon in his little apartment-laboratory near the Sportpalast. He
listened to my long explanation of what I had in mind.
"I'm with you,"
he said. "I'll ask my magazine for a pass."
The first event, it turned
out, was to be a cocktail party for the Chancellor at the Hilton Hotel.
Back in Paris Serge and I had reasoned that I would have the best
chance of success at a public reception when Kiesinger would not be surrounded
by his bodyguards.
That evening I felt certain of achieving my
purpose.
For the occasion, I had bought a cocktail gown trimmed with
gold embroidery. The area around the hotel was as well guarded as the Congress
Hall. The invitation that my Stern photographer had given me just
fifteen minutes before worked wonders. I got through the three checkpoints
outside with no trouble, and then through the final one at the entrance to the
reception rooms.
Several guests were already there. There was a lavish
buffet laden with mountains of caviar and baskets of little sandwiches, but my
throat was so tight that I couldn't swallow.
I was afraid – not of
what might happen to me, but of failing, missing my chance, spoiling everything
I had worked so hard for all these months. You aren't very brave, I kept
telling myself over and over. I forced myself not to think of the danger
involved. But merely knowing that soon every eye would be on me made me
nervous.
For the time being I concentrated on my objective. I always
lay my plans on the spot. Circumstances are so impossible to foresee that it is
useless to imagine details in advance. I prefer to improvise once I know the
situation.
I mixed with a group of reporters, though the thought that
one of them might recognize me made me even more tense. Then, out of the din, a
phrase leaped out at me: "Isn't it a pity! Kiesinger has the flu and isn't
going to come this evening."
My morale was low. The only thing that
kept me going was the
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WHEREVER THEY MAY BE
© 1972, The
Beate Klarsfeld Foundation |
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Page 53 |
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