Yehuda ben Tema
in the Ethics of the Fathers
says:
seventy years for taking stock
eighty for enjoying the landscape.
Mayer Lehman and his brother
are getting on for seventy
but this taking stock
they haven’t yet managed.
Perhaps they have thought of everything
apart from finding themselves
gray haired
handling sheets of paper
on which everything is a calculation.
Now they have more or less understood
that it works like this:
Lehmans decide on what to invest
but rather than put money into it
they get other folk to do so
in the form of a loan:
you hire me your money
I’ll pay you back
“in x time, with interest.”
But meanwhile
I’ll use your money:
I’ll give out loans
and I’ll gain on the interest.
Loans to industrialists
loans to builders
loans to whoever produces
loans to whoever
sooner or later
brings in capital.
A fine game, for sure.
But this is new, smart economics
very smart
—perhaps too smart—
for two brothers
born over there in Germany
in Rimpar, Bavaria,
where gold was livestock
and they had to hope the cattle didn’t die.
But above all
—incredible to say—
the real problem
for Emanuel and Mayer
is that
drinking a glass of water is one thing
but drinking the whole ocean is quite another.
And this ocean is money.
Profits, yes, revenue.
For
the truth is
that Lehman Brothers
is earning incredibly well.
Money is coming in.
A lot of money is coming in.
Too much is coming in, maybe.
And if we end up inundated?
Neither Emanuel nor Mayer
have forgotten that twenty note
which a thousand years ago
down there in Germany
in Rimpar, Bavaria,
was framed
like a picture
hung on the wall:
the first tsvantsinger
earned
by Lehmann senior
with cattle.
And next to the picture
there was another
with the hundredth tsvantsinger
and another
with the thousandth
and then
enough
for “a thousand tsvantsingers
are a fortune my sons
and Baruch HaShem! if one day
you put together that much.”
Neither Emanuel nor Mayer
can avoid thinking
—even if they don’t say it—
that 10,000 tsvantsingers
come into Lehman Brothers
each day
and you would need
an infinity
of picture frames
of tsvantsingers
which
all put together in a line
would form a bridge
from New York
to Bavaria.
Money like rivers.
And more.
It seems now like a vortex
in which millions of dollars
come in through the door
and leave through the windows.
Mayer and Emanuel
no longer understand:
what
exactly
are we making money on?
It’s useless talking to Philip:
the bank for him
is a railroad station
through which you pass just to move on
never stopping.
“Dear Uncle sir, dear Father sir,
is it not the same for our capital?
We must not hold on to it
but invest it:
the money comes into the bank
and as soon as it comes in
it must go straight out again.”
As for the silent nephew
he simply watches.
It would be a waste of time
asking him to explain,
it would mean
searching for an answer
among the smoke rings of his Cuban cigar.
And if we tried with Sigmund?
Emanuel and Mayer
are sitting in front of his desk.
Time enough to see
that 120 rules are framed
over the safe
between the candelabra.
“Sigmund, we’d like to understand more clearly:
don’t you think
our bank is too exposed?
We’re investing in markets of every kind
we can hardly remember their names.
If you could enlighten us
about what the bank is at this moment.
In other words
about what we are.”
Sigmund lets them speak
without looking up from the accounts
since time is money
and not to be wasted.
Only now does he remove his glasses
and look at them
for a long long time
stroking the skin of his hands.
“I will tell you: the world is not an enchanted wood.
And words are nothing but air.
You ask me to explain more clearly?
Too many questions just make noise.
You ask me who we are?
Sentiment has no place in banking!
I’d like to ask you something myself
if I may.
I will also be tough,
but those who sow affection are ripe for ransom.
Therefore I have something to tell you.
Both of my cousins think it,
even if neither of them
for different reasons
say what they think in so many words.
Stupid: the meek walk hand in hand with fools.
So be it: I speak for the common good.
And then again, evil may well be bad, but it’s useful.
Excellent: in these offices, in these rooms,
in case you haven’t noticed
we have work to do
the winner is the one who gets there first.
This is what we are required to do: produce.
This we have to do.
For he who waits is lost,
and what you put off is never done.
Therefore
rather than asking me what a bank is
concentrate rather more
on the notion of old age.
Always call things by their true name!
And now, if you’ll allow me, I have a meeting.”
It is well-known
that rabbits
—when they want to be—
are more ferocious than jaguars
in devouring their prey.
Having first excluded
any negative inference
from their reaction of surprise,
two unyieldingly constructive thoughts
crossed the minds
of the two elderly bankers.
The first
was that the Academy of Cynicism
opened to Sigmund by family decree
had produced
a star graduate.
The second
was that Mr. Bad Rabbit
had probably
seen things correctly:
it wasn’t to the bank that they had to turn
but to their own hearts
or failing this
at most
to some kind
of spiritual authority.
And so
they sought out
Rabbi Strauss
who seemed much familiar
with the notion of old age
having now more teeth in his mouth than hairs on his head.
“Dear Emanuel and Mayer,
in order to answer you I would like to reflect
on the meaning of the word age.
What is age if not a place of life
the same as its surroundings,
a territory in which we live?
Every age is a town, a village,
or—if you prefer—a nation
which each of us
must journey through.
And just as every place in the world
has its own climate, its own language
and its own landscape,
the same is true about getting old:
I believe it is like living in a foreign land,
where the rules of the previous countries
are simply
no longer valid.
And as always happens in a foreign land
you have to learn a new language
to call the sun the sun
and the moon the moon:
only then will you discover
that the sun is the sun over the whole Earth
even in a land of exile
and the only thing that changes
is the name given to it.
In other words
the ages of man are like countries:
all is forbidding so long as you’re a foreigner
and all becomes congenial
when at last
you become a citizen.”
And so be it.
But what does this mean?
Emanuel and Mayer
suddenly
understand
when they bring Elijah Baumann
building constructor
to the notice of the bank.
The two Lehman brothers met him
because there might
“in our view”
be a worthwhile investment.
Mayer thought much about it.
And Emanuel thought about it too.
The same thought, the same intuition:
American industry is growing
therefore more factories
therefore more workers
therefore more immigrants
therefore . . . where will they go to live?
Housing has to be doubled.
To build as much as possible
To create whole new suburbs.
Safe investment: bricks, mortar.
Return guaranteed, short-term deadlines.
Crystalline reasoning:
that Philip himself might have made.
Invest in housing for the workers.
Perfect.
Invest in Elijah Baumann: building constructor.
“I don’t know what you think:
we think it has a great prospect. True, Mayer?”
“Absolutely, Emanuel.
And he’s a very decent fellow.”
Yes.
When Emanuel and Mayer
stop talking
there’s a long silence
from everyone.
Dreidel coughs:
he is struggling
with his third cigar.
Silence.
Sigmund removes his glasses
polishes the lenses
puts them back on.
Silence.
Philip sits at the head of the table
almost a dark shadow
against the light that enters from behind
in the room all glass and mirrors
on the second floor of Liberty Street.
Silence.
Dreidel curls his beard.
Silence.
Sigmund pours himself a drink.
Silence.
Philip smiles.
Silence.
Dreidel crosses his legs.
Silence.
Sigmund straightens his tie.
Silence.
Philip folds a sheet of paper.
Silence.
Dreidel tugs at his collar.
Silence.
Sigmund blows his nose.
Silence.
Philip stands:
“Dear Father sir, dear Uncle sir,
for our part there’s the maximum respect
for this initiative of yours
and in the name of everyone
I express my gratitude to you for this contribution.
Am I right, Sigmund?”
Sigmund clears his throat
and contemplating the chandelier:
“Only partially, Philip,
for, you see, it just so happens
that the world is not an enchanted wood
and sentiment has no place in banking.
And since for every benefit there’s a cost,
remember that one must always calculate first.
Watch the path and you won’t slip
and the bill to be paid will always arrive.
So, let us always call things by their true name:
he who deceives himself pays the price.
Well. Building houses? Please!
Do we want to make friends of our enemies?
Do we want to take a step backward?
He who drops by a foot, sinks by a mile.
Homes for workers?
And the benefit? That which reaps no reward wreaks damage.
Without bearing in mind
that our involvement in the building realm
would be something entirely new
unexpected
inconsistent
wrong
disastrous
damaging
and moreover outweighed by the facts:
before investing in homes for Hispanics
do we want to ask where this country is going?
Risk! Risk! It’s better to risk than to regret.
Contentment, I say, means humiliation,
and those who play safe get nowhere,
and so I’m sorry: my answer is never!
What counts, gentlemen, is courage!
and since the past is now gone,
we may have given America its railroads
but now it’s not enough:
having joined the two coasts of the United States
why don’t we aim to join continents?
Pride is the best protection!
Ambition is a virtue!
The idea in short is this:
we establish a consortium of financiers:
twenty, thirty, fifty banks
and we ask the State of Panama
for a hundred-year lease
on a fifty-mile strip of land
between the Pacific and the Caribbean Gulf.
At that point we’ll cut the continent in half
from side to side
from ocean to ocean
we’ll build a canal that doesn’t yet exist
and the whole of the world’s commerce
will have to choose whether to pay us to go through it
or sail for days and days
around Cape Horn.
Am I wrong?
That’s where tomorrow’s money is!
Willpower is the only weapon!
You say no? Out of fear? Ah!
Fear is a waste of time!
Fear is energy thrown away
yes: fear is an end in itself.
Fear, gentlemen, is a dead loss.
I have finished. Or rather, no:
we are Lehman Brothers
and it is written in capital letters.”
After which Sigmund stands up
bright red with rage
and, as he leaves, almost demolishes the door.
Silence.
Dreidel puffs out smoke.
Silence.
Philip strokes his nose
with the tips of all his fingers:
“Dear Father sir, dear Uncle sir,
if you think fit
you can however tell Mr. Baumann
to present a written request:
we will consider it
with the attention it deserves.”
Emanuel nods.
Mayer too.
But from that day on
the two old men
were no longer seen
in that second-floor room
all glass and mirrors
at Liberty Street.