Vienna Prelude

by Bodie Thoene

  She halted a few feet in front of the skull of the great composer. For a hundred years the head of Haydn had watched as the young musicians of the Musikverein had grown old in these halls until they became like him, like Rudy. Elisa was perspiring. She stared back at the blackness of the eye sockets, the hollow, unseeing darkness that seemed to see everything . . . everyone! And in the eyes of death, everyone looked the same. Somehow Elisa saw herself grinning out of the glass box. Had Rudy hidden the violin here as a warning? Had he known? Had he stood here and looked at death and seen himself too?

  She looked back over her shoulder, feeling eyes peering at her from behind. But there was no one, only the faint melody of a piano playing somewhere in the maze. Perhaps it was Haydn playing. A chill swept through her, and she drew her breath in, stepping forward as though asking permission to take the precious violin of Rudy Dorbransky. Dear Rudy, now in ashes in a baggage car on the way back to his mother in Warsaw.

  What is to become of me? She asked the question although she saw the answer in the glass box before her. Sooner or later, Elisa . . . and so, you see, if you take the violin and find the secret papers, you are in no more danger than if you simply grow old. This is your future, Elisa. Sooner or later.

  The sound of the piano stopped. She shuddered and reached behind the wooden base of the skull’s little glass casket. She almost hoped that the violin would not be there, but the familiar leather beneath her fingers caused her to gasp as she pulled it free. There, as though leaving a counterfeit offering to the silent composer, she slid her empty case back where Rudy’s had been.

  Haydn watched as she retreated hurriedly down the hall. His sightless eyes had watched for a hundred years. By now it was certain that even the very young and beautiful walked the same dark corridor, sooner or later.

  ***

  Herr Haupt peered around the corner of his door as Elisa entered the building. He looked grim, almost frightened as he called to her, “Eleeeza! P-s-s-s-st!”

  The violin case felt hot and dangerously alive in her hand. She tried to look nonchalant on her way home from the Musikverein, but she felt as though the case would jump out of her hands and fall open on the sidewalk, spilling Rudy’s precious papers out for everyone to see. The walk had been a nightmare, and now Elisa dreaded having to talk to the old concierge of the building. “Good morning, Herr Haupt.” She attempted to sound cheerful, but somehow the words fell flat.

  “Not such a good morning, I think, Eleeeza! Have you heard the news this morning?”

  She shook her head. She waited with one foot on the step and her free hand on the banister as he told her. She did not want to hear the news, but Herr Haupt would follow her up to her doorstep if she didn’t listen now, so she stood ready to make her break when he was finished.

  “Oy Vay!” he exclaimed. “She has not heard the news!”

  “No. Please, Herr Haupt, I am tired!”

  “The authorities are expecting more trouble in the Judengasse. Everyone is warned. The Nazis are planning something after the funeral today. This Dorbransky fellow has brought trouble on his own people.”

  Elisa did not reply.

  Herr Haupt continued, “The authorities have just got the wires back into the Judengasse—”

  “Good. Then I can call my friend and check—”

  He held up a hand for silence. “Wait! They have just got the wires up when along come more fellows to cut them down again. They have also cut off the electric. I lived there for my first twenty years, you know. Before they had electric, we managed. Life is not so terrible without electric. Your friends will be fine unless they maybe go out into the street. The Shupos expect more trouble.”

  So that was the news. She nodded, feeling cut off herself. There was no one but Leah that she could talk to about all this. And Rudy had instructed her to take the case to Leah alone. “Danke, Herr Haupt.” She did not give him a chance to say more. Instead she ran up the steps and into her own apartment.

  “Fraülein!” the little man called desperately after her. She pretended not to hear him. “Eleeeza! Wait . . . !”

  She had already inserted her key in the lock, but to her horror, the door was unlocked. Suddenly it opened, and a tall policeman in uniform stared down at her. “What . . . ?” She was at once frightened and indignant. How dare this man come into the privacy of her apartment! Then she saw that he was not alone. Two others were with him. Both of them were dressed in civilian clothes—dark blue suits and scuffed black shoes run down at the heels.

  “Fraülein Linder,” the tall policeman began apologetically, “I am afraid we shock you by our presence.” He smiled and seemed embarrassed. The two men in civilian dress simply stared back at her as though she were the intruder.

  “Who let you in?” she demanded, angry at their impudence.

  “Herr Haupt.”

  “Then Herr Haupt should be discharged. It is his duty to oversee our apartments, not let strangers in.”

  “I’m afraid he had no choice.” The smile was cold now. “You see, we have interviewed everyone in the orchestra but you.” He stepped aside to let her into her own apartment.

  “Yes. I was ill the night this all happened.”

  “Ill?” asked one of the civilians.

  She had said it now and must not change her story. The violin inside the case seemed to shout at her. Be calm! Stay calm! If not calm, then angry . . . “Yes. I got a letter from my mother in Prague. My brother is in the hospital there, and they will not be coming to Vienna for the holidays. I am committed to stay here through the season. The news made me ill.”

  “But”—the second civilian checked his notebook—“we have been told that you left here for a period of hours.”

  “To make a phone call.” Elisa wondered if they could hear her heart beat.

  All three men looked at the telephone sitting on the kitchen table. “A phone call?” asked the man in uniform.

  “International. You can check if you like. I was at the telephone office. My call was placed shortly after seven in the evening and put through after eight.” Her matter-of-fact tone seemed to convince them. They looked at one another.

  “Did you see Rudy Dorbransky at any time that evening?”

  Elisa stared at the three of them, suddenly reminded of three crows perched on a wire. “No, but I wish I had seen him. I would have told him to give up his silly infatuation. He was the most talented and sensitive of all the musicians I have known—”

  “You knew him well, then?”

  Careful, Elisa. She set the violin case down beside the small floral sofa. “Nobody knew Rudy Dorbransky well, Officer,” she said, letting her sorrow overflow in her voice.

  “And did you know Frau Schüler?”

  “Only by sight. Ridiculous woman!” The scorn sounded authentic. If she didn’t know the truth about Irmgard Schüler, Elisa might have continued to feel the scorn. “Now she’s ruined a lot of lives, hasn’t she? Yes. If I had seen Rudy that night, I would have told him—”

  The first civilian-dressed policeman studied his notes. “You came to the concert hall that night. But you were not well?”

  “My friend Leah had a solo. I wanted to hear—”

  “But you were ill? And still you were out traipsing about?”

  “I am a violinist,” she said arrogantly, acting the part of a prima donna. “I had bad news from home, as I told you. My hands were shaking. I was shaking all over. I couldn’t have played. I couldn’t have held my violin, but I didn’t want to stay home alone either. The manager insisted I go back home, so I did.”

  Again they exchanged glances. She shoved her hands into her pockets, hoping that the three men would not see them trembling now. The violin case was screaming for attention, yet none of the men appeared to notice it. Rudy’s violin. The case filled with secret papers. Its very presence in her apartment would somehow tie her into the intrigue. She already knew what they were capable of doing. Against her will now, the vision of Rudy’s hand c
ame back to her. She flexed her fingers, then clenched her fist. Of course his body had to be cremated. There was too much to explain otherwise.

  She glared back at them. Were these men Nazis too? She had heard there were secret members of the Nazi Party within the Austrian police force. It was impossible to tell by looking. How could she know such a thing? Had these men perhaps been part of his murder?

  The shorter of the two civilian-dressed men cleared his throat. “Fraülein Linder,” he began, “we heard from certain sources that you were on occasion a financial resource for Rudy Dorbransky.”

  “He always needed money,” she nodded. The violin case almost rocked with the news it carried. Elisa did not look at it. “If you . . . gentlemen are going to stay a while, would you like a cup of tea? It is very cold out, and I need a cup.” She did not wait for their answer. She opened the door, concealing the violin case behind it; then she tossed her coat and gloves onto the bed. Calmly she walked past them into the kitchen to put the kettle on as though they had just dropped in for tea.

  The short man followed her to the kitchen. “There is no delicate way to ask this, Fraülein—”

  She knew in advance what he would ask. The question amused her. “Then simply ask.”

  “Were you and Dorbransky ever . . . were you . . . lovers?”

  “No.” She smiled patronizingly. “And no again. We all knew about Rudy’s outside interests. Gambling and women. My interest in Rudy was as a musician. Such talent! Wasted over a woman!” Suddenly she felt tears sting her eyes. “Wasted!” She let the tears flow. She covered her face with her hands and sank down into a small wooden chair beside the table. “Now this! Horrible! Horrible! What next? And what do you want with me? If you don’t leave me alone, give me some rest, I may never play again!”

  “We have interviewed everyone in the orchestra, Fraülein Linder.” The voice of the uniformed officer was gentle. “We simply overlooked you. The incident is really cut and dried except for a few small details. Dorbransky had a reputation in this city. This is not much of a surprise to us, although I am certain it is a shock to you. We expected Rudy Dorbransky to end up in some such way. If that is any comfort to you,” he finished awkwardly.

  “No, it isn’t!” Elisa’s tears were real. “No comfort at all. The orchestra has lost a fine violinist. Possibly one of the finest of our century!” She did not dare mention what she was really weeping about. His hands! How could they do that to such hands?

  “Thank you. Yes.” One of the civilian-dressed officers cleared his throat nervously. “We simply had no choice but to come here since you were not with the others. Simply routine.”

  “Then go away and leave me alone!” she demanded through her sobs. “First my brother, and now this!” She stretched out a trembling hand; she did not have to pretend to shake. “How am I supposed to play when I come home and find police in my apartment? I will tell the maestro! He will have a word to say to your superiors!”

  The three men had begun backing away from her presence. Now the shortest man threw open the door and tipped his hat in farewell. “Perhaps this was not the best time to come,” he said by way of apology. “Good-bye, Fraülein! I hope your brother recovers.”

  Elisa stared at them as they backed out of the room. She hated them for their questions and for their intrusion. Surely they had seen Rudy’s hands! They had viewed his torn body and broken teeth. And yet the Austrian Shupos had come here to interview her instead of finding the Nazi butchers who had mangled him and murdered a woman besides! And what about that Jewish boy in critical condition at Rothschild Hospital and his friend who lay at the morgue right now? Why aren’t the Shupos making arrests of the real criminals in Austria? Why have they come here?

  She wanted to shout at them, but she did not. The door clicked shut behind them but she could not even find the strength to get up and slip the bolt into place. She sat, still sobbing, for what seemed like a long time. She had gotten herself into something much deeper and more frightening than she could have dreamed of. Hadn’t she left all that in Berlin? No. Berlin had followed her here. It had followed them all. She felt no sense of relief that the Shupos had left. She was still seeing the grinning skull before her and Rudy’s strong, capable fingers dancing on the strings of the Guarnerius.

  ***

  The tea in Elisa’s cup sat cold and untouched on the table before her. It had been nearly an hour since the Shupos had left her apartment. She still had not opened Rudy’s violin case. She would wait, she decided, to see if they came back.

  Minutes ticked slowly by and Elisa realized that she could not remember the faces of the officers who had been in her flat. She cuold visualize shining buttons of the uniform, scuffed black shoes and bulging vests; but try as she might, she could not remember even the vaguest detail of their faces. The thought frightened her even more as the hour passed and they did not return. She must not have ever looked at the faces. Her eyes must have darted to buttons and vests and shoes and the violin, then back along the same route. She had looked above their heads, around them, at the floor and the ceiling and the door, but never at their faces. What if one of them followed her now? How would she know who it was? The two in civilian clothes—one tall, the other shorter. But how would she recognize them? By their shoes? And had they noticed how unsettled her eyes were? Did they suspect?

  She sat motionless as these thoughts assailed her. She was so alone. She was even uncertain now if she should contact Leah. What if they were watching her apartment right now? Rudy had been so smooth and confident in his deception, and yet look what had happened to him! Even with his violin case stuffed with secret documents, he had looked every man straight in the eye and splashed his famous smile around among the women. No one had ever suspected him, and yet, look at his finish!

  Elisa rose slowly from the table and pulled the door back. The violin case, scuffed and innocuous, was still there. It did not shout a warning or burst apart as she stared down at it. And yet, inside, Rudy had said there were passports and secret files from the Gestapo. Dachau! That word again. Dachau! He is alive! My father is alive!

  She picked up the case. It felt no heavier than it had ever felt. Always when Rudy had left it with her, she had guarded it because of the priceless Guarnerius violin it contained. Now she knew it held something far more precious.

  Laying it on the table beside her untouched teacup, she drew a deep breath, then popped the locks open. The sound of the snap startled her. Rudy had opened this case last. While he still had his fingers and his smile. Why? Why, God? How many times had she seen him swing the case around and strum it playfully like a ukulele as he sang some ridiculous American song he had learned from one of his lady friends. He had played his role so well that no one could have known. She certainly had never suspected him of being anything more than a talented, unscrupulous playboy. But they had known!

  She tried not to think of the baggage car on its way to Warsaw. She tried not to imagine the handful of ashes that was all that was left of Rudy. She drew herself up and found courage in the word Dachau! “Papa!” she said, opening the lid of the case.

  The Guarnerius was still draped in its blue silk scarf. Two bows were attached to the top of the case. Beautiful bows . . . Rudy had been so proud of them. “From Paris. Ebony and gold. Here, Elisa. You want to try a real bow, this is it.” Then he had pretended to fence with her, jumping onto the conductor’s stand and waving the bow like a pirate with a sword. “And look.” He laughed. “The bow maker put a picture of himself in the frog. He looks a bit like a frog. You think that’s why they call it a frog?” Everyone had laughed at the show. It was so easy to laugh at Rudy.

  There were good memories inside the case. Elisa found herself laughing and crying at the same time as she pulled back the silk scarf revealing the glowing wood of the Guarnerius. No papers tumbled out onto the table. The violin rested quietly in its green velvet nest. Where are the papers? She lifted the instrument and looked beneath it. There was nothin
g there. She checked the small compartments on either side of the case. Still no papers. No hint of Dachau or illegal passports. She pulled open the larger compartment at the top of the case. The registration papers were there. Nothing else. Nothing!

  Elisa stared down into the empty case. Green velvet. Blue scarf. A violin case was certainly not like a magician’s hat, and yet, somehow she kept expecting the promised treasure to materialize. She checked the inside again, opening and closing each little compartment, then running her fingers across the velvet lining to see if she felt anything at all beneath it. There was nothing there but the soft plush velvet beneath her fingers. She placed the instrument back in its nest and tried to peek in through the F-holes. There was nothing inside the violin. She sat down heavily and rested her chin against her hand. For the first time, the thought entered her mind that this had been Rudy Dorbransky’s last horrible joke. Perhaps there had never been any papers at all. No passports. No secret file. But how had Rudy known her real name and that of her father? Could Leah have told him? Would Leah break such a confidence?

  Her head throbbed with the disappointment and then tension of the last few days. The violin case held only its precious cargo. She glanced over the registration papers of the Guarnerius. The measurements and the exact description of the scroll and patterns in the wood were listed. Then, at the bottom was a tiny scrawled note in Rudy’s handwriting. “In payment of debt, this instrument is transferred to ownership of Elisa Linder on this date. Dec. 19, 1937. Signed Rudolf Dorbransky.”

  Elisa read the words again and again. “In payment of debt . . . ” The date was three days before. The date of Rudy’s death. Had he known what was about to transpire?

  Exhausted, Elisa closed the case, picked up the instrument, and stumbled off toward her bedroom. It was all too much. The disappointment of the contents and the tension had made her numb and sick.