A Chosen Sparrow

by Vera Caspary

  “I have never told you lies, gnädige Frau.”

  The heavy scent filled the room. I spoke irritably. “You’re sure Gretl did not say where she found this dress?”

  “I did not ask her.”

  “Do you remember when it was?”

  “I think…” she hesitated, the blushes reaching to the roots of her light hair, “Perhaps after you came back from Vienna, after your friend died. Which dirndl will you wear tonight, gnädige Frau?” She moved toward the door, unable to leave before she was dismissed but loath to stay.

  “Any of them,” I snapped and walked to the bedroom so that I would not have to suffer more embarrassment before my maid, and she would not have to offend her conscience to protect me.

  I threw myself upon the bed, languished, sorry for myself, a wife betrayed, a film heroine, a coward who would rather weep and pity herself than face her husband with a direct question. Rain served as a curtain against the outside world. Sightless in my tower, secure, served, silken, I chose blindness and safety. Later I rang for Suzi. The bell was answered by Sarah, a maid who helped me on Suzi’s free afternoon. Suzi had gone to bed with a headache, Sarah reported. The girl was eager to help with my costume, excited at the prospect of the party. I could not have been more indifferent. My head ached, too.

  Tardily, in the costume of Marguerite and a wig with coarse yellow braids falling over my shoulders, I went down to join Gerhard and Wolfy. I had waited until the first guests arrived because I did not wish to be alone with my husband, nor with the pair of them while Wolfy played the wife’s cavalier as part of his henchman’s job. In the lower halls every chandelier was aglow. Crystal prisms sang and glittered in the drafts that entered with masked guests. Servants, also masked, were dressed in the uniforms of castle guards of an earlier century and carried halberds as though they were truly protecting the household. A broad-shouldered man almost two meters tall, masked and armed, directed guests toward a door which led along a narrow corridor to a narrow staircase that ended in the arched hall of the eastern wing.

  The old section of the castle had been opened for this party, carpets laid on damp floors, lanterns hung, candles fitted into iron stands. Flickering lights gave masked dancers the look of a chorus at an opera’s dimmed opening. Stone columns supporting the ceiling added to the dramatic effect and the costumes of the musicians, hastily assembled from the costumers and theatres of Salzburg, heightened the feeling of unreality. I was not drawn into the theatrical mood. My partners were devils and knights, courtiers of Maria Theresa, Harlequin and Death in black jersey skillfully painted with white bones and a too realistic skull hiding his face.

  “You do not recognize me, Frau Leonora?”

  “I am afraid not.”

  “I am one of your most ardent admirers.” His breath smelled less of the tomb than the wine bottle.

  Escaping Death, I found Wolfy. Pericles waltzed well. We danced past Gerhard and a creature in a flowing red domino who had been my husband’s constant partner. “Tell me, who is that woman?”

  “You must wait for the unmasking.”

  “Tell me, Wolfy.”

  He laughed. I demanded an answer. “How charming, dear Leni. Jealousy is a wife’s sincerest tribute. Come, let’s have a glass of champagne together.”

  In an arched alcove long tables had been set up for the drinks. Beer was served from barrels, cognac from enormous French bottles, red and white wines dripped from the beautiful crystal Weinhebern of the Liebhofen collection, bottles of champagne rested on ice in a long row of coolers. Guests drank greedily, musicians (nourished from the beer barrels) played faster and louder, the air thickened. In ordinary circumstances alcohol dulls me, but on this night my senses were so alive that sound seemed tangible, sight had smell, I tasted feeling. Each time Gerhard and the red domino danced past I caught the scent of Oriental perfume. I could never get quite close. Always, always they eluded me while my Death partner refused to let me escape his growing infatuation.

  “Marguerite has not danced with Faust.”

  At last my husband faced me, bowing and offering a formal hand. Faust’s cap rode his head rigidly like a professor’s mortarboard. The musicians played a rumba. The red domino danced with Wolfy, both as graceful as theatre parters.

  “Who is that lady, Gerhard?” It was not difficult to direct a question at a masked face.

  “Which one? There are so many ladies here tonight.”

  “The one in red. That you’ve had almost every dance with.”

  “You do not recognize her?” Behind the mask he might have been laughing.

  “Oh, please,” I said, “I would like to know.”

  Gerhard could never conquer the Latin rhythms. We tripped and stumbled. It was impossible to move together gracefully, ridiculous to pretend we enjoyed it, and no use for me to persist in my questioning. I saw Death approach and knew I could not endure another clammy embrace.

  “I feel a bit dizzy. Do you think our guests would notice if I slipped away?”

  “I’d advise it.” My husband was not displeased. “You’re very nervous tonight. Do you know you were in hysterics this afternoon about that stupid costume? It was an old thing, my sister wore it, I think, when she visited me. You’d better run along and get a good rest.”

  On the stair that led to the western wing I stumbled over an iron pike and fell against an armed guardsman kissing a masked ballerina. “I am so sorry, please,” I whispered, “forgive me,” less like the mistress of the castle than a humble girl in a dirndl. They were too ardent to notice.

  After a time, soothed by a short rest, I returned to the party. The musicians played operetta tunes while the guests ate supper at long tables. Gerhard signaled me to come and sit beside him. The guests were unmasked. I looked about and recognized some who had seemed strangers when their faces were hidden. With his mask removed Death was the homosexual Spanish poet, Pepe, who laughed at my failure to recognize his accent. Gerhard yawned, whispered that he was fed up, wondered how long these fools intended to stay. The red domino had left the party.

  The next morning I was ill and heavy-headed. Why are such mornings chosen by unwelcome visitors? Suzi was not at work that day. When Sarah brought my coffee she told me that my maid had gone home to her mother’s hut on the hillside, “quite ill, gnädige Frau.” Later Sarah knocked at the door to say a woman wished to see me.

  “A relation, gnädige Frau. She says she wishes to surprise you.”

  I had no relations. Who then had come with such presumption to our door? My imagination brought from America some exciting unknown aunt or cousin who had traced the daughter of Willy and Edith Neumann. Behind Sarah’s shoulder appeared the face of Frau Stompfer. “My sweet Lenchen,” she cried, hurrying around the maid to enter the room and clasp me in her arms. “Excuse me that I did not wait for formalities, but hurried to greet my beloved little daughter.” She smelled of onions and unclean wool.

  I sent Sarah downstairs for coffee.

  “And now I will tell you a piece of good news that will make you happy.”

  “Please sit down.” I indicated a low armchair and crossed the room to seat myself at a distance from the unlovely scent. She did not immediately take a seat, but merely acknowledged my courtesy by bobbing her head upon which rested a broad-brimmed black straw hat decorated with roses and a drooping veil, then walked about the room, examined the furniture, appraised the ornaments, glanced at herself in the mirrors.

  “You have heard that poor Herr Stompfer is dead, God rest his soul.”

  “Yes, Mimi told me at Christmas time. I am very sorry, Frau Stompfer.”

  “A million thanks, dear Leni, for your generous sympathy. Your warm feelings are a great comfort to a poor widow.” She bent over my chair to embrace me again. “It is good to know that you are grateful. How bitter it is when one finds her good deeds have not been appreciated. I hope you still think of me as a mother.”

  Would she never stop kissing and embracing me?

/>   It was a relief when Sarah came in with the coffee which Frau Stompfer declared ausgezeichnet, wonderful, the best she had ever tasted, a treat, a bit of comfort. As she crunched a fresh roll spread with honey and butter she told her good news. “Mimi has married again…”

  “Again? Has her husband died?”

  “Her husband! Which husband do you mean?”

  “Gumpersdorf? Gründorf? Wasn’t that what she said her husband’s name was?”

  “You mean Günzdorf, that pig? The marriage has been canceled.”

  “Mimi’s divorced?” This shocked me because I had never heard of divorce in our country except among the nobility or the wealthiest families.

  “The marriage has been annulled. With the full approval of the church. It was never a true marriage.”

  “Weren’t there three children?”

  “Bastards, bless their dear souls.” Before she went on, Frau Stompfer asked if there was another drop of that superb coffee in the pot. I poured it. She spread butter thickly upon another roll. “He had another wife alive, it was bigamy. But now, thanks to the Blessed Virgin, Mimi is married again.”

  “I hope to a good man this time.”

  Frau Stompfer crossed herself. “A human angel. He has a fine position. In the Gendarmerie.”

  I laughed aloud. “Mimi married to a policeman!”

  “A Gendarme,” replied Frau Stompfer haughtily. “You have seen him around here. The handsome tall one,” she stretched her arm high to show me, “with the motorcycle. Inspektor Platzenhofer often comes to Altbach, not only on official duty but because he has important relations here, his first wife was a cousin of Herr Imml of the Gasthaus.”

  J knew this Gendarme. He often lounged in front of the Gasthof with Imml’s son. They teased my dog, enjoyed frightening the little creature, holding her captive. On our walks Litzi and I went out of our way to avoid them.

  “It’s a crime the way they pay officials in this country. With prices so high and five dear little children by his late wife, bless her sweet soul…”

  “With Mimi’s three that makes quite a family,”

  “Nine little souls to be fed and clothed.”

  “Nine?” Inspektor Platzenhofer’s five children plus Mimi’s three made only eight.

  “Another on the way.” Frau Stompfer took the last roll off the plate. “We wondered if you could do something for us.”

  I heard Gerhard’s step in the corridor, hoped he would not come in and find my visitor. He would not only be offended by her odor, but might also discover that I had disobeyed him in sending her money at Christmas. The silly woman began to talk about it, thinking she would please me by praising my generosity. “You were always a good girl, my little angel. To the day of his death Herr Stompfer spoke of you. On his deathbed he remembered to bless our dear child.” She left the coffee to come to the window seat to which I had retreated, raised my hand to her lips.

  In the corridor Gerhard’s footsteps receded. I breathed more easily. “What can I do for you, Frau Stompfer?”

  “Dear sweet girl, do you think I have come to beg? You know me better than that, I hope. I am a proud woman, I would not ask anything except from extreme need. I came to thank you for your kindness of last December twentieth. Grant me this favor, that I may kiss your hand.”

  Not again, I thought. It was now July, seven months since the gift had been sent. Nevertheless Frau Stompfer went on with her protestations of gratitude, her declarations of devotion, the news that Mimi’s new home was in the village of Soldegg, only twelve kilometers away. “So you will see more of your almost-family.” She offered an arch smile to me and the mirrors. “I hope you will have time soon to drive over in your beautiful car and visit the little nieces and nephews.”

  “Would you like some more coffee, Frau Stompfer? Shall I send down for more rolls?”

  “No, no, thank you, I’ve had enough. One cannot make a pig of one’s self. But they are so delicious, it isn’t every Monday and Thursday I get such coffee and such fine butter. But if I might take a few rolls or some cakes to the children! You have plenty in your cupboards, I am sure. The little ones always expect something when Omama goes away and I cannot always afford to bring back treats,”

  “I’ll have the cook make up a package.”

  “Thank you, thank you. And perhaps if there is a bit of ham or cold veal left in that fine refrigerator…”

  I could not help asking if she had seen the refrigerator.

  “There was no one in the hall so I decided to find my way alone. I must have opened the wrong door,” she said with a conspiratorial grin.

  “Frau Stompfer, you must excuse me. I have to get dressed now.”

  “That is a beautiful house robe you are wearing. What fine clothes you have nowadays, dear Leni. I remember when we shared our few rags with you, after the war when everything was so dear and hard to get, how I sewed late into the night to cut down my things and Mimi’s to fit your dear little body.” With a high laugh she added, “Do you know, a thought just popped into my head. You must surely have dresses you do not wear any more, such a fine lady going out in the best society cannot wear a frock too often. Or undergarments. You know how well I sew.

  Our dear children need Sunday dresses for church. Perhaps…” She waited.

  “All of my old clothes, I am sorry, Frau Stompfer, have been given to the poor refugees in the camp on the hill.”

  “Evangelicals,” she sniffed. “They are taking all the good jobs in this town, making big money here. Some of them have built fine houses for themselves…”

  “Most of them are very poor.”

  “They take work away from us, the natives.” Since she had only just become a native Frau Stompfer’s complaint was not quite fair. But since self-pity had always been her sincerest emotion she spoke earnestly. “You have many of these foreigners as your servants. Why don’t you give the work to your own people?”

  “I am afraid I have nothing to do with that, Frau Stompfer. Our butler has always hired the servants. Most of them worked here before I came and I must tell you, we find them satisfactory.” This was true. The Roumanian refugees were far more industrious, honest and clean than the local people, who had retained the feudal attitude of servants who expected to be cheated by their masters and in retaliation gave as little work as they could get away with.

  “Your butler is also a foreigner. Hungarian,” snapped Frau Stompfer, forgetting to show charm. “And that Suzi, with all that you give her! If she is so loyal why does she allow her fiance’s family to go about making remarks?”

  “Do they?”

  Frau Stompfer rolled her eyes.

  I pushed back on the window seat and folded my hands tightly in my lap so that my guest should not notice the tremors. She bent over me, smiling wisely, whispering, “You do not know, dear Lenchen, there is much talk about you in the neighborhood.”

  I shrugged, not wishing to encourage her. She needed no prompting, however, and came closer to whisper as though we were not alone in the room, “It is only natural that these ignorant people resent it that a Jewess is the mistress of the castle?”

  I answered dryly that I did not care what ignorant people thought. Frau Stompfer edged closer and hunched toward me to confide, “There are other whispers too, Lenchen. Not so personal about you, dear, but they say…”

  I moved away, chill and haughty as if I had been born to a castle. “I am not interested, Frau Stompfer.”

  She caught my arm. “We are always angry, Mimi and I, when we hear anything said against you. You cannot find a more virtuous and kind lady than Frau Leni, I always tell them. And besides, I say, someone who will die unbaptized and suffer so much in hell, should we punish her on earth, too? Can’t we trust our dear Father in Heaven to take care of his own business?” Her malodorous breath assaulted my nostrils. “You must know your friends, dear child. And your enemies.

  “Are you quite sure you have nothing in your cupboards for us?” With her fac
e almost pressed to mine she added, “They do not have to be fine silk dresses from Vienna, dear. We take everything.”

  I did not tell my husband about Frau Stompfer’s visit, nor about her hints of rumors in the village. We were no longer so intimate that I could chatter of the day’s events or confide my fears. Wolfy shared all of our meals. He and Gerhard spoke with animation about the restoration of the eastern wing. The masquerade had given Wolfy new ideas which took the two of them off with their measuring instruments and notebooks.

  I had not meant to take Frau Stompfer’s warnings seriously, but now as I walked in the village it seemed that the faces were concealed by false smiles and overcourteous greetings. Such thoughts held great danger; once the idea of persecution seizes a person there is no end to self-pity.

  The weather, too, betrayed me. On the first morning in August I woke to the sound of wind sobbing in the trees of the park. From my tower windows I saw sodden meadows, field flowers vanquished by the storm. Restless, I donned the costume of autumn, belted raincoat, weatherproof shoes, head scarf. Villagers wondered at me, tramping in the rain when I could so easily have traveled in my comfortable car. This, they thought, was another vagary of the rich who sailed boats which could more easily be driven by motors, who worked hard to prove their useless activities had importance. At my side, wet but loyal in every weather, padded my dear Litzi. We walked through the woods where the branches shed tears and the little fern fronds curled tight with despair. In the meadow the rain beat against my face and soggy grass moaned at the weight of my footsteps. At last, shivering and miserable, I retreated to the Schatulle Bar.

  It was still quite early in the day. Hansi, seated at her table over coffee with the beautiful Negro Joe, saw me through the archway and shouted a welcome. “You are wet like a frog. Come and have some hot coffee with us.” She was as bright as a blaze in red trousers and a pullover of heavy wool, sparkling as always with irrelevant jewels. I pulled off my sodden gloves and let my cold hands rest between her hot, dry palms. “Whatever are you thinking of, Leni, to walk about in this shocking rain? Disgusting at this season! Look, I have hired extra help, expecting tourists in hordes. Yesterday we were so madly crowded, the buses brought them like flies, fat German profiteers and the English on those ‘all-in’ tours, Manchester to Venice, everything included, even a visit to picturesque Altbach-am-Sternsee. Do you realize, my darling, that your home is an object of interest?”