The Longest Winter

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Yes, we’re all to go driving in the Benz,’ said Anne.

  ‘That is news to me,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Well, it’s all arranged,’ said Anne, ‘and you must come or we shall be odd.’

  ‘I shall save you from that terrible fate,’ said Sophie.

  The carriages were out of the stables. In their place stood the gleaming Benz. The bonnet was up. Immersed in the mechanical functionalism were Carl and Ludwig. Sitting on a pair of steps, overlooking the amateurs, was James in his light grey suit with a striped shirt and grey tie. The stables smelt of horses, straw and linseed oil. From their stall on the far side the horses chewed hay and blinked suspiciously at the monster threatening their purpose in life.

  ‘No,’ said James, ‘use the plug spanner, Carl.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve caught me there,’ said Carl.

  That was how it was. Carl was learning the mechanics under James’s supervision. Carl did not want to merely drive the Benz, he wanted to understand it, to comprehend the fundamentals, to know what to look for if anything went wrong and what to do to put the fault right. He had telephoned James two days after taking delivery, complaining about a stiffness in the gears. James thought he should have contacted the dealers but did not say so. He came round. He came again, several times. Now it was an involvement and a friendship, something that took up his time out of school hours. It also included teaching Carl how to drive. Carl wished to be a fully orientated owner-driver. It would help him to be father and mother to the Benz. His interest in it was such that he was as happy tinkering with it as driving it. James indulged one eccentricity of his own. If Carl ran the engine in the stables James went outside to escape the noise.

  ‘I must say,’ said Carl once, ‘that considering you don’t really care for autos it’s damned decent of you to bother about the Benz.’

  James bothered for a reason that had little to do with the Benz. He sat on the steps now, watching the bent heads of Carl and Ludwig. Ludwig realized he could learn a few things himself.

  ‘Well, really.’ It was Anne’s voice. She stood at the wide entrance to the stables, the sun behind her. With her was Ludwig’s sister, Helene, a fair but not entirely brilliant young lady. Sophie thought her a little giggly, the baroness thought her a little flighty. She was rather keen on Carl, but Carl, while as cheerfully disposed towards her as all girls, hardly thought about her at all. ‘Carl, you’re utterly fiendish,’ said Anne.

  ‘Oh?’ said Carl from the mechanical deeps.

  ‘Oh? Oh? Come out from there,’ called Anne, ‘you promised to take us all out. We’ve been waiting ages already. James, is that you up on high?’

  ‘Ladies,’ said James and bowed from his perch. Anne was good to look at. In her favourite blue she was as colourful as summer itself. Helene Lundt-Hausen looked a little insipid beside her. Helene was white-skinned, pretty. Anne was warm, lovely.

  ‘James,’ said Anne, ‘as you’re the king of all you survey, kindly command your subjects to rise up and sally forth, for there are beautiful maidens impatiently awaiting them.’

  ‘That’s almost a proclamation,’ said James.

  ‘Beautiful maidens?’ Carl lifted his head. ‘Where are they? Do you see any, Ludwig?’

  ‘Isn’t he hideously hopeless to have as a brother?’ said Anne to Helene.

  ‘Well, he is rather naughty sometimes,’ said Helene. ‘You are, aren’t you, Carl? Are you going to be awfully sweet now and take us driving?’

  James winced. Helene’s conversation never reached celestial heights. At the best it was as coy as her archly pouting bosom.

  ‘Just give us five more minutes,’ said Carl.

  ‘No,’ said Anne, ‘it’s either now or never. James, order them.’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said James, comfortably on the fence, ‘I order you.’

  ‘We’re filthy,’ said Ludwig. He and Carl were both in rolled-up shirtsleeves and their hands were black.

  ‘Oh, you beasts,’ said Anne, ‘now you’re going to spend hours scrubbing yourselves. Carl, Sophie said if you don’t bring the Benz round to the house in two minutes she’s coming to smash it to pieces with a hammer.’

  ‘Dear Sophie,’ said Carl. He and Ludwig began to wash their hands under a cold, running tap, using a large bar of yellow soap.

  ‘James, don’t just sit there, please,’ said Anne, ‘you can bring the Benz round. You are accompanying us, you know, we don’t want to be odd. So please come down, or you’ll get smashed to pieces with a hammer.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ said James, climbing down.

  They were all ready in the end. Carl offered to drive. So did Ludwig.

  ‘James, I think,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Yes, he is the master engineer,’ said Anne.

  ‘Thank you,’ said James, ‘but I’m really a horse-and-cart man.’

  ‘James, we command you,’ said Sophie.

  So James took the wheel. Anne sat up in front with him and Carl, Sophie and Helene on the high rear seat with Ludwig. They sailed smoothly through the gates and into the Salesianergasse.

  ‘James, the other way!’ screamed Anne as he turned left.

  ‘What other way? I haven’t been told,’ said James as he adjusted the course of the car. The day was full of changing shades of light, clouds scudding across the blue sky and under the sun, Vienna looking alternately soft and bright. The traffic was a mixture of trotting carriages, scurrying fiacres and portly automobiles. It was Saturday afternoon and the city was preparing for a gay evening.

  ‘Oh, do let’s go to Demel’s,’ cried Helene.

  ‘I’ve been there,’ said James.

  ‘To Demel’s, James, please,’ said Anne, ‘I should like a big fat cream pastry.’

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ said James. He slowed to a stop to allow two ladies to cross the road. They smiled their thanks. He lifted his grey, black-banded hat to them.

  ‘You’re very considerate,’ said Anne.

  ‘Ludwig,’ said Sophie, ‘is your Bugatti better, is it recovering?’

  ‘In a day or two,’ said Ludwig, ‘it will be out and about again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Helene, giggling, ‘and then you can ask James to teach you how to drive it.’

  ‘That,’ said Carl, who knew all about the mishap, ‘is a blow beneath the belt.’

  James turned right, making for the Kohlmarket. He took off his hat and Anne placed it on her lap for him. His thick hair blew in the wind. Helene began to hum a song. Ludwig, looking at Anne’s back, thought what a nice neck she had. James passed ambling vehicles. He drove smoothly, economically, and Carl watched his manipulation of gears with interest.

  ‘This is quite lovely,’ said Anne, enjoying the changing patterns of traffic and pavements.

  ‘I seriously prefer a horse and cart,’ said James.

  ‘You’re a reactionary,’ said Ludwig.

  Helene said, ‘Is that the same as—’

  ‘No,’ said Sophie, leaving Helene puzzled as to how Sophie knew she was going to say revolutionary. ‘James,’ Sophie went on, ‘horses and carts are for vegetables. We shouldn’t want you to become just another cabbage.’

  ‘I don’t think James will ever be as green as that,’ said Carl.

  The Benz purred. Carl felt proud. The thoroughfares were busy, the traffic containing a fair proportion of automobiles. The Benz outshone its rivals. James, however, was more aware of the fumes, fuss and bullying look of the motor traffic. He said something inaudible.

  ‘I didn’t catch that, James,’ said Sophie, wondering a little why she had consented to career around Vienna when it was just the afternoon for composing poetry in the garden.

  ‘It’s absolute sacrilege,’ said James in English. He frequently broke into English when the most suitable German words eluded him, but all the von Korvacs understood the language and so did Ludwig. ‘Look at it, my lovely Vienna strewn with smoking monstrosities.’

  ‘James, you are sweet,’ said Anne.
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br />   ‘Except that he’s in the wrong position to criticize,’ said Ludwig.

  ‘Oh, not really,’ said Sophie, ‘our Benz may be a monstrosity but it doesn’t smoke. James would never allow it.’

  James looked critically at the belching exhaust of a vehicle in front of the Benz.

  ‘Criminal,’ he said.

  ‘Now, James, don’t get cross,’ said Anne. She found James amusing, stimulating. She was sure he was tempted to butt the offender. He might have done when it stopped abruptly and without warning. He managed, however, to swerve adroitly round it. He pulled up alongside.

  ‘Cannibal!’ he called.

  ‘Mein Herr?’ said the startled driver.

  ‘That’s not a rocking horse you’ve brought on to the streets,’ said James severely, ‘it’s a man-eating machine of fire, capable of cooking and consuming every citizen in Vienna. I shall report you to the emperor.’

  ‘God in heaven,’ said the bewildered recipient of this crisp homily.

  James went on his way. Sophie was laughing, Helene giggling.

  ‘James, the poor man,’ said Anne, ‘you were rather hard on him.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Sophie, ‘that poor man was an idiot. Well done, James.’

  At Demel’s in the Kohlmarket, the uniformed doorman advanced as James drew up. The passengers alighted. Anne and Helene entered the celebrated establishment in a froth of blue and pink, Sophie in willowy white simplicity that commanded attention. Carl followed on. James bent over the car, looking for his hat. Ludwig found it for him, handed it to him. A dark young man in a wide-brimmed black hat passed by. He saw James, then Ludwig. He looked hard at Ludwig for a moment, then passed on.

  Demel’s, the most fashionable pastry and coffee shop in Vienna, was crowded. The coffee aromas were fragrant and ecstatic. Austrian army officers in sky-blue jackets slashed with gold sat with ladies of such radiant grace that even the pyramids of whipped cream had a muted richness. One lady, observing the dark, thin and slightly Messianic look of James as he brought up the rear of his handsome party, caught his eye over the shoulder of her escort. Her rouged lips parted in an inviting smile. She winked. James reciprocated.

  ‘I think I’ve made a hit,’ he said, seating himself with the others at a round marble-topped table.

  ‘With whom?’ asked Sophie and he pointed the lady out. ‘That,’ smiled Sophie, ‘is Fany Giesel, the celebrated musical-comedy actress.’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ said James.

  ‘She’s also very short-sighted,’ said Sophie.

  ‘That’s a blow,’ said James.

  The little lights of laughter danced in her eyes. She was creamy. In her white hat with little touches of pink, and her white silk dress, she was also symptomatic of the elegance and charm he was coming to associate with the women of Vienna. She and Anne set each other off, Sophie a rich brunette, Anne’s fairness warm and lovely.

  ‘We’ll all have strudel, shall we?’ said Anne.

  ‘Do they serve griddle cakes?’ asked James.

  ‘What are those?’ asked Helene, pink-mouthed.

  ‘I’ve a vague idea that they’re a Scottish breakfast,’ said Carl.

  ‘Invented by Vikings,’ said James.

  ‘Oh? For their friends or enemies?’ said Sophie, at which Carl laughed his head off and thereby caught the eye of several young ladies, one or two of whom sighed wistfully over his good looks. He looked very dashing in his striped blazer and white ducks.

  ‘Carl,’ said Sophie, ‘I think we should educate James. Order strudel for him, the one with curds and raisins.’

  ‘An education,’ said James, ‘should not be as punishing as that.’

  ‘There, Sophie,’ said Anne, ‘you have met your match.’

  They all ate the strudel in question, the paper-thin pastry baked around sweet curds with cream and raisins. James said it would make them all fat. They drank hot black coffee with it. Helene wanted to know what they might all do together that evening.

  ‘We shall whirl around Vienna with James,’ said Anne.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Sophie, given to less rowdy pastimes.

  James could have said he had whirled around Vienna several times with Kirsti. Instead he said, ‘Is it possible? On top of so much strudel?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just the thing for a visitor,’ said Sophie, ‘and although I’ve grown out of it I’ll whirl around very agreeably for your sake.’

  ‘Oh, yes, let’s have fun,’ said Helene.

  ‘We can only get arrested,’ said Carl.

  ‘Let’s be people,’ said Anne.

  So they drove later on to the Prater and joined the people in the amusement park. They rode on the Big Wheel and from the top looked down over the panorama of Vienna as the summer evening turned into illuminated night. Ludwig shot the head off a clay pipe at a booth and won a rag doll. He did not know whether to present it to Anne or to Sophie. James took it from him and gave it to a young girl, relieving the amiable Ludwig of the worry of making a decision.

  They returned to the city at play. The boulevard lamps, curtained by leafy trees, spread diffused light over the charivari of Vienna’s night life. They patronized taverns in which musicians, writers, painters, students and young would-be politicians argued away day and night. Anne suggested that as they were not dressed for formal dining they should have bread and sausage in one of the taverns. So they did.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Sophie whimsically, ‘it’s good to be people.’

  ‘I’m just hungry,’ said Carl.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Ludwig.

  ‘I’m eating like a horse,’ said Anne.

  ‘The noblest of creatures,’ said James.

  ‘For that you must have some of my sausage,’ said Anne and popped a piece into his mouth.

  ‘We’ll all get fat,’ said James.

  ‘Don’t keep saying that,’ said Helene.

  ‘I suppose we’re lucky to have the chance to get fat,’ said Sophie. ‘I’ve just finished reading a book from Papa’s library about brigands. They become brigands, most of them, because they are born in wretched conditions with not enough to eat.’

  ‘They’re natural-born scoundrels,’ said Carl.

  ‘Oh, perhaps they have a trait,’ conceded Sophie, ‘since it is a fact that in many Balkan countries brigandry is a family tradition as well as an occupation. Although they’re constantly harassed by the authorities, brigands are basically as free as the air. They conform to no conventions, only to their own customs. One magnificent adventurer called Dragovich ruled like a king in the Albanian mountains. He amassed a fortune from being a most provident scoundrel and divided it all among his followers, keeping for himself only the women he had captured.’

  ‘Oh, the dreadful beast,’ said Helene.

  ‘But generous with his fortune,’ said Anne.

  ‘Even if he was greedy with his women,’ said Carl.

  ‘Dragovich,’ said Sophie, warming imaginatively to her subject, ‘was seven feet tall, had a huge black moustache and a Russian cannon. He lived until he was eighty-six, had nine wives and forty children. James,’ she said, lights in her eyes, ‘do you know any man who enjoyed a life of more glorious abandonment than that?’

  ‘I’d call it worrying multiplication,’ said James.

  ‘James,’ said Anne, ‘do you think Sophie should be sent to Albania to look for a provident scoundrel of her own?’

  ‘I don’t think she’d go,’ said James. ‘Sophie, after all, has a higher intelligence than some of my pupils . . .’

  ‘Thank you, dear James,’ said Sophie.

  ‘. . . even some of my pupils know that an old goat seen on a distant mountain always appears to be a far more majestic creature than the one eating up your garden. Distance lends illusion.’

  They laughed and talked on.

  Three nights later they all went to the Dianabad, the incomparable home of Strauss music. They listened to the orchestra, watched the dancers and drank Mosel
le wine. Anne in jewelled white was, thought Sophie affectionately, lovely enough to float with angels. Sophie in shimmering jade green was, thought Anne admiringly, dressed to bewitch all men. Helene, in frilled, off-shoulder cerise, flaunted her pink-framed bosom with the archest of poses. She will catch Carl’s eye with such décolletée, thought Anne, but it won’t make him fall in love with her. Carl is very easy-going but I’m sure he will look for more than low décolletée in a woman. Is Sophie falling for James, I wonder? No, I hardly think so. She would be much more intense in her behaviour if she were. She has hidden fires, I think. It would be better for her to fall in love pleasantly, not head over heels. How nice Ludwig is, always ready to fall in with what others want to do. It’s rather delicious that he simply cannot make up his mind whether Sophie is more of a challenge than I am. I’m not sure that the possibilities and prospects aren’t vastly intriguing, and how enjoyable it is with the six of us to consider the infinite variations. I should be in a hopeless quandary if either Ludwig or James proposed, I should simply not know what to do or say. I think that means I’m not in love, only having fun.

  Sophie, her hands clasping her wine glass as delicately as if it had been summer’s first rose, mused on the lights reflected in the pale translucence of the wine. It has really been rather satisfying, she thought, showing James my Vienna. Especially as other people always seem to enjoy Vienna more than the Viennese. We take it for granted, we’re seldom fully aware of the jewel the emperors have laid at our feet. One day I shall complete a volume of poems on Vienna and have it published, and everyone will say here is an exquisite appreciation of everything we see and pass by daily without giving thanks. James is an artist, I wonder if he’d like to look at some of my poetry? No, I can’t ask him to, he must ask me. It’s a great mistake to press one’s poetry into the hands of one’s friends. It’s a self-inflicted defeat from the start. Either they’re flattered that you want their opinion and so only give you the highest praise, or they know you want their highest praise and do nothing about it, knowing they’re going to force you in the end to ask what has become of my poems you’ve had for a year? Oh, my poor Sophie, I quite forgot all about them, do forgive me. But you can’t forgive them, your artistic soul is too wounded. So no, I shan’t ask James to look at any of my poems. He’d probably paraphrase his criticisms in motor-car terms and tell me my metre has a flat tyre and my stanzas are out of gear. What is out of gear?