A Certain Music

by Walters

  The man was not at the house in the Reinerstrasse that afternoon. Nor was he there the next, or the next ...

  Where was he? Thinking aloud, the child made her way to the factory gate.

  'She's gone,' a woman remarked.

  By the giant conifer beyond her window, her mother was waiting. 'I've got a surprise,' she said.

  'Papa!' The child leapt, was gathered into strong arms.

  A hand stroked her head. 'Your papa has come home to his sweet girl – is she not happy?'

  'Yes.'

  'We shall be a family again, the three of us. What fun we'll have ... We'll go fishing and picnicking – and sing loudly in the street ... '

  'Papa!'

  'We can, Liebling. The forge is far from the town square. It's where the factories are and a certain cafe that makes very excellent coffee, I hear –'

  'But –'

  'Is it not wonderful, Liebling?'

  'Is Mutti's factory near?'

  'Goodness me, no. Mutti's factory is here. Did she not tell you? We are going to Wiener Neustadt –'

  'What?'

  'It's a whole day's journey from here.'

  'We're going away?'

  'Yes!'

  'Leaving Baden?'

  'Didn't Mutti talk about the house? Liebling, it is big. You will have your own room. Think of that!'

  Silence.

  'And better than anything – Mutti will not be working ... Not in any factory.'

  'No –'

  'Yes. There is only one forge in the town and there is much work –'

  'No – NO ... '

  The man paused. 'Forgive me, Liebling, I know this is a shock for you. But a change will be good for all of us.' He lifted a box from the floor. 'We must help Mutti pack,' he said.

  The child grabbed his arm. 'When?'

  'Soon.'

  'What's soon?'

  'The cart will be here at five. We will travel at night.'

  'What day – ?'

  'Today.'

  Statue-like the child stood, and stared into nothing.

  'You are worried that you are leaving your friends. I understand, but everything has happened so fast and one cannot leave a forge idle ... '

  The child made a rush for the door.

  'Of course, you wish to say farewell. But hurry – we leave at five.'

  Into the setting sun she ran. Into the wind that whipped trees and flowers, that tossed leaves and papers into the air ... A ribbon on a braid fell free and skeins of hair slashed her face and into her eyes. She ran, she pushed past workers holding their hats, past woman with shopping bags ... Panting and gasping, she entered the Reinerstrasse. What if he's not there? He wasn't yesterday or the day before ... Please God let him be there ... Please ... Please...

  The man was there.

  The child held her head in her hands, her chest was heaving, she didn't – couldn't speak ...

  'What has happened?' he asked.

  'Leaving,' she mouthed ...

  'Leaving what?'

  She dropped her head.

  'The town?'

  She nodded.

  'Your Vater – he is no longer with the army?'

  She nodded.

  'He has a position, where?'

  The child staggered to the small table. Wrote 'Wiener Neustadt'.

  'I see. And you have come to tell me this. And when are you leaving? In a month? A week? Tomorrow? ... Now?'

  'Yes.'

  'Ah –'

  'I don't want to ... I don't want to go ... be away from you ... from the music ... 'The pencil dropped to the floor.

  The man smiled, a smile that was both tender and sad. 'No-one has ever wept for me –' he murmured. He took the child by the hand. 'Bless you for that. Now, dry your eyes, you don't want your papa to see tears –'

  The child took the handkerchief, ran a hand over her eyes, stumbled towards the door ...

  'Wait!'

  She stopped.

  'Write your name.'

  She picked up the pencil and wrote. Again she moved to the door. 'Auf Wiedersehen,' she whispered.

  Along the street she rushed, then stopped. Once more she had heard his voice. 'God keep you, Little One,' he called.

  From the house in the Reinerstrasse for the last time, she ran. Still sobbing, she entered the marketplace. She leaned against the trunk of a tree until her breathing steadied.

  She was only a child, yet she was learning the greatest of all life's wisdoms. That it is not pain, or even cruelty that makes a heart break. It is love.

  Outside the house in the street by the granary, the cart was waiting ...

  PART 2

  The Worker on the

  Factory Floor

  One

  In Wiener Neustadt the day was coming to an end.

  At a factory in the industrial part of the town the gates had opened and the workers were tumbling out. Trailing behind them were two girls of about fourteen. They ambled across the yard and into the street.

  One was dark and one was fair and each wore her hair with side curls, as was the fashion ...

  They came to a corner, waved their goodbyes and went their own ways.

  The fair girl crossed the street and proceeded to cut through a field. Here and there clusters of purple and pink told of violets and cyclamens. She bent to pick some, choosing only those perfect in size and shape; wound them into a bunch and tied them together with a length of wool.

  It was spring. The time of rebirth, the most beautiful of the seasons. She breathed its soft air and in an old oak's trembling leaves, heard music that told of the joy of it ...

  The field led to a graveyard. The girl pushed at the listing gate. She moved through waves of grass, past ancient and forgotten tombs, by angels with broken wings and empty urns, to where the new headstones stood.

  At one she stopped. She brushed the stone free of dust and leaves and set down the blooms.

  She stood quietly. She heard the sounds of silence; saw the spring colours glow in the evening sun. She lifted her fingers to her lips and placed a kiss on the warm stone.

  This she did every day ...

  She moved away. Soon night would fall and her father would be hungry when he arrived home.

  There was a time when he would have gone to the tavern. But that was in another place ...

  He didn't drink now. He rarely went out. Though sometimes in the evening he would join his new friends for a game of billiards ...

  Through straggling grass the girl walked, remembering ...

  Over three years had passed since she had sat at the back of a cart and watched her world disappear.

  Though that world had not disappeared. The man in the Reinerstrasse had never left her, he and his music were still as much a part of her as her hand was, or her arm ... Sometimes in the evening, as she sat with the darning, she'd hear his voice. She knew it was her imagination; but there were times when her needle would drop and she'd look up ...

  She never spoke of the man or his music, and when asked if she missed her home, she'd just smile and shake her head.

  And then one day a most unexpected thing happened ...

  Two

  The day began with rain.

  The girl fell in with others hurrying across the yard. In the doorway stood Herr Giersch. 'Guten Tag, my friends,' he beamed.

  'Guten Tag, Herr Giersch.'

  'A lovely day, is it not?'

  All shook rain from their coats.

  The girl made her way to level one. Here the master weavers worked. The men who handled the looms were indeed masters. It wasn't easy to control such fine threads; one needed strength to balance the loom or there'd be vibrations. Silk was a thing of beauty, it deserved to be treated with care ...

  One loom stood idle. The girl saw herself seated at it, a master weaver, watching the silk grow with the touch of a hand. She went on gathering threads.

  On level two Rita was sweeping up. On level two the women who embroidered worked, while on l
evel three, the silk was being turned into undergarments for the rich.

  The girl joined her friend. Together they collected scraps, emptied bins and kept the floor free of things discarded or spilt.

  Rita had come from Baden also. The two ate cake and ice-cream at the cafe on the corner, they played shuttlecock and went folk dancing in the square. Rita wanted to be a designer and have her gowns in shop windows.

  It was when the day was drawing to a close that Herr Giersch made the announcement. With Herr Graf at his side he made his way to level one and called for silence.

  Everybody turned. Herr Giersch was excited. He described an exhibition that was to be held in the designing and manufacture of silk; and went on to say that certain factories had been notified, and that this was one. 'Our good name has obviously travelled far and wide,' he crowed. 'However, sadly –' Herr Giersch wiped his lips, 'we cannot invite everyone –'

  'Good,' a voice murmured.

  'The invitation is for floor workers only. The objective being to inspire the young to become designers and sewers of silk. The names of the three who will accompany me will be drawn from a hat ... '

  'I could see my cousins, Heidi and Bernd,' declared Rita as they started to pack up. And added, 'I wonder if the designs will be as good as mine.'

  But the girl wasn't thinking of designs, or of Rita's cousins, or indeed of anyone ... All she could think of was that three of them would be going to Baden.

  And Baden was home ...

  Three

  The farrier looked thoughtful, he puffed on his pipe. Earlier his daughter had burst into the house claiming she had news; very excited about it, she was. But he had replied, 'I am black with grime, and I smell of horses. First, a bath and some food, then we talk ... '

  Now he looked thoughtful and puffed on his pipe. 'I think you have not been happy here,' he said.

  'That's not true –'

  'I think it is perhaps better to be in a smaller town.'

  'I am not unhappy, Papa. But it would be nice to see –' The girl hesitated.

  'Of course. I am pleased for you, Liebling. Save your Kreutzers and present the expense for the journey to your papa ... '

  'There is no charge, and the coach will collect us and bring us home!'

  The farrier knocked out his pipe. 'That your friend will accompany you is good,' he said.

  By the fireplace father and daughter sat, and stared into an empty grate. They heard the shutters rattle in the wind, and a night-bird call ...

  'Your mother would have been proud.'

  'Yes'

  The farrier nodded. 'You miss her too,' he said.

  • • •

  In the still of the night the girl awoke. She would escape the designs and the garments and race to the house in the Reinerstrasse. Maybe she'd hear some new music, more happy even than the 'Ode to Joy', or more beautiful than the sounds of moonlight – if that were possible ...

  In dreams she was already there ...

  Four

  Through the dark of early morning hooves pounded.

  The third member, a girl called Liesel, was the first to fall asleep. She leaned further and further to the right until her head rested on the shoulder of Herr Giersch. The four sat facing each other in pairs; alternately sleeping and waking with the movement of the coach ...

  Past sculptures of trees, by shadowy buildings and farm houses the horses galloped. The coach rocking and rattling on the rough roads ...

  The hours passed.

  At last the girl leaned out. She looked towards the east and glimpsed the white light of morning. She nudged Rita. Together they watched the day awake, saw its colours grow stronger, heard its orchestra tune up in the lowing of cattle, the barking of work dogs and the bleating of sheep.

  A squadron of brightly coloured birds flew overhead, squawking. And in the distance rose the ruins of Rauhenstein.

  The girl turned to her friend with a smile that said, 'We're almost there.'

  They were.

  The horses pulled onto a grassy knoll near the square and stopped, snorting and panting.

  The girl jumped down. She'd been fearful that things might have changed, but everything appeared to be as she remembered it. The town hall clock struck the hour in the same way and with the same sound as before. The column still stood with its shimmering star and cross of gold ...

  And it was market day. There was the same man in yellow, with his performing dogs; the same man played a waltz on the same squeaky fiddle. And the sounds joined with other sounds, as she had remembered them, with the calling of hawkers with their trays of trinkets and of vendors selling sausage and cheeses and fruit. And everywhere children ran with hoops and jumped like frogs on cobblestones ...

  'Over here,' called Rita.

  They followed Herr Giersch into the town hall, where people were gathered around stands admiring the delicate chiffons and crepes, the array of designs and garments.

  Together they moved between stands, keeping their eye not only on the wonders of silk but on Herr Giersch. They watched as a man in council regalia took him by the arm and led him away. They looked for Liesel ...

  'I'm going –'

  'Me too,' said Rita.

  The girl made her way through the square. As she went a young man caught her eye and winked. Something about him was familiar. Then suddenly she knew. He was one of the raggedy boys from the Volkschule who had made her life so unhappy. She couldn't help smiling ...

  She came to the Reinerstrasse and stopped. Her heart was thumping inside her chest.

  The door to the house was locked and the curtains were closed. She examined each window and tried to peer inside. In one was a chink. She stood on tiptoe and looked in. Everything was as she pictured it, though perhaps the mess was more so. If she pressed her cheek to the glass she could see the edge of the piano ...

  She sat on the same step on which she had sat when she was nine, and waited. She smiled at the thought of seeing his expression when he discovered her there ...

  However, it seemed he wasn't coming.

  She would return, there was time. Time, too, to visit the house by the granary.

  She stood by the wooden gate, heard the rustle of needles in the conifer beyond which was once her window. Watched a cart carrying grain creak up the hill ...

  Down streets with elms in leaf she strolled. At the factory she halted; saw the door open and her mother run to her across the yard, her arms waving, her hair flying loose in the wind ...

  She wandered back through the now-empty square to the fountain. Listened again to its whispering in the bubbling water. The water was cool and she drank deeply. It was a long walk to the home of Frau Schwarz.

  As she set out she was surprised to see children in the streets. And as she turned a corner, a man with a black flag was walking in the centre of the road. He waved the flag above his head as he went.

  She reached the house with the turret and knocked. She lingered in the garden, ran her hand over marble. Counted statues. Frau Schwarz was probably out helping someone ...

  The day edged on.

  She returned to the Reinerstrasse. The door to the house was still locked.

  The woods!

  In the Vienna Woods the maples and the elms, the beeches and the oaks were once again heavy with leaf. Through snowdrops and violets she forced a path to her tree and climbed up.

  Again she was nine. Now settled in the fork of its branches, she could hear the whispering of the day; in her mind's eye she saw carts trundling in and out of the marketplace, boys with hoops scooting behind wheels, wagons bearing families of picnickers, carriages winding along a forest drive...

  Today the woods were deserted.

  Down the empty path she watched for the strange figure with his shabby clothes and muddy boots that had walked towards her that first time, his long blue frockcoat billowing behind him, his hand attacking the air as he went.

  She was just about to jump to the ground and return to his house
when, like once before, she noticed something moving in the distance.

  Again it was a funeral. This one was big. The carriage, draped in black, was drawn by four black horses. The coffin was covered with black cloth. Black plumes on the horses' heads bobbed and nodded as the procession started up the hill to the churchyard. Behind came people, hundreds of people, the line went on and on. It reached from the top of the hill to the bottom. And still they came ...

  She jumped down. She ran. In less than an hour she would be leaving.

  Still the house in the Reinerstrasse remained locked. Again, on tiptoe, she peered through the chink in the curtain. Everything was as before.

  She paced up and down the empty street. Where was he? Things happened to people. Her mother had done no wrong, yet ... But he wrote music and music lives forever ... He's giving another concert. He's written something new and again they're going on and on and he's going on and on ...

  Up and down and up and down ...

  The minutes remaining ticked by ...

  At the grassy knoll near the square the horses were snorting and tossing their heads, impatient to leave. All three were there.

  This was terrible, to be here and not to ...

  Standing by the coach were Herr Giersch and the man from the council.

  'My notebook,' she stammered. 'I left it.'

  'Hurry. We leave in ten minutes.'

  The door was still shut. She ripped a page from the notebook in her bag. 'I came –' she scribbled. 'I –' But there was neither time nor the words for it ... She crushed the paper in her fist ...

  She drew her hand across her eyes in the same way she would when she was nine, and glanced for the last time along the street ...

  Five

  On a night blurred by rain, a coach drawn by four palominos drew up at an official building. The coachman sat on his box seat and waited.

  A door opened and two men in livery and leather cockades stepped into the coach. With a tap on the roof from one, the coachman cracked his whip and they moved off.