by P. G. Glynn
He was immeasurably glad to be married to her and to be in Vienna again. Wien bleibt Wien, despite the bullet-holes in buildings and the blood and swastikas daubed on them. These reminders of the civil war and of Hitler were everywhere and the slump too had taken its toll, making Otto’s city seem suddenly more provincial than Berlin.
It seemed absurd to him that his city should have overtaken his brother’s in provincialism. The Viennese were understandably bitter about this absurdity and made elusive jokes to mask their bitterness. Otto loved Vienna’s capacity for laughter, especially when the fun was self-deprecating. He also loved the coffee-house life that for him was Vienna. To sit sampling Semmelbrot or pastries and sipping coffee with whipped cream while the world went by: was this not a delight? Here, unlike in Berlin, time meant nothing. There was no urgency: never any need to hurry. He could sit with Marie for hours, reminiscing or simply watching as Piffkes came in, posturing like Ludwig and identifying themselves as north Germans by their arrogance as much as by their accent; or he might converse with fellow Austrians (for he was Austrian in his heart, whatever he might be in nationality) at neighbouring tables who felt as he did about the state of things. No-one nowadays risked being too specific but they could hint and the hinting was amusing. Yes, there was much to amuse him and to be said for sitting in cosmopolitan Vienna, with its Baroque reminders of the Counter-Reformation and of the Habsburg influence, relaxing and chatting to his heart’s content. It was also a source of satisfaction to him that in some cafes there were Hungarian, Czech, Polish and Slav newspapers, but none in German. Germans were seen to be unwelcome in a city under threat from Hitler – a city in which Magyars, Italians and Istriotes blended well with Galicians, Serbs, Bohemians and Dalmations. Otto doubted whether Germans following blindly in their Fuehrer’s footsteps were welcome anywhere.
Yet there was talk of Hitler annexing Austria. It was more than talk. There was a very real threat of Otto’s city being trampled beneath insensitive German feet. That madman with his Master Race might succeed eventually in breeding strong bodies and brains but it was the soul that appreciated things Viennese. So at all costs Anschluss must be resisted ... and Otto only hoped that Dr Kurt von Schuschnigg was up to this. As Austrian Federal Chancellor the responsibility for standing firm against Adolf Hitler fell to him, but he was no psychiatrist. Nor in Otto’s view was he sufficiently ruthless to deal with such a devious and unwholesome opponent. Schuschnigg was too decent, too moral, too intellectual and too devout a Catholic to understand and counteract the complexity and stealth of the German Fuehrer. Perhaps Otto should offer his own services to the Chancellor! Knowing Ludwig as he did, he was in a perfect position to enlighten Schuschnigg as to how Hitler ticked. Otto considered there to be little difference in brain matter between his brother and the man now threatening the very heart of Austria.
“It’s still a city of beggars,” Marie commented, reminding Otto of her presence as they strolled arm-in-arm along Franz Josef’s Kai, with the fast-flowing Danube to their left and the spire of Ruprechtskirche, the city’s oldest church, rising ahead of them to their right. “It was, back in 1919, and has been ever since if you ask me.”
“I don’t remember asking.” Grinning at the face she made, he then said: “These beggars are here thanks to the effects of the Depression and the civil war. The Fritz Meyers of yesteryear have found an alternative to begging. He and his ilk are giving Hitler a hand in raising his swastika-standard from Parliament’s flagstaff.”
“That could almost have been predicted. Fritz always had a monumental chip on his shoulder. It’s hardly surprising that he should have seen Hitler as some sort of saviour. They’re the same breed, as is Ludwig. But they mustn’t succeed in annexing Austria.”
“And won’t,” Otto said, “unless … ”
“ … spring comes early this year,” she finished for him after glancing behind her, “which is unlikely, given today’s temperature!”
Taking his cue from Marie, he turned his attention to the weather. In these uncertain times, with spies for the Reich in a variety of disguises, one never knew who might be listening … or informing. “It’s still very wintry,” he agreed, as a middle-aged man in a camel overcoat and brown homburg drew alongside them before overtaking at a brisk pace. “Let’s hope for better things by the time of Hugo’s arrival.” He then whispered: “I didn’t like the look of him.”
“No,” Marie responded strongly, “Mama won’t see another spring.”
The man in camel raised his hand to hail a taxi that he now boarded, disappearing with it down a right-hand turning. “We’re jumpy, aren’t we?” Otto muttered with a shrug before commenting: “What you said about Mama, albeit as a safety measure, is so sad! It’s hard to accept that she isn’t picking snowdrops … and that her garden will bloom without her from now on. Or will she be there, among the flowers, the same as ever except that we can’t see her?”
“I’m sure she will,” Marie told him. “If I knew Mama as well as I think I did, she’ll be keeping a watchful eye on things.”
“She asked me shortly before she died whether you’d forgiven her for … for interfering in our lives.”
“And now you’re asking me whether I had?”
“I suppose I am.”
“It’s easier,” Marie said slowly, “to forgive than it is to forget. I’ll never forget how I felt back then, when Marinka put her oar in. I detested Mama for the way she pulled your strings … and took a dim view of you, too, for letting her pull them.”
“Yes … I remember.”
She saw that after flinching exaggeratedly he was smiling at her. “In answer to your question … yes, I loved Mama again long before the end. So if I loved her I must have forgiven her. I’m sure she always meant well, however cataclysmic the effects of her meddling … and it’s as if a light went out in the castle when she died. She was the glue bonding the Bergers, wasn’t she? Without her benign influence there isn’t even any pretence of our being a united family. As for Ludwig and his antics, it hasn’t improved matters that Mama left the bulk of her property to Hugo although I think she was right to do so. The man’s an absolute horror and he and Lenka together strike me as the embodiment of malevolence. Let’s hope they soon move to Germany permanently. Berlin might be too close for comfort, but I’m rather more comfortable with them there than sharing Schloss Berger.”
“So am I!”
“You certainly said that as if you meant it.”
“I did.” Otto frowned and looked around him before saying: “Liebchen, there’s something we should discuss. Were my dear brother or one of his fellow thugs to make a martyr of me, have you thought what you’d do – or where you’d go, with Hugo?”
Marie had thought about it. The possibility had needed considering. Now she said slowly: “I suppose that in the event of Ludwig doing as he keeps threatening to do, I’d take Hugo home.”
“‘Home’ being where, exactly?”
“It’s no simple matter to be exact. I’ve lived over here for so long now that I almost think of myself as European.” She saw his wistful expression and reminded him: “I said almost, Otto. Deep down, where it counts, I’ll always be Welsh – and certainly British. I don’t belong in Bohemia and never did, although in some respects I now have a sense of belonging.” She added after a bit: “But I still haven’t answered you. Wales remains home, I suppose, although I can no more imagine living with Mam in Beulah than I can imagine leaving you and Carla behind me here.”
He was gratified that she had mentioned him first and Carla second, whether or not it was intentional. And he was relieved that she saw Monmouthshire, not London, as her destination. Could he conclude that she had at last forgotten Charles Brodie and that, as a widow, she would not go looking for him? Otto hoped so. He hoped that the almost spiritual closeness he and Marie had shared in the months since Mama’s death meant something to her … and that it would continue to have meaning, whatever happened and wherever she went.
“Never forget Hugo’s heritage,” he said. “You might be Welsh, but remember that our son is Bohemian and that when he comes of age Schloss Berger and all that goes with it will be his.”
“I agree that he’s essentially Bohemian, despite the fact that he was born in Britain, and I shan’t forget. Shall we now stop speaking as if you were already dead?”
“Yes, let’s!” He didn’t want to die … didn’t want to go where souls went, on his own without Marie or Hugo. He especially didn’t want to die the slow, painful death Ludwig kept hinting at in his threats. Otto had never seen himself as a hero and didn’t feel like one now. He felt fear for the unknown future and a great wave of nostalgia for the known and halcyon past. It was frightening to realise that there could be no going back to the security of being Mama’s child, nor to the years before murder exploded across Germany with the ever-present threat of it exploding further. If Hitler could have Ernst Roehm – the head of the SA and one of his oldest comrades – arrested and shot, then who was safe these days? Otto, who had only recently learned the value of a silent tongue, certainly wasn’t … and he had not held his silence when Ludwig boasted to him of having had a hand in the subsequent killings of Roehm’s SA commanders and more than a hundred others, who were dragged from their beds in a series of night raids and brutally executed. The killers, Ludwig had said, were Hitler’s bodyguards – the SS, of which elite band he himself was proud to be a member.
How was it possible that a son of Mama’s could have sunk to such depths? He had asked that question, only to hear that Ludwig considered himself several cuts above Mama’s other sons … and that Otto’s day of reckoning would come. There was no doubting Ludwig’s sincerity and nor could he doubt that part of his brother’s warped pleasure came from keeping him in suspense. Ludwig often said that knowing the ‘when’ would be security, in a sense. It was the not knowing that kept Otto on his toes – the not knowing and the lengthy dread of certain, agonising death. Now he said: “Perhaps we should consider leaving Bohemia, together as a family, before Ludwig and his friends have the power in Austria and elsewhere that they’re flaunting currently in Germany. It’s probably brainless to stay, especially if the worst happens and annexation takes place.”
“I agree,” said Marie, “that that would be an excellent reason for running away. Haven’t we walked far enough for one day? My poor feet are killing me.”
+++++
Even though it would mean not seeing Helga, Hugo was looking forward to spending Easter in Vienna with Mama and Papa. He didn’t know Vienna as well as he knew Prague but thought he probably liked it still better. He particularly liked the Prater and riding on the Riesenrad, which Lukas Paloucky said was the biggest ferris wheel anywhere in the world. Hugo had ridden on it with Papa on his last visit and it had been such fun to revolve so high above the city, looking across the domes and spires and the Donau and feeling like a bird must feel when spreading its wings and soaring over the rooftops. Would this still be fun, now that Omama was gone?
There had not seemed to be much fun in anything since he lost his grandmother and Hugo had still not resolved his loss. The missing just went on and on. Whenever he thought it might possibly have stopped back it came again, fresh as ever. So it was a relief not to be going home for Easter but instead to be aboard a train chuffing toward Vienna. Christmas had seemed weird without Omama and he had been dreading Easter until the letter came from Papa saying that Hugo was to join him and Mama at the Sacher. Much better to be there than in Schloss Berger with reminders of Omama everywhere but without her presence! While far from Herrlichbach Hugo could pretend that when he next went home he would see her again. He knew it was only pretence and yet it somehow helped. There was also the question of whether Omama still was there, really, except not in her body. Hugo sometimes dreamed of her and in one of his dreams she had told him that she had not gone anywhere … that she lived on in Schloss Berger, same as ever. He had heard her so clearly that it had been as if she were actually speaking. Could she have been speaking to him from wherever she was, proving that she had not gone? Lukas Paloucky said that on an intellectual level it was obvious that dreams were of no consequence and that death was the end of everything.
For the first time in his life Hugo had found himself doubting him. Death could not be the end because that wouldn’t make sense. Nor would it explain where the soul went. Lukas, being so scholarly, only believed in things he could see. He said that if you couldn’t see something then it clearly did not exist. Hugo, though, disagreed. You couldn’t see the wind, except when it blew in the trees, yet the wind existed. Which was surely a bit like the breath one breathed. Again it couldn’t be seen, yet without breath everybody would be dead! Finding that he was tying himself up in knots trying to fathom what was what, Hugo turned his attention ahead to Vienna and to the rest of his journey there.
After Brno, where – having made a detour for the purpose – he lunched with a school friend before boarding a Vienna-bound train, Hugo looked out of the window to avoid looking at the stout Stormtrooper who had come to sit opposite him. He hated those brown uniforms and the black armbands with red swastikas on them. Lukas said that a swastika was just an ancient cosmic symbol formed by a Greek cross with the ends of the arms bent at right angles, but Hugo knew he was only saying it to be reassuring. There was something sinister about the Nazi soldiers, especially in the way they saluted Hitler and shouted ‘Sieg Heil!’ to him. Hugo had seen them saluting and shouting on the news at the cinema … and he was scared at the prospect of an Anschluss between Nazi Germany and Austria.
What would happen then to Czechoslovakia, especially if the rumour was right that President Masaryk was about to resign? At the age of eighty-five his resignation would hardly be surprising … and his likely successor, Dr Benes, was a military man who had openly stated that he would prefer the Anschluss of Austria with Germany to a Habsburg restoration. While Masaryk was saying last year that he wouldn’t be so crazy as to exaggerate the din of Pan-German agitation into supposing that it spelled war, Benes was saying that Czechoslovakia must be militarily prepared for the gravest emergencies. Lukas said that as it was chiefly men such as Schoenerer and Heinrich Class – who never held key positions and so were relatively harmless – parading their Pan-Germanism in front of Masaryk it wasn’t any wonder that he was under-estimating the importance of Pan-German rumblings, but that with Adolf Hitler as Chancellor of the German Reich the pacifist President should perhaps think again. Hugo sometimes wished he understood politics like Lukas did and sometimes he was glad that he didn’t. If only everyone could just be friends instead of enemies! That should surely not be beyond human ability.
But Papa and Onkel Ludwig were brothers and hated each other, so if even they couldn’t be friendly how could whole countries ever be expected to forge friendship instead of enmity? Such a thing was clearly asking too much of everyone, especially when Onkel Ludwig was impossible to like, let alone love. In fact he gave Hugo the willies. As well as being a Nazi he was so ugly, with gobstopper eyes and with a mouth set in a permanent sneer. There was nothing wrong with ugliness but there was something wrong with him. He epitomised cruelty, killing innocent creatures for the ‘fun’ of killing them, and treating servants like dirt when he thought none of the family were looking. As for his attitude to Jews: Hugo abhorred it, the more so now that Lukas was at risk. Helga said it was well known that the Nazis killed Jews and then turned them into soap. She also said that when Jews were taken to the concentration camp in Upper Silesia they were taken there to die – not to live, as people were told. It was true that Jews kept disappearing, never to be heard of again – and not only Jews. Public figures and less public ones, too, were tortured or shot for saying or doing something ‘inappropriate’. How much of the torturing and shooting did Onkel Ludwig do?
Hugo hadn’t breathed a word about this uncle at school. He was deeply ashamed to have a relative who did bad things and couldn’t imagine what Lukas would think. Luka
s actually knew a man who was kidnapped in Prague only last week by some Reich German Nazis. There had been no news of him since and Lukas said kidnappings would increase now that there was collaboration between the railway and customs officials in Eger and the Reich German Secret Police, who could consequently cross with comparative ease into Czechoslovak territory. Since Lukas was seldom wrong he was almost surely right in this, although how he knew about the collaboration was beyond Hugo. The fact that his father was a professor might have something to do with it, since professors seemed to know everything there was to know.
Hugo let his gaze stray momentarily from the view beyond the train window to the jackboots on the feet of the Stormtrooper opposite. Had those boots kicked innocents and perhaps even trampled them to death? Probably, for they were Nazi boots … and the fact that they could now be worn in Czechoslovakia was ominous.
Trying not to feel apprehensive, Hugo returned his gaze to the window again and forced his thoughts forward to Vienna. He would soon be there, with Mama and Papa! Would Mama one day love Papa as much as Papa loved her? Mostly there seemed little hope of such a thing but at Christmas, with Papa grieving so over Omama, Mama had been especially tender toward him. Perhaps she still would be, now that it was spring and they were in Vienna, which was a very romantic city. Hugo had it in mind to bring Helga here for their Hochzeitsreise – assuming, of course, that she agreed to honeymoon with him in Austria. Not that she had yet agreed to marry him, even, so it was too soon to look beyond the wedding but it was good to dream. Now that Hugo was fifteen she might take him more seriously than the last time he broached the subject – when Helga said he must be delirious. This was just her way of talking to him and he was used to it. He loved her so much that she must love him! Without her he simply could not exist. Hugo was waiting patiently (and at times impatiently) until he reached an age when she would see him differently from how she had seen him to date.
