“If you find a job for 25 shillings an hour, it is already very good” said Marek. “This you can earn in Feibra. If you manage to get a job at a construction site, you can get up to 35 shillings, but it is the exceptional happiness.”
My shell got me a job for 80 shillings an hour and without haggling. My colleagues believed me only when I showed them the section of my payslip after the first payment.
***
We sat at the wine in Klosterkeller, as was the custom when we said goodbye to someone who was leaving Vienna. Marek remembered such farewells by the dozens, but this time, we gathered to say goodbye to him. It was evident looking at him that he was not completely at peace. He was glad, of course, to be going back home, yet just before leaving Austria, something in him snapped. Probably he was not sure if he was doing the right thing. His eyes glazed over after the third viertel of white wine.
“I’ll be missing Vienna, guys,” he confided to us. “Vienna and all of you, and everything that I experienced here. But I'm taking it all with me and I will keep it here deeply.”
He put his hand on the left side of the chest, where he wore a stuffed wallet with his hard earned shillings.
“You may always come back,” I said. “Your bed will be waiting for you.”
“You won’t take someone else in the apartment?” Asked Must, very surprised. “There have always been three or four people living here.”
“I do not want anybody.” I said. “The apartment is not very expensive. I prefer to live alone, but as long as I'll be here, the place of Marek will always be waiting for him.”
I also got the feeling of the significance of the moment.
“Gdansk shipyard is still on strike” interjected Waldek. “Things there are getting more and more serious there.”
Of course we all listened to Radio Free Europe and the Voice of Washington. We knew what was happening in Poland. We followed the developments of the first strikes. The radio and press in Austria gave out up-to-date information. In contrast, Polish radio was not worth listening to. From Free Europe Radio, for the first time, we heard the name Walesa. We waited for every broadcast, and a lot of new information circulated among the Poles in more or less distorted forms.
“They will outsmart them, ” said Marek confidently. “A few days more, and the workers will return to work.”
“But I tell you that this can create greater turmoil” Waldek maintained his position.
Most of us did not believe it.
“Nothing will be done. The riot police will come and it will be over” Marek defended his opinion. “If not for the neighbor from behind the Bug River, we would have a chance, but there, the Red Army is already waiting for an excuse to see us on a visit of friendship.”
This was also my opinion. If I believed that in Poland something would change, what would be the sense of our exile?
After the fourth viertel we hugged Marek as we should and promised him our undying friendship. After the fifth, he was ready to stay and go back to work in Feibra and the sixth viertel brought the end to our goodbye party. We strolled over to Shnellbahn on our shaky legs and ordered the train to drive us to Margaretengurtel station. From there, it was just a few steps away to Opelgasse.
After the departure of Marek, I remained alone in the apartment. Indeed, I did not want a roommate, and I could afford to stay there on my own.
In the meantime, through the agency of emigration, of which there were a few in Vienna, I submitted my visa application to the Canadian embassy and anxiously waited for what would come.
A week after the departure of my roommate, I become homesick for a sound of Polish language. I went to our Polish church on Rennweg street, and precisely "by the church" to hear if there was some sensational news from our country, whether or not something happened that I did not know of. I walked from one group of Poles to another. Soon I knew that the wool to produce sweaters was the last greatest demand in Poland, what was the latest exchange rate of the US dollar and the Austrian shilling, and in which store you could always find the Favorit brandy and coffee for the best price, the products you could send to Poland to help fellow countrymen, while also making extra money on the side.
If I had called loudly that I was looking for a partner for an apartment, immediately I would have heard from several candidates.
If I would call that I was looking for somewhere to work, I could have more than a dozen in no time. Those were the two hottest topics on this "marketplace".
The end of summer was hot. Chestnuts slowly ripened on the trees. Many streets here were lined with chestnut trees, perhaps that is why some Poles called the Austrians "Chestnuts". It was not even malicious, but rather given with sympathy. Those, whom I encountered so far, were extremely polite to me and friendly. We could not understand why complete strangers, people on the street, or on the staircase greeted us politely without any reason with their "Christgott" and even smiled to us friendly. In Poland, for something like this, they would be taken immediately to the nuthouse.
After the end of the mass, when people left the church, the crowd of "exchange market” outside also became thinner. It reminded me that I was still also a Catholic, so I went inside to spend some time alone with my conscience.
And that was when I saw her.
***
The church was almost empty. Only a few people had been inside.
She sat in the last row of benches, her back to the entrance. I recognized her immediately because of her greenish hair - like a tangled cluster of seaweed. Never before or later had I seen such hair. I looked at it closer - it seemed to me to be dry.
Her elbows were supported on the back of the bench in front of her, her face buried in her hands. It seemed to me that her slim shoulders were shaking. Was she crying? Or maybe it was a trick of the shadows of the clouds slipping in through the windows of the church? I was not sure.
I went to the stoup, scooped some holy water in both of my hands and poured it straight into her greenish hair. I did not even think I could be wrong. After all, I did not even see her face.
She jumped up like a spring and turned in my direction. Yes, it was she; the same thin face, albeit older with the same luminous, turquoise eyes. They looked at me now with rage and she opened up her mouth, presumably to give me a load of shit, when suddenly she froze.
“Oh, it's you,” she said, her anger fading. “How did you find me here?”
“I’ve been looking for you. First, around Czerniakowskie lake, but you disappeared into thin air, then I came here, to Vienna where I finally found you. That’s all.”
“Well, all roads intersect in Vienna” she said. “Let's go. You can tell me the rest along the way.”
We left the church. I looked at her in the light of day. God, she was beautiful. As we walked down the Parkring street, along the city park, I noticed that there was no guy who would not look at her.
“Thank you, ” she said.
“For what?”
“For pouring water on my hair. Once more, I felt like myself even just for a while.”
“You did not look very pleased.”
“I thought it was some stupid joke. After all, I did not know it was you. Where do you live?”
We walked on foot in the direction of the Danube, her hair drying out quickly as it waved in the wind.
“I live at Opelgasse. We can reach it on foot. Do you want to see it?”
“Yeah, probably a hole with a broken table and two chairs?”
“There are four chairs, ” I said indignantly. “The rest of it matches.”
“Do you have a good cup of coffee?”
“Of course. I drink only Jacobs coffee. I also have a jug and paper filters, as the Austrians have.”
We went up to the third floor and I opened the door with pride. I immediately saw that my apartment did not impress her, though she tried not to show it. I put some water into the kettle, while Rusalka walked slowly around the apartment and viewed it from all angles.
“And where is the toilet?” Asked she suddenly.
“What do you mean where? In the hallway.”
“In the hallway? It is shared with the others?”
“Yes, but I have my own key.”
I poured my Jacobs coffee into our cups and pulled two of my four chairs to the table.
“So, tell me then” I started. “Why did you disappear so suddenly?”
I was surprised that I did not feel intimidated by her at all. Usually, I was very shy around girls, especially pretty ones. Now, sitting in front of me was the most beautiful phenomenon in the world, and yet I did not feel even a tinge of fright. I was completely at ease, though I had no idea why it was so.
“They drove me out from the pool, ” she said. “As I feared.”
“Was it because of me?”
She nodded.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don’t think about it. I do not regret it. I’ve visited some parts of the world. It was really interesting. Anyway, now that I’ve met you, I might be able to fix it somehow - she added with a sudden gleam in her turquoise eyes.”
“You do not want to drown me now?”
“No, maybe not now. We shall see about it later.”
I did not want to be drowned here now, years later, but as for the seduction, as she mentioned before, this I would like very much. Never in my life had I seen such a chick. Even a rock would get excited, not only me, the poor Polish immigrant on a forced vow of celibacy.
I think she noticed it right away, but did not try to use any girly coquetry. She knew, moreover, that it was not necessary for her.
“How long you been here?” I asked.
“In Vienna? I arrived here today. Straight from the train station, I went to church as I always do for moral support.”
“So you have not found a place to stay? Maybe you'd like to stay with me?” I blurted out jokingly.
“Well,” she replied quite naturally. “We need to clean up here a little and then it will be quite tolerable.”
I could not believe my ears. How was it possible for something like this to happen to me? At this point, I started to get a little nervous.
“Where is your suitcase?”
“I have no luggage. I'll go to the store and buy what is most needed. I always do in a new place. I do not like to travel with luggage.”
The more I talked to her, the more she amazed me. When we finished our coffee, Rusalka said:
“Come on, let’s go.”
I stood up without the least opposition and we headed downstairs. We took the tram, which was called Stadtbahn here, until Mariahilferstrasse. There, in the department store, she bought a few clothes and toiletries. She bought them without measuring and changing, unlike women usually do. The manufacturer's brand or the price of the dress or blouse she chose also made no difference to her. What was important only, was the size and color. All chosen garments were in greenish-gray tones and hugged her form (as I later realized), giving on an image of extreme harmony and elegance. With astonishment, I found that for her purchases she spent without hesitation as much as my monthly salary, even though everything fit in only one large bag of the department store.
“And now we go for a dinner,” she decided afterwards. “We have to celebrate our meeting. Is there a place that you like?”
I suggested Grinzing, of course.
We took a taxi. There, in Grinzing, we found ourselves in the midst of an international crowd, among the narrow streets of this old part of town. It was still warm, the weather was pleasant, and the multilingual crowd enveloped us with the atmosphere of relaxation and merry holiday bustle. We were on one of these streets where even Polish speech could be heard from time to time when finally Rusalka chose a small but stylish gasthaus, from which was heard the sound of Tyrolean music. Oh, what an evening we had!
We drank white Austrian wine while enjoying roast wild duck, then dessert came and wine again, this time sparkling, and again music and singing. Rusalka sung in German with the locals, and her voice was clear and wondrously melodic, differing significantly from the other voices, which were simple and boozy notes of convivial Austrian Bauers.
She sang glibly, as if she had been born here, until all the peasants of the neighboring tables went silent, listen to her singing, and their eyes were fixed on her with expressions of drunken praise.
I was proud and jealous at the same time. I did not understand. When we were already on the street, I asked her how she knew German and Tyrolean folk songs so well.
“This is not German, ” she responded. “This is Austrian. German I do not like too much, I remember it from the time of the German occupation in Poland and the Warsaw Uprising. Austrian is different. For me, moreover, language is of secondary importance. The most important is the melody. And singing, singing is my true nature. You should know that by now. All the books say it.”
We went back to my apartment at Opelgasse. She did not even try on any of the purchased clothes, just immediately went to bed and seduced me.
And it was probably the easiest seduction, she had ever done. I did not show any resistance at all. I was even surprised by how easy I was.
***
Since Rusalka stayed to live with me, everything changed. Completely. Suddenly my apartment became clean and neat. Everything lay in its place, and in the air was a subtle aroma of seaweed and sweet flag. When I returned from work, dinner was ready. In general, we ate fish and shrimp. She did not like meat.
“It reminds me of a human too much,” she once said.
This comparison surprised me since I had never associated meat with men.
On Saturdays and Sundays, we ate generally in gasthauses, which were countless in Vienna. Sometimes, we would come to my favorite Grinzing, other times to the cafe at Kärtnerstraße.
I told her of course that I had applied in Vienna for a Canadian residence visa, but she showed no interest in leaving for Canada, or anywhere else. As for my part, I could not imagine the possibility of leaving Austria without her.
I never said it out loud, though, crying silently rather than risking hearing from her lips a verdict on our separation.
She sang a lot, and usually strange songs without words and I could listen to her for hours. She would sit on the couch, combing her greenish hair, and from her lips would come out these wistful, seductive vocals. Sometimes, she sang in the evenings, sitting in the open window and always after some time, on the sidewalk, she gathered a small crowd of drunken men, returning home from neighboring gasthauses. I was a little annoyed by her popularity, or maybe I was just jealous? Maybe I wanted to have her singing and everything else about her only for myself. It even caused a little ruckus when one of the listeners climbed on a chestnut tree growing by our house to better hear her singing. He had probably drunk a few viertels too much, because he fell on the sidewalk and broke his leg. A Bezirk police officer, which arrived by bicycle to explore the situation, also fell off his bike and strongly harmed himself. He did not show up any more. Later, the weather got cold and we had to close the window.
To be more precise, it was me who felt cold. She never was, though her skin was always cool to the touch. Only when we made love she did get hot as fire, hot and voracious, ready to burn everything in its path, without compromise or negotiation. I was not in danger. I subjected myself with the greatest delight to all her whims. She was my passion and delight and I knew that once I got my visa, if she told me: - Tear it up - I would, without a second thought.
I asked her once about her hair, why now it didn’t have to get wet.
“I'm not like I was before,” she said. “Can you not see that I'm now the same as everyone else? But since I met you here, I’ve felt... Something is changing. Who knows? Maybe one of these days you will have again to pour water over my hair.”
Indeed, something began to change. Not between us, fortunately. We still loved each other the same way, a love that was young and crazy. We walked the streets of Vienn
a huddled together. We sat in the park, at the Ring, before a golden statue of Strauss with a violin in his hand, listening to his famous rolls, light and playful. We ate together our favorite sandwiches - leberkasesemmel mit kleine gurken - as we sat on a park bench, and walked to the Prater, where we tried to ride every possible crazy machine with fear and excitement. Of all the machines, Rusalka liked the ‘Wave’ most of all. She could ride forever on this crazy carousel, shouting and laughing alternately, as if she was still a child.
Yes, our love stayed the same, but other things started to change.
I realized it when I noticed the first snail on the floor.
I picked it up carefully, and showed it to her:
“See? The real snail, has quite the same shell as the one I got from you.”
She looked at it sadly.
“Let's go, ” she said. “Let's put him on the grass.”
We brought it outside and lay it on the lawn. Rusalka acted like it was a funeral. Sure, the snail did not jump for joy or run happily across the grass, but it was still better here for him than with us in the apartment, where at any moment someone could trample him. What made her so worried?