Vienna Prelude

  He rubbed a hand wearily over his head. A fresh headache was moving rapidly up the back of his neck until even his hair hurt. “Yeah. I know a guy at the embassy in Vienna. I’ll be back tomorrow night. We’ll get it squared away. I’ll bribe him or something. Rush it through.”

  “We can pay for the bribe.”

  “Sure. Expense account. Huh?” He almost smiled. If he hadn’t had such a headache, he might have laughed. “I’ll tell him you’re pregnant.”

  She did not find his comment funny. “I think you can manage without that. There is no use humiliating me, no matter how repulsive you find this. Bear in mind that it is not pleasant for me, either.”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “I’ll meet you day after tomorrow. Noon, in front of the American Embassy. Bring the money.”

  “Six thousand. And the bribe?”

  “A couple hundred should do it.” The train lurched into motion and Murphy felt sick to his stomach. He stood abruptly and went to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To another seat. Business is over, right?” He staggered out and spent the entire trip to Salzburg huddled miserably in the men’s room. He remembered the words of his mother and muttered, “Be careful what you wish for, Murphy; you just might get her.”

  ***

  Hours later, when the train disgorged its passengers onto the platform of Salzburg Bahnhof, Elisa watched as Murphy sauntered easily after the Schuschnigg party.

  Across from her, the two little boys slept peacefully, and only when the train chugged away from the station did she switch off the compartment light and draw the shade, and there, in the darkness, she wept silently and deeply for the wedding that would be no marriage, and the groom who would never be a husband. How he hated her! How clear that had been in his eyes!

  She was almost sorry now that she had ever listened to Leah. She had been doing fine with her Checoslovakian passport! Another trip to Germany. Two to Prague, and she had passed the customs checks without any of the difficulty she had experienced before!

  She brushed the tears away as quickly as they brimmed over. It would not be good if the boys saw their new Aunt Elisa crying in the night. They had seen so many tears lately. She would spare them that if she could, and spare herself from the ridiculous thought that John Murphy had ever cared for her.

  A business arrangement! Pay him and be done with it. That is probably what he had in mind when he offered his help six weeks before in Sacher’s! Of course! That must have been his motive. He knew that Theo had left his family well cared for.

  She came at last to the conclusion that Murphy had simply never gotten around to mentioning that he wanted money for his help when he had first offered it.

  Somehow that thought managed to dry up her tears like a dam and strengthen her resolve to go through with the plan. An American passport. What doors that would open for her!

  ***

  By mid-February, Theo was the only one left alive of the eight men who had lit their candles in the Herrgottseck. As typhus raged through the already decimated ranks of the prisoners, Theo gave of himself, his hope, his light. Like the oil in the Eternal lamps on that first Hanukkah, he did not seem to lose the strength of his brightness. Although to look at him, the men and guards of Barrack 8 must have wondered how his fleshless frame bore the weight of his ragged uniform.

  The final glimmer of eyesight left the professor, and the hand of Theo guided him through roll calls and days in the quarry. Theo saw for them both, worked for them both; he breathed for two men as though his blood flowed through the veins of the old man as well.

  “What is it?” the professor asked one night. “What makes you will us both to live? I am an old man. God promises only three score and ten years. I have lived two years longer than my allotted time. It would not be so terrible, Jacob, if I—”

  “I need your vision,” Theo answered.

  “But I am blind.”

  “You see better than most men.”

  “What I see is not my own. Other men have written my visions.”

  “Like Marlowe and his Faust? I had forgotten that we are all eternal. Good and evil men alike, we are immortal. This life is only a dream. Short, yet it decides the fate of our lives eternally. I had forgotten that until you reminded me.”

  “Did the words of Faust frighten you?” The old man’s voice was gently probing, almost apologetic.

  “No. It is not fear of hell that turns my heart from evil.” Theo smiled to himself as though he had discovered a secret. “We have been privileged to see what becomes of men who give themselves over to darkness. They are no longer men. They are the creatures; we are still men.” He reached out to touch the arm of the professor. “And yet, we all began exactly alike, like lumps of coal, maybe in different shapes and sizes. The fire and the pressure of hatred consume some men until they consume others around them in a white-hot fire. And others, trapped in the same fierce pressure and terrible heat, become diamonds to glisten in the hand of God. To shine bright when the blackness is all around, to find love when others are burning in their hatred. Isn’t that the essence of God?” He shook his head. “No. I do not fear hell. I am not afraid of evil. Black coal becomes ash.”

  “This you learned from Faustus?”

  Theo thought for a long time. He was not certain where he had learned what he now believed, and so he was not sure that he could answer the question. “A long time ago I gave up hope of ever seeing my Anna again. Or the children. And in that moment, I suppose I died to what I was.” He turned to the old man. “Yet when I let go even of life and put myself in the hands of God, I became free, Julius! And I said to God that in this darkness, I want to become a shining light. The men who have imprisoned me changed my name to Stern. Like your name. Stern means “star.” Do you think that the Gestapo knew how much I wanted to shine! There is nothing they can do to hurt me, Julius. Sooner or later every man faces death. They have not seen their own inevitable future yet. I have faced mine.” His eyes were bright in the gloom. “I know I will not walk out of here a free man. And yet when I leave, I will be free.”

  The professor sighed with the contentment of a man who has eaten a delicious meal. “Meat and drink we have that they know not of, eh, Jacob? Two Sterns, together in our little corner. Lumps of coal squeezed until we think we cannot bear it.” He chuckled. “Only I do find myself wishing that God would relax His grip a while and open His hand to find us shining and flawless.” He sounded tired. “Yes. I do wish that it was accomplished, Jacob . . . His voice trailed off into sleep.

  Theo drifted off after him, wondering if philosophers and theologians might not envy their classroom of suffering.

  40

  For Love or Money

  Tonight the northern light cast an eerie red glow on the snows of Berchtesgaden. Austrian Chancellor Schuschnigg had been met at the frontier and forced to leave the men of his company behind in Austria. He was taken up to the hilltop fortress of the Führer by an escort of black-shirted SS officers. There he was ushered into a room crowded with Wehrmacht officers who had gathered to hear their Führer conduct the business of the Reich.

  Thomas stood at attention with two other junior officers as Adolf Hitler walked past with his entourage. The German chancellor, now dressed in a brown military uniform, moved with an effeminate gait. Every few steps his left leg jerked a bit with a nervous tic. His eyes burned with fierce anger, and his lower lip protruded slightly. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out the picture window toward the Untersburg where Charlemagne was buried. Thomas had heard the legend that King Charlemagne had vowed to return one day to rule Europe. He had also heard that Hitler said it was no accident that he had chosen his mountain retreat overlooking the burial place of Charlemagne. Absolute control! That was Hitler’s demand.

  In the end, Hitler had determined that men might secretly question, but they would never again openly challenge as Blomberg and Fritsch had done. He would begin his demonstration of cont
rol tonight—here in the Alps overlooking Austria.

  The room where Hitler sat with Schuschnigg was large. A fire roared in a fireplace. An oil painting of a nude woman hung above the mantel. She seemed to gaze down on Schuschnigg and Hitler with amusement. Thomas and a dozen others stood just out of sight of Schuschnigg, but they had full view of the Führer’s face as he spoke to the frightened leader of the little country he threatened.

  Hitler leaned back in his club chair and said scornfully, “Your pitiful defenses along the border are nothing more to us than an annoyance. I need only to give an order, and overnight all the ridiculous scarecrows on the frontier will vanish. You don’t really believe you could hold me up even for half an hour?” He gave a short, bitter laugh.

  Schuschnigg sat rigid in his chair. Thomas wished that he could see the Austrian Chancellor’s face. No doubt it was as pale as Thomas’ own face. This was not diplomacy; it was threat and force. Thomas was ashamed to be part of such a meeting, and yet he knew his presence had somehow been ordained. Certainly, if he ever again had the chance to speak to Anthony Eden, he would tell what he had seen and heard.

  “Who knows?” Hitler continued. “Perhaps I shall appear suddenly overnight in Vienna, like a spring storm. Then you will really experience something. I would willingly spare the Austrians this; it would cost many victims. The troops will come first, then the S.A. and the Legion! No one will be able to hinder the vengeance—not even I. Do you want to turn Austria into another Spain? All this I would like to avoid.”

  Schuschnigg cleared his throat and began to speak. The words were quiet, and Hitler leaned forward to hear them. Victory was already in the hands of the Nazi leader. “I will obtain the necessary information and put a stop to the building of any defenses on the German frontier. Naturally I believe you can march into Austria; but Herr Chancellor, whether we wish it or not, that would lead to the shedding of blood. We are not alone in the world. This probably means war.” Schuschnigg’s words were only a hope that the other nations would help little Austria, and Hitler knew it.

  Thomas could think only of Anthony Eden and Churchill in England and hope that they had somehow conveyed his message to Chamberlain. Perhaps it would not be too late! If England would stand for Austria—

  Hitler was amused by Schuschnigg’s comment. “That is very easy to say as we sit here in armchairs. But behind it all there lies a sum of suffering and blood. Will you take responsibility for that, Herr Schuschnigg? Don’t believe that anyone in the world will hinder me in my decisions! Italy? I am quite clear with Mussolini; with Italy I am on the closest possible terms. England?” There was a laugh in his voice. “England will not lift a finger for Austria. And France? Well, two years ago when we marched into the Rhineland with a handful of battalions, at that moment I risked a great deal. If France had marched then, we would have been forced to withdraw. But for France it is now too late!”

  And in these comments, Hitler made clear that it was also too late for Austria. Moments later Schuschnigg was presented with a written ultimatum. The terms that would prevent Germany’s march into Austria included the appointment of the Austrian Nazi Seyss-Inquart as minister of security in the Austrian cabinet. Next, a general amnesty would be granted for all Austrian Nazis under detention, including those who had assassinated Dollfuss two years before, and those like Sporer, who had rioted in the Judenplatz.

  “And what of those citizens of Austria whom you have detained without cause in Germany?”

  “Are there such cases? It would be a small thing to look into. Communists and spies, no doubt.” Hitler promised nothing.

  The last item in the ultimatum demanded that the Austrian Nazi Party be officially incorporated in the government-sponsored Fatherland Front.

  “We will discuss this—,” Schuschnigg began.

  Hitler leaped to his feet and roared, “I repeat to you! This is your last chance! Your very last! Within three days I expect the execution of this agreement. Seyss-Inquart will be in your cabinet! Our loyal Nazi Party members will be freed from prison! Or you will find yourself waking to the sound of German boots marching up to the Hofburg!” He stomped from the room, leaving the startled Austrian alone and staring at the slip of paper in his hand.

  For hours Schuschnigg was subjected to the heaviest political and military pressure as the young officers looked on. So this is the way Germany conducts business . . .

  At eleven that night, Schuschnigg signed the “agreement” and was promptly taken back to Salzburg in the sledge that had carried him up the snow-covered roads.

  Thomas and the others were housed in barracks on the grounds where admiring soldiers spoke in awestruck tones about the strength and ability of Adolf Hitler.

  But for Thomas, the experience was a nightmare. He carried his report back to Canaris, then buried his feeling deep within himself and returned to his post in Paris.

  ***

  A jumble of clothes was piled on the bed behind Elisa. She had tried on nearly all of her best dresses, and nothing seemed right. What does a woman wear to her own wedding when it’s not really a wedding? To wear white would be ridiculous; this was not exactly the wedding she had planned for herself when she was a little girl pretending to walk down the aisle. Her whole life seemed to be turning out differently than she had ever dreamed; even her “marriage” would be a charade.

  Finally she settled on a royal blue wool suit that her mother had bought her in Paris last fall and sent along with a note that it looked “American.” That was, after all, the purpose of this pretense, she told herself. She wanted to make herself look as American as possible, and she would start this afternoon at the American Embassy.

  She dressed quickly, glad that she had never worn the outfit. At least wearing something new would help her pretend that this was a special occasion. The blue of the fabric made her eyes as blue as sapphires. The fitted skirt and jacket showed off her slim waist and hips in a way that drew men’s stares. She looked modern. American. Like the film stars she had seen in the English-language movie theatre.

  She fixed her hair the way Katharine Hepburn had worn hers in the movie Bill of Divorcement. As much as Murphy disliked her now, Elisa felt sure he would have laughed at the irony of the film title and her desire to look as lovely as the star. She simply wouldn’t mention it. She would be as beautiful and American as Katharine Hepburn, and act her part; then she would never see John Murphy again.

  They were, after all, two actors on a stage, saying words they didn’t mean. Murphy would be paid well for his performance, and Elisa’s payment would be the precious passport. Then, like the character in the Hepburn film, Elisa could pretend to be who she was not. She could go on living without Murphy as though they had never met, as though he had never kissed her in the park or bought sixteen tickets for the row ten aisle seat. And when it was all over he could have his bill of divorcement, or annulment, while she kept the American name and passport.

  She straightened the seam in her stockings. They were silk, the last pair she had from Lindheim’s Department Store. She had been saving them for some special occasion—her own wedding might qualify. Black heels and a black silk kerchief in the pocket of the suit finished the effect. She appraised herself in the mirror.

  “Elisa Murphy,” she said in English, “you look like American.” She was pleased with the effect. Then, still looking at the tall, sad young woman who gazed back at her from the reflection, she wondered why she had worked so hard to be beautiful today. Had she done it for Murphy? He wouldn’t care as long as he got paid. Did she want him to regret losing her love, to realize what a cad he had been? Maybe that was it. Even though she knew he had been acting from the beginning, she was sorry to have to wake up from the dream. What she had felt, what she still felt for him, was not an illusion. But the fact remained that he was not the knight in the shining armor she had once imagined him to be. He was only a paid mercenary in her battle. What could not be accomplished for love was certainly welcomed for money. br />
  ***

  Murphy’s hands were shaking as he filled out the papers in the clerk’s office of the American Embassy.

  “Mother’s maiden name?” He scratched his head. “I don’t know her mother’s maiden name. Harry, why do they ask such stuff?” He left the space blank.

  The clerk was a rakish-looking young man, with slicked-back hair and a vocabulary full of words he had picked up in the speakeasies around Los Angeles. His name was Harry Scotch, but he answered to his name by saying that he only drank bathtub gin. The truth was, here in Vienna he drank whatever was available whenever he had opportunity. This morning he had a bit of a hangover, but not enough to keep him from teasing Murphy unmercifully.

  “Finally gettin’ hitched, eh, Murph?”

  “Not unless you can help me with these forms.”

  “She’s kinda the cat’s pajamas, huh?”

  Murphy had not heard that phrase since 1933. “Yeah, Harry, she’s nice looking.”

  “That’s swell, just swell. If you gotta go” —he drew his finger across his throat—“it oughta be for a gorgeous dame.”

  Murphy grunted a surly agreement; then he scrawled something illegible in the space that asked for Elisa’s place of birth.

  Murphy was angry; he had been since the ride on the train to Salzburg. Everyone in the hotel and the INS office whispered about what a grouch Murphy had become, even though he had scooped them all on the Schuschnigg-Hitler story. Timmons supposed it had something to do with the fact that if the Nazis actually took root in Vienna, all the fun would float away down the Danube, just as it had in Berlin. Johnson speculated that Murphy was feeling the lack of female companionship and suggested that he ride down to the Seventh District before Hitler marched in and closed it down. At that, Murphy had kicked them all out of his hotel room and had thrown their stinking ashtrays out into the corridor after them. He was definitely not his usual good-natured self since he had come back from Salzburg!