In the Claws of the Eagle (15 page)

By the end of the day Erich was beginning to see nothing but Jews. Jews with ringlets, black hats and greasy-looking clothes standing on street corners, ‘whispering’ and ‘
conspiring
’, according to Klaus. They had heard a strange barbaric wailing from inside a synagogue, and Klaus suggested a human sacrifice. Erich suspected that this was nonsense but he was now enjoying feeding his prejudices; he envied Klaus’s air of superiority. What did little truths matter in the face of the great conspiracy? Just as Grandpa Veit had warned him, they were everywhere.

Eventually Klaus took him, footsore and weary, to an unquestionably Aryan
Bierkeller
, and ordered schnitzel and beer for them both. They felt private in the clatter and clamour of the cellar. It was then that Klaus leaned forward.

‘Erich, my friend, you may not know it, but since your
Adlerwand
ascent you have become a bit of hero over the border in Germany. There is a call for men of steel and men with high ideals. What you said after your ascent has met with approval.’

What had he said? Erich wondered, but he was a little drunk now.

‘I have a proposal to put to you.’ Klaus said, ‘have you
considered
joining the SS?’

‘Izaac…Izaac! Come quickly, the Chancellor is speaking.’
Lotte’s
head appeared in the doorway and disappeared
immediately
. Izaac hastily laid his violin in its case and ran out to the kitchen where Lotte kept a watch on the world for them through her small wireless set. Louise didn’t follow him. The whole family would be leaning forward, straining to hear, through the hiss and crackle, what was happening to their country. She was as anxious to know as they, but she would leave it to Izaac to tell her about it later. She heard a general gasp: ‘
Oh no!
’ and then nothing until the radio was switched off. It seemed ages before Izaac reappeared, looking numb and shocked; he began to put his violin away.

‘Izaac, what’s the news … bad?’

He took a resigned breath. ‘You remember we were going to vote–’

‘For a
Free and Independent Austria?
’ Louise said, glancing out of the window. ‘I’ve enjoyed the flags:
Rot Weiss Rot
– Red White Red – they look so brave.’

Izaac snorted. ‘They can come down now. Our Chancellor’s resigned!’

‘No! Why?’

‘Because Hitler has moved his troops up to the border, and said to Chancellor Schuschnigg that if he doesn’t resign, and put Hitler’s own man in charge, he’ll invade Austria by force.
That’s what was on the wireless just now – Schuschnigg announcing his resignation. He sounded close to tears, poor man. Now Hitler is free to walk in.’

‘Will that be bad … for you as Jews … for us?’ Louise asked. She had been a silent partner in many an anxious discussion as the family had watched the rise of Hitler and the progressive persecution of Jews in Germany. She knew it would be bad, but she didn’t know how serious it would be here in Austria.

Izaac shrugged. ‘We are Austrians first, Jews second, I’m sure the people will stand by us.’ He didn’t sound convinced. Louise held up her hand. ‘Hush, Izaac … what’s that?’ There was shouting in the distance.

Izaac went to the window and fumbled with the catch. A lorry was approaching from the distance. A huge swastika flag waved above it. It carried the most extraordinary motley of men, wearing literally any sort of uniform they could find. Some had helmets, some caps, other had old storm trooper jackets, even Hitler Youth uniforms. There were men in
trousers
, boys in shorts, but all of them were wearing swastika armbands, and nearly all of them brandished pistols or rifles of one kind or another. Now people were running out of the houses into the street to look, many to cheer them on.

‘
Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer!
’ One People, One State, One Leader. The chanting from the lorries was being taken up by the crowd. More and more lorries streamed in to join the cavalcade. ‘Where have they come from?’ Izaac wondered aloud. Less than quarter of an hour had passed since he had been listening to poor Schuschnigg’s last despairing message. Had these people been hiding like rats in the sewers, knowing that this moment would come? Hitler had won. This was the Anschluss; Austria was being sucked into the Greater German State. The people cheering below were his neighbours! Had they no idea what they were letting into their country?

Izaac watched in disbelief as lorry after lorry trundled past. Now there was a new chant; his stomach tightened, and his knees felt weak.

‘
Juda verrecke! Juda verrecke!
’ Die Jew! Die Jew! The
chanting
got louder and louder, the syllables spat out with
machinegun
precision, ‘
Ju-da ver-re-cke!
’ He drew back involuntarily. While others were throwing their windows wide, Izaac was struggling to close his. As the windows closed the sound was suddenly muted, he turned his back to the glass and looked at his hands; they were shaking with a fine vibrato.

‘Oh Louise, I never dreamed that this would happen here.’

By evening, tales were spreading that, everywhere in the city, Jews were being dragged out of their apartments and being made to pick off with their fingernails, the posters
advertising
the vote that had never happened. Only Lotte, who was fair haired and clearly not Jewish, had dared to go out. Within a few minutes, however, she was back, panting. She rushed into the music room.

‘Izaac! Open those curtains quick, quick! And a window or two!’ She was struggling with a latch. ‘They are looking up at apartments to see where the curtains are drawn and the
windows
closed. That’s how they’re trying to spot Jewish families or their sympathisers!’ So, thanks to Lotte, and perhaps good neighbours who didn’t betray them, there was no knock on their door that night.

The following morning Izaac began work as usual, feeling that this alone would blot out the madness of last night. He had a concert that hadn’t yet been cancelled, so he set about preparing for it. He paused, his bow hovering over his strings. Suddenly he felt a sound so deep that it seemed to be rising through his feet. He noticed Louise look up too. It was as if a crack in the earth was opening … a sound swelling louder … and louder. He looked at the piano in amazement; a snow of
white petals was drifting down from a branch of cherry
blossom
that Lotte had placed there yesterday. Now even the strings of the piano were resonating.

‘What’s happening, Louise? Is it an earthquake?’ He moved to the window; when he touched the frame he could feel it vibrating under his fingertips. Immediately a line of black shadows swept overhead; he ducked involuntarily, like a bird below an eagle. A flight of German bombers was sweeping over, all in perfect formation; black crucifixes against the clouds. Another roar, and another line of crosses swept to join the massed tombstones in the sky. On they came, line after line. He could see the swastika markings clear on their wings, even the heads of the pilots. Suddenly it was all over and all that remained was a sky full of leaflets, fluttering and falling over the city like the petals from the cherry branch on the piano.

There had been real snow, a late fall, during the night. Hunched over Lotte’s wireless, the family had heard the
adulation
of the thousands who welcomed Hitler when he crossed the border from Germany and drove in triumph into his home town of Linz. Now when he looked along the street, Izaac noticed a change; the black and red of Nazi flags had joined the red and white of Austria, ‘Free and Independent’ no longer. Overnight even these had been defiled: hastily stitched swastikas strutted over Austria’s flags like crow’s feet. Stitched in fear or in triumph, he wondered?

Lorries were approaching, grinding through the slush, but what a contrast to yesterday’s rabble. These vehicles passed with military precision: lorry after lorry, their open backs crammed with soldiers all staring straight ahead, shoulder to shoulder, their rifles vertical between their knees, helmets
looking like eggs in an egg-box. It was terrifying, but
magnificent
in its way. At least with the German army here, surely the rabble would be dispersed. There was nothing Izaac could do, so he turned back into the room.

‘Where were we, Louise?’ he asked, hoping to lose himself in music.

The summer following the Anschluss passed in a strange limbo. Izaac still had professional engagements. When he crossed the border into Switzerland to play the Brahms Violin Concerto in Geneva, he found himself part of a stream of Jews fleeing west. They were all urging him to leave while the border was open; he would be welcome anywhere because of his talent. When he got home he tried to persuade his parents to go, but his mother, whose health was failing, wouldn't even contemplate moving.

‘Izaac, you go,' she said. ‘I am too old, too sick to face the journey.' The family discussions went on and on. Only Uncle Rudi seemed to sense any real danger, and he was voted down. Louise, listening to the family discussion, wanted to scream: ‘Go, go. Pick the old lady up and carry her, but go!' She had been through a pogrom in France and knew its
horrors
. Time slipped by and a strange lethargy settled over them.

November 9th 1938 began like any other day but the
hammering
at the door was unlike any normal knock. Had the
Germans
found them? Izaac hastily placed his violin in its case and hurried towards the door. He didn't want his elderly parents
getting a shock, but it was Lotte who got there first. She had just opened the door of the apartment, and was facing a German army corporal when Izaac arrived. Izaac noticed that the man had placed his foot in the door so that she couldn't close it. Behind him, in the dark of the landing, Izaac could see a tall figure in the all-black uniform of the SS. The two lightning flashes on the man's lapels glinted stark in the half-light. What could have brought one of Hitler's elite bodyguards to his door?

‘Heil Hitler,' the corporal snapped. ‘This is the residence of the Jewish family Abrahams … Ja?' Izaac put his hand on Lotte's arm and drew her back.

‘I'll handle this, Lotte,' he murmured. Then to the corporal: ‘Yes. What can I do for you?' At this, the SS man stepped forward into the light from the door. So far, the peak of his cap had kept his face hidden. Now Izaac could see it; surely he had seen that face before? He remembered his encounter with Gretchen's half brother, Klaus, in the Volksgarten. There was certainly a similarity, but this wasn't Klaus. And when he spoke, this man's voice was different, tight but courteous.

‘Thank you, Corporal.' Then he turned to Izaac: ‘May I come in?'

‘Certainly,' said Izaac, though he had no choice in the matter. There was a clatter of steps coming down the stairs, and Izaac had a brief glimpse of the Zelmans, the elderly couple who lived in the top flat, being half carried, stumbling and slipping, down the stairs by a group of militia men.

‘Close the door, Corporal,' snapped the officer. ‘We are not to be disturbed.'

Izaac felt he should protest about the Zelmans, but realised that there was nothing he could do for them; also he had his own old people to think about. He led the way into the music room and turned to face the officer who seemed to tower
above him, his peaked cap rising like the prow of a ship. Izaac felt as if it was bearing down on him. He heard Louise whisper; ‘
Don't shrink, Izaac
!
' He straightened himself up.

‘To whom do I have the pleasure?' he asked formally. The officer clicked his heels:

‘Untersturmführer Erich Hoffman.' Izaac guessed that this was equivalent to Second Lieutenant; a new recruit, in other words. The young man was unbuttoning the flap on his breast pocket; he took out a black notebook, which he flipped open and commenced questioning.

‘Family name: Abrahams?' Izaac nodded. This was entered in the book.

‘Christian name?' then he corrected himself: ‘Forename?' as if remembering that Jews didn't have Christian names.

‘Izaac.' For a moment the man hesitated, his eyes flicked up and made a quick search of Izaac's face.

‘
The
Izaac Abrahams! Excuse me, I didn't recognise you. ‘Occupation … violinist, obviously.' Izaac was used to having his name recognized, but the information seemed to have upset the officer, who was now drawing himself up to make a formal speech.

‘It is the intention of the Führer to acquire, on behalf of the people of the new Greater Germany, works of outstanding artistic merit. These will be displayed for the benefit of
all
Germans
in a new gallery, the
Führermuseum
, to be built in the Führer's hometown of Linz. My information is that you possess a picture from the Dutch School referred to as …' he consulted his notebook,
The Girl in the Green Dress
?'

Izaac's jaw literally dropped. What was the man talking about? It couldn't be Louise, nobody knew about her portrait outside of family and friends. She was private property. But the man had said
acquire
. The Nazis acquiring pictures! It just didn't fit.

Louise had darted behind the SS man and was frantically signalling ‘no' to Izaac. But what could he do? Try to deny the existence of the painting? But there it was on the wall directly behind the man. All he could do was play for time.

‘I don't think your information can be correct.' (But where
had
the information come from, he wondered.) ‘The picture I think you mean was bought by a common pedlar in exchange for a few pots and pans over a hundred years ago. It's been in our family for generations. It is unsigned and quite worthless.' Perhaps he could divert him. ‘We have a small Picasso which we might lend.' This was, in fact, true, the fruit of an unpaid bill accepted by Father to help an impoverished customer.

Surprisingly, the officer grimaced and shook his head. ‘We have no interest in
degenerate art
,' he said. ‘Kindly show me the picture I have asked to see.' Izaac turned to Louise but she was too distraught to be able to help. There was nothing else for it.

‘It's there on the wall behind you.' Perhaps he would choose the wrong picture. The SS man turned, glanced at the wall and gasped.

‘
Liebe Gott!
' He took a few steps forward and stood directly in front of the portrait while Izaac and Louise watched helplessly.

‘Stop him, Izaac!' Louise was beside herself with fury.

‘It's a pretty enough painting, officer, but it is just pedlar's junk from the last century,' Izaac said despairingly. ‘If you look closely you will see that it has a bad tear in it.'

But his observations were falling on deaf ears. The man had whipped off his cap, as if out of respect, and was standing mesmerized in front of the picture.

‘Herr Abrahams,' he said slowly; ‘I must disagree. This is seventeenth century, probably from Delft. It is not a Vermeer, nor yet by Fabritius, and it is not rough enough for Rembrandt.
But yet there is something about it that reminds me of one
picture
in particular … a picture of a beggar? I've got it:
The
Singing
Beggar
!' I could swear they're by the same artist. Rembrandt's the only other master who makes his white lead like that. Because he never signed his paintings, we don't know this one's name but we call him ‘The Master of Delft'.' Louise gave a whimper.

‘He's right, Izaac. Izaac, you can't let him take me!'

‘How can you be so sure?' Izaac challenged.

‘I have just completed my thesis here in Vienna on Dutch and German Art.'

The young man turned. Izaac was more certain than ever that he had seen his face before, but where? It was Louise who made the connection.

‘Izaac, remember that night in Mödling when you were attacked by a group of scouts up in the woods? He was the younger one; the one who spoke up for you, I'm sure of it!'

They watched the man's back as he took out a lens to look more closely at the brushwork. Then he stood up, clasped the picture, lifted it from its hook and examined the back. ‘That canvas was stretched by the same apprentice as stretched
The Singing Beggar
. I'd know his style. And just look at this mend! What amazing work!'

‘Izaac, he was decent to you once; work on him,' Louise pleaded. ‘Say that you need me for your music; he'll
understand
.'

‘I remember you now, officer,' Izaac said. ‘You were kind enough to help me when I was attacked by scouts one summer in the woods. I know that you appreciate music. If I said to you that this painting is the principal inspiration behind my
playing
, I think you would understand.' Had he struck a chord?

The man had turned his back to them and was running his fingers over the mend in the canvas. He turned around, but his
face was grave. ‘It is my duty, Herr Abrahams, to acquire this painting and thus ensure its safety. God knows what will happen to it if the mob out there visits your apartment. Also, you are one person, while the German people are many. You don't play for yourself; you play to an audience. This picture should have a wider audience than you can ever give it here. Also, I have my orders.'

‘I don't want to end up in a Nazi gallery, Izaac; I couldn't bear it!' Louise was desperate.

Izaac lost his temper. ‘How dare you! You are a thief! This picture belongs to us. It's our property and you have no right to take it!' Even as he said the words he realised that this was a mistake. In this new Austria you didn't question a Nazi's right to anything.

The man's features hardened, his body went rigid. There would be no further argument.

‘It is my duty to acquire this painting on behalf of the Greater German people. You will receive compensation in accordance with the laws of the Third Reich. This is your receipt.' He wrote in his notebook. ‘You will see that I have made a generous valuation. I apologise that printed forms are not yet available, but this will be perfectly valid.' He tore the page from his notebook and handed it to Izaac. Then, taking up the picture, he called to the corporal. ‘Bring the packing, Corporal!' So, they had come prepared. The corporal wrapped corrugated cardboard and brown paper around the painting. He tied the package firmly with string.

While he was working, the young Nazi walked uneasily about the room, looking at the other pictures. He saw Izaac's violin lying open in its case and touched it, then withdrew his hand quickly.

Louise, panic stricken, was being pulled in two directions.

‘Izaac, if he takes my picture, I will
have
to go. I
daren't
lose
touch with it. When we went to Mödling I knew where it was and I had you to take me back to it. But if I try to stay with you now, and he takes it, it will be like separating my body from my soul. I want to stay with you, Izaac, but I've no choice. I must go with my picture!'

Izaac looked at her in despair and saw the same beauty that the Master had seen nearly two hundred years before, but now it had a delicate transparent quality as if she was already fading from him. He gave a groan that made the SS man half turn towards him.

Louise was thinking ahead: ‘Izaac, you may not see me again. But think of me when you play. Play for me, and listen for me. I will be with you in spirit. In that way we may still be able to work together.' The corporal was tying the last piece of string. ‘Goodbye Izaac.'

The SS man strode towards the door, then hesitated. Izaac thought he was about to say something but he clearly thought better of it. He clicked his heels, and saluted.

‘
Heil Hitler
,' and he was gone.

Izaac turned in dismay to where Louise had been standing and found that she was gone too.