The Right Hand of Sleep (31 page)

Spengler looked at me for a time, half smiling, then shrugged
his shoulders.

“We’re surrounded by the Home Guard, you idiot! There’s not
enough blessed room on the Ballhausplatz for all of them. Where
for Christ’s sake is the goddamned shit-eating army? Where is it?” I
jumped up and down on the heaps of loose files, gasping and stuttering like a baby; the entire scene played itself out like a cabaret
routine. “Where are they?” I shouted, slipping on the folders, scattering documents of every variety across the carpet. “Where, Heinrich? Where?”

Spengler regarded me coldly for a long moment. “Last I heard,
they were setting up sniper’s posts, Bauer. On the roof of the Home
Ministry.”

I stared at him, nauseous again and dizzy with disbelief. A
knock came on the cabinet-room door and a crony of Spengler’s
ducked his head into the room. “The Home Guard minister insists
that he speak to you, Gruppenleiter.”

Spengler’s grin returned at once. “That’s fine. Come along
then, Bauer, if you’re finished. Let’s go hear the news.”

Ley sat just as we’d left him, straight-backed, staring at the wall
unblinkingly, hands arranged elegantly in his lap. As we entered the
room Dollfuss roused himself briefly, mumbled something, then
fell slack again. Spengler tapped Ley on the collar.

Ley turned slowly to face us. He looked us over dutifully and
intently, but at the same time with marked indifference, as though
neither of our faces need especially be remembered. Spengler shifted
from foot to foot, unwilling to be the first to speak. “What was it
you wanted, Herr Minister?” he said. “A glass of water, perhaps?”

Ley let out a sigh. “That a revolution should be run by two
such perfect half-wits,” he said very clearly, as if for his colleagues’
benefit. The secretary of security said nothing; Dollfuss moaned
loudly in his corner, to all appearances utterly lost to the world. I
squatted down before Ley’s bench. “Has nobody told you yet?
Adolf Hitler leads this revolution. We poor half-wits only carry
out his orders.”

“The worse for him.”

“The worse for you, I’d say, Herr Minister.”

“Yes,” said Ley. “That’s all very fine. I’d like to speak with you
in private now, Herr Gruppenleiter,” he said, turning abruptly to
Spengler.

The security secretary sat forward, trying to speak, but was
seized by a violent fit of coughing. “What’s the meaning of this,
Emil?” he managed to wheeze. Ley simply leaned over and put a
finger to the old man’s mouth. “You have problems with my Home
Guard, I understand,” he said, keeping his eyes on Spengler.

“Figured that out all on our own, did we?” Spengler said,
glancing at me.

Ley waved a hand. “A guess, Herr Spengler. Nothing more. I
thought I’d heard the sound of trucks.” He paused a moment,
smiling politely. “Not the best position to be in, I’d imagine—”

“Get to the point,” I interrupted.

Ley paused a moment. The security secretary was still hacking and shuddering next to him. “A word with you in private, if I
might, Herr Spengler,” Ley repeated.

I kept quiet, watching them both. The vaudeville quality was
building minute by minute. The Home Guard were, as far as I’d
understood anything, supposed to be fighting shoulder to shoulder
alongside the Brown Shirts at key points across the city; instead
they were mustered in full force of arms just outside the window,
sharpening their bayonets. Their commander-in-chief, who by rights
should have been tearing his hair out by the roots at that very
moment, railing at the faithlessness of his troops, was in fact sitting before us with his legs comfortably crossed, smiling at Spengler with a look of profound personal satisfaction. Whatever Glass’s
deal had been it had obviously crumbled, and we were powerless.
To this day I have no idea why Ley chose not to warn Dollfuss earlier, but of this I’m certain: everything that happened that day did
so according to his whim.

The idea took hold of me briefly to get through to Glass on
the telephone, but I decided to wait a little longer before I took
that risk. Spengler looked at Ley another moment, then shrugged
his shoulders. Two boys helped Ley to his feet. I sat down on the
bench he’d just risen from, next to the secretary of security, and
watched the boys lead him out of the room. The paneled door
swung smoothly shut behind them.

—Arise, therefore, and walk! said Ryslavy, throwing back the bedsheets. —Ah! Excuse me, Fräulein.

—Christ above, said Voxlauer. —’Tis the dead again risen.

—What time is it? said Else, yawning.

—Breakfast time, said Ryslavy, beaming down at them. —No time for dallying.

—This is the newlywed service, you son of a pig?

—The Fräulein may sleep on if she wishes. You, however, are no newlywed. Take a look at yourself if you have any questions.

—I’d rather not, said Voxlauer, rubbing his eyes.

They ate the remains of the previous night’s supper in the barroom. The sun was already beating down on the square and they sat over their cups of coffee watching a troop of uniformed boys assembling a podium in front of the fountain. A tepid wind was blowing. The Kärnten state colors hung from bent birch poles over the platform and above them fluttered the long, gaudy banner of the Reich. A man in a brown uniform, cinched and pleated at the waist, called directions to the boys from Rindt’s patio. As the three of them watched he sat down gingerly in a chair and began fanning himself with a newspaper. The boys were uncrating a public-address system from a row of orange boxes.

—What is it? said Voxlauer, squinting. —Is it a Bible Youth meeting?

—SA, said Ryslavy.

—Brown Shirts? Those children?

—He’s looking at us, said Else.

—Who?

—The head boy. The dandy.

The man had taken off his peaked brown cap and sat shading his eyes, his head turned toward the glassless barroom windows.

—Do you know him? said Voxlauer.

—I don’t think so. She craned her neck forward. —It almost looks as though he’s smiling.

—Wave to him, said Voxlauer.

Else rose slightly from her seat and waved. The man sat bolt upright and turned his head back toward the boys, who were now unpacking microphone stands and rolls of thick blue wire from the crates.

—Must not like women much, said Ryslavy. —No great surprise.

—That’s not the miller’s boy, is it? said Voxlauer.

Else gave him a crooked smile. —When he arrives, Oskar, I’ll let you know.

Later that day the two of them walked to the old house. —She knows everything about you already, said Voxlauer, unlatching the garden gate. —It’s useless to feel nervous. The doors of fate have long since clanged shut on you forever.

Else laughed. —Why bring me at all, then?

—To be honest, I could use the company. He swung the gate open and raised a finger to his lips. —Be as quiet as you can. It’s a game we play.

—A game?

—Shh!

—She’s an old woman, Oskar.

—You just wait.

When they reached the house she was waiting for them on the verandah. —I heard you coming over the bridge, she called down happily.

—I’ve brought somebody with me, Maman.

—Yes, yes. Come along upstairs.

They climbed to the landing and waited for her to shuffle to the blue-paned stairwell door and draw the bolt. —I hadn’t known you were coming, she said to Else. —But I heard you on the bridge.

—Yes, Maman. You always do, said Voxlauer.

—Come in! Come in and sit.

—Is there any tea?

—There’s still some, I think. Yes! There’s tea, Maman said after a moment, more confidently.

Voxlauer looked at the tea set laid out painstakingly on the table and the bone-china plates arrayed in neat arrow-shaped regiments across the carpet. —Did you have company today, Maman?

Maman raised her eyebrows. —No, Oskar. Not today.

—Those are lovely plates, said Else, smiling.

—Yes. Don’t touch them.

—Oh! No, said Else. —I wouldn’t. She glanced at Voxlauer.

—Maman. We’ll need cups at least, for the tea.

—That’s right, Oskar. Go and get them from the cabinet.

—Which one?

—The cabinet, Oskar. The
cabinet.
In the kitchen.

—All right, Maman. Sit down, now. I’m going.

When Voxlauer came back Else and Maman were sitting at the parlor table. Maman was holding a saucer up to the light. —How beautiful, Else was saying.

—Yes. Oskar broke most of these, the little monster.

—You must have me confused with some other little monster, Maman, said Voxlauer. She looked up and smiled at him as he set the cups and teapot down before her. Voxlauer poured the tea.

—Where did you come by these? she said after a time, studying her cup intently.

—From the kitchen, Maman, said Voxlauer after a little pause.

—Yes, that’s where they’re kept. There’s marble cake in the cupboard.

—Should I get it? said Voxlauer, rising.

—Yes. And the sugar.

—I have it here, said Else. —Here you are, Frau Voxlauer.

—Oh! Yes. Never mind, Oskar. She blinked at Else. —Oskar was born here. In this house.

—Yes?

Maman nodded gravely. —He was. She paused for an instant. —December 11, 1902. At the bottom of the stairs.

—Halfway out the door already, said Voxlauer, taking the sugar from her.

—The war took him when he was very young.

—I’m still alive, Maman.

—Yes, Oskar. And then to Russia, she said, raising her teacup.

—Oh, yes, said Else.

Voxlauer went out again into the kitchen, opening the cabinet and cupboard doors methodically one after another. Else and Maman sat across from one another at the table. After a time Maman shifted heavily in her chair and let out a sigh.

—You and I, she said, taking Else’s hand. She paused. —They go away. We sit here and wait for them. And we get old, don’t we, Irma? Don’t we get old?

—What are you doing out there, Oskar? Else called.

—I couldn’t find any cake, said Voxlauer, coming back into the room.

Maman nodded. —It’s just as well. I’ve gotten fat.

—No you haven’t, said Voxlauer, crouching down next to her and looking nervously up into her face, the corners of his mouth twisting involuntarily into a smile. His voice when he spoke was as high-pitched as a child’s, and the embarrassment he felt at his sudden fear was a child’s as well. He was angry, bitterly angry at being embarrassed in this way. His voice twisted and balled up in his throat and he couldn’t make a noise. —Maman, he said finally. —You’re not fat at all. You’re thin as a breath.

She shrugged her narrow shoulders and patted lightly with her palms at her ravelling bun of hair. —I’m glad you’ve come back, anyway, Oskar. She nodded again. —I certainly am. I’m very glad.

—I’m glad of that too, said Else, taking her hand. Voxlauer was already standing.

An hour later, as they stepped out of the Niessener Hof with Ryslavy, the square was already full of people. Old faces familiar to Voxlauer looked out uncertainly from rows of younger faces fixed in proud solemnity. Rindt, his grease-flecked tapper’s bib tucked sharply through a wide brown leather belt, made the rounds with a platter of yellow beer. Here and there a gray or black uniform stood out among the linen jackets and dirndl dresses.

—Where are the guests of honor? said Else.

—Guests of honor are always late.

—We won’t have any trouble recognizing them, at any rate, she said. —They’ll be dressed in harvest colors.

—I’ll be in my cellar, if anybody asks, said Ryslavy. —Call me if that fat bastard runs out of beer.

—In case you’ve forgotten, Pauli, said Voxlauer—we drank your last bottle yesterday.

—I might have a case or two somewhere, tucked away, said Ryslavy. He bowed to them gravely and stepped back into the ruins of his foyer.

As Voxlauer and Else moved into the crowd a rift opened on the east side of the square and the first wedge of SA marched in, alternating kick steps like horses in trap, holding their rifle stocks diagonally out in front of them. —We used to call that Gypsy-marching, back in my time, said Voxlauer, smiling to himself at the irony of it. Else was a few paces in front of him and didn’t answer.

A man in a peaked, black-fronted hat, like a chauffeur’s cap, called out commands from the little podium, rocking back and forth excitedly on his heels. The SA themselves were hatless and their cropped, tanned heads rotated briskly in execution of the drills. Here and there in the crowd arms were spontaneously raised in excited Heils. Elsewhere men were drinking beer and laughing and ignoring the SA altogether.

Voxlauer followed behind Else, who was making her way steadily through the spectators to the northwestern corner of the square. The upper floors of the houses were hung with crimson flags and banners. Those who hadn’t been given flags had hung capes and dresses and bedsheets from their windows. The ruin had been decorated with torches and a long red banner with reticulated trim now graced the leftmost of its arches. Else waited for Voxlauer on the Polizeihaus steps.

Column after column of SA filed into the square from its eastern side, forcing the onlookers back onto the curbs. The platform was filling rapidly with officers. A fat, five-pointed star of brown now fulminated in the square, spinning like a leaf caught in a gentle current. The crowd, too, appeared to be twisting along its edges. The black-capped officer surveyed the square a moment, stamped his heels with satisfaction, then stepped back from the podium. Grudgingly the bodies came to rest. —It’s almost beautiful, said Else, looking down at Voxlauer from her place above him on the steps.