The Vienna Melody (20 page)

He would have liked to do that. First of all he was frightened by the dead man, and besides, he had to learn his Latin vocabulary for the next day. But Christl was so sad. “I'll go in a minute,” he said, but stayed on. After a bit he added, “Mammi will surely be coming very soon!” At that her poor pale face lightened. Now you could see for the first time how much she looked like Uncle Paskiewicz.

He wanted to talk to her, to get her to think about other things, but since she tiptoed around all the time it was evidently necessary to keep quiet. So he seated himself aimlessly on the windowsill and looked at the walnut tree in the yard and at the green blinds which year in and year out covered the windows of the ground-floor apartment where old Sophie, whom he had never known, had died. With a face which he avoided looking at, Christl came and went, doing all sorts of things for Uncle Paskiewicz. She lighted candles on either side of the bed. She closed his eyes. She folded his hands over the coverlet. She laid a small cross in them. She handled him like a doll. Hans did not hear her cry, and that consoled him. When you are dreadfully sad you weep.

When she had finished she drew up a chair beside the bed and sat down. What had become of Uncle now? When a man dies he goes to heaven or to hell. But Uncle was still lying there. He looked as though he were asleep, and sound asleep too, for the longer you looked at him the more clearly you saw that he was smiling. “Look at him,” said the boy. “He will surely wake up again!” Christl shook her head. “He won't ever wake up!” she whispered. If that were so then the dead would not go either to heaven or to hell, for there they did wake up. After he had sat by the window for almost an hour and watched carefully to see if his uncle were breathing, Hans realized that he was not. It was only yesterday afternoon on the staircase that he had called to him, “Hello, Hans! Can you conjugate
amo
yet?” And tonight he could not say anything to him although he had the same mouth.

A little later Christl began to cry. That bewildered the boy even more. “Perhaps Mammi has come home by now. I'll go and take a look,” he said. She nodded disconsolately through her tears.

Once more he climbed the stairs, and again only Herr Simmerl, Neni, the chambermaid, the cook, and his brother and sister were home. It was time for the children's supper, so they were seated in the nursery and given their food.

“Why are you so excited about your uncle?” Neni asked. “He was always sick. It is a release for him.”

Franziska, who was already in the third class, and Hermann, who was going to be in the second next year, giggled as usual about everything. After supper Hans went into his study to work on his vocabulary for the next day.

He took his exercise book, labelled “Alt, Hans, Class Ia,” out of his school-bag and laid one hand over the half of the page with the translation of the words. “
Jucundus
—gay.
Pulcher
—beautiful.
Amoenus
—agreeable.
Jucundus
—gay.
Pulcher—
” If he made of mess of his Latin test next day Professor Miklau would give him a black mark in his monthly report. “
Aureus—
golden
. Aureus
—golden.
Aureus
—golden.” Memorizing the words, he paced up and down the small room, which was situated between his mother's bedroom and the big nursery. Across the way in Seilerstätte blazed the lights of the Ronacher Theater. It was less than four weeks now the end of the first term. “
Aetas
—age.
Jucundus
—gay.” I hope she isn't crying any longer. “
Bellum
—war.
Castrum
—armed camp.” Christl would never have left him by himself! She had ways come to him when he was sad. “
Aureus
—” Will those silly creatures in the next room never get to sleep? Elementary-school children should be in bed!

Up and down paced the student, the little blue exercise book in his hand. He tried not to think about anything except the foreign words written in his own stiff, vertical handwriting, which Professor Miklau would probably use in tomorrow's Latin test. Was she still sitting by the bedside of the dead man? Perhaps Aunt Gretl was with her now. But that would not help. That was why Christl loved Mammi so, for Aunt Gretl cared only for Uncle and never for her. And just today Mammi had to be away! “
Castrum
—armed camp.” Was she still crying?

Her tear-stained, helpless face gave him no peace. When the familiar noises next door indicated that Neni had put the other children to bed and the chambermaid had cleared the table, he softly opened the door into the vestibule. An instant later he was on the staircase and in no time stood before the door of Christine's apartment.

He rang; no one answered. He rang again. Then he knocked with his fingers and then with his fist. No one stirred. He laid his ear to the door and was startled. Weeping! Perfectly distinct! “Christl!” he cried. “It's me!”

No answer. Only sobs.

“Christl? Christl!”

Was she angry with him? He had promised to bring his mother and had not done it. They had left her all alone, he and Mammi!

“Christl—do listen to me!” he begged through the keyhole. “Mammi will soon be here! Please! Say something!” Now she will surely answer!

He waited. When there was no reply he rushed downstairs. As it was almost nine o'clock Pawlik, the janitor, was standing in his dressing gown and slippers at the Seilerstätte door, preparing to lock up. “Where to so late?” he asked. “To buy an exercise book!” Hans fibbed, and was already outside. “At this hour—an exercise book?” the janitor grumbled after him.

Hans had neither jacket nor cap on, but since he was running he did not feel the cold. All he could think of was: Hurry! The sooner I bring her the less I shall have cheated Christl! Then she will realize at least that it was not my fault!

As he ran his soft blond hair fell over his forehead, behind which his thoughts were pounding pell-mell. The dead man. Aunt Gretl who didn't stir. Christl's bloodless face. The flickering candles—the cry—the dreadful sobbing—Oh, hurry! Perhaps she would do something to herself. He had heard that people did something, although he had no exact idea of what it meant. If he did not run fast enough perhaps they would not get there in time.

Never had he been in the streets so late as this. But the bright gas streetlamps showed him the way. In the Schwarzenberg Square a policeman stopped him. “Where are you running to, laddie?” Fortunately a tram was coming up to a stop and he could appear to be running towards it. When the policeman turned away he ran on; he had no money for a tram fare.

In the Rennweg he had to ask the way, and in the Ungargasse he lost his direction. But in not much over half an hour he had reached the Marxergasse. The endless line of an endless number of carriages hacks showed him where the Sophia Hall was.

He had imagined that he would simply say, “I want to see Frau. She has something to do with this ball.” The word “patroness” had slipped his mind. But when he mentioned it to the huge doorman the latter looked at him as though he were speaking a foreign language. There he stood, with his gold-and-black cocked hat, fur collar, and gilt pouch belt, between two placards: “January 17, 1901. Black and Gold Ball. Under the patronage of Her Serene Highness Princess Pauline Metternich-Sándor. Proceeds to the Polyclinic Hospital. Bands under the direction of C. M. Ziehrer, Karl Komzak, Franz Lehár.” The doorman, his hands now full opening the doors of the carriages of the late-comers said: “Why, dear child, how in the world could I find your mother among these thousands of guests? Do you know what? Be a good boy; go home and wait till she comes. Your servant, Herr Graf! I kiss your hand, Frau Gräfin! To the right, to the right, please, for the gentlemen! Ladies to the left! Your servant, Herr Hofrat! To the left, please, to the left for the ladies!”

Hans did not budge. He felt that it was cold. “At least step into vestibule,” the tall man said. “Is it really so important?” Frightfully important, Hans replied. He wanted to explain why, but the doorman had no time; he turned him over to another attendant in gold-and-black livery with the words: “It seems lad's mother is a patroness. See that he finds her.” The lad thanked him and smiled. He did not want the tall man to see how near he was to crying. Then the other one took him by the hand, and they went into the hall where the dance was being held.

In the first few seconds the boy forgot his errand, for everything before him seemed so fairylike. The immense ballrooms, three in number, were one blaze of light, dancing, flowers, and music. The whole background was like a scene in the theater: a colossal frame of gold and black, reaching from floor to ceiling, enclosed a gigantic picture of Castle Schönbrunn, the green Kahlenberg Mountain, the Danube, and Vienna with St Stephen's steeple and the City Hall, and from all the windows of the painted houses, as well as from all bridges across the painted Danube, real lights glittered like diamonds. On a platform which looked like a garden musicians dressed in yellow satin evening clothes were playing. And how they played! It was as though they wanted the dancers never to stop: they kindled their excitement; they flattered them; they played low; they played furiously. And the roses! All the yellow roses in the world must be here: they grew on trellises the length of the rooms, covering the gilt pillars and arches; the trellises were artificial, but the roses were real, for their fragrance was bewitching. Among them black tulips bloomed. The chandeliers, too, were immense, gorgeous bouquets of roses and tulips, and yellow and black were the colors worn by the dancing ladies. But all their faces were covered! They wore black masks over their eyes and almost down to their mouths and were terrifying to see. The gentlemen wore none. They were in evening dress, with yellow roses in their buttonholes, and the officers wore yellow roses under the shoulder straps of their decoration-studded uniforms. There was no pause in the dancing. The couples for whom there was no room in the large ballroom danced in the smaller ones opposite, and there, too, orchestras were playing and it was a fairyland full of roses, tulips, and brilliance.

The boy gazed speechless all round him. It was only when the man beside him said impatiently, “Well, have you found her? I can't stand about here with you for ever!” that he remembered that he was searching for his mother and that it was frightfully urgent. But how could he find her here? He did not dare ask the man, so he replied: “I haven't looked for her yet.” Then he would have to do it by himself, for there was too much to attend to downstairs with the new arrivals, the man said, and, showing Hans the places where he might and might not stand, he left him alone.

So there he stood. The orchestra in the large ballroom played “Vienna Blood,” and he decided it would be best for him to place himself right out in front until his mother should dance by. The mask might make it difficult for him to recognize her, but he knew the way she dressed her hair. Dazzled and a little tired, he stood there and carefully examined each one of the ladies as she danced by. Most of them had a blissful expression around the little bit of mouth left uncovered by the mask. And the gentlemen held them so tight. In the intensity of his observation Hans sometimes took a step beyond the limit prescribed, and then he would be carried along by the dancers until he was standing in quite another place. At times the stream of light began to go dark before his eyes.

“Well, little man, what are you doing here?” he heard an old lady ask. She leaned down to him from a laurel-wreathed stand. She had the face of a bulldog and was as ugly as could be.

“Nothing,” he answered, looking up at her. But he was standing before the one woman in Austria who would not accept an excuse.

“A little chap like you ought to have been in bed long ago,” she declared. Then she said something to a gentleman behind her who shrugged his shoulders, stepped down, took Hans, who was alarmed by her ugliness, and together they led him through the dancer to the exit. “Since when are you letting children in here?” she asked the two lackeys standing there bowing obsequiously.

“The doorman sent the youngster up, Your Serene Highness! He's looking for his mother,” was the contrite excuse offered by one of them.

“Really?” the old lady asked. “Is that so?”

Hans nodded.

“And why must you see your mamma
à tout prix
?”

Hans felt that the time had come to tell the thruth to this old lady with the pearls wound around her short neck and with a diamond-encrusted decoration just like an officer's on the left side of her low-cut dress.

“It's because of Christl,” he answered. “Her father, my uncle, has died, and Christl is waiting for my mother to come to her!”

“Aha!” the lady said. “That's all not very clear. Kindly tell us now who your uncle is and who your mamma.”

“Uncle Paskiewicz,” Hans told her.

“Paskiewicz? Wasn't he in the Dragoons?” And when she herd that he had been a colonel in the Dragoons she remembered. “A good-looking man! Magnificent cotillion dancer! And what is your mamma's name?”

When he told her a change of expression went over her bulldog. “So? Is she your mamma? Very good-looking too.” Hans took it as an inquiry and nodded so vigorously that the old lady laughed. “So you like her! Do you see that corridor opposite us? Go down there to the pillar. Tell the gentleman with a list in his hand that Princess Metternich sent you and that he is to take you Frau Alt. Can you remember all that?”

The perfume of the roses was stupefying. But Hans clearly saw corridor running between the large and small ballrooms, with its red doors on either side, and the fat man in evening clothes in front of the middle column. He went up to him and gave him the message.

The man looked at his sheet of paper. “Number nine, on the left,” he checked, pointing to one of the red doors. “Wait, wait!” he called as Hans ran on. “I must announce you first!” He didn't need to be announced to his Mammi, the child thought, and dashed in.