A Chosen Sparrow Read online

  Velvet curtains had been drawn over the double windows. No night sounds entered. Gerhard’s cheeks had become hollow, his eyes burned with the light of fever. Sometimes a long pale finger pointed to an unfleshed leg, an untoothed grin, a belly swollen by emptiness. The pressure of his hand tightened.

  The officer is looking for me. His eyes and boots shine like guns. Guards are alert when he passes, women wardens show their big teeth in grins. He carries a whip with three leather thongs knotted at the ends. I have not yet seen him use it but I am afraid. When he comes I run and hide for surely this important official does not want such a little girl in his prison. He will send me away on the night trains. I do not want to leave Mutti and my friends, the gypsy, the Communist teacher, the fat whore, dear Ceci…

  Why had I never remembered the polished eyes, the glittering boots, the whip with three thongs? This officer must have been deeply buried in a secret cavern. I was still thinking about him when Gerhard finished with the sweets and brandy and coiled his arms about me. On my flesh his fingers burned with cold tension. With sudden abandon he flung himself upon me. The officer with polished eyes. On the cold leather couch in that chill room my husband made love with greater urgency than ever before. I was shocked but receptive, perhaps because my emotions were so intense or because it was the time of the month when I am most aware of myself as a woman.

  Night after night on that cold couch in that chill room. A small ritual accompanied these miserable enjoyments. Coffee was poured, sugar added, brandy measured into the glasses. “Or would you prefer Armagnac, dear? Cointreau? Kümmel?” A silver plate of sugared fruits stood close by. He relished the sweets while he studied the torture mechanisms, licked his fingers while he looked into the eyes of the dying. His tensions never slackened. Often when I undressed I found my arm studded with the marks of his fingers.

  Some men beat their wives. My husband showed greater refinement; he also suffered. I was trained in submission, had learned endurance by long practice. It never occurred to me to pack my bag and, like the heroine of a modern novel or film, walk out. I was not such a stupid young thing that I did not find perversity in love that needed such provocation, but I also found certain satisfactions. I need you, Leonora. The cry could always move me to intense feeling. I could no more withhold myself from his demands than a loving wife can retreat from the desires of a less extraordinary man.

  Other things held me as well. I cannot pretend my own soul was so pure that I did not find pleasure in the castle, in my importance as its lady, in luxury, feasts, gifts and gaiety. With queenly pride I carried the jewels my husband took from the safe on the nights we dined with envious aristocrats. If I was tempted to rebel I had only to remember another kind of torment, job-hunting, the fatigue and boredom of the linen counter, the terrors of the elevator and knitting machines, the indignities of the repeated, “That’ll do, who’s next?” at the auditions.

  These were things I could not talk about to my husband, yet I was puzzled and needed advice. I remembered Heda’s talk in the old days, her happy allusions to the act of love, the contempt with which she had regarded my virgin ignorance. I was sorry now that I had not heeded her advice and taken Martin as my lover. Experience might have made me less idealistic about sexual things, more ready to accept the whims of a man who seemed all strain and contradiction.

  One rainy afternoon I pulled on my waterproof coat and walked to the Schatulle Bar for a talk with my new friend, Hansi, who had lost three husbands by divorce and one by death. As I entered the bar Hansi descended upon me, seized my hands, kissed both cheeks as enthusiastically as if we had not met for years. She wore velvet trousers, a quilted red jacket over a high-necked pullover which showed off her pearls. When she was young, Baroness Johanna von Schonthal must have been dazzling. In her private salon, above the restaurant, hung a portrait painted during her second marriage. She had been the typical “Viennese beauty,” tall and heavy, blond and vibrant. The lawyer’s wife whose hat I had worn at my wedding was of this same type, one of those women who are always seen in elegant black dresses, but appear to be so colorful and so aware of their charms that every gesture is an act of flirtation. In the portrait Hansi is hung with jewels, pearls around her neck, diamonds in her ears, bracelets burdening her wrists, the stones in her rings so enormous that I would have thought the painter exaggerated if I had not seen these jewels on her hands.

  As she became older she had slimmed down, cut her hair short, dyed it silvery blond, discarded the elegant black dresses for bright, tight trousers and adorned herself with bevies of young men. Her Schatulle Bar was on the ground floor of a villa built during the most pompous architectural period of the nineteenth century. It had been the property of her second husband, a Jew. When Hitler came to Austria, Hansi “was already divorced from Herr Grünbaum and married to the Baron von Schonthall, but the ex-husband contrived to have the deeds changed so that it appeared to be owned by Hansi, and the Nazis could not seize it as Jewish property. “Although we did not live happily together, he preferred me to Hitler,” Hansi explained. Many people said that the ex-husband had hoped to get the land and villa back after the Nazis were conquered, but I do not know if this was true. It was also said that Hansi made profits from her restaurant only after she had lured the cook away from her best friend, another baroness who ran a well-known ski pension in the Tyrol. It was difficult to believe all these stories about Hansi. Whatever she did was accomplished with an air of naive delight.

  Her Schatulle was indeed a jewel box, all gilt and plump velvet cushions. The restaurant opened only for dinner. The bar was busy all day. She had decorated it in peasant fashion, but with great charm. The furniture was antique, handmade, of rich dark colors, the cabinets painted with flowers, animals, knights, the chairs carved with hollows in the shape of hearts.

  Visitors to Altbach always went to Hansi’s, and there was also a group of regular patrons like the bearded Englishman who painted innumerable portraits of his rich wife, the one-legged veteran who distressed me when he exhibited his mutilated body on the pier of his boathouse, a retired cavalry officer with a fierce mustache, and invariably the two Josefs. They lived like husband and wife, happily, in a farmhouse which they called their studio. One Josef was Austrian, called Sepperl, a painter, son of a wealthy family that owned large estates in Styria but preferred their eccentric son to live elsewhere. The other Josef, a Spaniard called Pepe, was said to be a fine poet but, since none of us could read his language, we could not be sure that this was not a myth created by his companion. There was a third Josef, an American Negro called Joe, who played dice with the other two but did not otherwise share their proclivities. It was whispered that he was Hansi’s lover and often, when he stayed in Altbach overnight and her regular bartender was tardy, he helped her serve the morning drinks and coffee. He was a very male creature with a head like a bronze carving. “Joe studies music in Salzburg. Occasionally,” said Hansi.

  “Oh, my dear darling Leni, how rosy you are. Don’t tell me you walked here in such terrible weather.”

  “It’s not raining so hard now. I think it will stop soon.”

  “It will not. The good weather is over for this season,” she said as if she had secret information. “Will you have something to drink?”

  “Coffee. A mélange, please.”

  “Dear Joe, please be so kind as to prepare mélanges for both of us. And some Linzer Torte for Frau Leonora.” I said that I did not want any cake, but Hansi insisted. “It is a beautiful one today, my cook outdid herself. You must eat more. You are so thin. Dear God, if I had your bones! Tell me, my darling, what news have you?”

  “Nothing at all,” I answered, “everything in this dull village continues at its dull pace.”

  “You are bored.” Shaved eyebrows rose knowingly. “How long have you been married, Leni?”

  Joe brought the coffee. I ate a morsel of the cake. Hansi chattered; good business in the restaurant last night, two parties of Americans who or
dered expensive food and wine, got drunk and overtipped the waiters. Had I heard that Herr Imml planned to remodel the Gasthof? “He will make a fortune,” Hansi said. “Such a picturesque village with a lake so ideal for water sports. Money will come in buckets.” She measured profits with gaunt jeweled hands. What a pity, she said, that Imml would get richer. “He does not deserve it, Leni, he has a very bad character. In the old days, he was nothing, he had a very small, disorderly shop where you would have to wait hours while he tried to find a spool of thread among the pickled cucumbers or the pepper behind the bolts of cotton. But he became a Nazi and during the war, when they were robbing people of their property, he was a favorite of the Gauleiter, and that is how he became owner of the Gasthof. Now he wishes to enlarge it and he has the gall to ask me to advise him about the decoration. He wants to decorate some of his guest rooms like this,” one jeweled hand made an arc that included painted cabinets and the chairs with carved hearts, “but not with genuine peasant antiques. Factory trash that will impress ignorant fools. He says he will keep the rooms clean. What do you think, Leni?”

  I had no thoughts on the subject. Hansi became cross. “Where is your mind these days? I find you bad-humored and not at all attentive. Are you thinking of your lover?”

  “Please, Hansi, don’t talk like that. I have no lover.”

  “Why not?” Her brows became arches of skepticism. “A young girl married to a man so much older should have a flirtation. Or two. Or three.”

  “I’m not that sort. Besides, we’ve only been married since May. And Gerhard is not so old.”

  “Is he a good lover?”

  “How can I tell when I have had no others?” I became uncomfortable, as I had when Gerhard’s sister asked me the same question. Older women seemed to lust after details of married life. I saw that I would not get any satisfactory answers from Hansi.

  “You have really had no others? What a pity. I have always regretted that I was a virgin for my first husband. A girl is such a fool.” As though she were flirting with me, Hansi lowered her eyes. Green paint gave the lids a wrinkled, reptilian look. At the same time she saw everything that went on in the bar, what the guests ordered, when their cups or glasses were empty, how soon they left, who entered. A kick on my ankle warned me against an answer. My husband had come in.

  Gerhard sat down with us and ordered a Steinheger. The conversation was impersonal. Hansi talked about Herr Imml’s plans for remodeling the Gasthof. Gerhard disapproved. He did not wish to see Altbach become a popular resort filled with riffraff and tourists.

  “Our properties will become more valuable.” As always Hansi wore a look of innocence when she spoke of money, jewels and men. “And also it might be more amusing for Leni. A young girl is likely to get bored in this dull village.”

  Gerhard shoved his glass about on the polished wood. He wore the haughty and disinterested look which seemed to close him away from reality. Hansi stretched her hand across the table to stroke my arm. “Leni has changed since she came here. She is not so eager any more, and her eyes dream of a lover.”

  Gerhard came to life.

  “How can you talk like that, Hansi? I am not bored and I do not think of lovers with such a good husband.” Agitated, I held my hand against my throat so that Gerhard should not notice the reflected heartbeat.

  He sucked in his mouth.

  Still Hansi went on with the teasing. “It’s being married that gives a love affair excitement. Style. A young girl’s romances are without flavor.” Her hand, as wrinkled and revealing as her eyelids, lay upon the table. Jeweled fingers were no longer straight, veins rose high and green. “I was only married ten weeks to my third husband when I had the best affair of my life.”

  “Your husband didn’t know?”

  “Oh, but he did. That made me more exciting to him.” Although she was obviously trying to tease me, she was not insincere. From other conversations I knew that she considered love affairs correct for married women if they were rich and aristocratic. She had once told me that I ought to forbid Sophie taking food from our kitchen for her lover; a cook had no right to romance. “Would you enjoy it, Gerhard, if Leni took a lover?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t. I never…” but it was useless for me to go on. My husband paid no attention. Sepperl and Pepe had finished their dice game and on the way out had stopped at our table. “We have been wondering, Gerhard, why you haven’t given one of your beautiful parties this summer. We miss them so much,” said Sepperl.

  “Especially the masquerades,” Pepe added.

  Gerhard sipped Steinheger thoughtfully. Through mascaraed lashes Hansi watched, her face sober, her eyes moving from one to the other of the men.

  “Perhaps it is marriage that has changed him,” Sepperl said. “He does not need other types of entertainment.”

  “But I am sure his young wife would adore it. And we would all have the pleasure of dancing with the romantic lady,” added Pepe, rolling his large dark eyes.

  They left. Gerhard drank the last drops out of his glass. “Are you bored, Leonora?”

  “What a foolish question.” I rested my hand upon his coat sleeve. “When you are so generous and give me so many wonderful things to enjoy.”

  Watching us with the wise smile of an experienced women, Hansi played with the largest diamond. “My third husband made better love when he was worried about a rival. He gave me this ring during the affair.”

  That evening, as casually as if he were proposing an hour’s drive, Gerhard announced that he was taking me abroad. As always, when an idea seized him, he had to act at once. There was no talk of the prison that night, no scrutiny of the concentration camp pictures. He telephoned for schedules and tickets, I selected the clothes that my maid was to pack next morning.

  We left at noon from the Salzburg airport. Gerhard was a devoted companion, that season the pleasantest of my marriage. October, November, through Christmas and Sylvester, I was cherished and smug. We moved constantly, saw many things that changed my view of the world. Everyone respected the rich man’s wife. “Is Madam quite happy with her rooms?” “Does the dinner please the gnädige Frau?” “La Signora has enjoyed the holiday?” Headwaiters almost dislocated their backs paying obeisance, clerks and porters trembled for my comfort. In planes and trains and hired limousines we consented to see the sights. “You’re sure you’re not bored?” asked Gerhard.

  I laughed at the notion, I kissed and thanked him, I smelled orange and lemon blossoms, saw the sea, stood silent before the David of Michelangelo, disobeyed the authority of the Vatican and lay flat on a bench to look at God upon the Sistine ceiling. Early in December Gerhard suggested that we spend the Christmas holiday in Switzerland or the Tyrol where he could ski and I could take lessons from one of the famous teachers.

  “Please,” I begged, “let us have Christmas at home. Liebhofen is so beautiful. I’ve dreamed of it for months.”

  His hand disturbed my expensive coiffure, “How my little Jewess loves Christmas.”

  “It’s the first home I’ve ever had and this will be the first Christmas I’ve had enough money to buy all the gifts I want to give everybody.”

  He was happy to indulge my wishes except when they interfered with his prejudices. I would have enjoyed asking Frau Mayr, Elfy and her fiance to be with us for the holiday, but this wish I dared not mention. Instead I bought lavish gifts, kept secret the prices lest Gerhard think I squandered money on people who wouldn’t understand because they had never been used to luxury. How many times I have heard him say, “Oh, she doesn’t need it, she’s not used to it,” or “People who’ve never had these things,” as if wealth were an inborn talent. From experience I know that it is not at all difficult to become accustomed to rich living. Spending is a habit easily acquired; it is thrift that requires strict education.

  When the weather was fine I traveled about in my little car, made many trips to Linz and Salzburg to buy gifts and choose Christmas decorations of glass and tinsel, pondere
d solemnly over every ribbon and bonbon. In my fur coat and hat, my arms filled with packages, I walked on the streets proudly, knowing that people turned to look at me and enjoying their envy.

  One morning I drove through a fairy-tale forest to the lovely little town of Bad-Ischl, to the famous Zauner confectionery to order trees and peasant huts, elves, saints, reindeer and hearts fashioned of almonds and sugar and chocolate. As I stood before a table filled with meringues in enchanting shapes a pair of arms enveloped me; stronger than the fragrance of vanilla and burnt sugar came the smell of cheap perfume and sweat. A voice shrilled, “Oh, Lenchen, angel, beloved sister, how happy I am to find you.”

  I looked around at a stout creature with hair like a flaming chrysanthemum. “You don’t remember me, Lenchen? How we lived together like sisters, how I shared my poor food with you in those bad days? But perhaps I should not speak of this to the wife of Herr Millionaire.”

  “Mimi Stompfer!”

  “Stompfer no longer. I am Frau Günzdorf.”

  “Married?”

  “Naturally, but my husband deserted me, the pig. Went to Australia, would you believe it, with the butcher’s widow, you remember the one who swore to the Holy Maria that the ox meat was veal? She was well off and had no children and here am I with three to support and poor Mama, too. Papa died, did you know? His lungs got him at last.” She paused to cross herself. “What a struggle life is these days, it is almost impossible to feed us all. Probably you don’t understand, Leni, you have never had anyone but yourself to take care of and now you are so rich…” On and on she went like this while the lady who attended the cash register frowned and cleared her throat to attract Mimi’s attention to customers waiting for service. “Come, Lenchen please, I wish to introduce you to someone.”