Vienna Prelude (60 page)

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.

***

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!

“How long is this going to take?” he snapped at Harry, who was reading the form upside down and making helpful suggestions.

“In a hurry, huh, Murph?” He raised his eyebrows and winked. “She must be really somethin’.”

“How long does it take?’

“Most ladies like the long-type ceremony.”

“You got a short one?”

“Sure. We can do short. As short as you like.”

“How’s thirty seconds?”

“It’ll cost you extra.”

“You’re charging me five hundred as it is, you little crook!” Murphy reached across the counter and pulled Harry up on his toes by his polka-dot tie.

“That’s because you want the passport tomorrow!” Harry wailed. “Nobody gets a passport in one day.”

“For five hundred? Bah!” Murphy’s eyes were bleary from lack of sleep. “I want a quick passport and a quick wedding ceremony!” He shoved Harry back.

Harry looked at Murphy sideways. Love had definitely had a bad effect on him. “Sure, Murph.” He sounded hurt. He smoothed his tie and thought for a minute. “And I’ll even throw in a cigar.”

“I’m not having a baby.” Murphy scowled.

“Oh. I thought maybe—” Harry stopped short when Murphy glared daggers at him.

“And I don’t smoke.” Murphy shoved the forms over to Harry. “And for five hundred smackers,
you
can fill these out.”

“But I don’t know any of the information….” Harry looked past Murphy as the door behind him opened and Elisa came in. “Well, helllooo!” He gave a low whistle, then whispered, “No wonder you’re in such a hurry, pal.”

Murphy did not hear him. He turned to look at Elisa and for an instant thought his heart was going to stop. She looked like something off the cover of a magazine. A picture from Fifth Avenue in New York. He had seen the Garbo movie
Ecstasy
three times, but Garbo was never so beautiful as Elisa Linder in the royal blue suit.

He looked away quickly. He didn’t want her to see him loving her.
Wanting
her. Strictly business. Business.
Business
! he told himself.

“Hello, Murphy,” she said coolly. The slight accent was almost a whisper. He wanted to ask her to say hello like that again. He loved it.

“You’re late,” he answered curtly. “I’ve been trying to get these forms filled out. You do it.”

Harry held the pen and smiled into her eyes. “Let me help, doll,” he offered. Then he began to ask her questions and write the answers down slowly. Too slowly.

Murphy looked everywhere but at Elisa. The word
dazzle
kept ringing in his ears. His mouth got suddenly dry and he started to leave the room to search for a drinking fountain.

“Are you leaving, Murphy?” Elisa called after him. She sounded worried. “Thirsty,” he replied in an angry tone. He really was angry, he decided as he stood out in the bustling hallway of the embassy. He had never seen her look so striking. Why had she gotten herself all dolled up for a phony wedding, anyway? Why hadn’t she worn sackcloth and ashes and smeared goop on her face and put curlers in her hair? Did she have to do this to him? Maybe she just wanted to make sure she didn’t lose the passport!

Elisa stepped out into the hall, removed a long, fat, white envelope from her handbag, and handed it to Murphy. “Let’s make this look real,” she whispered. “I don’t want anyone suspecting us.”

He exhaled slowly and then reentered the clerk’s office.

“We’re closed for the lunch hour,” Harry said. “But anything for Murphy. He’s a swell guy.”

“Yeah, anything for me!” Murphy growled. “You mean five hundred bucks and me.”

“For love or money.” Harry shrugged.

She looked back at Harry. “How long will this take?”

“Murphy says he wants a short ceremony.” Harry looked worried, as if he expected her to argue. He’d told Murphy that women always liked long, gushy ceremonies, even here in the clerk’s office of the embassy. Harry was no priest, but he had memorized all the I-do and Do-you stuff. “Since it is my lunch hour—,” he started to explain.

“Fine. That is good for both of us.” She looked nervously at her watch. “And how long for my documents?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Good.” She smiled at Harry and turned to Murphy. “Are you ready, darling? Let’s not wait any longer than necessary.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Murphy muttered miserably. The envelope was burning in his pocket. He was burning. She had dressed this way just to torment him, but he wouldn’t let it show. He would not give her the satisfaction of more than a glance.

“He’s just nervous.” Elisa patted Murphy’s arm. “Now—the vows?” She flashed a smile at Harry.

“Sure.” Harry shrugged and took out his little book. “Have you got rings?”

Murphy groaned. He had not even thought of it. “No. I . . . it . . .”

Elisa seemed unaffected. “We didn’t have time. We can buy a band later.”

Harry looked concerned. “We gotta have something.” He thought for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He removed the band. It said
White Owl—Havana.
“Just for now.” He handed it to Murphy, who looked angry all over again.

“Get on with it!”

Harry nodded and tried to look like he imagined a justice of the peace should look at such a time. He smiled benignly into the set faces of Murphy and Elisa. “Do you, John Lee Murphy, take Elisa Marie Linder as your wedded wife?”

“Yes.”

“You’re supposed to say
I do
, Murphy,” Harry coached.