Vienna Prelude (67 page)

“But I’ve got to get my car out of here,” he said with a shrug.

It seemed ordained. All day Murphy had been thinking about the children squirreled away around Vienna, the railroads at a dead stop, the borders slammed tight in the face of the crisis.

“How much do you want for it?” Murphy asked. “Nobody’s going to drive it out of here if the Nazis march in.”

Jordan looked disgusted. He liked his automobile. It was a practically new Packard coupe with a luggage compartment that opened through the backseat. But he knew Murphy was right.

“Three thousand.” Bill looked grim.

Murphy laughed curtly. “Even at black-market prices, that’s crazy, Jordan,” he said. “I’ll give you fifteen hundred.”

“What? You’ve got to be joking! I had to pay that for the plane ride out of here.”

“And you’re lucky to get a seat on any plane at all,” Murphy said. There was no sympathy in his voice. He was thinking about that untouched six thousand he had tucked away. He was thinking about the children that it would buy visas for.

“Twenty-five,” Jordan bargained.

“Fifteen hundred. Take it or leave it. You aren’t going to get that much from anybody else. Of course, the Austrians will buy it in a minute—with Austrian money or Reichsmarks. But you know what that will be worth.”

“Two thousand, then!” Jordan was angry. “Anybody in here want to buy a practically new Packard for two grand?”

There were no takers. Nobody in the newsroom had much more than two nickels, let alone two thousand dollars, to spend on a car at the moment the Austrian nation was dissolving. Nobody even seemed to hear him.

“Don’t be a dope,” Murphy said. “Fifteen hundred American. Take it, and maybe I’ll sell it back to you if I make it to Paris.”

Jordan tossed him the keys. Murphy pulled the fat envelope from his pocket. He had taken it with him on the hunch that he would need it today.

“It’s out there.” Jordan looked like he had sold his sweetheart. “You want to see it?”

Murphy walked to the window. The car was a sweet shining thing with green paint and a proud hood ornament. The tires were good. He had always wanted a Packard. “Has it got gas? They say there’s no gas to be had anywhere.”

“Some. Enough, maybe.” Jordan was miserably counting his cash. “If you run out, it’ll cost you another fifteen hundred smackers, and it’ll serve you right.” He sniffed and pocketed the cash. “Take me to the airport?” he asked.

Murphy solemnly shook his head. “Take a taxi. I need the fuel.”

***

And so the rains came to Vienna—streaking panes of glass with tears, drumming out a march to war on every rooftop, crackling against the sidewalks and dissolving the little pamphlets like scorching, all-consuming fire.

With her fingertip, Elisa traced the frantic drops on her window and listened as they tore loose with a snap, exploding, on the wet cobblestones in the street below. The radio blared the devastating news at various intervals. First the plebiscite was canceled; then word had come that the chancellor had been forced to resign and all the cabinet with him except for the Nazi Seyss-Inquart. The final ultimatum had been issued from Germany. The frail and ailing Austrian President Miklas had been ordered to appoint Seyss-Inquart as acting chancellor—
or else!

So Murphy had been right, after all. The German troops would come. They were simply waiting for one person to refuse a demand from Hitler and he would order them across the border. Sooner or later it would happen, and they would come.

Elisa was frantic with worry for Leah and Shimon and the others who would be in the most immediate danger—known Zionists, Jews; anyone anti-Nazi would be singled out first. Yet Leah and Shimon had not come here for shelter. Certainly they could not still be in the Judenplatz! The radio had said that the Nazis had made their presence known; now they ran wildly through the Judenplatz just as they had the night that she had seen Otto there.
Was Otto with them still?
Elisa wondered.
Had Sporer already crossed the border back into Austria?

She shuddered at the thought. There was nothing for her to do now but stay indoors and pray. Bit by bit, it was falling apart. And she could do nothing at all to stop it. No one to call. No place to go for help.

The certainty had risen with the first words of news. By tomorrow the troops would come, and then the S.A., and the Legion!

No one will be able to stop them.

In that one instant her heart nearly stopped with fear. She stepped away from the window and turned around to stare at the room as though some evil, unseen presence had entered it. There was no one there. Nothing had changed. Her gloves and keys were still on the table. A newspaper lay open on the sofa. The clock still ticked. From where she stood, she could see the little angel hovering below the lamp shade. Nothing was different—yet everything was different. Instead of Austrian Shupos in her sitting room, she could imagine the leering face of Sporer and the grim, chastising words of Otto: “
Don’t come back here. Not ever!
”

“God, help me!” Elisa cried in despair. She fixed her gaze on Murphy’s angel. Her fists were clenched and her breath came fast. She wanted to find a place to hide, to run down the stairs as she had the last night in Berlin with her father as they left the store. Only then Theo had been with her, holding her arms steadily and talking lightly with her as the eyes of evil had gaped at them from the darkness of the alley.

“Papa!” she shouted as the voice of Adolf Hitler blasted across the airways, declaring the treachery of Schuschnigg and Germany’s determination to yield to no man. “Papa!” she cried again. “We have to get away! Help me. Show me what I must do!”

The clock ticked. The voice roared on, drowning out her pleas. They were coming here. As they had taken over Germany, they would do the same here. Now it was no longer a matter of making quick trips to Munich and coming home to safety, returning to the warmth of friends and the pleasant, oblivious existence of the orchestra. All of that was being swept away in one day.

Elisa put her hand to her head and tried to shake off the fear and panic. She rushed into her bedroom and took the precious American passport from the top drawer of her bureau. Then she opened the small velvet case where the blue lapis wedding ring was nestled. Tiny golden leaves curled around the stone. Delicate flowers bloomed above the royal blue background. It was beautiful, the sort of ring presented by a man who loved his wife. The Gestapo would notice it. They would see that she was married—to an American. They would not touch her.

For the first time, Elisa turned the ring and looked at it carefully. Inside the band was the inscription
Elisa—Song of Songs 5:16—Murphy.
She reached into the drawer of her bedside table and drew out the Bible she always kept there. Flipping the pages past Psalms and Proverbs, Elisa located the few chapters of Song of Songs and turned to chapter 5. Her heart caught in her throat and tears stung her eyes as she read the last sentence of verse 16: “This is my beloved, and this is my friend.”

Beloved. Friend. Murphy.
Elisa exhaled a deep, ragged breath. Maybe she had misjudged him, after all. Maybe there was a chance for something more than a business arrangement. Maybe . . .

She slipped the band onto her finger. This would be her shield tonight. She needed something, someone.
Murphy?
She held the passport to her. The rain stopped, and the clouds over Vienna began to clear. She prayed for Leah and Shimon. For the children. For herself. For Austria. Everything was crashing to an end. They were coming. They had crossed the threshold even now, and there was no place for her to run. No place to hide. She could do nothing now but wait for the inevitable.

***

Murphy was one of a ten or so newsmen picked to witness the closing act in the fall of the Republic of Austria.

“Schuschnigg and his cabinet are going to broadcast at seven tonight!” shouted Skies over the increasing clamor. “That gives you mugs thirty minutes to get there. And they ain’t waitin’ for nobody! You can bet they’ve all got planes to catch before the Germans get here!”

Murphy glanced at his watch. He had promised that if he heard anything, he’d let them know. By now, Shimon knew as much as anybody. It was all over but the shouting and whatever blood was destined to be spilled in the aftermath.

He grabbed his hat and jogged out to the Packard. It started on the first crank, and Murphy slipped away from the curb, determined that he would make one stop before taking his place at the government Ballhausplatz among those privileged to witness the execution of a nation.

***

Elisa’s street was deserted, just as Vienna now appeared deserted—waiting and watching from behind drawn curtains. Inside the dark foyer of the apartment building, the sound of German martial music seeped eerily from behind every door. Murphy took the stairs two at a time and tapped lightly on Elisa’s door.

“Leah? Shimon?” she answered from behind the door.

Murphy’s heart sank. Her frightened question answered his own dread. Leah and Shimon were not here.

“No. It’s me, Murphy.”

The clatter of locks told him that he was welcome. She threw the door open and then pulled him into the dark room. Her face was ashen and her hands were like ice. She clung to him. “Oh, Murphy!
Murphy
!”
she cried.

He did not ask her why the lights were out. It was obvious. She was hiding in the dark like a frightened child. Lights were out all over the city tonight. Vienna was in mourning. “Where are your friends?” He took her by the arms.

“I don’t know! Oh, I don’t know! I have been here alone all day, hoping they would come.”

“I told them to stay here,” Murphy snarled angrily.

Suddenly Elisa was sobbing. “It’s my fault. We—Leah and I—thought it was nonsense.”

“No time for this now. Stop.
Stop
, Elisa!” He shook her lightly and kept his hands on her arms. “You’re going to have to pull yourself together!”

She drew a deep breath. The tears stopped as suddenly as they had come. “Yes . . . yes, Papa.”

“Elisa.” Murphy was worried now. “It’s me. John Murphy.”

She did not reply. The clock ticked. Martial music oozed from the walls.

Murphy shook her again. “Elisa!” he cried. “Snap out of it!” he said in English.

“Murphy.” She repeated his name. Her voice was controlled,
aware
again.

He pulled her to him in a brief embrace. He could feel her heart thumping like that of a frightened little bird. “You’re going to be all right.”

“Leah. Shimon. The children. I don’t know where they are.”

“The Nazis have closed off the Jewish district,” he said. “I heard there were riots, but somebody in the newsroom checked it out. No violence. Not yet. Just a rumor. If they can make it here, they’ll come. You stay here.” He let her go and flipped on the light.

She seemed confused by the brightness of the lamp. She stood blinking like someone just awake from a long nightmare. Her face was pained. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ve got to.”

“Please.”

He saw the ring now on her finger and the passport in her hand. “Just for a while. If Shimon and Leah come, you must be here for them. I’ll be back for you. I promise.” One more quick embrace and he left her. He waited a moment on the stairs until he heard the rattle of the locks again. Even on the night the Gestapo had arrested Theo, Murphy had not seen Elisa so frightened. In a few minutes he would watch as the rug was pulled out from under a lot of other frightened people in Austria.

***

Equipment for the broadcast had been set up in the corner room of the Ballhausplatz, which adjoined the grand staircase of the government building. Murphy remembered that it was only four years earlier within these same gold-and-cream walls that the Nazis had staged another drama for all of Austria. The microphone was set up within a few feet of where Chancellor Dollfuss had been gunned down by a Nazi assassin’s bullet. Now Hitler’s assassination plan was to drain away the lifeblood of an entire nation.

Black Friday was coming to an end. Schuschnigg entered the room surrounded by a shushed group of cabinet members. He looked strained, ten years older than he had looked the day before.
“
Men, the time has come
.
”
Now Schuschnigg would announce to the entire world the truth about Hitler’s peace.

As Seyss-Inquart looked on, the chancellor told them of the terrible ultimatum issued under threats of invasion. He had been ordered to resign. Ordered to appoint a Nazi chancellor in his place. Ordered by the foreign government in Germany to create a new Austria under Nazi rule. All reports that workers were rioting throughout Austria and that the Austrian authorities had lost control were a fabrication of Nazi propaganda. Then, after a pause, he announced in the name of President Miklas that Austria was yielding to force. The Austrian army had been ordered not to resist. They had been told to withdraw in the face of overwhelming German forces: “We are resolved that, on no account, and not even at this grave hour, shall German blood be spilled.”

Yes, that is what Hitler had said, Murphy thought. The blood on both sides of the border was German.
But what of those in Austria who do not share that distinction?
he wanted to shout at Schuschnigg.
Shouldn’t some resistance be made for them? What of the bloodbath that is sure to come to Vienna’s Jewish population? Can’t Austria fight for them?

But Schuschnigg was not made of the same hard stuff as his forebears who had fought against Prussian invasion. The very troops that he had called to alert that morning were now ordered to lay down their weapons in capitulation to evil. And then, in a choking voice, he cried his final words to his nation: “God Protect Austria!”

In the heavy silence that followed those words, Murphy knew that not even heaven would protect Austria now. If men would not stand for right, then no bolt of lightning would flash from the sky and stop what was about to happen.