The strudlhof steps, p.94
The Strudlhof Steps, page 94
•
Grete Siebenschein had stopped on the landing. She went to the apartment door and looked for a moment at the slip of paper, the second one, the replacement that got her nowhere. She could still hear Mary’s rapid footsteps down in the entrance hall. Then the street door shutting. During these few seconds, Grete was thinking she might take the note down from the door and put the first one back up with the same two thumbtacks; she’d put it in one of her dress pockets. And then just go off somewhere. Perhaps back up to the fourth floor to sit at the tea table with that perceptive young girl? As her alert ear was listening to her own emptiness, meanwhile, she caught the sound of the small street door below as it opened and then was shut again by the automatic door lock. She recognized René’s walk right away; he would have given himself away even without dashing up the steps, which nobody in the building besides him ever did.
Grete tore up the second note and left the first one in her pocket. She opened the apartment door and was now standing in the doorway even before Stangeler appeared on the landing.
He came up the last few steps and darted toward her. She drew him to herself, and the door clicked shut.
Even in the foyer it was somehow easy to tell the apartment was empty at the moment.
He put his arms around her. Grete grew slack as he held her, and quickly, too. Everything grew slack.
Then he told her what there was to tell and had her read Etelka’s last letter.
They went into Grete’s room. The force of the blow sent them into a tight embrace, as if it had been ordained.
•
Mary’s daughter remained sitting at the tea table.
A curtain of silence had fallen behind the departing women. Smooth and quick. No folds that could furl. A courtine. A fire curtain.
Oh young girl, not little lamb!
Daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter—writing your biography would be the most fascinating of all the alluring tasks I’m not charged with. Where are you today? Who was your lord and master? Who could ever have even dared presume you were his?
You are the midpoint of these moments here, during which unspeakable pain was inflicted on you in the surrounding area, in the world outside. Pain of which you have not the slightest inkling, and it is the absence of any foreboding that makes your beauty possible at the present moment.
•
“Well, it will soon be time, Editha darling,” the captain said around quarter to five (just as Paula Pichler was tethering her little lamb and Grete Siebenschein was pinning her—first—note to the apartment door).
“What business is it of yours?!” Editha retorted.
“Friendly concern,” said Eulenfeld. “And that includes Melzer.”
“How sweet of you,” she remarked; nothing more.
“What do you hear from Wedderkopp?” he asked.
She placed back into her purse a letter she’d skimmed through once again.
“Well, he thinks it’s all stupid. He’s on a rampage, in fact. He wants me just to keep everything stored here.”
“What’s he mean, ‘everything’?”
“The government-issue cigarettes.”
“Ah! Her tobacco romance. Listen, didn’t you tell me Wedderkopp doesn’t know a thing about it, and you’re eager to surprise him, and so on and so on?”
“I told him in the meantime,” she said casually.
Full-strength grunt. Then:
“What further is being imparted in the Wedderkoppian epistle?”
“That if I’m not with him in two weeks or haven’t at least set a date for my arrival by then, he’ll come to Vienna. Then he’s saying we’ll get married here, with the German consul general as officiating authority—can such a thing even happen?—and then he’ll take me away with him.”
“Not at all stupid, our Gustav,” said Eulenfeld. “In short: Wedderkopp ante portas.”
She stood up and began getting ready in front of the mirror on Eulenfeld’s wall, her hands raised to her hat. Mimi didn’t budge on the sofa. She lay propped up on her elbows with her knees drawn up, just staring into empty space in front of her. “Essentially just as opaque a creature as her Enrique,” thought Eulenfeld, looking Mimi over, “they’re a good fit.” Then out loud: “You’d probably be most pleased if our boy Melzer never put in an appearance. Am I right, Editha dear?”
She didn’t reply. She was tired. Her impulse to contradict now extinguished or at least very restrained, it was only too clear to Editha how accurately Eulenfeld was able to look into the abrupt and volatile mechanism of her being, into what could be called the dilettantism of anything and everything she pursued, no matter how clever and cunning it looked at the outset; she could never see it through. But it wasn’t just the way she pursued her chosen goals that was dilettantish; it was the goals themselves, which of course always fizzled out. She was by no means stupid enough, our Editha Schlinger (Editha Schlinger, she of the Pastrés and now of the Wedderkopps, in a matter of days), not to find a modicum of self-recognition at the basis of her fatigue or depression. The thought of simply being bowled over by Wedderkopp did her good in the depths of her soul; in fact, it was what gave her the main support she needed just at present.
Suddenly she turned around and was soon kneeling by the sofa in front of Mimi, covering her with kisses:
“So please come right away if I call you. I’m going to wait twenty minutes at the absolute longest for Melzer. If he doesn’t show up, I’ll call right away, and you set out at once. Please, Mimi, sweetheart? For my sake? And if you do come, how about if we make this tormentor, this prison warden, happy, shall we? Because that will release us from our confinement! We’ll have to celebrate! Don’t you think?! How about if you change right away in the next room? So we’re both wearing the same thing! Isn’t this fun, Mimi?”
“Well, I guess,” Mimi answered. “What did you have in mind?”
“A tea gown. Very glamorous. Beige touched with gold.”
And in fact Editha had carried things so far lately that she’d had two of everything made in advance.
Mimi promised her whatever she asked. Now Editha jumped up and adjusted her clothes. It was six minutes to five. The captain reached for a bottle on the table and filled a blue-tinted glass halfway. He held it out to Editha and muttered:
“A stirrup cup?”
She swallowed it obediently.
“You don’t seem worried about injuring your swain with a fierce burst of flame.”
Editha said nothing and left.
Silence now spread throughout the captain’s room. In the corner of the sofa—where Melzer and Thea had once sat so cozily—Mimi Scarlez had bunched herself up even tighter, her expression utterly inscrutable, though now without the broad backdrop of mountain and castle. In what twilight reveries of memory was she engrossed, what rainbow-hued streaks and stripes were drifting and swirling? The Lagos with its boat trips, swans, an excursion farther away, to Tigre, or, close to her apartment, the Recoleta Cemetery with its godly, poignant burial vaults, all aboveground? The Madeleine in Paris or the twelve columns in front of the cathedral at home, each reminiscent of the other? The Calle Cerrito, the drive leading to the Teatro Colón. Right across from the office of Cassullo, her dentist. The two buildings next to it were lower, and the fourth, past a cross street, had a dome. All of it exactly as ghastly as in Paris or Vienna. But she loved it all. She could smell it. Enrique knew hundreds of lines from the Spanish classics by heart, and she always made him recite them to her, even before she really understood the language and could only speak to him in French or English. But his mouth, when he pronounced Spanish in this pure and lofty tone, took on changing shapes, which would cause Mimi to fall head over heels in love, again and again, with utter abandon (insofar as any such thing can be spoken of in her case). But come to think of it, she did act with abandon side sometimes. When she was desperate. Then she was even capable of slapping and flailing out at anyone who might be in her presence at the wrong time, as one will perhaps be pleased to call back to memory.
The captain kept silent as well and was in fact very serious. It seemed there might open up not just to the twins, but to himself as well, when this absurd comedy was finally over, some kind of windup that would bind up the situation. It was during these cogitations, by the way, that the captain decided to send Scarlez a cable; the man’s letters had been demonstrating considerable impatience, if not in the form of an ultimatum, like our good old Gustav’s missives issued. Eulenfeld would tell Mimi’s husband to see to it that he come to Vienna and settle matters with his in-laws in person. So then they would both, the two hereunto appertaining sons-in-law, appear on the hereunto appertaining scene at the same time. Prior to that, both daughters were to be presented, in duplicate and in a trice, to their parents. What he had in mind was to wind up and wrap up and make short work of things after the charade was over. During old Herr Pastré’s illness, especially after his return from Merano, Eulenfeld had undergone his share of fear and trembling on behalf of Mimi and her interests, both as to reconciling with her parents and as to the inheritance; because what if Editha should get married in the meantime; because who could tell what kind of a stunt good old Gustav might pull if the will hadn’t been changed? And so on. He couldn’t wrest away from Mimi her statutorily mandated share, but to be left only that would be enough of a calamity for her and Enrique. Luckily Old Man Pastré was doing significantly better. But how could anybody be sure? The man was seventy-nine. Aetatis suae septuagesimo nono. Thusly and accordingly, to wit: as soon as possible: the whole family: get them cantering in a circle! Assemble them for a proper mustering, make short work of the lot, happiness for all and sundry to be arranged forthwith—or forcibly imposed, if need be. “This could be a case for that activist idiot Negria!”
This last thought pulled the captain out of his reflections and at the same time tore Mimi away from the streaks and stripes of her dreams, whatever name they had.
“Five o’clock. We’ll be needing to get ready.”
“For what?” asked Mimi in a somewhat whining tone. “We don’t even know . . .”
“Oh yes we certainly do know. Melzer’s definitely not going to show up at Editha’s.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Paradoxical but simple: because he would have come long before now. To you, that is—understand, dear heart? So now please be so good as to te lever, meaning get off your fanny, so we can head over now. Editha seems to be in great need of considerable assistance today.”
She obeyed. It was the easiest course of action. And in fact the captain brought matters to the point where they were finished dressing to go out by five fifteen and were standing in the entrance by the telephone, Mimi with a resigned look on her face.
The phone rang at five seventeen.
Mimi looked wide-eyed at Eulenfeld.
Yes, it was Editha. “Come over, and make it fast. I don’t want to be alone. Hand the receiver to Mimi for a minute.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the captain. “Listen, Editha dear, we’ll be there in two minutes. If Melzer still hasn’t come by that time, leave the apartment door open just a little; I mean the door to the stairwell, opened only a crack. But if it’s shut, we’ll know you’re not alone, so we won’t even ring; we’ll just turn around and go. Are you understanding me, little friend?”
“Yes, Otto,” she said, “but the door will certainly be open.”
Now the two sisters spoke for a moment in an affectionate whisper. Mimi was lovingly warding off some comments, as if inordinately intense words of praise or protestations of love were coming from the other end of the line.
The captain looked at his watch in the meantime (not quite eighteen past five) and then through the apartment to make sure everything was right—gas tap, light switches, ashtrays. Out in the corridor with Mimi, he shut the door carefully, not before making certain his keys were in his pocket. The manner in which Mimi waited for him to move through these rapid but concentrated checks was very much how a well-behaved child would act while an adult is taking care of whatever is necessary. She looked like a child, for that matter. His accurate prediction that Editha would call, and then her actually doing so, had yet again given rise to one of those moments—and there was no scant number of them—that constituted the basis of Eulenfeld’s authority over the twins, and on a molecular level, as it were.
The door to Editha’s apartment was open, wide open, in fact, inviting them to come in, and she greeted them as tenderly as she did tempestuously. The captain stood there patiently and was soon on his own in the white salon with the distant view (where the tea table was set for two), for Mimi had been dragged off at once through one of the door panels with the grapevines and angels above them; it was the right-hand door as you entered (the opposite side led into Mimi’s large bedroom—“this way to the gondola”—while Editha had made do with the smaller one behind the hidden door). The room situated to the right, which the twins hardly ever used—it had originally been planned and furnished as a dining room—now held several large, handsome clothing wardrobes Editha had procured, and it was in these that the Schlinger treasures—some of them in duplicate—were stored. While the twins were now slipping into their gold-trimmed beige dresses, the captain hauled his flask from his pocket (well, what was he supposed to do?) and was just about to unscrew the silver cap when the apartment doorbell rang: in truth, a shooting star leaping to the eye.
•
One of the twins looked out from the dressing room (and the captain himself—by the very devil!—really couldn’t tell for a second which one it was, because each of them was nearly finished putting on the same dress), and called in a quiet voice:
“Go take a look, Otto. See if it’s Melzer and then tell us. But don’t open the door!”
Eulenfeld went—slowly, even circumspectly. They could hear him in the entrance calling through the door, “Just a second, please, I’m coming right away.” Then he came back and said:
“It’s Thea Rokitzer.”
“All right!” Editha said quietly. “Is she in for a jolt! Let’s give her something to look at! Take her quietly into the small bedroom. Let her stay there until we’re ready; Mimi has to quick put on different stockings. Tell her there’s a big surprise waiting for her! And she’s not to come out until you call her. Mimi will go into the other room, then you have Thea come out, clap your hands, and we’ll come in through the large doors, left and right, and walk straight up to her. What do you think? Yes?”
“Yes,” said Mimi and nodded, even showing a certain amount of excitement. That seemed to make Editha happy, for she suddenly gave her twin sister a hug and a kiss.
“So be it, then!” said the captain, not without a flourish, “finish preparing and then go to your places! Denique comoedia finita erit.” And he vanished into the entrance.
•
Thea had an absent air, but it would have been hard to say what she was absent from—because being absent from a perfect vacuum is yet more paradoxical than not showing up because you haven’t already shown up.
She sat down on a small armchair standing next to the bed placed in front of a stand with nickel trim, its writing surface covered with glass piled with a jumble of books and even more so with letters and boxes of writing paper.
She made out the name “Melzer,” but it was devoid of any association, the name itself being the total contents of her whole existence, the universally inclusive designation of her own vacuum, so to speak, simply written down there on a piece of paper in ink or pencil. At its lower edge. It was note-size and typed. Thea opened her leather purse and dropped the name into it (oh, and of course the paper it was written on).
But there it was again. In ink this time, the same handwriting, at the lower edge of a large piece of paper this time, one that had small printing on it here and there but mostly showing lines, divisions, headings of some kind.
Thea helped herself to this “Melzer” too.
But then there it was yet again. Twice this time. Then came more papers of the same kind, but with no “Melzer” on them. Thea took these as well. Underneath was now only the shiny glass surface. Thea clasped her purse shut. The captain was calling her from the next room.
•
Thea did not react to the spectacle staged before her now in any way that could have been anticipated.
When the captain clapped (just as Thea was stepping through the hidden door) and the two ladies appeared left and right in their gold-beige dresses in the white salon and started toward her, the young woman let out a short scream—not shrill or piercing, but deep instead, as if from an innermost chamber, almost reminiscent of a roar from a wild animal—and bolted right down the middle with loping footsteps before they could even reach her. She was too quick for the captain to stand in her path and keep her there. Thea had slammed the apartment door by now and was off.
