A Feather on the Water(64)

“It could be difficult after dark. The problem is the whole city is divided into military zones. I was looking at a map before we left Bavaria: the district the train takes us to—and the area where Clara lives—is in the Russian zone. It wouldn’t be a good idea to go wandering about there at night.”

Kitty’s cup was halfway between the saucer and her mouth. The bite of pastry she’d just swallowed felt like a lump in her gullet.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be okay as long as we wait until morning. We just have to get across to the American zone and check into the hotel.”

She nodded. He’d told her they could get rooms at the Hotel Regina—the place the US Army had taken over as their headquarters in Vienna. The name of the street was familiar to her. She remembered her father pointing out the big Bank of Austria building as they’d traveled through that part of the city by tram.

It was hard to imagine the Vienna she’d grown up in now divided among the Americans, the Russians, the British, and the French. If Clara’s address was in the Russian zone, that meant Kitty’s old neighborhood probably was, too. The thought of having to get past men like the one who’d tried to arrest her at the station in Poland made her stomach flip over.

“We won’t be able to get right into the city on the train,” Charlie went on. “The station at the end of the line was bombed, so we have to get off somewhere on the outskirts. I guess there’ll be taxis around.”

“There used to be trams,” Kitty said. “I wonder if they’re still running?” It seemed a forlorn hope. The bombs that had ruined so many buildings had no doubt ruptured tramlines, too. The train station where they should have gotten off was just a short walk to the place where her parents’ shop had been—and to the street where Clara now lived. It was both tantalizing and utterly frustrating that she couldn’t go there tonight. She told herself she would just have to be patient. What was one more day when she’d waited so many years? But right now, sitting on this dreary platform, watching—hoping—for a train to come, it seemed like an eternity.

It was nearly six o’clock when they crossed the border from Czechoslovakia into Austria. Seeing the name of her homeland triggered a surge of adrenaline. As the light faded, she had a sense of hurtling toward a place where nothing would be as it was supposed to be—a city of shadows and half-remembered dreams.

“How long is it since you left Vienna?” Charlie was sitting beside her. Close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body—but not touching her. He seemed to sense that this wasn’t the right time to try to kiss her, or even take her hand.

“It’s been almost seven years,” she replied. “The Germans had already taken control—but the real trouble started in November ’38, when people went round one night throwing bricks through the windows of Jewish shops. My father had to put up a sign above the shop saying it was a Jewish business. We used to have customers from all over the city, but non-Jews weren’t allowed through the doors after that. I even overheard our neighbors saying there were not enough lampposts in Vienna to hang all the Jews. I got the feeling they said it deliberately loud so I could hear.”

Charlie shook his head. “That must have been terrifying.”

“It was. Soon after, curfews were imposed. Jews were not allowed on the streets at night or in the movie theaters, concert halls . . . most public places, I think. At school, I wasn’t allowed to talk to my non-Jewish friends.”

“How did you feel when your parents said they were sending you to England?”

“I was a little bit afraid—but not like it was the end of the world, because I thought they’d be coming after me. I thought it would be straightforward for them to get jobs and visas. If I’d known . . .”

“Do you think they knew the odds were against that? That they didn’t tell you in case you wouldn’t go?”

“I don’t know.”

“They were incredibly brave. I can’t imagine what it must have been like, putting you on that train.”

Kitty closed her eyes. No matter how many times she tried—it must be thousands—she couldn’t retrieve that memory. It was as if grief had burned a hole in her mind’s eye. “They were brave. I used to say that to myself. I know it sounds awful, but sometimes, when I was in England, I felt angry with them for letting me go. I always felt like an imposter when I lived there. No matter how hard I tried, I was never really accepted.”

“My grandma used to say that.” Charlie nodded. “When they came to America, she learned English, wore Western clothes, but she couldn’t change how she looked. White people looked down on the Chinese. Some still do.”

Kitty thought about Mrs. Ho, the Chinese lady her mother had made dresses for. She had been beautiful, elegant. It was hard to imagine that any Viennese citizen had looked down on her. But then, she had been a diplomat’s wife, which brought wealth and status—very different from the position Charlie’s grandmother would have been in as the wife of an immigrant laborer.

“When I changed my name, I felt guilty about it,” she said, “like I was betraying my parents—but it made life more bearable. I worked really hard to lose my accent, which was the other giveaway.”

“You did a good job.” He smiled. “I had you down as either British or Canadian when we met.”