Night Angels(24)

“You should go to jail for contempt! The Führer is doing what is best for us. He cares about us. He is a true Austrian and loves Austria, and he understands we are fighting for our lives because of people like you. He’s looking out for us. Look what he did to Austria! He has pulled Austria out of bankruptcy, and children are eating meat again!”

Dogs always followed those holding out bones.

“Lola. Let me take a look at your face.”

“I’m fine. It’s stitched up. Not a big deal—”

“He loves Austria! He has done more for Austria than Emperor Franz!”

“Cousin, could you—” Mutter said.

He jabbed his fingers at Mutter, forcing her to stagger backward. “I’ve been patient with you, but time is running out. The fabric shop is mine. I need the key to the shop.”

“That’s my vater’s shop!” I shouted.

“I’ve warned you before, I can bring the police!”

“You . . .” My head felt like a violin with all strings vibrating and screeching at once, and the room was flooded with twisty silhouettes. And Mutter, Sara, little Eva, and even ugly Onkel Goethe were engulfed in a black curtain.

“Lola!”

The last thing I heard was Onkel Goethe’s sharp voice, quoting those despicable headlines from the newspapers that were sold everywhere. “Jews must leave, and leave in droves, and leave all their wealth behind!”





CHAPTER 11


GRACE


I learned that Lola lived on a street called Berggasse, in the ninth district, north of the Innere Stadt. A few days after I mailed the visiting card, I asked Frau Maxa about the location, the tram route, and the landmarks in that area. Then I took a map, bought a bunch of lilacs from a flower cart on the street, and got on the tram. This was an adventure I had never imagined I was capable of. Fengshan’s warning kept hovering in my mind, but I was not asking for his consent this time—or maybe I was. Still, Lola had been assaulted, and I needed to know whether she was all right.

I was the only woman on the tram, which made me nervous. I averted my eyes from the Brownshirts looking at me askance and fixated my gaze on my shoes, a practice I’d perfected since childhood. I thought of the men who had caused Lola’s injury; they would likely have threatened her had she been on the bus.

When the scenery began to change outside, I was possessed with fear again—I had never ventured this far in Vienna on my own. Would I get lost again?

At Votive Park, I got off. Lola’s house was a few blocks away. With the map and lilacs in hand, I passed the park blooming with spring flowers, streets with signs written in cryptic Germanic lettering, and stately Baroque and classical architecture buildings. The area seemed busy with taverns, wine stores, and shops selling furs and dresses, but several buildings were graffitied in German in black paint, the windows smashed.

I was walking down the neat pavement when I heard some shouts from the park on the other side of the street. In the distance, a group of adults, holding bats, and some children in dark shirts were gathered. At first, I thought they were playing baseball, but then I realized those people were not holding bats but rather horsewhips, and the small figures were not children but older men with gray beards and some women, crouching on all fours on the grass. Cruelly, the men holding horsewhips lashed them, and the crouched older men and women dipped their heads, tore off the lawn’s grass with their teeth, and munched. My pace slowed. Who were these people, and why were they eating grass? But there was no question about who the men holding horsewhips were—they wore the same black uniforms as the police at the Headquarters.

When I arrived at Lola’s apartment, a young woman in a plaid dirndl dress opened the door. She had Lola’s eyes, and her right hand was deformed. “Grü? Gott,” she said.

Lola’s greeting. My face grew hot; I stammered in English, “Oh yes, grü? Gott. I’m her friend, Grace Lee. So sorry to bother you. I sent a card a few days ago. I’m here to see Lola. May I see her?”

She hesitated, didn’t seem to understand me or what to do with me. Fengshan was right; it was taboo to visit a Viennese without an invitation. I gave her the lilacs and turned to leave, but then, on second thought, I repeated, “I’m here to see Lola, Lola Schnitzel, Schnitzler.”

She looked relieved and wiped her good hand on her apron—her other hand was twisted awkwardly. She had just ushered me into the parlor when from inside, a stout man with too much facial hair but none on his head stomped out, blasting something in German. Upon seeing me, he stopped and switched to heavily accented English. “You’ve invited a foreigner to your house! A foreigner! This is the plague Austria is facing! All the Socialists, Communists, and foreigners are polluting the Austrian custom and traditions.”

The man pushed me aside and left the apartment.

I froze in the parlor. Leave or stay?

“Are you Miss Lee? Welcome, Miss Lee. Welcome. Come. Come. Lola talked about you. I’m Lola’s mother.” An older woman with gray hair came to me. “That was my cousin. I apologize on his behalf. Please don’t be offended by him. He had an argument with Lola a few days ago and he wanted to sort it out . . . It’s . . . Well, he’s dogged, but he’s harmless.”

Mrs. Schnitzler’s English was heavily accented as well, but her manner was amicable. I hastily introduced myself again, wringing my hands. This was the hard part, talking to strangers.