CHAPTER

7

In October he saw neither Martin nor Freddy. Once he glimpsed Martin from a distance, staggering and barely staying on his feet. He wanted to approach him but couldn’t bring himself to. Their last meetings had been awkward and unpleasant. Martin had made remarks that had hurt him. He avoided Freddy altogether. He would run into friends from childhood in the halls of the municipal building, but he didn’t talk to them long. One thing occupied his mind without letup: the appointment. As if to drive himself even more crazy, he occasionally saw Hochhut, who did not seem the least bit ill at ease. He stood at the entrance or in the hallway, chatting with contractors and senior officials. If a woman happened across his path, he didn’t begrudge her a compliment. But those casual ways seemed like a ruse to Karl. He kept his distance from Hochhut.

For some reason he thought the appointment would surely slip through his fingers unless he fetched Gloria from her native village. Yet he put off the trip from week to week.

One night he realized that he had to break through the barrier and address Hochhut directly. But when he awoke the next morning, the idea seemed more senseless to him than the trip to distant Schenetz.

“You mustn’t worry,” said Kirzl. “Worry shortens your life. If the appointment goes through—fine. If not, maybe it’s for the best.”

“The whole thing angers me,” said Karl, unable to contain himself.

“We’re commanded to love without anger.”

“To love whom?”

“Those close to us, at least.”

“No one wants me.”

“God loves you, Karl, as if you were His only child,” said Kirzl, her eyes shining.

Her faith shook him. Karl felt an emptiness in his body, as if his will had been drained.

When he left the White Horse, he forced himself to walk for a long while along Salzburg Boulevard to the river. The river was serene, its water still. At first Kirzl’s words seemed simple and straightforward. But the more he walked, the more he felt that there was a trace of self-righteousness in what she said. Years ago, someone had said to him, “Life is a stream of confusions and torments, and it’s best to say so forthrightly.” Now he couldn’t remember the circumstances.

When he returned home after midnight he found a telegram saying, “Franzi Hübner has passed away. The funeral will leave from her home at twelve o’clock.” He put the paper down on the table and lit the kitchen light. When he looked at it again, he had no doubt; the old ghosts had returned to life.

Aunt Franzi, his father’s sister, would appear like a breeze and vanish. It was no surprise, then, that as a child he thought she had a pair of wings concealed beneath her green sweater, and that whenever she felt like it, she could unfurl them and take off in flight. She belonged to his most hidden dreams. As soon as the shutters were closed at night, he would open the gates of dreams and secretly let her in.

Of course his mother had contempt for her, calling her “a woman of the world.” At an early age Aunt Franzi had left home with some of her friends, and ever since then the reversals of fortune and scandals had never ceased.

She had been a nightclub singer and occasionally a dancer. She had wandered across Europe with all sorts of troupes. She had married, divorced, and been involved in untold scandals, but for some reason she had never converted. In fact, at every opportunity she would declare herself Jewish. She had even composed a provocative ditty that she sang in bars:

I’m a Jew and not so pretty.

Before you kiss me, you ought to know,

I come from the fires of hell

And live in Satan’s glow.

That was Aunt Franzi. Some people feared her, repelled by the scandals, but for the most part she was admired. Whenever she appeared, his parents sent Karl out of the house. Perhaps this was another reason he remembered her so fondly.

After years of adventurous wandering, she bought a little house for herself in a remote village and rarely left its confines. The villagers didn’t like her, and few of her friends came to visit. Had she converted, perhaps the priest would have helped her, and the hoodlums wouldn’t have tormented her. But she refused. The local physician, who was half-Jewish, tended to her when she was sick.

In time, all mention of her faded from the house. Karl’s mother fell ill, and he concentrated on his career. Sometimes at night a crack would open in the veil of silence and Aunt Franzi’s face would rise up like a spirit. It was said that Prince von Haben, a relative of the Kaiser’s, had been infatuated with her and would send her presents everywhere she went. But because of her beauty, people didn’t take her seriously as an actress, which apparently hurt her deeply. On the stage she may not have reached great heights, but she was brilliant as a cabaret singer. People would travel great distances to see her performances. Why, then, had she withdrawn from life and the stage? There were differences of opinion about that. Some said she was tired of luxuries and sought simplicity. Others, her detractors, called her capricious. As for the power of her charms, there was total agreement. Young and old were smitten with her, and when she decided to retire, people in Neufeld wrung their hands, as if they had heard she was about to die.

Karl’s father was secretly very proud of her and regretted that she lived so far away. More than once he had intended to go to her, but his mother said, “Oh no you don’t,” and he obeyed her. Sometimes Karl would find her name in municipal files. One of these came his way with the following label: “The Adventures, Betrayals, and Villainies of Franzi Hübner.” The file passed from department to department, the clerks adding vulgar comments as it circulated. He had wanted to destroy the file, but the bureaucrat in him was too scrupulous.

After his father’s death, he had wanted to bring her some money, but he kept putting off the journey. Meanwhile, his visits to Father Merser had begun. And after the conversion, he saw himself as cut off from his former life, and imagined that henceforth he would have to build a new one. To some extent he tried to do that, but now the telegram had come and struck him from the depths: “Franzi Hübner has passed away. The funeral will leave from her home at twelve o’clock.”