A crazy thing happened a couple weeks ago. I’d finished the first draft of Underground, the second volume of Two Suitcases, and was reading through it to check the chapter headings and dates. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that, by the stroke of a key, I’d skipped writing a whole year of history and my story.
Sure enough, I’d typed July 9, 1935 at the beginning of one chapter—and July 11, 1936 on the next. So, back to making a timeline of the history, back to my sources already on the bookshelves upstairs, back to the endlessly generous internet.
At first, I had a hard time moving forward on the missing piece. The parallels between events in Austria in the thirties and the news from America were particularly powerful as I was completing the draft, and I was in a race to finishit on inauguration day. And I did! Except for July 1935 to July 1936.
Now, I’m almost finished the missing year. It was an interesting challenge to weave the characters’ stories into the history so that they would flow nicely into the already-written part, July ’36 to March ’38. But I’m almost there. I was writing about the reception of the Nuremberg Race Laws as Musk and his team trashed USAID.
And now I’m writing about the July Pact, or or Juliabkommen, a handshake deal between Austria and Germany that took place in July, 1936. Today, while looking into it more closely, I found a blog by Elizabeth Sunflower, who also wrote a novel set in Austria in 1937. About a year ago, she posted a blog about the July Pact. It’s succinct and timely.
Underground is the second volume of Two Suitcases. This is an early draft of one of its chapters, including the photographs I used to write parts of it.
Chapter 39
Doctor Rudy Pollack
August 28, 1937
Westbahnhof station, Vienna
Dr. Pollack arrives by train. A tall man in his mid-fifties, portly but not overly so, he has a generous moustache and wears small rimless spectacles. In one hand, he carries an old leather suitcase, and in the other, a smaller bag, and his hat. Anna and Max, who’d been waiting at the station, recognize him immediately from the photograph he’d sent. Anna slips it back into her bag the moment they spot him.
“Dr. Pollack!” she calls out, and he turns toward her and smiles.
“Fräulein Baum! Call me Rudy, please.” He puts down his suitcase and offers her his hand. “I’m very glad to meet you at last,” he says slowly in German.
“And I you! Do call me me Anna,” she says, and then she introduces her brother. Max picks up the older man’s suitcase and leads them out of the station to the tram stop, where they stand and wait together.
Dr. Pollack makes a wry face. “My German is very poor. You will have to forgive me.” He has a gentle manner, Anna thinks, and his eyes are kind.
“And my English is very poor,” she answers in careful English. “We will have to forgive each other.”
“But we will manage!” they both say, he in German, she in English, and all three of them laugh.
Anna continues in English, hoping she’ll remember the words she’d copied into her little notebook that morning, and that she’ll pronounce them well enough to be understood. “We will take you first to your hotel, and then, if you are not too tired, we will go for something to eat at the Prater.”
He responds in English. “Well said! I am happy to go to my hotel and then eat at the Prater.”
On the tram, Max and Anna share a seat. “I think it will work out, Anna,” Max says. “You can tell right away that he’s a good man.“
A few hours later, Gisi, Max, Anna and Rudy emerge from another tram. In front of them, the Riesenrad, the tallest ferris wheel in the world, rises high above the trees and buildings, its thirty coaches carrying a dozen passengers each, swinging gently.
“Cor, Blimey,” repeats Anna slowly. “It is en…nor…” but she can’t remember the rest. She sighs.
“You’ll learn, Anna,” Gisi says to her. “Don’t worry. It won’t take long.”
The conversation goes on like that, Rudy exclaiming over the park-like grounds, the rides and games, and the crowds, young and old, rich and poor. Between them, they piece together a basic understanding.
Eventually a grand plaza with a massive domed building at its end opens in front of them. Crowds fill the long, broad, tree-lined square, almost everyone moving in the direction of the ornate exposition complex, the Rotunde, at the end.
“It’s especially busy today because Die Messe Wien, the Vienna Fair, will only be at the Rotunde for one more week,” remarks a short man beside them in perfect English and then in German. He points toward the great gates of the exhibition center with his cane. Wearing a slightly floppy black hat and baggy trousers, he paces himself to seem like he’s part of their party, though no one noticed him before. “It’s the greatest exposition in the world in the most magnificent setting in the world. You are on your way to see it?” He switches between languages remarkably fluidly.
“No,” Max responds. “Not today.”
“But it is very much worth your time! There are hundreds of marvelous exhibits from every corner of Austria, all the latest and best products are on display for you to see or try. Please reconsider. I would be delighted to be your guide.” He tips his hat. “Let me introduce myself—I am Hans Wurstel.”
“We don’t need a guide, Herr Wurstel, thank you,” says Anna firmly, but the little man continues, first in German then in English.
“A translator, then. Forgive me for eavesdropping but I couldn’t help noticing your difficulties in communicating.”
“Okay, Herr Wurstel,” Rudy agrees. “I’m willing to pay you to translate for a short time.” He turns to the other two and says, “This will make it so much easier.”
Herr Wurstel translates his words and thanks Rudy. Turning to the German-speakers again, he tells them, “Your English friend is both wise and kind.” In both tongues, he goes on. “Let me tell you something about the Prater as we walk. Where did you say you were going?”
Anna, Max and Gisi look at each other in surprise. “We hadn’t said,” Max says. He smiles just a little as he continues, “but, in fact, we are on our way to a restaurant to eat some würstel .”
He isn’t sure that he trusts the fellow, especially with name like that, but having a translator is probably a good idea. Marriage is a serious thing.
Gisi doesn’t like the little man at all. She promises herself that she will keep a constant eye on him, and tucks her bag more securely under her arm.
Anna feels relieved. How fortunate, she thinks, that they should meet such a bright and funny man to provide just the service they need at the moment they need it. And more fortunate even, is that there is someone among them who’s willing and able to pay for it.
The little man laughs heartily. “Of course! You came for wurstel, the sausage, and you found Wurstel, the translator and guide. I am indeed the man of the moment. Not only is Wurstel my name—not an easy one to grow up with, you can imagine—but we have just passed through Der Wurstelprater, the world’s most amusing amusement park. The Prater itself is much larger, of course.” He indicates the enormity of the rest of the park with his stick, nearly hitting several passers-by.
The group spreads out to give their guide room.
“The Prater was originally Austria’s Imperial Hunting Ground, and only imperial guests could enjoy it. But in 1766, Emperor Josef II, a great reformer, donated part of his grounds to the city to be used as a park. He’s believed to have said, ‘If I only wanted to associate with people of my own kind, I could stay in the Imperial Crypt.’”
“He was ahead of his time,” comments Anna.
“It didn’t take long for inns, cafes, and Lebzelter, gingerbread, bakers to line its boundary. Many of the restaurants served the same delicious wurstel that you’ll be having this evening. When puppet theaters, seesaws, merry-go-rounds, and bowling alleys appeared behind the restaurants, the area became known as the Wurstelprater.”
“When was the Riesenrad built?” asks Rudy.
“In 1897. It was a great success at first, but during the Great War it was almost dismantled. By then it was badly run-down, and close to being sold for the value of the iron, which was much needed for the war. It would have happened, the great wheel might have met its demise, but oddly, not enough workers could be found to take it apart. Instead a rich business man came forward, bought it, and restored it. It’s still privately owned.”
“I could have told that story,” Max mutters to Gisi. “We didn’t have to pay for it.”
“You could have told it in English?” she asks softly.
Wurstel continues. “But the Rotunde, which you see before you now,was built in 1873 for the World’s Fair. Its dome is the largest in the world, larger, I’m proud to say, than even the Pantheon in Rome.” They pause to admire the massive structure. “It weighs 4000 metric tons. Can you imagine?”
Ten minutes later, they’re approaching Zum Walfisch.
“Can’t miss it!” cries Herr Wurstel, standing below the large signs pointing to the popular restaurant.
“Wait, let me take a picture of you there,” says Rudy, pulling a camera from his bag.
“Certainly,” agrees the little man. “If you will give me one moment.” He takes off his hat, blows on it to get rid of the dust, and, in a few deft movements, gives it more of a point at the top. Once the black hat is back on his head in a satisfactory position, he pulls a cigar from his pocket, lights it, and takes a couple of puffs. Thrusting one leg forward and holding the cigar up as if he’s about to take another puff, he says,
“There. I’ll hold this pose. Go ahead and take your picture. And then we’ll have the rest of you here with me for another shot. Good?”
Rudy is ready, and the shutter of his camera clicks.
Herr Wurstel releases his pose. “Now, another one with just Fraulein Baum and me.”
“Wait!” cries Gisi. “How much will these photos cost? Do you charge people to be in their pictures?” Herr Wurstel translates for Rudy.
Rudy replies to him in English and Wurstel says to the others, “He says the cost doesn’t matter—he just wants to remember this lovely day.”
“I want to talk to you privately,” Max says to Anna and Gisi as he leads them out of hearing distance. “It’s not the cost—though it takes some chutzpah to charge people to take your picture—it’s that we don’t know where the photos could end up. They could be lost or stolen and fall into the wrong hands. Then there would be proof of this encounter.”
Anna looks at him as if he’s crazy. “I’m marrying Rudy at the Rathaus tomorrow. What more proof could be needed?”
“I don’t know. You never know. These times are so uncertain.”
Gisi says, “Dr. Pollack’s reputation could be harmed, I imagine, if the photos got into the wrong hands.”
“I say it’s his decision.” Anna is clear. “If Rudy wants the photos, and he doesn’t care if Wurstel charges for his presence in them, he can do what he wants. I’ll smile. I owe it to him.”
This one is from the second volume of Two Suitcases, which is called Underground. If you haven’t read the first volume Red Vienna yet, order it at your local bookstore or through Amazon.
February 2, 1937
a cafe not far from Max’s workshop
Gisi turns the pages of the new issue of the Kronen Zeitung she spread on the cafe table. She’d seen several copies on her way to the cafe. The paper’s populist touch allowed it to survive the Fascist takeover of Austria and keeps it on the newsstands in working class neighborhoods.
On the second to the last page, she finds what she’s looking for: From Innsbruck to Italy—Three Winter Hikes, by Wilhelm der Wandersmann. It’s Max’s and her first effort at hiding coded information about safe escape routes in the paper. She’s pleased to see it, of course, and she feels confident that no one who doesn’t know the code could possibly suspect anything, but it bothers her to think about the lies she had to tell to get it published .
The son of the publisher, a sweet but naive young man, now waits for her after lecture every week, or worse, he arrives early and saves her a good seat. Gisi puts on her spectacles to discourage him, but it hasn’t worked. She can’t tell him about Max so she told him that she’s helping a cousin in Tyrol to get a start in journalism instead.
“My cousin is more of an outdoorsman than a writer,” she’d said to him, “but he wants to write a series of articles like this about hikes all over the country. He’d like to make his love of hiking pay for itself. That’s why he’s using a catchy byline instead of his own name.”
What she feels worst about is that the day she gave the publisher’s son the article, she let him take her out for coffee and a pastry. Encouraging him even that much is so wrong.
Max rushes into the smoky cafe. “Sorry I’m late,” he says breathlessly. “I sold another radio and had to pack it up. I only have two left now.” They kiss lightly. “So, let’s have a look at our man Wilhelm der Wandersmann’s article!”
The code isn’t complicated. It involves starting certain sentences with letters that indicate the political bent of the proprietors of inns and restaurants along the way. Each time Gisi and Max succeed in publishing another article, a new code will be shared, again in code, in the ArbeiterZeitung.
“It’s fantastic!” he says, smiling broadly. “I can’t wait to take the next hike with you.” The next hike will be considerably longer with at least two overnight stays, quite possibly three.
Their conversation turns to how much fun they had hiking the trails for the article over the last six months, two of them more than once. In the end, they decided that only one of the three routes would be safe, and they’d written the article together, he injecting the humor into her fastidious accounts.
“We should go on the next hike as soon as the snow melts,” he tells her. “When’s your spring break?”
“It’s at Easter, but Easter is early this year, at the end of March. It could still be very cold.”
“Then we’ll have to keep each other warm,” he smiles. And the date is set.
“So,” he says, “that settled, let’s have a look at what else the paper has to tell us today.” He turns back to the front page and glances at the headlines. “Well, we knew the trade negotiations with Germany would fail, so that’s not news.” He fails to notice a piece of paper sliding from between the pages and falling to the floor.
Gisi picks it up. “Look at this, Max,” she says. “It’s a speech by Hitler. Someone seems to have printed out the whole thing and tucked it between the pages of the paper.”
“Hm. Somebody is getting ideas from us.”
“Shh. This speech was given a couple days ago, on the fourth anniversary of Hitler’s coming to power. Listen what he says here.”
Max leans in and she reads aloud.
“And I can prophesy here that, just as the knowledge that the earth moves around the sun led to a revolutionary alternation in the general world-picture, so the blood-and-race doctrine of the National Socialist Movement will bring about a revolutionary change in our knowledge and therewith a radical reconstruction of the picture which human history gives us of the past and will also change the course of that history in the future.”
“The blood-and-race doctrine of the National Socialist Movement,” repeats Max. “Horrifying words. On top of the blood-and-race problem, he uses the full name of his wretched party, which dares to co-opt our name, Socialist.”
Gisi wrinkles her nose. “Well, I don’t feel so proprietary about that, to be honest. If they want to call themselves Socialists, let them be socialistic. Populists like to make promises like income equality, so let the state take care of all its people, not just those with the right blood. It’s not the Socialist part of the National Socialist Movement that bothers me. It’s the Nationalist part. Now, listen to what he says next:
‘And this will not lead to an estrangement between nations; but on the contrary, it will bring about for the first time a real understanding of one another. At the same time, however, it will prevent the Jewish people from intruding themselves among all the other nations as elements of internal disruption, under the mask of honest world-citizens, and thus gaining power over these nations.’”
“Well, there it is” says Max. “He doesn’t mince words, our countryman.”
Gisi is still reading. “His defense of the Nazi takeover as a bloodless revolution is pure propaganda, too,” she points out. “He says there wasn’t even one window broken, but his compatriots here in Austria don’t seem to feel such reticence.”
Max says, “What bothers me is how he returns again and again to the way conditions have improved in Germany over the last four years. Here he says:
‘Within a few weeks the political debris and the social prejudices which had been accumulating through a thousand years of German history were removed and cleared away.
May we not speak of a revolution when the chaotic conditions brought about by parliamentary-democracy disappear in less than three months and a regime of order and discipline takes their place, and a new energy springs forth from a firmly welded unity and a comprehensive authoritative power such as Germany never before had?’”
Gisi agrees. “Yes, those are the parts of the speech that will resonate with readers of the Kronen Zeitung in particular. Most of this speech is too high-flown for the ‘folk community’ he refers to but the message is clear.”
“Yes. Get rid of the vermin Jews, destroy democracy, and everyone will live happily ever after.”
“I’m so glad we got Wilhelm der Wandersmann’s article printed. Herr Wandersmann has plenty of work to do.”
‘And we should have our suitcases packed,” Max says.
Eve Neuhaus 