It makes me want to cry, because really, what more do any of us want?
Read the review, read the book—get it from bookshop.org or through your local bookseller.
The second volume of Two Suitcases, Underground, is moving closer to publication. I’m currently looking for people who’d like to read the manuscript and write me a blurb for the back cover or the inside front pages. If you’re interested, write to me and I’ll send you the first 20 pages. Then if you decide you want to continue, I’ll send you more.
Now I think I’ll reread that review and feel appreciated. What a feeling. I am so very grateful.
To the credit of all the people who say “Can’t wait for the next volume!” on their reviews of Red Vienna, I’ve been working hard at it. Underground ends at the Anschluss, when most of Austria joyfully welcomes Hitler as their leader. which takes place from March 11th to 13th, 1938.
Here’s a taste of what I wrote today. As it seems so often, the news I read in the morning seems eerily parallel to what’s happening in my story.
Here’s a photo of the man on whom I based the character, Hugo.
And here is my father, on whom Max is based.
January 27, 1938
Max’s workshop
Vienna
Max has the radio on whenever he can, day and night. He follows the news from as many sources as possible, hearing stories few others hear, and hearing the ones that everybody knows reported from widely varying perspectives. His shop is more popular as a source of news than it is of lamps, chairs, or radios.
“Listen to this,” he says to Hugo, who’s perched on stool at the workbench next to Max. “A German diplomat told a commentator I follow that Hitler is spending most of his time at his retreat in Berchtesgaden near the Austrian border.”
“I had heard that, yes,” says Hugo. “He’s so close he can see Austria.”
“Well, apparently he almost never goes out anymore, and here’s how he spends his time there: he has a huge collection of postcards of Vienna and other Austrian cities that he spreads out on his desk to look at while planning where to put his Brown Houses, the Nazi party headquarters. They say he spends hours at it. And he has a street map of Vienna tacked up on the wall where he’s marked the buildings he wants to replace with ones he’s designing himself. He’s obsessed—it takes up all his time.”
“Not good,” Hugo says. “Not good at all.”
“What concerns me almost as much is that I overheard someone else telling the same story to a group at the cafe yesterday and everyone thought it was funny. What do they think, that Hitler is a joke?”
“There’s no point in pretending that Hitler won’t be welcome here, Max. The Nazi tactic of causing chaos and confusion in Austria over the last few years has led most of the population to want peace at any cost, and they think becoming part of Germany will bring it.”
“It’s so ironic, isn’t it? That the man who tells the French Ambassador that he ‘will soon have Schuschnigg’s head’ should be associated with peace.” Max shakes his head. “No one believes that what I read in Feuchtwanger’s book is true either. It’s fiction, I’m told over and over, often in the most condescending way.”
“Classic it-could-never-happen-here thinking,” agrees Hugo. “Austria would never let the Jews be treated so badly. Well, we shall see soon enough.” He lights a cigarette. “I’ve finished almost all the new exit papers, by the way. Leo will be printing them in a few days.”
“That’s a relief. Are you including an Ausweis for Gisi’s mother and Gert’s parents? They would need them to get out, even if they aren’t Jewish.”
“I am, but I’m doing those last, in case I don’t have the time to finish them. Gert’s parents will never leave, and I seriously doubt Gert will. I think her family has always been more important to her than our crazy off-and-on relationship. What about Gisi?”
“She claims she’ll leave, but she started the new term at medical school this week and she told me she has some of the best professors in the program. And her mother steadfastly refuses to even consider following her. To be honest, I’m not sure if she’ll give all that up for me.”
“It’s a lot to ask. Gert would be leaving a promising career in fashion, a job she loves, and, as you saw at New Year’s, a very comfortable home that will come to her someday. What does she gain by leaving?”
Max looks pensive. “Gisi is in a similar position, minus the bourgeois apartment. What do I have to offer her? We would be leaving with not much more than the clothes on our backs.”
Hugo smiles wryly. “It sounds like you and I are talking ourselves out of leaving.”
“No, of course not. We have no choice. All Jews should be ready to go at a moment’s notice. It’s a shame so few are.”
“People don’t like to face an uncertain future. It’s so much easier to imagine that life will go on the way it is than to face the reality of a darker times ahead. I have first hand experience, though, because of Hilda and Karl’s disappearance. And I understand the pain of losing a child. I’ve already faced some of what the future could hold for many people.”
“Maybe words aren’t enough to convince people. Maybe firsthand experience is necessary. Although I have to say that for me, reading those chapters in TheOppermanns about the months that followed Hitler becoming Chancellor was enough.”
Hugo thinks for a moment. “We were fortunate to have Youth Leaders like Papanek and the others who set an example for us when they left in ’34.”
“That’s true. It’s also easier for us to imagine living somewhere else because we were raised in an Internationalist milieu. Remember? We were, what, eighteen, when we took part in the International Socialist Youth Congress? It’s very different than coming up in a Nationalist milieu that values Blood and Soil over Friendship and Peace.”
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.
It’s the reddest day of the year—Valentine’s Day. Last night, Tom and I, together 35 years now, went out to eat at the very beautiful Au Jardin des Saveurs. It was a delightful evening in every way. When we got home, I checked my email and discovered that, though I was still patiently waiting to hear from the publisher, Red Vienna is already available through Amazon, in the US in hard or soft cover, overseas as an ebook.
An anticlimactic launch, to be sure! Nonetheless, I’m thrilled that you can buy it, in hard or soft cover in the US, or as an ebook there or overseas. And do have a look at its website.
I’ve been completely immersed in the second volume, Underground, which is more than halfway done now. It’s the end of 1936. I work on it as long as my neck and shoulders will let me type, go to sleep thinking about it and wake up the next morning thinking about it again. The characters are now back in Vienna, secretly working for the Social Democratic party in the face of continuing persecution and an unchecked rise in anti-semitism. I’m in a research phase, reviewing the history of Vienna in 1937 by rereading my parents’ copy of George Gedye’s book, Betrayal in Central Europe, and combing through the New York Times archives of that year. Next on my list is Bruno Kreisky’s The struggle for a democratic Austria. Lots of notes to take.
Now, I think I’ll have to take a break to get the word out that Red Vienna is available. Hurray!!
Talk about history repeating itself. This is where I am in Two Suitcases now:
Café Rüdigerhof, Brigitennau, Vienna March 7, 1933
Max closes the shop early to meet with the others at the coffee house. The news that Chancellor Dollfuss eliminated the parliament hit the press earlier that week, and today it was announced that the Wartime Economy Authority Law, an emergency law passed in 1917, would be used as a basis to rule.
Every day that week brought what seemed like earth-shattering news. First the National Council couldn’t agree on how to settle the railway workers’ strike. When an agreement was finally reached, irregularities were found in the vote, and Karl Renner, leader of the SDAP, resigned as Chairman of the Council.
Rudolf Ramek, a Christian Socialist, then became Chairman. He declared the previous vote invalid and asked for a new vote. Another uproar followed. Ramek then resigned, and Sepp Straffner of the Pan-Germans became Chairman, but he also stepped down immediately. The resignations of Renner, Ramek, and Straffner left the house without a speaker, so the session couldn’t be closed and the National Council was incapable of acting. The members left the chamber as a consequence.
Chancellor Dollfuss declared a constitutional crisis. The parliament had “eliminated itself,” a crisis not provided for in the constitution. He then set up an authoritarian government without a parliament. The establishment of wartime rule gave him complete authority.
“It’s what he always wanted! He wanted to be head of a fascist state from the beginning!” Gert is saying as Max comes into the coffee house.
“That’s not true. He wanted to make peace between the parties at first,” Toni answers.
“What does it matter what his intentions were?” Leo asks. “We have a completely authoritarian government now. Democracy is dead.”
“It’s as bad as Italy,” says Hugo. “Dollfuss always admired Mussolini.”
“That’s why I said he always wanted to be a dictator,” Gert points out.
Max adds, “It’s a coup d’état, really. Renner, Ramek, and Straffner fell right into his hands.”
“At least he won’t let Austria merge with Germany,” says Felix.
“Small comfort when one man now controls the power over all economic activities and over war and peace indefinitely,” Max says.
Toni wonders, “Do we continue our new education program? Having Dollfuss as dictator doesn’t diminish the rising power of the Nazis and the dangers of demagoguery.”
“Dollfuss isn’t a Nazi. Or a demagogue. It’s possible the rule of a strong hand will calm things down a little,” Felix says.
“One can hope,” says Gert, “but I think the Nazis are far too pleased with how fast their ideas are spreading to stop now.”
“I think they’ll be more dangerous than ever. And Dollfuss’s party, the Christian Socials, are barely less anti-Jewish than the Nazis anyway,” Leo says.
Felix adds, “I wonder if it will soon become too dangerous for us to even hold meetings or give talks.”
“Especially in the beer halls. I already find them frightening,” Toni says.
“We shouldn’t be driven by fear of what might be!” Max answers. “I say we go ahead with the talks as scheduled. I think it would be a big mistake to let ourselves be intimidated.”
“I agree!” “Yes.” “You’re right,” the others say.
“Alright. We’ll go ahead, but I think we all need to keep our eyes and ears open to gauge the response of the groups we address. Dictators use spies to keep the peace. It’s more important than ever that we aren’t seen as rabble-rousers,” says Hugo. “We’ll meet on Tuesday then, and listen to Leo practice his speech for the beer hall.”
Eve Neuhaus 