An Interpreter in Vienna | Chapter 18

Part III: Acrophobia

An Interpreter in Vienna is a response to Graham Greene's The Third Man and a psychological thriller serialized on The Matterhorn each Saturday. This prose is a continuation of a letter written by Marie to her (official) employers in anticipation of Josef’s arrival at her door.

∞ Table of Contents | Blurb
∞ Author’s Foreword
∞ Podcasts about Layering Fiction
∞ Toggle on/off sections of the newsletter

Chapter 18

It was the eve of a total lockdown on the city.¹ Well, not total, not like Italy where one was forced to stay at home except with a ticket to purchase groceries for one’s family. Legend is that we were saved by a dog-owning parliament member who asked the group what one could do with one’s hound if bound to the house. Surely one could not suddenly toilet train these animals and expect them not to turn miserable and aggressive by being cooped in. He imagined some would turn on their owners, their cohabitating family members, in rage or hunger or simply boredom.

And so the parliament elected to save the dogs from this fate, not realizing the man had been speaking in metaphor for humanity. We were at least free to walk the streets, alone.

We could see it coming for weeks as the city braced for infection. The ski resorts on the borders of Switzerland, Italy, and Slovenia first reported cases after Italy’s numbers exploded. I imagined a map with little pins showing the spread like wildfire. People continued to ski, to party in the chalets, to sweat together in the saunas while they heard of the virus. They thought they were an invincible people: the best skiers in the world, mountain men. This continued for a couple of weeks until suddenly everyone in Tirol seemed to have it. They quarantined the entire region and kept people from driving at all. The military were there but they didn’t have to be: everyone obeyed. 

That Chinese disease, that foreign thing, had infected them, had brought them to their knees. People gave the disease nationhood as if its passport had marked it somehow. Sure, most of the infected in the mountains would survive, but their grandparents might not, and their ski seasons were over. We saw one-two-three…fifty cases pop up in Vienna, maybe from the skiers or maybe from the traveling UN population. Who knew? It didn’t matter, but it was here.

Suddenly the adolescent slick-haired prime minister had to make decisions to impact families and nations and set the course for Europe. We were the epicenter. He waited too long; he couldn’t make decisions. But because Austria is sparsely populated and has many hospitals, he would get away with it. Because it’s so small, decisions could be made easily and swiftly enforced. 

At that time of waiting, it felt like a giant tsunami coming for us. We didn’t know how dangerous it was, and we also didn’t know what the government would do, what it would mean for our lives. You could feel the panic in the air. Eventually, the government decided we would lock down, but with the possibility of going on solo walks, unlike our Italian neighbors. The strange thing was we had several days before it would be enforced…time for the rich to move to their country homes…time to raid the grocery store shelves …time to have one last catch-up or party or session in the gym. Time to spread the disease so after its incubation period, people would get sick alone in their homes, waiting hours for professionals to arrive at their doors wrapped in plastic.

I could see this, but I, too, wanted to see some people for the last time. I knew it was stupid; I guess the fear of being alone is worse than the fear of dying. We still had a couple of days and in some ways, it felt like the last days of our lives. 

Akihiro, Danae, and I met at a hotel bar and restaurant in Neubau. They both lived in the eighth district — Josefstadt — so we could all walk and at least avoid the cesspool in closed public transportation cars that would soon be off-limits as well. 

Others still crowded these trains. Maybe they had no choice with work or school. Everyone feels a false sense of safety and security if the government says something is ok. 

Our waiter had a nervous energy, ‘Hi guys, this is so weird, right? Like what’s going to happen?’

‘Will you still get paid? It occurred to me that if you’re not on salary, this could be awful,’ Danae reflected, even though it was only to be a few weeks at this point.

‘Oh sure, thanks but don’t worry. They say we will all get paid our normal wage. Pretty amazing. I think it’ll be a great little staycation. I want to write some songs with my guitar…’

‘That’s a great perspective. Do you also live alone? We all do.’

‘I do. Yeah. Hey sorry, but it’s super busy tonight. You guys want drinks?’

We ordered cocktails and appetizers to start. I was getting anxious, ‘Hey, have you guys thought about what it will be like being alone for so long?’

‘I don’t mind. It’s my space, that’s great.’

‘We could live together instead?’ Akihiro suggested.

‘But none of us have big apartments or extra beds. We might kill each other,’ I laughed, trying to keep the tone light though we were talking about something that petrified me. ‘Maybe we can still talk on walks together?’

‘Nope. They said the police will stop you from that. Even at the grocery store, you have to stay far away from people.’ 

‘This is mad. I don’t know if I can do it.’ 

‘Let’s just drink a few more cocktails and try not to think about it. I mean, we can’t control it anyway, right?’

⬩

On the second day of lockdown anticipation, I decided to share the information I had about the Klimt with Fred and Roger. Some of it at least. I still didn’t know who they were really, but I needed to have someone on my side and they were as good as any. I didn’t want to get you two mixed up in any of this. I decided only to tell Frau Grüber if we actually found it.

I made my way to their little shop and noticed huge sales in the window. 

Fred saw me from the cash register, ‘Marie! How have you been?’

‘Fine, thanks, besides the obvious. You’re clearing inventory?’

‘Well, who knows how long this thing will last. Have to think of the business first.’ 

I had always thought the shop was just a front and a pastime, so the business-minded element surprised me. Clearly, this could have been part of their cover as well. ‘Fred, I heard it’s foggy in London today.’

‘Oh, me too! The weather has been so awful for so long. I just got off the phone with a dear friend who’s going absolutely mad with the threat of lockdown there and just the grayness everywhere.’

He hadn’t remembered the code, so I tried again with emphasis: ‘Ok. I heard it’s foggy in London today.’

‘Are you alright, Marie? You’re repeating yourself…oh! Silly me. Yes, yes, come hither, Roger is around the back.’

‘No worries, thanks.’

He left to get Roger who came out with a stern face saying, ‘Good day, Marie. Let’s all go on a little walk, shall we?’

They locked up the shop and we ventured out to the side streets of the sixth district. Eventually, we came to the huge mural of butterflies at Hofmühlgasse.

‘Well?’ asked Roger.

‘So my landlady told me about the Klimt.’

‘She did?! That’s fantastic.’

‘Hold on, Fred, let her speak.’

‘Thanks. Well, she doesn’t know where it is, but her dead lover — Wolfgang Lechner — I guess he took it to his friend in Salzburg, then he got it back again when the friend died. But neither of them knows what happened to it after.’

‘Do you know this for sure?’

‘Well, Frau Grüber and the lady at the inn don’t have anything to gain by lying. I mean, they could be wrong…’

‘Ok, this is useful. Did they say anything else?’

‘No.’ I hesitated, but it was enough for now.

‘Thank you for coming to us. You must be sure not to tell anyone else this information. Do you know if Frau Grüber told this to anyone else?’

‘I don’t think she confides in many people. She doesn’t trust Wolfgang’s family when it comes to inheritance. I’m not sure who else she sees. Her cleaner. Neighbors in passing. She always says she is lonely.’

‘What’s the name of the inn?’

‘Hotel Goldener Strauss.’ I hoped that I hadn’t put the innkeeper in danger.

‘Excellent. Ok, now you go that way, and we’ll go back to the shop. Watch yourself. We will be in touch somehow during the lockdown.’

They vanished instantly into the cold Vienna air.

⬩

Finally, there was just one more day until the lockdown would be imposed, so I decided to go to the movie theater. It wasn’t to see just any show but to experience The Third Man at the Kino, like you had told me, Julie². 

I wore a cloth mask to the cinema, hoping it would keep me from getting sick. Something about this communal experience made me feel comforted. Sure, I was experiencing the film in my mind but also with the rest of the audience. Even hearing them eat their popcorn made me feel connected somehow.

The film runs every day of the year. Why is this strange film so famous? Why is this the only famous film to take place in Vienna, a city with history and architecture? Perhaps Vienna was too hard to capture in cinema. Perhaps its hidden shames were too difficult to articulate. Perhaps its culture wouldn’t allow a looking-in. 

I had read the novella before attending the show, so I kind of knew what I was in for. I mean, I knew it wasn’t a feel-good film or anything. Graham Greene said The Third Man was written as a story to be turned into a script. He says it’s unfinished; it’s not as good as the film. How unusual. It was as if he sketched a story through language, but with only verbal language, he couldn’t fully tell the story of this strange place controlled by the four powers — the Russian, the British, the French, and the American —“through the common language of the enemy,” which was, of course, German. I started to understand why the Viennese insisted on their dialect.

I was curious to experience a cinematic representation of the allegiances Greene had set up in his story. Rollo Martins tells us: “There are some people…whom one recognizes instantaneously as friends. You can be at ease with them because you know that never, never will you be in danger.” Of course, there is an irony in these words: mistrust is all around in the story. 

I think if I had to do it all again, I would’ve become a film critic. As I write this part of my story now, I realize how much faith I have in the cinema. What I mean is, I get so much of my world from it and maybe I live as if I’m in a film sometimes, to protect myself from real emotions. France, of course, offers a lot of opportunities in that field. I could watch many foreign films to continue my passion for languages. My real world would become the film world completely. Perhaps this is what I will do if I make it out of here alive. 

The film takes us to iconic places like the Ferris wheel and the Sacher Hotel, but also down below into the city’s sewers. The cinematic city is sometimes more real than the actual. In a virtual space, the collapse of time and experience in many images creates a timeless identity. 

You spend the film mostly confused. The people are cold and mysterious. And then the ending suggests freedom comes from the underworld, from filth. 

Nothing has changed. 

I guess the film had tried to reflect some sort of secret horror to this city, some sort of hidden guilt. Allowing the infestation by Nazi parasites. Standing idle in huge countryside homes while Jews were gathered up. Not even standing up for their beloved Freud. Maybe there was nothing they could have done, but there was still a traumatic feeling of inaction or witnessing horror.

Burg Kino continues to show The Third Man, Photo by Belkaa Photographer on Unsplash

As I got out of the kino, I saw I had a text from Josef. 

Have you seen the headlines? 

There was a link he had sent through as well, and I opened it promptly. 

A photograph of Marija was under a headline in German that roughly translated to: Bulgarian Ambassador Found Dead and Intoxicated Outside her Embassy.

Quickly skimming the German, I could see that they were investigating whether it was an accident, suicide, or murder. Apparently, her husband had been at home earlier but didn’t call the authorities that she was missing until the next day. I knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything; they lived largely separate lives. I wondered for a moment if I had misjudged Finn. Though he seemed a friend, he could be the biggest evil of all, the sort of center of whatever this web was about that I had wound myself up in. He wasn’t particularly in love with his wife after all and he was smart. I could also imagine a very drunk Marija falling over the edge, perhaps sitting there aloft in that cloak of invincibility she often wore. Was she capable of suicide? I doubted it. My mind was going in a million directions, trying to solve the puzzle with what little information I had.

But I didn’t give it much thought emotionally. She was dead and I felt very little. That realization shocked me a little. No sadness, anger…not even any vengeful relief. Nothing despite the kindness she had shown me. I was only mildly curious about what had actually happened. And why.

Then I remembered that Josef had sent me the text and was probably waiting for a response.

How awful, how sad.

Then I remembered that maybe he had feelings for her and added: Are you ok?

He responded with unusual promptness: It is exceptionally sad. A short pause, then: Can I come over to your place tonight? Before the lockdown?

I was shamefully excited by this request and did not consider it odd at all. I had started to go with whatever came my way. He was perhaps in need of discussion or comfort and I was alone. 

I returned home to Ishmael and gave him dinner. I threw on my best lingerie under my jeans and T-shirt and began to imagine what Josef might do to me and decided to fully surrender to his desires. He was intoxicating and this fantasy filled the void of what I knew were proper emotions.

My phone was ringing and his name popped up.

‘Marie! Hi. Good evening. I’ve had to turn around; they’ve closed the borders.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that…’ I wasn’t thinking about Marija or his sadness, only the night that had been created in my head.

‘It’s fine. Listen: I had wanted to come to warn you but I’ll risk it on this line. Don’t talk to any strangers. Don’t let them into your flat.’

‘Well, thank you, but the lockdown starts tomorrow anyway…’

He went on as if not hearing me, ‘Don’t tell them about anything in Budapest. Just keep to yourself.’

The way he spoke to me made me feel like a child, so all I said was ‘ok.’ 

‘Sorry to be so abrupt. Marija was a complicated person. You need to distance yourself from this. I’ll be in touch.’

He hung up without my reply. I sat to try to interpret the meaning behind this conversation. Was Marija evil? Was Josef her murderer? Was he trying to help me or protect himself? Would I ever see him again? 

I don’t think I was ever in love with him, but I did like the idea of his mysterious power. 

Sometimes I feel like this story I’m trying to convey to you is too abstract for language. It’s like I need the language of the camera to also show the haunting that has taken over my soul. I could show you the way the tiny passageways and grand open spaces alike invaded my psyche with their ghosts and their psychotic tendencies. 

Because at this time in the story, Julie and Grégoire, I must tell you that I started to go a little mad. At this moment of incertitude and possible ensuing violence, I can see more clearly. The dark energies of the city had surrounded me; her secret webs had clouded my brain. This had already begun and then in my isolation, the spider continued to weave within the lobes, now unobstructed by the warding off of others’ voices. I can only tell you the way I experienced the few months after lockdown began as I try to piece the puzzle together.

---

To be continued…

Find all the published chapters in the Table of Contents.

1. Timelined history of the pandemic in Austria. At the time, the local media was reporting that a dog-owning politician swayed the government to allow citizens to go on walks, unlike those in neighboring Italy.

2. As I discuss in the foreword, one can still watch this film in Vienna thrice weekly at Burg Kino.