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…at the threshold where she believes one of them will die.
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Chapter 12
Pre-Christmas time was also the start of ball season, although they continued all through the long, dark winter. Or, they usually did except this winter because of what was coming. Because of this, an early ball at Rathaus was the only one I attended. I was assured that anybody connected to the UN would be invited to the Science Ball and I knew that many others were available simply by purchasing an expensive ticket.
This was a special ball, mostly for diplomats and local government officials, and I had been invited to work for Marija. Just like in Budapest, I didn’t think she needed me there. I wondered if she was purchasing a kind of friendship, though she didn’t treat me as an equal. I never really got a chance to get close enough to her to understand.
What I did understand was that Finn did not attend most of these events, with her at least. She went unattached, and often Josef was there. I still wasn’t sure at that point if they were lovers or had secret business deals or both.
She sent me an invitation via courier with a handwritten note in French:
You are graciously invited to attend the ball with me! There will be very little work and it would be my pleasure to have you as a guest. You will need an evening gown, which you can rent at Le Chic Wien if you like. I also recommend getting your hair done professionally. If you have any questions, do give me a call.
Cordialement, Marija
The ball was only five days after receiving this invitation. I busily made an appointment at the shop and the hairdresser down the street. I let them decide how to frock and adorn me; though the choices would not have been my own, I wanted to try the local style on and maybe I wanted to try to be somebody else.
She never sent me a time or place to meet up. Not wanting to appear needy or dependent, I simply showed up on my own about fifteen minutes after the start.
I took the tram down to Rathhaus but planned to get out far enough away that people wouldn’t see me arriving via public transportation. In fact, I needn’t of planned this. After getting on the Ubahn, a crackling announcement came on to say that due to some demonstration, the train would not be stopping at Volkstheater or Rathaus, so I carried on the U3 line to Herrengasse.
I walked slowly toward my destination in high heels. Luckily the ice had melted. Soon, the demonstration could be heard. It was the far right, always careful not to call themselves neo-Nazis for that is a crime here. They looked angry but disorganized. The riot police had kept a passageway open for those arriving at the ball. I imagined the fascists being replaced with paparazzi. It was the strangest red carpet scene I could imagine.
Once through a security check and behind the gates, things were calm again and the music overtook the chanting of the mob quickly. The gothic facade looked over us all, ominously. Its verticality reached endlessly with strange shapes up into the universe and a single orb shined from the middle showing us the time. Tight security brought me back to eye level and the royal entrance.
You were both there, but you never needed me at engagements like this because your English and German were both so good. Julie, I remember that you came to see me not far from the entrance. I must’ve been boring in comparison to the other guests, but I know you liked to escape the scientists. You were already a little drunk when you came over and seemed to, unusually, have the blues.
‘Marie! Ma belle! I haven’t seen you in so long. How are the German classes going?’
‘They’re alright. I mean, I like my teacher and the other students.’
‘What’s the problem then?’
‘Well, it’s just that I can’t connect with anyone, not yet at least. A little bit in class, sure, but I don’t know…it’s hard in this city.’ I hesitated to say I didn’t have any friends. I didn’t want you to pity me or I think I was some kind of weirdo.
‘Oh darling, it is not you. It is this place. You know it’s just the way it is here, right? Has nobody told you this?’
‘No. I’m not sure. I mean, our German teacher who’s from Berlin said it was hard even for her, but I thought it was because she’s got a couple of kids and works at night.’
‘Well, let me tell you what some local women told me. I am privy to conversations at functions out of formality or to conversations with patrons in their homes, perhaps over coffee as we discuss the commissioned work or prepare for the day’s work. Not just one, but several, have told me that here you only have four friends.’
She stopped there as if it were self-explanatory. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Once you have four friends you are full. There is no more room in your life for another. Usually the Viennese of course make these as children in school or through family and business connections. These are the only ones invited into their homes. The only ones they share birthdays with. The only ones they trust with personal stories or conundrums,’ she paused to reflect, ‘Can you imagine how flat your personality would have to be to only reflect yourself through four people? I think of all of me that would be trapped inside!’
‘Yes, I see. I guess that makes sense then based on what I’ve felt from other people here. But what I don’t get is that Vienna is super international. I mean, look at all the people at this ball, or at your party.’
‘It’s true. I mean, this is why I’m a little depressed all the time here. You mustn’t pity me. I have a great life here. But…there is this thing about human connection that feels strange to me. There is some weird energy. I don’t want to scare you though. Perhaps it is only me and I am too old to understand!’
We laughed and tried to talk about other things, anything else, to get away from the depressing idea that there was no escape and to stop feeling homesick for the vivant French life. But I could see, Julie, that there was a darkness in you that needed to be released. I imagined your paintings perhaps were the antidote. But what if they stopped? Where would that darkness go? I’m so sorry that after I send you this long letter, I must abandon you. Although it may sound like hubris to think I could offer you something, you seemed to see me as another daughter to help. I will always think fondly of the way you cared for me.
A text cut into our conversation. I had to be ready for my employer, and it was she who wrote: I’m near the stage. Come find me here
I responded quickly, like an obedient dog, not even bothering to text back. I weaved around the round tables and velvet red chairs toward the front of the long hall.
‘Oh, God, Marie! We’ve got a similar dress. You have good taste, my dear.’
‘That’s funny, thank you. Yes, I rented it at the place you mentioned.’
‘Well, it’s lovely. Mine is haute couture; you can see it in the details of the sewing. Here, have a look,’ she placed some of the material with threaded beads and embroidery in my hands. ‘It’s Chanel.’
I was impressed but didn’t know what to say, so I changed the topic: ‘Is your husband here?’
She laughed, ‘Finn?’ (as if there were another one) ‘He doesn’t like the balls. We have an easygoing relationship. Let’s get a drink, shall we?’
A waiter passed with glasses of champagne and she took two for us.
We clinked glasses and I felt like I could drift into her sphere. ‘Do you want to have children, Marie?’ I had noticed in the past month that her conversations were often filled with nonsequiturs.
‘Yes, I think so. I mean, after I find a husband,’ I hesitated to reciprocate, ‘Do you?’
Marija just laughed at first, then looked directly at me, much more seriously: ‘No. I don’t. Why would I do that? Do you think I could have this lifestyle with children?’
It was easiest to agree with her tacitly.
‘If you want to be successful, Marie, if you want to control your life, don’t ever have kids.’
After a pause, I thought maybe I would ask her more questions just to see what other wisdom she had to offer: ‘What about marriage?’
‘Haha. Marie! You must get married! That stops all the questions. It lets you do whatever you want without people questioning you all the time. Then, people will take you seriously. But until you marry, you are nobody. Do you understand? You might as well be one of the prostitutes who come to the balls.’
I didn’t know if I should feel insulted or grateful. Perhaps she could see the shocked look on my face.
‘Well don’t worry, my darling! There is plenty of time for you. Start having a look around tonight. Although they all look quite boring, don’t they?’
She soon suggested we go find Josef under the guise of business. I had spotted him hovering near a few tables over.
He first greeted us both rather formally, kissing our hands, then I realized he was playing a game. He ran his hands along some of the embroidery of Marija’s dress and said something in her ear that she thought was quite funny.
‘Look, you are twins tonight! I love this color on you both.’
Marija turned to speak to someone else briefly, and while she did, Josef leaned closer to me. ‘You know, you look wonderful. Just like her.’
I felt oddly flattered and titillated though I knew I shouldn’t be, that it was dangerous to feel so. He was just being polite anyway. I was afraid of his power but even more so of pissing Marija off.
We had more champagne. I tried to drink it in an elegant manner. It took the pressure of speaking much. They were starting some of the formal dances, anyway, so it was easy to listen to the music and watch without conversation.
But why didn’t they speak to me? Why did Marija ask me to hold her glass several times? Why did a stranger ask who my employer was?
I felt as if everyone was treating me as if I were working, even though there wasn’t a badge or uniform to suggest it. I was dressed nearly the same as Marija, so why did nobody speak with me? I danced a couple of times — a simple waltz, which I could follow with a conscientious partner — but even then at the end of the song, the man simply bowed his head a little, saying Danke Schön, and proceeded to tilt their chins upward again in search of the next dance partner. I didn’t have the pedigree of knowledge of these steps. I hadn’t spent hours at dance school as a child like they had. I don’t think they really cared, though. They just wanted to dance their structured steps and know what was coming next.
I moved back toward the outer space, apart from the dance floor, and observed everyone around me after grabbing a glass of prosecco. Small groups were exchanging pleasantries. People smiled and admired each other’s attire or the dancers on the floor with sweeping arm gestures that had been practiced for decades.
I peered closer and observed longer. Something was strange about this scene. I hadn’t been to a Viennese ball before, but I had been to a few diplomatic functions with dancing and of course some organized dances in my school years. This was nothing like it. There was an icy formality to everything and a distance between everyone.
For one, I noticed the groups were stationary. They formed small circles, standing or at tables they had paid for, or short lines of observation. Either shape was impenetrable, for I saw several others try it. I assumed these were foreigners. Even an Austrian with a Romeo moment at the ball wouldn’t dare break their cool or stray from their clan to meet their Juliet. I didn’t realize this at the time, but my observations over the entire night and what I have learned since then tell me this is so.
I tried instead to speak with people at the bar, but they pretended not to understand me. Well, most of them. One guy was pretty drunk but friendly, a local guy. He was organizing events and wanted me to go. We exchanged cards and I heard from him a month later. He apologized for being so drunk and said he was ashamed, that was why he hadn’t written.
Together we witnessed the debutante dance. Young women wearing white and men in tuxedos entered in a clean line. They all fell easily into the Viennese waltz being played for them in a grand orchestrated dance. The drunk guy asked me to pick out my favorite debutante but they all blurred together like soldiers in formation or cartoon reproductions. I felt dizzy and returned to look at the people around the bar.
After about half an hour of pure observation, I decided to find Marija both out of boredom and a duty to work. I found her speaking with Josef and realized I wasn’t needed, but she pretended I was; whether out of kindness or some form of manipulation, I’m not sure.
‘Marie! Lovely, come here. And where have you been?’
‘Oh, I had a few dances.’
‘Wonderful! You know how to dance?’
‘Well, I can waltz a little. I’m not sure I made a good impression because my partners didn’t last very long.’
Marija laughed, ‘That is the way here. You’ve been delightfully used as a tool of the Viennese dance floor. I never go on the floor. They scrutinize you from the sidelines. It’s silly.’
Josef had an idea: ‘Come on, let’s show her the other room. So, you like to dance?’
I hesitated, not sure what he meant, ‘I do, I just haven’t taken many lessons.’
Now it was Josef who was laughing, ‘Those silly waltz steps. Ha! Come with me, come.’ He held out his arm for me to take and Marija said she would join us down there in a little bit. I saw her flirting with a French diplomat I had met briefly at your place.
He led me down a passageway to a much smaller dance party. It was drum and bass. People were moving fast in their gowns and suits. Jackets with tails were spread on chairs around the edges.
‘You don’t need steps here.’
And we danced. We danced and danced, and those four glasses of champagne started to kick in. I forgot where I was and what I was wearing and just let loose. He was a good dancer, of this kind I mean. He had rhythm.
I wondered if I was attracted to him, but I realized I was just attracted to the idea of having something Marija had.
Eventually, Marija joined us. She kind of cut into the space where we were dancing. I was afraid of getting involved in some love triangle and not interested in Josef romantically, so I moved to the side to watch a few moments. They were immersed in each other. It was obvious my presence was no longer needed, so I drifted off.
To be continued…
Find all the published chapters in the Table of Contents. I’m in Istria for two weeks with very spotty wifi, so apologies for not getting back to your comments sooner. I’ll get there eventually!
I do wonder if this coldness is particular to Vienna, or also Austria in general - or whether it's super-concentrated in Vienna? Definitely a fantastic selection of place for this tale of intrigue (or just particularly well-woven in your hands, Kate... :)
Having lived in Vienna as a Bavarian, I guess I had the advantage of dialect but the cool reservedness is real and you capture it aptly. I continue to enjoy this trip through the Viennese landscape, following along as Marie heads towards the inevitable. Great work, Kate.