An Interpreter in Vienna | Chapter 6

Part I: Xenophobia

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 6

And just like that, I was thrown (very briefly, thanks to the pandemic) into the world of Viennese interiors in the form of evening parties. In anticipation of the museum party the following night, I asked Danae to join me. She was already planning to meet Brian, so I decided to simply show up. 

It’s fascinating for me to go back and paint a picture of how my understanding of the city and its history formed slowly through my interaction with its art and music, its films and spaces, with its people. I’m also intrigued with how my perception of Josef changed over time. I remember feeling something like titillation as I found a black dress and low leopard-print heels to wear and finished the outfit with red-stained lips. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to accomplish in aesthetic, but I knew that I wanted to feel powerful.

I am relying on my memory and I’m aware that it may be flawed. I remind you that I’m standing here waiting to kill a man. One with rational thought might assume that something is wrong in my head. However, as I start to write my tale, I feel increasingly sure of the chain of events and the need for this act to save myself, to do something just.

Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien (photo by the author, 2018)

The museum was only a ten-minute walk away. I stood in line with the others and finally entered the grandiose nineteenth-century building designed to house the imperial art collection, walking up, up the marble staircase. The first floor was sprinkled with tables selling Austrian wines and beers, all busy, surrounding an empty center. I kept moving up, up…until I thought I was somewhere off limits, and all of a sudden, all around me was Klimt. Signature golden images complemented the black and white marbled columns. Women with golden crowns and exquisite robes adorned the walls. The moonlight shining through a vaulted window danced among the images. I couldn’t believe one man had made such a masterpiece.

My gaze moved from the ceiling and the columns to the walls opposite me. Directly across a hole in the floor surrounded by railings was Josef. 

‘Marie! You came! How are you, dear?’

He came around to greet me with bises¹. ‘Come, there is another bar outside…’ and he whisked me to the left behind a secret door where many people were enjoying the evening on a terrace, nothing to do with the art but a beautiful view of the city. ‘What will you drink?’

He went to get us two glasses of Zweigelt as I spotted Danae and Brian to my right. She gave me a wink while Brian remained enraptured in discussion. It was important to know where they were in case I needed them. 

A hand lightly grabbed my elbow. ‘This is the easiest bar to get a drink from; not everyone knows about it.’ Josef handed me the elegant glass with the crimson liquid.

‘Thank you.’

‘Chin chin! I understand we will be working together? Well, Marija has hired you.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of Julie. I’m not sure you would want your employers to know the nature of your side work. Anyway, I will leave that up to you. I personally like to maintain an air of mystery.’

‘It’s good advice, and it’s true she doesn’t know about this work.’

‘Wonderful. I would keep it that way. Regardless, the work you do for Marija is completely unrelated to the UN. We have some business together, mostly related to culture, cultural exchanges. The arts, this kind of thing.’

’That sounds…fascinating,’ I enjoyed the ambiguity, imagining how much money was involved and what kind of secret arts he might have been referring to. I wanted to be a part of it.

‘In fact, shall we go see some of the art here? It is best to see it on these nights, a drink in hand and empty galleries.’

The whole museum was open for viewing but nearly everyone was on the mezzanine chattering away. He led me down the stairs again to a hallway behind a huge wooden door. We mazed through several corridors and by hundreds of paintings, the paint protruding in slight bas-relief as if living colors, reaching out into the lives passing by.

We stopped at a corner in front of a large painting. Immediately, I recognized it but had had no idea it was housed here or that it was in Vienna at all. It was surreal to be in an empty wing of a museum with such a famous painting. Sure I had been in the big museums in Paris, New York, and Tokyo while living there, but never in an intimate experience like this. 

A linguist’s dream: it was Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s ‘The Tower of Babel.’² This was the ‘great’ version; the smaller one being in Rotterdam. Oil shone off the wood that was half a century old. It gave the story of the biblical tower constructed for the purposes of monolingualism. To me, it appeared as a nightmare. I began pondering the implications after reading Paul Auster’s City of Glass, which references the tower. There were those who had experimented with Esperanto. English was becoming this language, and I don’t see that as a big problem as long as we hold onto other languages. How much culture is lost when each language dies? I feel like a different person in French, English, and Japanese. But then, I appreciate the ease of a common language.

The image before me was grand and highly detailed. The ascending spiral drew me in as I imagined the lives of all the little workers creating something at once beautifully unified and at the same time suffocating. Nimrod is a warning to us all. But the composition is also one of beauty: exquisite architecture, blue hills in the background, tiny windows in the tower, and surrounding homes inviting us to imagine their interiors. 

Josef gazed intently at all the details and warm colors rising from Roman-like ruins. ‘You know, the tower’s warning isn’t only about languages; it’s also about getting along. It’s about internationalism. I believe in this movement. Many in Austria do not.’

’So I’ve heard. My job isn’t really about local politics, but they briefed me on the FPO and the Ibiza Affair before coming here.’

‘Yes, there are too many allegiances here and secret plots. They are masked as endeavors of cultural significance, but they are really just about money and power.’

‘Isn’t that true everywhere?’

‘Maybe. Did you know Vienna still has the most spies of any city in the world? Nobody cleans it up. Certainly not the police, not the UN, not the military. The Austrian government concerns itself with high taxation for the purpose of a good life for its citizens, and I laud them for it! But I also think this good life allows knowledge exchanges under the surface of utopia. They enjoy it. Anybody thinks they can make it work for them, like an elusive dream of solitary subversion of national boundaries and allegiances to stealthily make the right discovery for the right cause.’

His explanation made sense based on what I had witnessed thus far. I felt myself compelled by that dream as well — an invisible crusader for truth or the progress of culture. I wondered what his role was in all this, but simply asked, ‘Josef, why did you move to Vienna then?’

‘I am here quite often, but I still live in Budapest. It is my home. You must come sometime to understand it. People say it is a harsher world there because they don’t understand it. We have our own political problems but there is a warmth on the streets of Budapest. It is a vibrant culture and, at least in the city, there is interest in exchanges with others — through conversation, design, coffee…all these things and more. You will see.’

‘I would love to, thank you.’

Some others arrived in the room; it was not a secret after all. I took a last look at the painting and saw a man on the scaffolding at the very top, above the clouds. I imagined their view allowed them to understand what was really important in the world below. 

We went back to the crowds and two men and a woman walked up to Josef, speaking Wienerisch to him. I gave him a little nod and went in a different direction to explore or to mingle, I wasn’t sure. There were small groups speaking to each other in little circles like a pre-teen dance party. I drifted back toward the Klimt staircase, still relatively empty, a few individuals going back and forth between the roof party and the main one. I investigated the work of this master. So many others, too, had been commissioned to paint on ceilings besides Klimt and Michelangelo. I remembered the turquoise composition on the ceiling of Grand Central Station. I thought about the way that you - Julie - were reviving this lost art in your own way. 

The subjects of Klimt’s work looked like mysterious, beautiful creatures. 

Schiele, his contemporary and competitor for ‘best painter from Vienna’, sometimes made beautiful studies of people but I found so much of it grotesque. The cool colors he used in the skin made me think of sickness and death. I went to the museum in Czesky Krumlov later in the autumn and learned about the rumors of what he did to young girls. I couldn’t erase it from my head when I looked at his studies of the human body. 

Klimt seemed the antithesis to this work. But he, too, was rumored to have slept with all the women whose portraits he painted.

Josef told me he was heading up the private terrace party with these acquaintances and that he would find me later. He didn’t ask for me to accompany them, so I stayed and attempted to find Danae and sent her a text when she was nowhere to be seen.

Danae: We’re on the roof. It’s great fun, join us 

Me: I’ll be there in a little while 

I had no intention of joining them. I didn’t want Josef to think I was following him and anyway, I was tired. I drifted down the large staircase and out into the night, drifting back to my invisible world in a city more and more mysterious. I floated across Museums Quarter and through its dark shortcut to Westbahnstraße. A few people were smoking weed on the back staircase there and the street that followed held patio conversations every few meters as I walked. 

I began to realize Vienna wasn’t a lonely place after all. Instead, it was me. I was out of sync with my surroundings, but I was determined to make it work for me.

⬩

After another mundane work briefing (not yours, Grégoire) the next day, I went to the cafeteria for lunch and sat with some of the other interpreters and support staff in our usual spot. 

‘Hey, did you hear what happened, Marie?’ Akihiro asked softly. 

’No, what do you mean?’

He switched to Japanese and looked around as he spoke, ‘Come outside with me.’

We brought our lunches out to a bench in the cement non-place³. It was getting cooler and we could sit in the sun to make ourselves feel more alive without simultaneously melting. 

‘It’s nice out here.’

‘It is. I really don’t know who to trust anymore, but you just got here and I have to trust somebody.’

‘Sure…you can trust me, Akihiro.’ 

He smiled, ‘Ok good. Well, I wanted to tell you that they found Brian arched over the statue of Michelangelo at the museum. Somehow, he fell off the roof at the party. I heard you were there, too.’

‘I was. I saw him briefly, early on. Shit, he’s dead?’ It was obvious but somehow had to be said aloud. I was aware that maybe he was telling me in private to see how I’d react since everyone also knew I was there. I hoped that my shock appeared genuine.

‘Yep. Awful. Danae was with him earlier on and then said she went down to look for you. She’s off at the police making a statement today. She told me he was talking to a strange man. Maybe it was his lover or something.’

‘Was he gay?’

‘Oh yes. You didn’t know?’ he smirked a little, ‘Oh, you thought he was into you. Sorry. Anyway, could be suicide. But you know, here, they don’t talk about suicide. Catholic country…call it an accident…keep it quiet. And of course, there were no cameras, hardly any in Austria. Only cameras on the artworks. So they will really just be guessing when they make a decision on the cause of death unless they find poison or strangulation marks.’

My eyes widened as I held my breath too long.

‘Hey, are you ok? Breathe! Sorry, maybe that last part wasn’t necessary.’

‘No, it’s ok. Thanks for telling me.’

Death was all around. 

And it never had a witness. 

⬩

I was getting curious and brazen in my curiosity, so I decided to go to Fred and Roger’s shop the next day even though I was a little afraid that they could be behind Brian’s death. I hadn’t seen them at the party, but twice they had appeared where Brian was. I thought that something in their faces would tell me if this were true and that maybe I would be the only one who could see this. 

It wasn’t far from my flat, so I walked over.

Roger was at the cash register helping a woman pick out some second-hand band T-shirts. After she left, he came over and greeted me, ‘Marie! We have been hoping you would come visit us here.’

‘Oh, thanks. It’s a great little shop.’

‘Thank you!’ then louder, ‘Fred, come here!’

Fred came out from the back of the shop, wearing a shirt and tie. ‘Sorry, I’m just back from a…business meeting. Hello, Marie! Let me throw a T-shirt on.’

‘Fred is always multitasking,’ Roger rolled his eyes, ‘So, are you starting to navigate your way around the city?’ 

‘A little, yeah, I’ve been trying to walk around to connect it all together.’ 

‘Oh yes, beautiful city for walking. Like a fairytale!’ he then leaned a bit closer, ‘But what about navigating the people? Is it starting to make sense?’

‘I see, well, a little. I’ve been meeting more people.’

‘Careful with that. Do you know whom to trust yet?’

‘Um, thanks, I think it’s ok.’

Fred had just come out again in a T-shirt adorned with their logo. His Northeast accent was clearer, ‘So how are you, pet? Do you like the shop?’

‘It’s impressive. I wish I owned a record player.’

‘We can give you a recommendation if you like.’

‘Maybe, I should probably earn a little more cash before I start an expensive hobby.’

‘Ha, that makes sense. Well, feel free to just come have a browse anytime. This is why we love this place; we’ve made something that’s a little like a community.’

Roger added, ‘Plus we can spend a lot of time together. It’s been so great creating something as a couple.’

‘I can see that. It feels like that place in…what was the film?’

‘High Fidelity? Yeah, ha, we get that a lot. We’re a little more chill than Jack Black though.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean…’

‘No, you’re alright, Marie. We’re happy to have met you.’ 

I had the immediate desire for companionship, both a partner like they had found and their friendship specifically. But I reminded myself to be wary and not let my guard down. I dove into my query: ‘Did you guys hear what happened to Brian a couple nights ago?’Fred was back again, moving in between the commercial area and the back room, ‘Did you guys hear what happened to Brian a couple nights ago?’

‘Yes. Awful. Poor chap, must’ve been such a troubled guy.’ Despite his brief absence, Fred didn’t miss a beat in response.

’So, it was a suicide?’

‘That’s what they told us. He was such a kind young man. Can’t imagine he was mixed up in any nonsense, so it must be suicide…or just drinking too much on a rooftop. Well rest in peace.’

Their faces looked serious but flat. Was it simply because they had seen too much death? That they didn’t care? Or that they were hiding something?

‘Ok, yes. Well, I remember that you knew him so wanted to make sure you both knew. I only heard from someone at the UN. It wasn’t in the papers.’

‘No, no, that stuff is never in the papers here.’

‘Here, Marie, have a T-shirt!’ Roger threw me a rolled white crew neck with ‘Vienna Vinyl’ written across the front in rainbow colors. 

‘Thanks a lot, nice of you,’ and I decided to leave, ‘See you guys.’

‘Sure! Marie, you can come back here anytime you need us.’

As I left, I noticed them speaking quietly to each other. I walked passively into the street and turned onto the busy shopping avenue called Mariahilferstraße. People were obliviously strolling down, window shopping or stopping for a coffee. A police car rolled slowly in my direction. 

It got busier and busier as I walked north. Suddenly, I felt as if I were in a swarm of insects, looking for collective prey. I put my headphones and sunglasses on for protection and moved invisibly in the moving cloud toward a strange tomorrow. The shadows swallowed me up. 

---

To be continued…

Find all the published chapters in the Table of Contents.

1. French word for greeting or parting of kisses on the cheeks.

2. View painting here: https://www.bruegel2018.at/en/the-tower-of-babel/

3. Oxford Reference for Non-Place: “Marc Augé's term for generic places such as bus depots, train stations, and airports which, however elaborate and grandiose, do not confer a feeling of place. As Gertrude Stein famously said of Oakland, there is no ‘there’ in a non-place.”