Part 31 (1/2)

'No, not summer summer camp,' Franny had to tell Lilly, who had always been afraid of being sent to summer camp and was unsurprised to hear that they tortured the campers. camp,' Franny had to tell Lilly, who had always been afraid of being sent to summer camp and was unsurprised to hear that they tortured the campers.

'Not summer summer camp, Lilly,' Frank said. 'Freud was in a camp, Lilly,' Frank said. 'Freud was in a death death camp.' camp.'

'But Herr Tod never found me,' Freud said to Lilly. 'Mr. Death never found me at home when he called.'

It was Freud who explained to us that the nudes in the fountain at the Neuer Markt, the Providence Fountain - or the Donner Fountain, after its creator - were actually copies of the original. The originals were in the Lower Belvedere. Designed to portray water as the source of life, the nudes had been condemned by Maria Theresa.

'She was a b.i.t.c.h,' Freud said. 'She founded a Chast.i.ty Commission,' he told us.

'What did they do?' Franny asked. 'The Chast.i.ty Chast.i.ty Commission?' Commission?'

'What could could they do?' Freud asked. 'What can those people they do?' Freud asked. 'What can those people ever ever do? They couldn't do anything to stop the s.e.x, so they f.u.c.ked around with a few fountains.' do? They couldn't do anything to stop the s.e.x, so they f.u.c.ked around with a few fountains.'

Even the Vienna of Freud - the other other Freud - was notorious for being unable to do anything to stop the s.e.x, though this didn't stop the Victorian counterparts of Maria Theresa's Chast.i.ty Commission from trying. 'In those days,' Freud pointed out, admiringly, 'wh.o.r.es were allowed to make arrangements in the aisles of the Opera.' Freud - was notorious for being unable to do anything to stop the s.e.x, though this didn't stop the Victorian counterparts of Maria Theresa's Chast.i.ty Commission from trying. 'In those days,' Freud pointed out, admiringly, 'wh.o.r.es were allowed to make arrangements in the aisles of the Opera.'

'At intermissions,' Frank added, in case we didn't know.

Frank's favorite tour with Freud was the Imperial Vault - the Kaisergruft Kaisergruft in the catacombs of the Kapuzinerkirche. The Hapsburgs have been buried there since 1633. Maria Theresa is there, the old prude. But not her heart. The corpses in the catacombs are heartless - their hearts are kept in another church; their hearts are to be found on another tour. 'History separates everything, eventually,' Freud would intone in the heartless tombs. in the catacombs of the Kapuzinerkirche. The Hapsburgs have been buried there since 1633. Maria Theresa is there, the old prude. But not her heart. The corpses in the catacombs are heartless - their hearts are kept in another church; their hearts are to be found on another tour. 'History separates everything, eventually,' Freud would intone in the heartless tombs.

Good-bye, Maria Theresa - and Franz Josef, and Elizabeth, and the unfortunate Maximilian of Mexico. And, of course, Frank's prize lies with them: the Hapsburg heir, poor Rudolf the suicide - he's also there. Frank always got especially gloomy in the catacombs.

Franny and I got gloomiest when Freud directed us along Wipplingerstra.s.se to Futterga.s.se.

'Turn!' he'd cry, the baseball bat trembling.

We were in the Judenplatz, the old Jewish quarter of the city. It had been a kind of ghetto as long ago as the thirteenth century; the first expulsion of the Jews, there, had been in 1421. We knew only slightly more about the recent expulsion.

What was hard about being there with Freud was that this tour was not so visibly historical. Freud would call out to apartments that were no longer apartments. He would identify whole buildings that were no longer there. And the people people he used to know there - they weren't there, either. It was a tour of things we couldn't see, but Freud saw them still; he saw 1939, and before, when he'd last been in the Judenplatz with a working pair of eyes. he used to know there - they weren't there, either. It was a tour of things we couldn't see, but Freud saw them still; he saw 1939, and before, when he'd last been in the Judenplatz with a working pair of eyes.

The day the New Hamps.h.i.+re couple and their child arrived, Freud had taken Lilly to the Judenplatz. I could tell because she was depressed when she came back. I had just taken the bags and the Americans to their rooms on the third floor, and I was depressed, too. I had been thinking all the way upstairs about Ernst describing the 'cow position' to Franny. The bags weren't especially heavy because I was imagining that they were Ernst, and I was carrying him him up to the top of the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, where I was going to drop him out a window on the fifth floor. up to the top of the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, where I was going to drop him out a window on the fifth floor.

The woman from New Hamps.h.i.+re ran her hand briefly up the banister and said, 'Dust.'

Schraubenschlussel pa.s.sed us on the landing of the second floor. He was smeared with grease from his fingertips to his bicepses; he had a coil of copper wire around his neck like a hangman's noose and in his arms he lugged an obviously heavy box-shaped thing that resembled a giant battery - a battery too big for a Mercedes, I would recall, much later.

'Hi, Wrench,' I said, and he grunted past us; in his teeth he held, quite delicately - for him - some kind of gla.s.s-wrapped little fuse.

'The hotel's mechanic,' I explained, because it was the easiest thing to say.

'Not very clean,' said the woman from New Hamps.h.i.+re.

'Is there an automobile on the top floor?' her husband asked.

As we turned down the third-floor corridor, searching in the half-dark for the correct rooms, a door opened up on the fifth floor, the clamor of a kind of eleventh-hour typing reached us - Fehlgeburt, perhaps, either bringing a manifesto to a close or writing her thesis on the romance that is at the heart of American literature - and Arbeiter screamed down the stairwell.

'Compromise!' Arbeiter shrieked. 'You represent nothing so strongly as you represent compromise compromise!'

'Each time is its own own time!' Old Billig hollered back. Old Billig the radical was leaving for the day; he crossed the third-floor landing while I was still fumbling with the luggage and keys. time!' Old Billig hollered back. Old Billig the radical was leaving for the day; he crossed the third-floor landing while I was still fumbling with the luggage and keys.

'You blow the way the wind blows, old man!' Arbeiter yelled. This was in German, of course, and I suppose - for the Americans, who didn't understand German - it might have seemed more ominous in that language than it was. I thought it was pretty ominous, and I I understood it. 'One day, old man,' Arbeiter concluded, 'the wind's going to blow you away!' understood it. 'One day, old man,' Arbeiter concluded, 'the wind's going to blow you away!'

Old Billig the radical stopped on the landing and yelled back up to Arbeiter. 'You're crazy!' he screamed. 'You'll kill us all! You have no patience patience!' he shouted.

And somewhere between the third and fifth floors, moving softly, her gentle figure generous with Schlagobers Schlagobers, the good Schw.a.n.ger tried to soothe them both, trotting downstairs a few steps toward Old Billig, and talking in a whisper, trotting upstairs a few steps toward Arbeiter - with whom she had to speak up a little.

'Shut up!' Arbeiter snapped at her. 'Go get pregnant again,' he said to her. 'Go get another abortion. Go get some Schlagobers Schlagobers,' he abused her.

'Animal!' Old Billig cried; he started back upstairs. 'It is possible to remain a gentleman, but not you you!' he screamed up at Arbeiter. 'You are not even a humanist humanist!'

'Please,' Schw.a.n.ger was soothing. 'Bitte, bitte 'Bitte, bitte. '

'You want Schlagobers Schlagobers?' Arbeiter roared at her. 'I want want Schlagobers Schlagobers running all over the Karntnerstra.s.se,' he said, crazily. 'I want running all over the Karntnerstra.s.se,' he said, crazily. 'I want Schlagobers Schlagobers stopping the traffic on the Ring. stopping the traffic on the Ring. Schlagobers Schlagobers and blood,' he said. 'That's what you'll see: over everything. Oozing over the streets!' said Arbeiter. ' and blood,' he said. 'That's what you'll see: over everything. Oozing over the streets!' said Arbeiter. 'Schlagobers and blood.' and blood.'

And I let the timid Americans from New Hamps.h.i.+re into their dusty rooms. Soon it would be dark, I knew, and the shouting matches upstairs would cease. And downstairs the groaning would start, the bed-rocking, the constant flus.h.i.+ng of the bidets, the pacing of the bear - policing the second floor - and the baseball bat of Freud, whumping steadily, room to room.

Would the Americans go to the Opera? Would they return to see Jolanta muscling a brave drunk upstairs - or rolling him down? Would someone be kneading Babette, like dough, in the lobby, where I played cards with Dark Inge and told her about the heroics of Junior Jones? The Black Arm of the Law made her happy. When she was 'old enough,' she said, she was going to make a bundle, then go visit her father and see for herself how bad it was for blacks in America.

And at what hour of the night would Screaming Annie's first fake o.r.g.a.s.m send the daughter from New Hamps.h.i.+re scurrying into her parents' room through the adjoining door? Would they three huddle in one bed until morning - overhearing the tired bargains made with Old Billig, the mean thudding of Jolanta wrecking someone?

Screaming Annie had told me what she would do to me if I ever touched Dark Inge.

'I keep Inge away from the men in the street,' she confided. 'But I don't want her thinking she's in love in love, or something. I mean, in a way, that's worse - I I know. That really f.u.c.ks you up. I mean, I'm not letting anyone know. That really f.u.c.ks you up. I mean, I'm not letting anyone pay pay her for it - not ever - and I'm not letting you sneak in for free.' her for it - not ever - and I'm not letting you sneak in for free.'

'She's only my sister Lilly's age,' I said. 'To me.'

'Who cares how old she she is?' Screaming Annie said. 'I'm watching is?' Screaming Annie said. 'I'm watching you you.'

'You're old enough to get a rod, occasionally,' Jolanta told me. 'I've seen it. I got an eye for seeing rods rods.'

'If you get a hard-on, you might use it,' Screaming Annie said. 'And I'm just telling you, if you want to use it, don't use it on Dark Inge. Use it on her and you lose it,' Screaming Annie told me.

'That's right,' Jolanta said. 'Use it with us, never with the kid. Use it with the kid and we'll finish you. Lift all the weights you want, sometime you got to fall asleep.'

'And when you wake up,' said Screaming Annie, 'your rod will be gone.'

'Got it?' Jolanta asked.

'Sure,' I said. And Jolanta leaned close to me and kissed me on the mouth. It was a kiss as threatening with lifelessness as the New Year's Eve kiss, tinged with vomit, that I had received from Doris Wales. But when Jolanta finished this kiss, she pulled away suddenly with my lower lip trapped in her teeth - just until I screamed. Then her mouth released me. I felt my arms lift up all by themselves - the way they do when I've been curling the one-arm dumbbells, for half an hour or so. But Jolanta was backing away from me very watchfully, her hands in her purse. I looked at the hands and the purse until she was out of my room. Screaming Annie was still there.

'Sorry about the bite,' she said. 'I really didn't tell her to do it. She's just mean, all by herself. You know what she's got in the purse?' I didn't want to know.

Screaming Annie would know. She lived with Jolanta - Dark Inge had told me. In fact, Dark Inge told me, not only were her mother and Jolanta girl friends of the lesbian kind, but Babette also lived with a woman (a wh.o.r.e who worked the Mariahilfer Stra.s.se). Only Old Billig actually preferred men; and, Dark Inge told me, Old Billig was so old she preferred nothing at all - most of the time.

So I stayed strictly nons.e.xual with Dark Inge; in fact, it wouldn't have occurred to me to even think think of her s.e.xually if her mother hadn't brought it up. I stayed strictly to my imagination: of Franny, of Jolanta. And of course my shy, stumbling courts.h.i.+p of Fehlgeburt, the reader. The girls at the American School all knew I lived in ' of her s.e.xually if her mother hadn't brought it up. I stayed strictly to my imagination: of Franny, of Jolanta. And of course my shy, stumbling courts.h.i.+p of Fehlgeburt, the reader. The girls at the American School all knew I lived in 'that hotel on the Krugerstra.s.se'; I was not in the same cla.s.s of Americans that they were in. People say that in America most Americans are not at all cla.s.s-conscious, but I know about the Americans who live abroad, and they are wildly conscious about what hotel on the Krugerstra.s.se'; I was not in the same cla.s.s of Americans that they were in. People say that in America most Americans are not at all cla.s.s-conscious, but I know about the Americans who live abroad, and they are wildly conscious about what kind kind of Americans they are. of Americans they are.

Franny had her bear, and, I suppose, she had her imagination as much as I had mine. She had Junior Jones and his football scores; she must have had to work hard to imagine him past the ends of the games. And she had her correspondence with Chipper Dove, she had her rather one-sided imagination concerning him.

Susie had a theory about Franny's letters to Chipper Dove. 'She's afraid of him,' Susie said. 'She's actually terrified of ever seeing him again. It's fear fear that makes her do it - write to him all the time. Because if she can address him, in a normal voice - if she can that makes her do it - write to him all the time. Because if she can address him, in a normal voice - if she can pretend pretend that she's having a normal relations.h.i.+p with him - well ... then he's no rapist, then he never did actually that she's having a normal relations.h.i.+p with him - well ... then he's no rapist, then he never did actually do it do it to her, and she doesn't want to to her, and she doesn't want to deal deal with the fact that he with the fact that he did did. Because,' Susie said, 'she's afraid that Dove or someone like him will rape her again again.'

I thought about that. Susie the bear might not have been the smart bear Freud had in mind, but she was a smart bear on her own terms.