In the Claws of the Eagle Read online

  There, he commanded, waving her into the curve of the grand piano where she could see him. Now that she was looking down at him, he could start. Using one finger on his right hand he began to pick out a tune. Louise recognised it at once – Frère Jacques – the round game that Madame Stronski had got the quartet to play the last time she had been here. She was impressed; he even managed the quick notes Sonnez les matines at the end. She raised her hands to clap.

  ‘Bravo Izaac …’ she began, but he hadn’t finished; he shook his head impatiently, his mouth set in a hard line. Louise stood, hands still raised, hardly able to believe what she was heard next. At exactly the right moment, he had started to play the tune again with left hand, eight notes lower on the keyboard, just like Nathan following Uncle Rudi that day when they had all played. Louise had never been good at the childhood game, ‘Rub tummy, pat head’ – her hands would never obey her, but here was Izaac, standing at the piano, both hands working away independently. All went well until his left hand came to the quick bit at the end, and he lost the tune. It was too much for him; he crashed his hands on the keys in frustration and rushed for the door. There he seemed to recover his dignity. He turned to Louise and bowed to her, a perfect replica of Madame Stronski bowing at that first concert, and left the room. Louise hadn’t even recovered enough to clap.

  Gone now was the frustration, gone were the tantrums. It was as if Izaac had found a new and better language to speak. He and the piano became inseparable. While he was at the piano his whole character changed. This wasn’t play; it was work. His roguishness disappeared. The only expression he would allow himself was a small smile of satisfaction when some phrase or chord pleased him. The family noticed too. The men thought of him as a budding piano tuner, while Mother dreamed of seeing him on a concert platform. But Louise was finding another side to Izaac altogether; the flip side of the coin.

  His and Lotte’s daily routine, winter and summer, piano or no piano, included a walk down the street, over the busy Ring Road to the Volksgarten, the People’s Garden, where Lotte would talk with other nannies, and Izaac would potter and sometimes play with the other children. Recently he had demanded that Louise come too. It didn’t seem to bother him that nobody else could see Louise, in fact it he seemed to enjoy it.

  ‘He’s got this imaginary friend,’ Lotte explained to her fellow nannies. ‘“Lees” he calls her. Insists that she comes down here with us. I hear him chatting away to her as if she was really there. I wonder if he’s alright in the head?’

  ‘Is Lees a rabbit?’ Frauline Kreutz, one of the more experienced nannies, asked. ‘I had a little girl once who had a pretend rabbit. Nearly drove me mad, Kani was his name. Kani had to have breakfast at every damned dandelion between here and home, one of hundreds I can tell you, and then we had to stop while Kani …’ The nanny snorted with laughter, and then went on. ‘She married a Councillor…the girl did, not the rabbit … and had triplets. Perhaps that was Kani’s influence in the end.’ They all laughed and Lotte was reassured. At least Izaac’s friend didn’t stop at every dandelion. She suspected that Lees was his idea of the girl in the picture back home; he’d talked to that since he was tiny. She wasn’t jealous, if anything Izaac was easier to handle when he had his ‘friend’ with him.

  These walks to the park were a delight to Louise. All she had seen of Vienna so far was the small square of stucco on the building opposite their third floor apartment. Izaac wanted to watch everything, so their progress down to the Ring Strasse, the wide tree-lined street that embraces the old city, was slow. The stately fronts of the houses towered above her, gleaming white in the morning light. As they reached the Ring, the view opened out and Louise gazed in wonder; there seemed to be palaces in every direction. The trams – just passing sounds to her before – clanged their bells and swayed and hissed as they passed. There was so much that was new to her, so much she wanted to know. How did these move without horses? What was the purpose of the wire that occasionally sparked above them? Beyond the trams and the trees was the main road, loud with traffic: carts, drays and smart carriages and, more startling to Louise, motor cars that growled, purred, and occasionally back-fired. Everywhere she could see the work of science, just as her father had predicted all those years ago. But, as they waited while ranks of drab-uniformed soldiers passed, she wondered what had happened to the brave new world that he had predicted. Lorries and guns drove past too, the men sitting up with rifles between their knees. The talk was of war. Had they learned nothing of the folly of war in all these years?

  Lotte would be edgy until they had crossed the terrifying stream of traffic and had plunged into the sudden tranquillity of the Volksgarten. Here gravelled paths formed a labyrinth to be followed between beds of scented roses and lawns lined with low box hedges; there were fountains, statues, even a Greek Temple and a small area where children were allowed to play. In the early morning, hoses made rainbowed arches in the low sun, and the grass would glisten with fresh drops. There were ducks in the park that enjoyed the watering and were a particular attraction to Izaac.

  Louise noticed his interest in the ducks but didn’t think more of it, apart from hoping that he wouldn’t start chasing them, because there was so much for her to look at and to see. There were the distant buildings of the Hofburg palace and a stirring statue of some great man rearing his horse. She thought with nostalgia of how Gaston would rear his horse just for the fun of it. She was lost in her dreams when Izaac passed in front of her. He looked perfectly innocent, but there was something about his walk that caught her attention, a certain busyness that said, as loud as words, ‘look at me’.

  Sure enough, as soon as he saw that he had her attention, his walk changed to a waddle. Louise blinked, for a second she could have sworn that she was looking at one of the park ducks. The transformation was extraordinary; the hand behind with the two curled fingers for a tail was obvious, but it was his walk that had Louise choking with laughter. His small body was tilted forward at an improbable angle, his toes were turned in, so his feet appeared to be flat, giving his body just the right swaying motion, while the bright-eyed movements of the head and eyes gave him a knowing very duck-like look. Louise laughed out loud, and then, forgetting that the men mowing the grass nearby could not hear her, put her hand over her mouth. One of the men, who had seen Izaac’s performance, quacked.

  For the next few days Izaac entertained the park regulars with his duck impersonation. The only person who did not approve was ‘the General,’ the park warden, and the ogre of the Volksgarten. He was a bearded replica of the old Emperor Franc Joseph himself. Unlike the Emperor, who was a kindly man, the General was a sworn enemy of all small boys whether they were pretending to be ducks or not. He carried a long polished wooden stick and a whistle on a silver chain, given to him, he claimed, by the Emperor himself. He was a Hapsburg man to the core and had a row of campaign medals to prove it. He terrorised everyone in the park, from doddering pensioners to small children, his one aim being to keep all and sundry, particularly Izaac, off the grass.

  As Louise was new to the park, she knew nothing about the General or the taboo about the grass; she was as tempted by the smooth perfection of the lawns as any small boy. She therefore accepted Izaac’s kind invitation to sit beside him in the middle of the greenest and most perfect sward in the park where he propped himself comfortably against a small metal notice that seemed made for his back. An expression of content settled on his face and he closed his eyes. Louise was happy just to sit and gaze at the pinnacled excesses of the Rathaus – the Town Hall – that she could see through the trees. She was just wondering where all this wealth had come from, when she was woken from her reverie by a whistle followed by a roar like a lion from the nearest path.

  Izaac had leapt to his feet and was busily gazing about him, pretending not to know where the roar had come from. To Louise, a law-abiding Dutch girl, the source of the rage was obvious: a bearded figure with an upraised stick, who was making enou
gh noise to command a parade ground. She hadn’t met the General but she recognised authority when she saw it. Izaac was going to get into terrible trouble and it was all her fault.

  The man was gesticulating, pointing at the notice that Izaac had been leaning against; surely he couldn’t expect the boy to be able read? Louise glanced down, and for the first time had reason to doubt Izaac’s innocence. The notice needed no words; it was a picture of an elephant leaving huge footprints on the grass, the message was clear even without any words. Izaac was now walking towards the enraged keeper, his shoulders hanging, a picture of injured innocence. Louise bit her knuckles; surely the man wouldn’t beat someone so small? She need not have worried. Before Izaac got within range of the long stick he turned parallel to the path and began walking along just out of reach, taking huge elephant strides and glancing at the keeper as if inviting him to put his polished boots on the grass and come after him. What Izaac knew, and Louise didn’t, was that nothing would induce the General to walk on the Imperial grass, grass that he had protected for a quarter of a century.

  She could see Izaac’s plan now, but so could the General. In a moment Izaac would be opposite to where Lotte and the gaggle of nannies sat behind a wall of prams, watching the standoff like spectators at the races. The General felt he had him now, he was cut off from his only retreat; the prams. He and Izaac stood facing each other. Behind the General’s back Louise could see a ripple of movement. The nannies, seeing Izaac’s predicament, were quietly turning their prams to face out, leaving just one small-boy-width between them. Izaac saw his chance, made a start to the right, then dodged left, and in a flash was across the gravel and inside the corral before the General could turn. When he did the boy had disappeared. There was nothing he could do, and his wrath bounced harmlessly off the starched uniforms of nannies.

  Izaac got a very light clip over the ear and a scorching from Lotte but the other nannies seemed delighted with him. The General stamped and fumed; it all seemed harmless enough, but Louise, standing close when he turned, heard him mutter: ‘Juden!’ under his breath, Jews. Where had she heard ‘Jews!’ uttered in just that way? Then she remembered; a hundred years before, when the Abrahams family had been turned out of their home in France, ‘Juif!’ was the word in French, but the hate had been the same. She looked at the gaggle of nannies, fair homely Austrian faces, and then she looked at their charges, mostly dark, mostly Jewish in looks. Did these nannies have to stick together because their small charges were Jews? The incident passed, but for a moment it had been like a cloud on a sunlit day.

  One day Louise noticed that Izaac was preoccupied. It was as if he wanted her to be there, but equally didn’t want her to see what he was up to. She was beginning to understand his moods and guessed that he was preparing some surprise for her. Sure enough, in the park a day or two later, he drew her out of sight of the others and treated her to a preview of his latest transformation, not a duck this time, but into a miniature version of the General himself. He had the parade-ground walk, imperious glance, and wielded an imaginary version of the General’s stick with that special swagger which the General used to show that he was no ordinary park warden. Soon there wasn’t a nanny or an old hand in the park who hadn’t enjoyed Izaac’s impersonation of the common enemy. Louise thought uneasily of the old man’s muttered comment about Jews and warned Izaac never to do his impersonation in front of the man himself. He shrugged and didn’t argue, but he couldn’t resist just a step or two to tease her whenever he saw the General coming.

  Louise was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she should have been less responsive to Izaac’s performances; now they were likely to get him into trouble, and she felt partly responsible.

  Her new-found sense of responsibility was soon put to the test and all because of the Countess von Tischelstein. The ‘Countess’ was a fey creature who wandered about the park greeting invisible friends on empty seats. She was a harmless entertainment to them all. Louise watched Izaac’s careful observation of the Countess with apprehension. Could she trust him not to poke fun at the old lady with one of his impersonations?

  ‘Izaac,’ she cautioned, ‘you understand; you must be nice about the Countess.’ Even as she said it, Louise realised her mistake. Izaac was indeed going to imitate the Countess, but he would have given her a dress rehearsal first. All the time he had been thinking about the old lady he had been imagining Louise’s delight in his imitation. Now she had shown that she didn’t trust him and was tut tutting at him like a nanny. The devil got into him and he put on an imitation of the poor Countess that had all the nasty mocking elements that Louise had wanted him to avoid. What could she do now? She knew that this was not the performance he had intended to give, but yet he mustn’t be allowed to get away with it!

  ‘Izaac! You will not mock her like that, it’s cruel and nasty!”

  ‘You can’t stop me!’

  ‘I won’t come out with you any more!’

  ‘I don’t care.’ And that was that.

  Izaac stopped looking for Louise to come out, and she made no effort to join him. It had all ended in a silly little childish spat. The loss for Louise was profound. She had lost the trust of someone who she felt sure wanted and needed her, and, on top of that, in what she thought must be the most beautiful city in the world, all she had to look at now was the wall of the house opposite.

  The music room was where family matters, and matters of wider importance in the world outside, were discussed by the Abrahams. Without Izaac as a constant distraction, Louise began to pay more attention to what the family was talking about. Lately their anxieties had been focused on a war, which, Louise remembered from a year ago, everyone had thought would be over in a few weeks, but now seemed to be dragging on, and worse, spreading wider. David Abrahams, Izaac’s father, had been called up and appeared from time to time in uniform, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He was lucky; he had been given a musical post in Vienna so that the Opera would not be deprived of their favourite piano tuner! Uncle Rudi was too old to be called up, but Nathan might get his papers any day. Louise had always liked Nathan and was fearful for his safety; from what she was hearing, the losses to the Austrian army seemed terrible.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Brahms Lullaby

  While Louise listened with anxiety to talk of the war, and grieved over her tiff with Izaac, a new life was beginning in the little town of Mödling, a few miles south of Vienna at the point where the Vienna woods swept down and met the plain that stretched east to the borders of Hungary. A woman’s voice, thin but pleasing, was singing the Brahms Lullaby.

  ‘Guten Abend, gute Nacht, Mit Rosen bedacht,

  Mit Näglein besteckt, schlupf unter …’

  ‘Lullaby…lullaby. It’s not nighttime, it’s morning. Can’t you rock the brat to sleep without all that noise?’ The singing faltered and then faded; Sabine always faded in the presence her father-in-law. There must be bad news from the war, she thought. ‘Well, can’t you answer?’ his voice demanded from inside the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t want to wake little Erich,’ she called softly.

  ‘Little Erich!’ The voice was scornful. For a second the girl’s mouth hardened into a firm line. You’re jealous of him, she whispered to herself. The voice went on, ‘As if the Emperor didn’t have enough to cope with without another mouth to feed.’ Veit Hoffman appeared in the doorway, a crumpled newspaper in one hand. His grey hair still had a military spikiness to it, his moustache drooped and blue eyes glinted fiercely from under deep brows. He was wearing a hunting jacket with green lapels as a substitute for the army uniform he had worn all his life. As a former soldier of the Austrian Imperial Army, he had risen from private to corporal, to sergeant major. Now, with the greatest fight in the history of the world underway, he had been swept aside like so much flotsam. One minute he was a vital cog in an army of armies that included Hungarians, Czechs, Slovaks, Poles, Ruthenians, Croats, Serbs and Slovenes, Romanians and Italians, and now, d
ue to age, he had been retired without ceremony. God rot them all! Now he was left with nothing better to do than to listen to lullabies while the Empire that had been his pride and glory crumbled about him.

  It had never occurred to Veit that the amazing conglomeration of countries making up the Austro-Hungarian Empire had been acquired, not by his army, but almost entirely through the judicious marriages of the ruling Hapsburg dynasty. The entire empire had been built like a house of cards: aces were played, kings and queens produced daughters who married kings, and occasionally knaves, with alliances balanced precariously one against the other, until, in 1914, a disgruntled Serbian student had shot dead the heir to their throne, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, in Sarajevo. Austria then invaded Serbia, and the entire structure that had kept Europe at peace came tumbling about their ears.

  Sabine braced herself; she would have to listen to the latest round of disasters. She looked longingly towards her easel, which stood at the far end of the room. Painting was her refuge, the one place where she dared to be herself, but she knew that the sight of her ‘doing nothing’ would provoke Veit even more than singing a lullaby. She gave Erich’s cradle a gentle push to leave it rocking, and braved herself to face the outraged ex-sergeant major at the door.

  Over a lifetime Veit had devised a hundred tricks with which to terrorise his young recruits. It seemed perfectly natural to him to use these devices on his daughter-in-law. Sabine never seemed to be able to anticipate what he would do. He was obviously enraged by what he had seen in the newspaper; he lifted it up in front of her. Naturally, she leaned forward to see what it was he wanted to show her. In the next second the paper seemed to explode in her face as he banged the back of it. She gave a small shriek.