The Iron Bridge: Short Stories of 20th Century Dictators as Teenagers

by Anton Piatigorsky

  A small bell rings, the front door opens, and Gustl emerges from the shop, his clothes white with dust. He jogs up to Adi, who is now standing with his chin raised and one foot forward like a statue. The powder has turned Gustl’s curly dark hair grey, which, coupled with his meek demeanour, makes him seem older and more distinguished than his sixteen years.

  “Are you finished?” Adi asks, not bothering to hide his disgust at his friend’s appearance.

  “I’m afraid not,” says Gustl. “I don’t think I can come today. You have no idea how busy it gets at this time of year.”

  “No idea,” Adi scoffs.

  “I papered five rooms this morning, and now I’m restuffing a horsehair mattress which has to be finished by—”

  “Leave it for your father,” Adi commands. “He’s the upholsterer. You’re the artist.”

  Gustl lowers his head in shame. His sleepy eyes have heavy lids that never open wide, which gives him a tranquil and satisfied appearance, as if he were an aristocrat incapable of being upset by common problems. “But I don’t think I can—”

  “Lohengrin,” Adi interrupts. He pounds the tip of his walking stick against the stone and then smacks it against his heel. “The performance will begin promptly at half past seven, whether you’re in the audience or not. I suggest you tell your father that you’re done for the day.”

  Gustl nods, knowing there’s no choice but to comply. As Gustl scurries back into the store, Adi removes his top hat and uses his handkerchief to wipe away the sweat he’s generated while waiting. He grumbles as he folds it into a precise little triangle. He adjusts his overcoat and tucks the handkerchief into his pocket. Gustl trots out again, brushing powder out of his hair and removing his dirty jacket.

  “Come upstairs,” he tells Adi. “I need to change.”

  Adi follows him through the side entrance and up the narrow and creaky staircase to the Kubizeks’ second-floor apartment. Frau Kubizek, who stands at the kitchen sink shucking beans for dinner, turns to greet them. The small apartment smells of boiled pork. As Gustl takes his one good suit from the bedroom and disappears into the bathroom to wash and change, Adi remains in the entrance, holding his top hat against his chest, bowing at Gustl’s mother.

  “Greetings, esteemed Frau,” he says, as if the woman were a baroness.

  Frau Kubizek wipes her hands on her apron and steps away from the pile of green husks to greet her son’s friend. She embraces Adi’s shoulders, kissing both of his cheeks. “How is your mother?” she asks.

  “She is very well, thank you, Frau Kubizek. I will be sure to let her know that you have inquired into her health.”

  “Yes, please do.”

  “And how are you, Frau Kubizek?” says Adi, smiling with his lips pressed together. “Enjoying this lovely spring weather?”

  “Yes, yes,” she answers.

  “You must be looking forward to the flower festival and parade this weekend, are you not?”

  “Why, yes, I am. Very much. But we’re all looking forward to it, Adolf, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, Frau Kubizek, we are.”

  The squat, heavy-set woman stares into Adi’s huge blue eyes. She smirks and shakes her head. “My, my,” she says. “Always the polite young man, aren’t you, Adolf?”

  Adi smiles and nods in agreement, although he can’t help but feel she’s making fun of him.

  Gustl emerges from the bathroom, wiping the furniture dust off his face and out of his ears with a wet washcloth. He’s wearing his black suit and pale yellow tie, but he hasn’t put it on straight. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Almost ready.” He throws the washcloth into the sink and fidgets with his tie while moving towards the door.

  “And how’s your father?” Frau Kubizek asks her son with a glare.

  “Fine,” whispers Gustl.

  “Are you certain he doesn’t need any more help tonight?”

  Gustl stutters as he stands by the door, but can’t give her a definite answer. The weight of his mother’s stare, combined with her question’s sharp tone, seems to press down on his shoulders and hunch him forward.

  “Pardon me, Frau Kubizek,” Adi interjects, stepping forward into the centre of the small space, which the Kubizek family use as their dining room, entrance, and kitchen combined. “It’s Lohengrin tonight. Of course, you understand it’s absolutely essential for your son’s development as a musical artist to see that particular work by the Bayreuth master as many times as he possibly can, whenever and wherever it might be performed, no matter the cost to his friends or family.”

  “My son’s development as a musical artist?” Frau Kubizek says, her smile growing wider.

  Adi steps closer, his eyes so intense and full that Frau Kubizek retreats a couple of steps, her bum pressing against the sink. She closes her mouth.

  “I need not tell you, Frau Kubizek,” says the fiery but still scrupulously polite guest, “that our dear Gustl has talent, which does not appear with any frequency in men. When a person has that blessing, he also has a certain responsibility to seize and develop it. It would be criminal of you, Frau Kubizek, and criminal of Herr Kubizek, and even criminal of Gustl himself, to forsake or ignore such a gift. It would be like spitting into the face of fate, would it not? Lohengrin is about to be performed in our fair city. That is more important than upholstery. Gustl will benefit by attending the opera this evening. He will grow and mature immeasurably from the experience, and I am sure he will then learn to seize his spirit and harness his considerable power of creation. You must let him go.”

  Frau Kubizek is holding an unopened bean husk with two hands as if it were a life preserver. Her eyes are wide and her brow is raised. “My, my,” she says, amazed. “In that case.”

  Gustl lingers in the doorway, pale and terrified. Never in this lifetime would he speak to his strict mother in such a manner. If he did, Frau Kubizek would darken with fury and, in a single phrase, banish her son to his bedroom for the rest of the night. But when words of bald defiance originate with Adi, they never seem rude, rather they have the persuasive force of truth. His tone is firm and clear and direct. His phrasing exudes confidence. When Adi speaks, his gigantic eyes seem to draw in and hypnotize Frau Kubizek Still, his friend’s audacity makes Gustl uncomfortable.

  Adi touches Gustl’s arm and leads him out of the apartment. “Goodbye, Frau Kubizek,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “Bye, Mother,” whispers the pale son as he disappears through the doorway, dragged by his friend.

  “Come on,” Adi commands once they’ve descended the stairs and re-emerged on Klammstrasse. They are moving towards the tree-lined Promenade. “If we hurry, we might still catch Stefanie in the Hauptplatz before she’s returned to Urfahr.” While he’s not exactly running, Adi’s walk is so quick and determined that Gustl has to jog just to keep a few feet behind.

  Soon they’re back on the Landstrasse, moving north towards Urfahr. Adi slows and begins to measure his steps, casually swinging his ebony stick so as not to seem desperate or excitable. He removes his handkerchief, wipes his brow, and returns his hat to his head. Gustl, huffing through lungs damaged by upholstery dust, at last catches up to his friend and marches by his side.

  “Infuriating, this evening,” Adi says as he tugs his handkerchief back into his pocket. They enter the narrow Schmiedtorstrasse, heading north towards the Hauptplatz. “The spirit buzzing between us—charged, tonight, charged—and we would have exchanged a glance—yes, I’m absolutely certain of it—were it not for a nag, of all things, neighing and kicking in the street, distracting Stefanie at the one moment she needed to keep her wits about her. Poor thing must be crushed. I’m certain she’s thinking that she’ll have to wait until tomorrow to see me again.”

  “Mmm,” Gustl says, fighting through the burning pain in his lungs. He has made an effort to make some sound just so his friend will know he’s listening.

  “A grey dress tonight,” Adi says. “No doubt the closest thing she could find to white. W
ith her hair tied back as usual, and—hear this, Gustl—she had it wrapped up with a golden cord. Gold, like Lohengrin’s chain to his swan boat! And guess what else she’s got in her bun tonight?” Adi is peering at his friend, impatient for the answer, but young Gustl can only shrug. “A flower, yes, of course, always that, always a flower, but that’s not what I mean. Something else. Guess!”

  “I don’t know.”

  “An oak leaf!” cries Adi. “You see? What tree does Elsa von Brabant stand beneath when Lohengrin arrives to save her that first time?”

  “Oak?”

  “Yes, of course, oak!” Adi’s yellow and black teeth show themselves in an open smile. “Knows her role, of course. Stefanie has read my mind. No, more than that—we’re thinking the same thoughts!”

  “Are you certain it was oak?”

  “Yes, yes!” shouts Adi, waving his stick in the air and shaking his other fist. A passing pedestrian pulls a smouldering pipe from his lips, which are hidden beneath a kaiserbart, and turns to regard the frothing teenager. “Or, if not,” qualifies Adi, “the closest thing to it. Oh, she knows Lohengrin’s performed tonight. And she knows how important it is, in our brief passing, to harmonize with the master’s spirit. She knows, because she has the same idea as me. Exactly! We are kindred spirits. We can sing our duet without ever exchanging a word!”

  They stop before the baroque cathedral at the entrance to the square. Adi stands before the building, his feet straddling its symmetrical line, so that if anyone notices him, it will appear as if the facade’s twin square towers, topped with onion domes of copper, were constructed as mere frames for his figure. Gustl picks persistent furniture dust from the depths of his ear and holds out his fingertip to regard it. Adi searches for Stefanie amongst the strollers in the distance.

  “Where is my Elsa?” he wonders out loud. “I absolutely must speak with her.”

  Gustl wrinkles his brow in silence, wondering what will happen if Adi finally does speak with his beloved. If he asks her why she chose to wear that particular grey dress, or the golden cord and leaf in her hair, will he fly into a rage, one of his astonishing screaming and shrieking fits, when he discovers that her reasons do not entirely mesh with his? What will he do if he discovers that she is not at all playing the Elsa to his Lohengrin? Gustl is uncertain that Adi could handle such an attack on his convictions. It would be much better if he were at least somewhat prepared for the possibility.

  “You know, it is possible,” Gustl whispers, “that Stefanie’s not so interested in Wagner.”

  Adi clenches his teeth at his friend, gripping the ivory handle of his stick with such strength that Gustl fears, for a moment, he’s about to whack him with it. “You don’t understand,” Adi whispers. “How could a child like you understand the meaning of our extraordinary love?”

  “I’m sorry. Adi, please, I didn’t mean to offend—”

  “Didn’t mean to offend?”

  “You’re right,” says Gustl, who’s even more stooped and submissive now than he was with his mother. “I don’t understand. I don’t see how it works between you and Stefanie. I am beneath extraordinary love. Maybe you can clarify it? Do you communicate your thoughts to her using just your glances?”

  Adi hesitates, raises his chin, and touches his cravat. “We are both infused with the same spirit. Don’t expect me to explain it.” Now he pivots and marches back up the Landstrasse, away from the Hauptplatz, away from the possibility of encountering Stefanie again, abandoning Gustl by the cathedral.

  Is that it? wonders Gustl, for what must be the hundredth time in their friendship. Will I ever speak with Adi again?

  “Come on,” Adi shouts back at him, his overcoat swishing and snapping with each step. “We must secure our positions in the theatre.”

  Having worked all day, Gustl could use a sausage and a beer, no more than a fifteen-minute stop at the Café Baumgartner, and they certainly have time before the performance begins, but he’s not going to make that request. He probably won’t have a chance to eat until he gets home, which will be late. Gustl often doesn’t have a meal on his evenings out with Adi, since his friend can’t eat once he’s got worked up. No wonder he’s so skinny, with a nearly concave chest.

  Adi rounds the corner onto the Promenade, marching towards the Stadtheatre, Gustl following. The box office is open, but instead of approaching it, Adi stands across the street from the bland structure, which cannot be distinguished from neighbouring apartments, rubbing his chin and contemplating its architectural form. He’s studied this building a thousand times and has offered his opinions of it nearly as often, but still he feels he’s never said enough about it. His face reddens, fury overwhelms him, and Adi is moved to give to Gustl his full critique. He is spitting while talking, and shaking his fist, demanding to know how the idiots in charge of this city could expect anyone to take Linz seriously when this empty and styleless monstrosity remains the home of its culture. “Vienna will always be the greater city,” Adi laments, “even with its bastard Hapsburg buildings, as long as Linz is endowed with this dreadful structure while Vienna’s got the Hof.” Gustl murmurs his agreement, although he’s never himself seen the capital’s great imperial opera house. “No,” says Adi, “we Linzers must resist the urge for Gothic revival. I myself will tear down this blight and, like Theophil Hansen, build the greatest neoclassical opera house in all of Europe.”

  “Yes,” says Gustl, “you’ve shown me the plans.”

  Adi is pacing now, pointing out the locations for the Ionian columns, the domed ceiling, the twin statues of Bruckner and Wagner that he’s designed to flank the central staircase. “Statues of actual artists,” he continues, “should be erected in the street as a means of inviting Linzers inside.” Only when the spectators have crossed the great threshold and entered the magic zone of the auditorium, only then will the citizens see Adi’s true, crowning achievement: the hundred statues of notable figures from every German opera of any worth whatsoever. Adi takes off his top hat and laughs, but resists the urge to throw it into the air and catch it. “Come on,” he tells Gustl, waving him forward as he crosses the street. “I’ll show you everything.”

  They buy their cheap two-Kronen student tickets and proceed into the auditorium’s Promenade, the standing-room-only section. Fortunately, it is located directly beneath the royal box, an exceptionally good spot to hear and see an opera. The two young men position themselves on either side of a large wooden column, so they can lean on it and rest during the long performance. There are only a handful of other people in the audience thus far. Adi excitedly returns to his designs for the new theatre, describing the romantic flourishes he’s devised for each interior statue. For an hour he catalogues his entire plan, down to the minute details. The theatre gradually fills. Gentlemen escort primped ladies into their seats. Students, in shabby and threadbare suits, crowd into the Promenade. Adi’s rant garners occasional bewildered stares from the students around him, until the lights fade at last and the overture to Lohengrin rises out of the orchestra pit.

  Adi grows silent, his breathing slows, and his eyes widen. His expression slackens, and the rigidity in his arms and legs softens. He looks like a child. He rests his walking stick against the column. He lays his top hat on the floor between his legs. He forgets Gustl, forgets the building, forgets his grand plan to rebuild everything. Although the sets are wooden and poorly painted, and the singing is at best passable (“provincial,” he would say), it’s still Wagner’s world being created before him, with Elsa, sweet Elsa, his very own Elsa, appearing in white just as the music softens. She’s come to answer the terrible accusation against her, to bow her head and pray for a Christian salvation, and to call forth a mysterious saviour. I am your saving knight, thinks Adi. And you are my Stefanie. The trumpets blast, followed by a charged silence, and then Lohengrin appears in splendour shining, as the stage directions—which Adi has read many times—instruct. A knight of glorious mien. Adi gasps. Nothing feels more real to
him than this moment. His inner world has been made concrete on stage. He is witnessing everything he believes in and feels, everything he cares about. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. Lohengrin’s swan is papery and fake, but his armour is silver and radiant, and he carries a glittering shield. As he sings for Elsa’s hand in marriage, Adi’s lips move along with the singer’s and his throat fights an urge to sing the tune. My guardian, my defender! sings Elsa in reply. Adi is sure that someday Stefanie will say the same to him. And now comes Lohengrin’s dire warning: she must never ask whence he comes, or what his name is. Yes, it should be like that, thinks Adi, no need to discuss my history, no need to discuss my past, not with the spirit of victory propelling me forward. Adi hums audibly. When Lohengrin and Frederick fight, Adi moves his hand back and forth as if he himself were wielding the sword. A student standing beside him gives him a nasty glare.

  Adi is too exhausted to wander into the lobby during the long first intermission. Instead, he leans against the wooden column. Gustl asks his opinion of the production, but Adi, with his yellow teeth bared and his hands waving in annoyance, shuts him up. When the opera continues, Adi continues to live each gesture on stage, suffering all the twists and turns of Wagner’s world as his own. The second intermission is worse than the first. Adi keeps his eyes closed so he won’t have his bliss interrupted by Gustl’s stupid questions or by the idiotic expression of some dolt in the Promenade.

  Adi hungrily absorbs the wedding description that begins act three, since he plans to reproduce it in detail when he marries his beloved. Under a brilliant moon, Elsa and Lohengrin’s duet brings tears to his eyes, and he whispers, along with the knight, his favourite passage in the opera: Say, does thou breathe the incense sweet of flowers? When Elsa asks the forbidden question and Adi, enraptured, feels the tragic fall of the eternal couple, his already damp hair saturates like a mop. Will Stefanie betray him? Do all women ultimately betray their men? Lohengrin is stepping onto his boat and leaving his beloved forever. Yes, a fitting end. Adi quietly sobs. The lights come up to applause and flowers, to five or six ovations, before the audience filters out of the auditorium. Adi remains motionless, staring vacantly at the fallen curtain, until long after everyone has departed. Gustl waits for his friend by the door to the Promenade, his hands cupped before him.