A German Requiem

I thanked him for his kind thought and, tipping him generously, asked him first from where I might send a telegram, and then where Berggasse was.

'The Central Telegraph Office is on B/rseplatz,' he answered, 'on the Schottenring. You'll find Berggasse just a couple of blocks north of there.'

An hour or so later, after sending my telegrams to Kirsten and to Neumann, I walked up to Berggasse, which ran between the police prison where Becker was locked up and the hospital where his girlfriend worked. This coincidence was more remarkable than the street itself, which seemed largely to be occupied by doctors and dentists. Nor did I think it particularly remarkable to discover from the old woman who owned the building in which Abs had occupied the mezzanine floor that only a few hours earlier he had told her he was leaving Vienna for good.

'He said his job urgently required him to go to Munich,' she explained in the kind of tone that left me feeling she was still a bit puzzled by this sudden departure. 'Or at least somewhere near Munich. He mentioned the name but I'm afraid that I've forgotten it.'

'It wasn't Pullach, was it?'

She tried to look thoughtful but only succeeded in looking bad-tempered. 'I don't know if it was or if it wasn't,' she said finally. The cloud lifted from her face as she returned to her normal bovine expression. 'Anyway, he said he would let me know where he was when he got himself settled.'

'Did he take all his things with him?'

'There wasn't much to take,' she said. 'Just a couple of suitcases. The apartment is furnished, you see.' She frowned again. 'Are you a policeman or something?'

'No, I was wondering about his rooms.'

'Well why didn't you say? Come in, Herr ?'

'It's Professor, actually,' I said with what I thought sounded like a typically Viennese punctiliousness. 'Professor Kurtz.' There was also the possibility that by giving myself the academic handle I might appeal to the snob in the woman.

'Dr Abs and myself are mutually acquainted with a Herr K/nig, who told me that he thought the Herr Doktor might be about to vacate some excellent rooms at this address.'

I followed the old woman through the door and into the big hallway which led to a tall glass door. Beyond the open door lay a courtyard with a solitary plane tree growing there. We turned up the wrought-iron staircase.

'I trust you will forgive my discretion,' I said. 'Only I wasn't sure how much credence to place on my friend's information. He was most insistent that they were excellent rooms, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you, madam, how difficult it can be for a gentleman to find an apartment of any quality in Vienna these days. Perhaps you know Herr K/nig?'

'No,' she said firmly. 'I don't think I ever met any of Dr Abs' friends. He was a very quiet man. But your friend is well informed. You won't find a better set of rooms for 400 schillings a month. This is a very good neighbourhood.' At the door to the apartment she lowered her voice. 'And entirely Jew-free.' She produced a key from the pocket of her jacket and slipped it into the keyhole of the great mahogany door. 'Of course, we had a few of them here before the Anschluss. Even in this house. But by the time the war came most of them had gone away.' She opened the door and showed me into the apartment.

'Here we are,' she said proudly. 'There are six rooms in total. It's not as big as some of the apartments in the street, but then not as expensive either. Fully furnished as I think I said.'

'Lovely,' I said looking about me.

'I'm afraid that I haven't yet had time to clean the place,' she apologized.

'Doctor Abs left a lot of rubbish to throw out. Not that I mind really. He gave me four weeks' money in lieu of notice.' She pointed at one door which was closed. 'There's still quite a bit of bomb damage showing in there. We had an incendiary in the courtyard when the Ivans came, but it's due to be repaired very soon.'

'I'm sure it's fine,' I said generously.

'Right then. I'll leave you to have a little look around on your own, Professor Kurtz. Let you get a feel for the place. Just lock up after you and knock on my door when you've seen everything.'

When the old woman had gone I wandered among the rooms, finding only that for a single man Abs seemed to have received an extraordinarily large number of Care parcels, those food parcels that came from the United States. I counted the empty cardboard boxes that bore the distinctive initials and the Broad Street, New York address and found that there were over fifty of them.

It didn't look like Care so much as good business.

When I had finished looking around I told the old woman that I was looking for something bigger and thanked her for allowing me to see the place. Then I strolled back to my pension in Skodagasse.

I wasn't back very long before there was a knock at my door.

'Herr Gunther?' said the one wearing the sergeant's stripes.

I nodded.

'I'm afraid you'll have to come with us, please.'

'Am I being arrested?'

'Excuse me, sir?'

I repeated the question in my uncertain English. The American MP shifted his chewing-gum around impatiently.

'It will be explained to you down at headquarters, sir.'

I picked up my jacket and slipped it on.

'You will remember to bring your papers, won't you, sir?' he smiled politely.

'Save us coming back for them.'

'Of course,' I said, collecting my hat and coat. 'Have you got transport? Or are we walking?'

'The truck's right outside the front door.'

The landlady caught my eye as we came through her lobby. To my surprise she looked not at all perturbed. Maybe she was used to her guests getting pulled in by the International Patrol. Or perhaps she just told herself that someone else was paying for my room whether I slept there or in a cell at the police prison.

We climbed into the truck and drove a few metres north before a short turn to the right took us south down Lederergasse, away from the city centre and the headquarters of the IMP.

'Aren't we going to KSrtnerstrasse?' I said.

'It isn't an International Patrol matter, sir,' the sergeant explained. 'This is American jurisdiction. We're going to the Stiftskaserne, on Mariahilferstrasse.'

'To see who? Shields or Belinsky?'

'It will be explained '

' when we get there, right.'

The mock-baroque entrance to the Stiftskaserne, the headquarters of the 796th Military Police, with its half-relief Doric columns, griffins and Greek warriors, was situated, somewhat incongruously, between the twin entrances of Tiller's department store, and was part of a four-storey building that fronted onto Mariahilferstrasse. We passed through the massive arch of this entrance and beyond the rear of the main building and a parade ground to another building, which housed a military barracks.

The truck drove through some gates and pulled up outside the barracks. I was escorted inside and up a couple of flights of stairs to a big bright office which commanded an impressive view of the anti-aircraft tower that stood on the other side of the parade ground.

Shields stood up from behind a desk and grinned like he was trying to impress the dentist.

'Come on in and sit down.' he said as if we were old friends. He looked at the sergeant. 'Did he come peaceably, Gene? Or did you have to beat the shit out of his ass?'

The sergeant grinned a little and mumbled something which I didn't catch. It was no wonder that one could never understand their English, I thought: Americans were forever chewing something.

'You better stick around a while, Gene,' Shields added. 'Just in case we have to get tough with this guy.' He uttered a short laugh and, hitching up his trousers, sat squarely in front of me, his heavy legs splayed apart like some samurai lord, except that he was probably twice as large as any Japanese.