Chapter 15: The Other Half Of Vienna

Saturday morning

Elisabeth frowned, pulling the little ceramic dog from the shelf. She shook out her rag, already covered with dust from the other little statues standing in line. But the little dip between its ears always collected the dirt faster. Over the years, she had nearly rubbed away the little brown eyes. Returning it to its place, she reached for the ceramic soldier at its side, a quick wave of the rag clearing the muck from its face as well. Some days, she wondered if one of the fairies in Maria's old books left more dust as they flew away.

Maria. She hadn't thought that much about the girl for a time, not really since the end of her college education. Well, I suppose that wasn't all that long ago. Even though she had already been out of her house for years—even Josef's for...she couldn't remember how many years she had been with her daughter and son-in-law—but she did still worry over the girl whenever her mind turned to her. "I know you think you can look after yourself, Maria, but you did disappear off to Salzburg so quickly. You hardly had the certificate in your hand before you were on the train south." She frowned again. "It really was so sudden."

Elisabeth scrubbed at the triangular hat atop the soldier's red robe. Much more and she would be rubbing the color from the hat just like the face of the dog at his side. "Really, Maria, would it have been so hard to live your dream here in Vienna? Everyone you know is here. Though, I suppose…" Now, she turned her attention to his shoes, one of them chipped through the passing years. "You always seemed to want to stay here whenever Hannah brought you to visit. Though I'm glad you were thinking of her when you wrote."

There was rarely anything very important in the mail, these days, whether she retrieved it from the letterbox or had a chance to talk with the postman as he walked along the road. As the years went by, friendships had faded with time and distance, relations had aged and passed, and even magazines had turned fewer and fewer. Mostly just newspapers that arrived wrinkled whenever it rained, the occasional bill—sometimes a late payment notice whenever a proper bill went astray. The letter from Maria yesterday had been surprising, it had been months since she had written. Not so long as when she first hurried off to college, she had sent many notes from the dormitory, but only once—perhaps twice—since then. "Too busy, I suppose."

The toy soldier on the shelf again, a strange man in robes and a square hat coming away in her hand instead, a few books stacked in his arms, the curls of the wig hanging onto his shoulders. She peered down the shelf, the morning sunlight fractured through the little limbs and torsos, occasionally broken by the papers slipped between them; there weren't too many more. "I'll admit," she went on to herself, "it surprises me that you're so enamored with him." She swiped her cloth at the robed man: a judge, she had always supposed, his face surprisingly pale but for the pink circles on his cheeks. "You always were so wary of men, it seemed, when you came back to visit from school those few times, it was just your uncle here with Hannah." She placed the purported judge back beside his little friends, a little figure were late husband had brought back from England years ago, long before the war. Elisabeth blinked harshly, then scrubbed her palm against one of her eyes, needing to gulp down a fresh breath. It had ended so quickly, her marriage, Leopold in the grave so early, it felt they had hardly spent a day together. She shook her rag again, now just adding more dust to the floor to sweep away. Well, I suppose it just felt so short to me, I know it was for so many years. But she tried not to think about him when she could talk herself out of it. It will only upset me, I know that, even if I enjoyed our life together.

She moved down the line: the unicorn with the tip of its horn long broken away, the elephant with gold at the end of its tusks and a black mark on its backside. And always the tiny figure of the last Emperor. Elisabeth sighed, her rag moving still farther along the little ones waiting their turn.

She always loved spending time here, amongst the little trinkets she had collected over the years. They were such a weight, almost a reminder of what had been—what might be again. The world had changed so much, and it had done so so very quickly. The newspapers from the years of the war—those mourning the loss in the war, of territory and shorelines—they still stood between some of the little ceramic figurines along the shelf, some of the longer sheets upright, a few of those already folded by the newsboy simply shoved where they managed to stand still. All weathered and yellowed, wrinkled and corners bent by the constant dusting, occasionally even little fingers. Well, no little fingers any longer. She and Leopold only had Hannah, and somehow, she and Josef had never had a child of their own.

"It really wasn't fair," she murmured, folding the cloth between her hands. "How it all ended. After all, we didn't fire the first shot. But I don't suppose there's any point in thinking about it any longer. Just like..."

Elisabeth sighed and rubbed at her other eye, trying not to yawn as she wiped away the little tears blossoming. There was always so much to do on Saturdays. Tidying—certainly sweeping up the dust now on the floor—the last of the shopping ahead of the Sunday store closures, the washing. "Well, at least I don't have anyone else to look after, these days," she went on. Perhaps it would be nice to have you around the house again, Maria. At least I could send you out to the shops. Sometimes, the cold bit at her joints when she was walking down the road, basket in the crook of her arm. You did always like that—

A fist rattled the front door, two knocks—a pause—then again. She glanced up at the clock atop the mantle, long ago set between the family photographs she treasured. Just past eight— And again, even louder. Elisabeth smoothed out her apron, there probably wasn't enough time to straighten her dress if she unknotted the strings and tossed it aside. And once , the hinges creaking a little beneath her visitor's knuckles. Elisabeth pressed the worst of the wrinkles from her hair, her long gray hair still caught where she had tied it back after pulling her dress over her head.

The rug long ago thrown across the wooden floor was still worn here and there where the sofa had been shifted years ago though never since then like most of the house, both a touch threadbare though the faded red runner still covered the boards. Even in her own home, Elisabeth still occasionally snagged her foot on the worst of the bare patches, likely making them worse. Another few steps took her to the front door—she pulled it inward as the noise of the street and a gust of cool morning invaded the front room—and smiled. "Josef!" she said as she stood aside, opening the path into her home.

Her son-in-law nodded—worked at the buttons on his overcoat—not waiting for him even invite him in or even shrug aside his loosened coat, he simply strode across the threshold—through the front room and toward the kitchen as he often did on weekend mornings, though usually on Sundays rather than a Saturday. She snapped the door closed behind him, happy to lock out the sights and sounds of the new Viennese world. Well, I suppose it isn't all that new, she thought, her fingers tugging the knot of her apron apart, folding it between her hand before she settled it on the sofa as she walked past. I should at least look polite. I know you always wanted that, Leopold. And I always told Maria that as well.

Elisabeth knew what he wanted, it was rather the same every Saturday or Sunday morning, though usually Sundays. The same to accompany the cigarette he had already lit, in the seat he always had at her table, whether by himself or with Hannah, though they never seemed that happy anymore when they sat across from one another. She had never asked why he didn't simply ask her daughter Hannah to brew him coffee on those free weekend days, surely she must have done so each morning before he walked to his office. He must have, otherwise he would have found the time to stop in; there couldn't be enough time each morning to stop in a coffee shop. Perhaps I don't want to ask, and you do always complain about money, she thought, struggling not to waft away the first hints of smoke. "You know I don't like it when you smoke in here," she murmured, instead just concentrating on finding the percolator and coffee grounds.

He took good care of Hannah, Elisabeth reminded herself as she tipped back the metal lid, a little dented with the passage of years, just enough that particularly in the summer, she had trouble opening the body of the carafe. Or at least you must do so after so many years, she added to herself, turning to the sink and thrusting it beneath the tap. Later in the afternoon, the water might already be a little warm from ground—at least in the summer—but it was too cold in March. Elisabeth glanced down at her son-in-law as she turned away from the sink, his cigarette still enthusiastically between his lips. Her daughter didn't talk all that much about life with her husband, she never really had. Well, perhaps those first months—blushing when she thought she said too much—but not much beyond that. It makes more sense now, after so long, but I never quite understood why she was always so quiet.

They had always made a good match, Elisabeth felt as she walked across the kitchen to the stove, placing the metal pot on the burner then lighting the flame. What Hannah might have lacked in money to bring to a marriage—there had never been much to spare in the house when she was young, or even now, really—she at least brought a strong mind. And Josef, already a local judge when they were first introduced ("I should really remember how," Elisabeth told herself as she gave the percolator a thorough shake ahead of it whining atop the flame, "it just feels so long ago."), his reddish brown hair and dark brown eyes handsome, had a bright future waiting for him, the possibilities almost endless and certainly enough to look after her daughter and the grandchildren she awaited. Well, I suppose you can never tell what will be coming in life. I would never have had Maria in my house if we could.

Through the faint haze of smoke—not so thick as it had been he was younger and just a man courting her only daughter, but it was enough to still cloak him in a layer of milky grey—the lines of his face were somehow harsher than usual. The reddish hair was shot here and there with the first patches of grey as well, and his face was transformed. Tight and youthful when he first called on her at the weekend, Hannah's hand eagerly tucked into his elbow whenever he took her out for the afternoon, it was now lined and old after a lifetime of unhappiness. I've always wondered if it's why Hannah never talks about your life together, she thought as she opened one of the cupboards in need of a fresh coat of paint. Two coffee cups and saucers came out, one pair in each hand; one she set before Josef, trying not to breathe in a mouthful of the smoke, the other at the opposite end of the table for herself. He never smiled anymore, she had noticed that as the years wore on, just biting her lip now. But I know you've seen a lot with all the time in your courtroom. I just want to think that's why you're so unhappy, now.

She took the milk from the refrigerator and set it in the middle of the table, the top of the open jug happily sitting beneath the stench of Josef's cigarette. It couldn't be that much longer until he had burned through it; as much as she hated it to smell it, she had an ashtray both here and in the front room, he was here often enough. I wish you were here with Hannah, Elisabeth thought as she reached for the sugar. I know you won't want any, but I do rather like it. I know Hannah does, Maria, too— Oh, I'll have to tell you about the letter I had from her. Hannah will like to hear it.

"I didn't expect you to see you today, Josef." The percolator was whistling, the first drops of the brew threatening to spill from the curved spout. Hurrying back to the stove top, she turned the burner down—twisting it a little higher before it could snuff itself out—now leaving it just a hiss with an occasional puff of steam rising with the first scent of coffee, happily pushing back against the acrid burn of smoke. "But thank you for coming on Saturday rather than Sunday. Or at least you could be earlier on Sundays."

He snorted as he tapped the burnt end of his cigarette away. "I don't understand why."

Elisabeth shook her head, not bothering to say anything. Over the years as Josef's opinions had ripened—almost more bitter as they passed—she had learned not to argue, surely Hannah as well. "It's not that long before I need to go to mass when you usually do on Sunday—"

"Another thing I don't understand."

"I'm sure you do, Josef—"

"Maybe I did once. We all do foolish things." His fingers ran along the table, tapping out a quick rhythm. God, why hadn't he smoked another cigarette on the walk from his own house? Well, at least I'm away from the chatter. Even now, it feels like there's never any peace and quiet.

The coffee was moaning louder again, and she turned it down again, shaking her hand as one of the spatters of coffee landed between her knuckles. It won't be too much longer, she knew. Oh, she really did like her son-in-law, but she always hated when the conversation turned to this, it was always a divide between them. "It might be better for you. I know Hannah's church holds mass earlier than mine—"

"And now you know why I'm often at your table for a coffee on a Sunday morning."

It had to be done by now, Elisabeth decided, searching for a tea towel before she reached for the chipped wooden handle, the very bottom scorched after years of the flame running too high in the mornings. Turning back to the table and Josef, she breathed a little easier. The back end of the cigarette was already in the little ceramic tray. At least she had kept those from her husband after his passing, she hadn't been able to keep much anything else. Sometimes, his lingering memory felt as hollow as every memory in her front room. She took a deep breath. It's not the same, I know.

She poured the first round of coffee into Josef's cup, climbing the inner sides of the cup with a splash here and there. She didn't hold back, bringing his all the way up, though when she went to fill her own, Elisabeth left a little room for the milk and sugar, for the spoon to stir it all in without spilling over the saucer or table. Peering at it as she settled the percolator between them, she frowned. A dark mark in the middle, perhaps from where the pot had sat last Sunday, she always set it somewhere in the middle. It was time to scrub the table again.

Josef reached for his cup, raising it to his mother-in-law. At the very least, he should be polite. After all, her quiet house loaded with its memories of the world long gone was an escape from his own similarly cramped house. Sunday was the day he preferred to spend at her table for coffee and perhaps he might wander here on Saturday as well. At least he wouldn't have to listen to anything about God and church on Saturday, at least from Elisabeth. The little girl she had dumped on him and Hannah, though, sometimes she couldn't keep her mouth from running about it constantly, sometimes mixing the stories with the ones she couldn't resist telling herself, the names and tales always tumbling across the dinner table. He took a first sip, the coffee searing his mouth. "You were the person the little whore learned it from."

Across the table, still stirring all the milk and sugar into her coffee, his mother-in-law looked up as she scraped a few strands of ancient grey hair from her face. "I'm sorry?"

Another sip of coffee even as his cup shook before his lips, he hadn't meant to say it aloud. Even though it's right."It's nothing, Elisabeth, just a slip of the tongue."

The girl had been his torment since the day Elisabeth sent her to his household, hardly anything to her name. Books and a few dresses, some trinkets from her father in the ragged carpetbag in one hand, guitar in the other, not really anything else to her name. He quickly divested her of all the fancier ones he could find, if she wouldn't earn her keep any other way. There were a few she had hidden, he knew that, how she skittered about her room whenever he was there, standing in front of this—her arms tucked back to protect that. Everything about her was ragged, from the hem of her skirt to the ends of her hair, and she was even thinner than when she finally ran away to college. You grew up rather than out, at least, he thought, taking yet another sip of coffee, the black brew already cooling a little, watery and almost thin, if a drink could be. Elisabeth likely hadn't let it sit long enough. I suppose she wouldn't really do that, unlike my wife. God, some days he couldn't stand to look at her, hear her little snipes when she thought he wasn't listening. At least you learned to be quiet quickly, girl.

Whereas Hannah's waist had grown through the years despite never bearing the children that Elisabeth and his own parents long expected—nearly demanded—Maria had only grown taller as she moved to the following class when each autumn dawned. She had still disappeared on most Sunday mornings with Hannah or Elisabeth, always managing to find her way to mass to listen to the same nonsense again and again. But at least she kept her mouth shut whenever she finally returned, back to sweeping and tidying, always shrinking away from him whenever he came near. Probably for the best that you learned, you little witch.

"Quite timely of you to come by."

Yet another clink of Elisabeth's steel spoon against porcelain pulled him back from the little daydreams of years ago. He shuddered at the bitter coffee in his mouth, pulling his coat down lower along his torso as a shudder coursed up his back. "Hmm?"

"I had a letter from Maria, this week." His mother-in-law pushed her chair away from the table; Josef used the chance to search for a new cigarette in his pocket. Elisabeth might shudder, but he remembered his father-in-law with a cigarette between his fingers any time he and Hannah bothered to stop in, though he supposed his wife thought of it all rather differently. "I suppose you might like to read it," she went on as she turned to the tiled counter, long ago in need of seeing to, shuffling through the pile of letters that had grown smaller through the years. I suppose everyone you know is dying one by one.

God, it was the little sounds he couldn't stand, whether it was the rustling of those letters now, his wife scrubbing at dishes and splashing the water here and there when all he needed was the quiet, or the stupid little girl strumming at her father's guitar ever more quietly after he slammed his hand against her bedroom door. "Hannah more than me—"

"She lived in your house for years, Josef, you should be kinder!" Elisabeth snapped as she turned around, one of the letters from the stack in her hand. Was it right? I know you never wanted to go back with him—and how Hannah never talks about anything—

He yanked his hand from his pocket, almost catching his finger at a hole at the bottom seam. The matches were already lost, even if he had just found them a few minutes earlier. "To a little girl I hadn't really known until she was nine or ten?"

"That isn't the point—and it isn't right, you knew her when she lived here, at least for a while."

He drained his cup—and returning to the table, Elisabeth refilled it with coffee that was certainly even more rank than the first, more tannic as it cooled with the grounds festering at the bottom of the pot. "Isn't it?" Christ, if it wasn't for the quiet at times, I don't think I could stand you, either. "And don't forget, she lived in yours, too, until you dropped her onto us."

"Josef! She wrote because she knows that!"

He just nodded as she took her seat again, a finger beneath his collar, tugging it from his neck, his skin suddenly turning hot. "She wasn't much better than sweeping the floor or keeping her room tidy...I suppose." You always owed me a little more, girl. It was always toward the middle of the night—usually a second glass of the cheaper wine Hannah insisted they drink rather than something nicer, though it always refused to settle his stomach or mind—when he stumbled past her door. Every now and then, his hand caught at the knob, the hinges rattling but refusing to turn when his mind was a little too inebriated. Or at least once, she must have heard it, the thud of her body against inside of the door crushing it closed again. It must have been that, there was no lock to hold him back if he'd truly demanded it. "She'd rather be reading one of those silly books she brought with her."

Across from him, Elisabeth sighed, sipping at her own coffee. Some weekend days, Josef was a pleasant companion across the table, offering his opinions on some of the rumblings to the north, the little changes in the laws and court cases that had passed before his bench. But other days, rather like this morning, she was eager for him to leave. Impatient, really, though she wasn't certain if she wanted to send him back to her only daughter. "It was what her father always hoped for." She tried not to think about her cousin when she could, all the unhappiness that had infested his life through the years. You could have at least looked after your little girl. She was pleasant enough when she didn't have her head in the clouds. And I think she would have done you far more good than me. "He was always a curious man—an adventurer, sometimes—that's what the family said, and I'm sure he would be happy—"

"But what of her?" Josef didn't even let her finish, not caring as his cup crashed down against its saucer, probably adding another chip to the edge.

Elisabeth slid the letter across to him—he snatched it up quickly, before she could change her mind and drag it back. "She's in Salzburg, now, you know—"

He twisted his mouth, his gaze running across the first words. "Back where her mother came from?"

She shook her head. "Not quite, but it was somewhere close, Karl never really told me and it was so long ago. Even if she grew up in Vienna, I suppose she'll always love the mountains."

"In her blood?"

"She always loved the parks, even when I sent her on errands. She's teaching, now. Some sort of city school, she said she feels like she understands them for once."

"Little urchins like herself."

"No—"

"Give me a moment to read it, if you think I should care what she's doing now."

Her script was neat, far better than he remembered when he demanded she show him her papers, almost a little disappointed whenever her marks were higher than he expected, giving him no chance to justify having her across his knee as a victim of his hand; Hannah complained initially, but the first time he had slapped her out of course—something she had said, just a stupid woman—she had protested. But at least she hasn't for years, Josef reminded himself, his eyes skimming the first lines.

Mother,

I know it's been far too long since I've written. I just feel so much is happening, right now. Well, maybe it isn't so much happening, but it's starting to. My students are a little calmer, right now. They have been since we finished the exams at end of last term, but now I suppose we're just looking ahead to end of year exams. Already! Or at least I always thought of it that way. They always feel a world away, not just a few weeks* months.

Salzburg really is lovely, I know you haven't been for years. Sometimes, I glance up and there are the mountains, trying to break through the clouds and up into the sky. I could just walk up them and never look back, I feel. It's so lovely, especially when the clouds do break.

I even

Just a couple

Forgive me, Mother, I tried to write this twice before— And not just this letter, it was a mess when I tried before, I know you can see how it is just there. But I've even met someone, I don't know how else to say it. You would like Georg, I think, he was in the navy during the Great War Or maybe you wouldn't, and you would just say I'm just spending time with him to make up for all the time I didn't have with my father. But I don't think so. He's retired from the navy and I don't think he's done much since then, though he said the navy did take care of him, in the end. I wish he would do something to keep his mind occupied, he's always just pushing some thought to the back of his mind—it's always clinging to him. He's asked me to spend this coming Thursday afternoon with him—I'll probably have done so by the time you read this. I don't quite know where, just somewhere in the city, so...Oh I don't know what to think of it, Mother. I suppose I'll have already been there with him when you read this letter. I'm going on again, I just told you that before. I'm always thinking of him when I'm not with him. I know my uncle wouldn't approve, I know he doesn't approve of most things.

But, forgive me again, Mother, I do know it has been some time. I hope winter is easing in Vienna, it seems to come and go as it pleases here. I do want to see spring in Salzburg, I've only seen the city when it was waiting for winter to start, or buried in the snow and ice. Georg would probably say me not being able to walk on the winter street is why we met. Twice. It's such an interesting story, Mother, I hope I can tell you someday. Or, well, some of Salzburg is buried in winter now, the earliest buds are beginning to flower.

I shall try to write more often, though with all that I need to think about with my weekly lesson plans, I don't know when I shall have the time. Please give Uncle Josef and Aunt Hannah my love.

Maria

Josef's hand tightened on the paper, already a little wrinkled with its time in the mail and torn where it had been snagged by Elisabeth's silver-plated letter opener, tarnish still managing to creep from the welding at the top of the handle. Don't you dare tell me something about myself, you little wretch. He tossed it back across the table, instead reaching for his cup, catching the rim between his lips before it could begin shaking. You really do remember, don't you, Maria? he thought, the coffee scalding his throat just like his mouth before. Or perhaps you don't. I don't think you would be so eager to tell your foster mother anything if you did. But at least the last of his second cup of coffee was gone—his moment to escape.

"I suppose I should even be proud of her—"

"Proud?" He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. I still think she took all the coins from my desk before she ran off to check into her dormitory.

"She's only nineteen—though I suppose she would say she's going on twenty instead—and she already has her diploma."

Josef snorted again, scraping the bottom of his chair legs on the tile. God, he couldn't listen his mother-in-law talk about the girl any longer. "She always was a wayward child."

"She's just a girl, Josef—"

"And I just looked after her for years as you so kindly reminded me a few minutes ago." He buttoned his coat, the buttons opened as soon as he stepped through the front door. These last weeks, he hadn't needed a scarf around his neck nor gloves on his hands. For the best this morning, Josef knew, his skin was burning just with his clothes and winter coat. Even now, whenever he stepped outside—the warmth of Elisabeth's home vanishing into the morning air—the sweat would still be blooming against his collar.

"Young girls are silly, sometimes, you remember that."

He crashed back into her kitchen, nodding even as his drifted away again. "Certainly." The girl had been too young to understand when she first arrived, scrubbing her face and hands in the washroom as he and Hannah talked with Elisabeth about the little girl's habits, what he later thought of as her stupidity. His mother-in-law was hardly through the door before he was digging through the ragged carpetbag, already searching for what he quickly found were the treasures from her father before she could hide them as thoroughly as a little girl could. He allowed her to keep them for a time when they came in the mail, but especially after the news of her father's passing arrived, they disappeared little by little, providing the money to look after her. He twisted his mouth, still burning with Elisabeth's acrid coffee. It had been those first days, really. Those first days he saw how Maria tormented him as Hannah pulled her into her lap, one of those ancient books the girl had brought in that disgusting bag in her hands, reading one story after another—giggling in her ear as she squirmed about, her dress rising higher and higher along her little legs, leaving him wondering...There were no stockings, just stark white Austrian skin—perhaps soon German skin, he almost hoped—only that peeking from beneath the wrinkled bottom hem of her skirt until her short socks started at her ankles, the only pair of shoes she owned left beside the door until she had to walk to school the next morning. Or church with Hannah.

"But I'll have to take my leave," he finally murmured. Even just walking through the front room...God, the memories would haunt him. At least if you're so concerned with church, Maria, I know you aren't a mongrel.

"Oh." Elisabeth pushed her own chair back, despite her own cup of coffee still lingering before her. "Here, I'll see you out—"

"No," Josef snapped, shaking his head before she could say anything else. "Thank you. I'm sure you'll want to finish tidying. I know you do that on a Saturday morning." I don't think I could listen to you talk about her any longer. "I saw your dust rag there when I came through."

He still remembered her from some of those early afternoons, the last when he had to bring Hannah from the house before they foolishly exchanged vows before a man in a white robe, indulging her silly wants with her mother and friends beside her. And even more as she grew, even when she was still a little girl divested from her father and constantly murmuring about the rare letters she treasured until he finally threw them into the rubbish bin one day. Always a little taller, her hair a little longer and more wild, her face and features never particularly refined but pleasing. Pleasing to the eye and...Josef took a deep breath, almost remembering the smell rising up when he rifled his fingers through her hair the first evening she spent in his home, never quite knowing when it was going to end. Lovely, and addictive in how you stank. Just of youth and...Until I had to slap you and remind you of what you needed to do around the house.

He hadn't meant it that day, Josef still told himself, he truly hadn't. The list of cases awaiting him that morning had haunted him through the night; he hadn't slept well through the night, nothing quite enough to calm him. An extra glass of his wife's preferred local—inexpensive—wine hadn't been enough, not even demanding his wife strip her clothes away was enough to soothe the churning. Neither that nor the dozen or so strokes he allowed himself in her body before he pushed her away, already tired of her growing curves and the softness around her hips. The next morning, he hadn't been able to stand listening to her chatter, the endless little stories Maria told herself as she swept the kitchen floor, murmuring about one of the imaginary family members who always huddled in her head, waiting for another story to be whispered about over the broom or table. One barked command for her to be quiet was unheeded—another probably lost in the gurgling coffee on one of the burners and the scratching of the broom's straws, a little more worn since the girl had become the one to handle it, always scraping it against the tile. Slow, painfully slow as she wandered around the kitchen. Another scratch—scratch—scratch— "Goddammit, you stupid girl!" It had spilled from his mouth before he could bite it back, his hand flying across her face and sending her sprawled across the still dusty floor. The blood was already streaming from her nose as she scrambled to stand—pulling her dress down over her scrawny pale legs, covering everything—

Josef stood a little straighter as he crossed the kitchen threshold, back into the front room with all its memories, its little trinkets. Austria-Hungary, the war, God...Just like everything I took off of you, Maria. You didn't need them and you weren't earning your keep any other way— He ran a hand along the back of his neck, the sweat already prickling, soaking into his collar. Her nose had been swollen that night, though happily the blood was long gone and her chatter was absent from the dinner table as they all picked at the tough beef and bland potatoes on their plates. (He didn't know how she had explained things at school, quite frankly, he didn't care.) And how she hurried into her room after the washing up was finished, not even stopping to shower. No more illusions for you then, you little whippersnapper—me as well. The entire household had ignored the bump that never vanished from the middle of her nose, not even saying a thing the day she ran back to his mother-in-law's house one evening, only to be dumped back on their doorstep anew, shivering in the cold without her coat. Away from me. He fastened another button on his coat.If it had only been Hannah or Elisabeth, I think you might have stayed when you were older, you did always like them. But good thing you did, Maria, I don't think I could have stood it much longer.

He hurried across the rest of the front room—through the door and onto the street, into the midst of Vienna, still quiet on a Saturday morning. At least the cars on the street and the chatter silenced the thoughts that had suddenly risen again, Maria suddenly in his mind again and so stark before him. Josef tightened his coat, hands in his pocket and fingers already searching for those matches he hadn't been able to find in Elisabeth's kitchen. He pulled them out—found a cigarette to pair with it—both hands shaking again as the flame shivered in the gentle breeze. Not even the first rush of nicotine into his lungs stopped the shaking, suddenly remembering...You really were a little girl, not knowing when you could run around after a bath or not until Elisabeth smacked your backside. His hands shook harder, the cigarette almost slipping from his fingers. "You were born to be my torment." Taking another deep breath through his cigarette, Josef let his head fall back, his hair just grazing his collar. The next free afternoon he had, he would have to visit the local barber. Bringing it back up into the breeze, he let the smoke rush back past his lips.

Sometimes, when his wife's hair was knotted in her rollers at night—she did still have her vanity after so many years, even though he hardly touched her anymore, preferring her to placate his anger than his affection—his mind still turned to her. A girl. And my torment. One more deep drag of smoke into his lungs. Your father couldn't have known it when he dropped you on her front step, I know she's said he couldn't stand to look at you, just like yourolder brother. And then another, the last hardly cleared from his mouth. But you're not his anymore, not even Elisabeth's, really. He could see her in those worn dresses she always looked after, trying to smooth the wrinkles away after each day when Hannah told her it was time to bathe before she went to bed. Salzburg or not, you're still mine if I want you. The train isn't so long or expensive as I think you believe it is, you wouldn't have written to Elisabeth if you truly understood how easily...How easily I could be there. And there.

It wouldn't be too long before the cigarette was smoldering between his fingertips—possibly caught in his fingernails—but Josef intended to gulp down every bit of smoke he could manage. There might not be time for the tobacconist's shop this afternoon, and it would be closed the following day just like all the rest of the stores that still listened to old those old myths. But he would need another soon. "What do you look like now, Maria?" he murmured around the filter, pinching it tighter as he flicked the ash onto the sidewalk. At least they had looked after the roads these last few years. "I'm guessing you're still the little girl who pilfered all those coins."

Her hair hardly tied back in her hurry to pack her carpetbag and make her way to the bus, disappearing down the road without even looking back. Running away, girl, running away a second time. He paused at the next crossroad, glancing either way before stepping from the smoother pavement onto the cobblestone, though really, the sidewalk could be seen to as well. It's almost a confession, I've told many a young man that in my courtroom.

Hannah had suffered immensely under his hand that night, pushing at him—struggling to shove him from her when his attentions to her nearly turned vicious, hardly even a kiss to soften his greed and fingers grabbing at the rolls in her skin he couldn't stand anymore. When his eyes were open, it was just his wife squirming beneath him, refusing to look at him, her gaze at the ceiling, unable to look at him. Little wonder there had never been a child of their own running about the house; it had only been months after those vows that he regretted it all, just smiling as they wandered to her mother's house, through his now dead parents' home. And really, it wasn't all that bad. An occasional prostitute here or there had satisfied him at night when she was wooden and the girl's door was shut tighter than usual, though he never quite managed to open it. But when he allowed himself to close his eyes, it was no longer the hair in rollers, long ago greying and breaking at the ends, breasts heavy and drooping as the years demanded they fall just as the years called for her waist to spread. It was the fair hair always out of control, the thin legs forced wide open for him even as her fingers scratched at his chest just like his wife's did whenever he demanded her—desperate to keep him away from her—almost threatening to leave blood—

Josef shook his hand, the embers at the tip of his cigarette finally reaching his fingertips. Christ, you'll be the death of me, girl. His hand was already in his pocket again, needing another. "You didn't remember what I told you, I know you didn't." He struck the match he broke from the book as he tugged the latest cigarette from the paper package, just catching it before a gust along the road nearly snuffing it out. God, he was almost gulping the smoke down, he needed it to calm his nerves.

There was the next intersection, always busier than the next was. At least it wasn't too many more blocks until his own house awaited him. He would have to tug Hannah from her tidying, just like her mother, see to her to calm the rage burning beneath his belt. The sweat was almost overflowing beneath his shirt, seeing that damn girl almost every time he blinked. "You've learned not to complain too much, I'm sure she hasn't learned enough with…" He glanced either way before hurrying across the road, dodging the pedestrians coming the other way. What is his name? Josef had already forgotten. I'm not sure it even matters, girl, you always told so many stories. I'm not sure I'll believe you until I see him in the front room.

Another deep breath brought a fresh rush of smoke into his lungs, the cigarette already threatening to reach his fingers against, stained yellow and brown after years of always searching for the next cigarette, the next cigar when he could afford them. (That never happened now, money had been too tight this last year.) And I don't think I know if I'll believe it even if I see you with a ring on your finger, some day. I think I'll be slapping you to stop your stories again, just like when you were a girl who couldn't quite keep her skirt pulled down around her legs. Even more burning in his throat as he took another breath. You did always forget yourself.

Josef glanced up, more familiar buildings appearing as he walked along the next block. There were far more people than when he had left. Everyone else eager to do their shopping before the Sunday store closures, and still nothing to imagine in compared to the throngs who would be wandering the streets to mass the next day. His wife—his mother-in-law—the girl would all be there. But never him.

Josef could count the steps back to his home, an ancient house tucked into the back streets of Kagran, the noise of Vienna muffled. And if I'm not careful, Maria, I'll forget myself as well, you'll be back someday. I've known it for years: you would be so lovely beneath me with your legs open. A final deep drag on the cigarette before he tossed it aside, the last embers hissing as they landed in a puddle from the rain the previous evening. Even if I had to hold you down. And then maybe you would understand you'll never really be able to run away from me.

* Since it appears you can't use strikethrough in a document, this is how I'm going to indicate that going forward if necessary.

A/N: If you spot any missing spaces, particularly around italics, quotation marks, sentence transitions...Don't worry, I'm on the hunt for them. The file I uploaded doesn't have them; the site has been chewing up my files in that regard. I type better than that, I am also a spelling and grammar Nazi, so messing up something that simple almost feels like a personal attack on myself. As a reminder, the rating will be changing soon, so if you want to continue to read this, I would suggest putting your notification bells on. Also, to get ahead of comments, in this story, I view Maria as a person who has had life walk all over her in many unpleasant ways (I feel that on a spiritual level), but has managed to free herself from it in this moment in her life. Clearly, this chapter is depicting child abuse on many levels, as well as spousal abuse. Bad bad bad, but ir does happen.

I was listening to both of the Jekyll & Hyde soundtracks at work today for the first time in a while; perhaps "inflicting them on my boss" is a better way to phrase that. And on the Broadway album, up came "Façade (Reprise 3)". I had to get buttermilk to brine the chicken and I had evil villain fingers running in front of my face. Because...yes. I saw this over twenty years ago and have been obsessed ever since. The version from the Broadway Channel starring David Hasselhoff...not so much. (Do I still own that DVD? Absolutely, I'll never find it again.) This song can still give me goosebumps, it is sung in such a haunting way.

"If you live around here, lotsa people, I fear,
Will make promises they will not honor, my dear.
An' the truth is, you end up getting scarred!

There's a beast at the door, an' he's wild and free,
But we won't let him in, 'cause we don't want to see…
What is lurking right behind the façade."