'Titles of nobility have been abolished,' he explained. 'We're not allowed them even on our cards. Yes, things are improving. Things are certainly improving.'
They heard a far-off keening behind them, followed by a thunderous crash.
'What was that?' asked Colette, starting almost out of her seat.
'It's nothing, Mademoiselle,' replied the coachman. 'It comes from the Wienerwald, the Vienna woods, the loveliest woods in the world. They are chopping down its trees.'
'At this hour?' said Younger. 'Who?'
'Everyone, Monsieur. It's illegal, but people have no choice. There is no more coal to burn. Only wood. They go at night to avoid arrest. When winter comes, many will have no heat at all. You've come from Paris?'
'New York,' said Younger.
'Is Monsieur American?'
Younger allowed that he was.
'I beg your pardon; I thought you were French. Then you must accept this ride with my compliments. Austria owes you its deepest thanks.'
Younger was surprised at this offer and said so.
'A defeated country does not ordinarily express gratitude toward its foe?' asked the coachman. 'It's our children I'm thanking you for. Your relief packages are still their chief source of food. Do you know Mr Stockton — your charge d'affaires? I drove him to the station last month. He had just received a letter from the Chief Justice of our Supreme Court, asking if the judges could have a relief package too.'
'What will happen,' asked Colette, 'to the children if they have no heat this winter?'
'They'll die, I imagine, many of them. Here we are — 19 Berggasse. I hope Dr Freud is well.'
Younger, letting himself out and extending his hand to Colette, raised an eyebrow at their exceedingly knowledgeable coachman.
'When foreigners visit the Berggasse,' explained the driver, 'there can be only one reason.'
Younger asked if he would be so kind as to wait for them while they called on the Freuds. Oktavian said he would be most willing.
It was Freud's wife's sister, Minna Bernays, who answered the door to the second-floor apartment. Although they were expected, Miss Bernays wouldn't let them in, explaining that Dr Freud and his wife, Martha, had retired early. She was asking if they could come back tomorrow when a deep male voice intervened, declaring his retirement to be much exaggerated.
Their greetings were cordial. Much was made of Luc being a full head taller. 'Well, Minna,' observed Freud, 'Martha was mistaken, as I predicted she would be.' To Younger and Colette, he explained: 'My wife was certain the two of you would be married before the year was out.'
'The year's not over yet,' said Younger.
'She meant 1919,' Freud replied drily.
'Then tell her there is still hope for 1920,' said Younger.
'I've given you no reason to hope, Stratham,' Colette rebuked him. 'Not for any year.'
Younger, stung, resolved to make light of it: 'In that case I'll schedule the wedding for midnight December thirty-first,' he said, 'which doesn't belong to any year.'
Colette turned to Minna Bernays and said, 'He's hopeless.'
'First she chides you for hoping,' Freud replied to Younger, 'then for being hopeless. Women — what do they want?'
Sigmund Freud looked his age, sunk deep in an armchair in his study. A furrow knit his white brows into a scowl. His usually frenetic chow, Jofi, curled sympathetically at the master's feet. They had talked of the Wall Street bombing, the kidnapping, and the collapse of the finances of the psychoanalytic association. Freud's son Martin had finally been released from prison. 'His first act of freedom,' Freud said, 'was to relinquish it. He got married.'
Colette thanked Freud for agreeing to treat her brother.
'I haven't agreed to treat him,' answered Freud. 'I wrote you, Fraulein, stipulating my one condition. You didn't answer.'
Colette made no reply.
'I'm too old and too busy for half measures,' said Freud. 'I take very few new patients now; I only have time to train others to do so. Every new hour I take on is an hour lost for my own work. Psychoanalysis, Miss Rousseau, is not accomplished in a few days. You must be prepared to stay in Vienna for a very substantial period.'
'But I — have no means, no work,' said Colette.
'That's your concern,' answered Freud, his sharpness surprising Younger. 'If I'm to treat your brother, I must have your word that you will remain in Vienna this time as long as it takes.'
'I'm sorry,' said Colette. 'I don't know.'
Freud rose slowly, went to the window, opened it. A fresh night breeze tousled his white hair. From the little courtyard below, where Count Oktavian's carriage waited, came the stamping and neighing of horses. Freud took a deep breath. 'So,' he said, his back to Younger and Colette. 'Have you ever dreamt, Fraulein, of a child being beaten?'
'I beg your pardon?' said Colette.
'Have you?'
Colette hesitated. 'How did you know that?'
'Sometimes without knowing who is doing the beating?'
'Yes,' said Colette.
'It is a surprisingly common dream in women who feel they should be punished for something,' said Freud. 'Well, it's clear you didn't come to Vienna specifically to have your brother see me. It follows you have some other business. Based on your remark to Younger in the foyer, I can only conclude that you are here to find and marry your fiancй, the one who was in jail the last time you were here. That would explain your uncertainty about whether or how long you will be in Vienna. You don't know where he lives now — perhaps not in Austria at all — is that it?'
Colette was astonished.
'It's all right,' Younger said to her. 'He does this sort of thing all the time.'
'The real mystery,' said Freud, 'is how you managed to persuade Younger, your fiancй's rival, to join you on such a journey. I must say I find that impressive — and puzzling.'
'You're not the only one,' said Younger.
'Well, none of this affects my position,' said Freud. 'In case, Fraulein, you decide you are serious about finding employment here, I'll give you the address of Vienna's Radium Institute. I'm told it is excellent, and they hire women without compunction. I'm also going to give you the name and address of an old friend, a neurologist.' A smile, brief and not cheerful, passed over Freud's face as he wrote them a note. 'He has a treatment for war neuroses far more expeditious than mine. I can't vouch for what he does, but many believe in it, and since you seem interested in attempting a quick cure for your brother, Miss Rousseau, it would be remiss on my part not to mention him. As for you, Younger, it's high time we settled our unfinished business. I have an hour free at eleven tomorrow morning. I'll see you then.'
'I told you he could be brusque,' said Younger as their carriage clopped down the cobblestoned Berggasse toward the Danube canal.
'He's so very sad,' answered Colette.
'Freud? Tired, I think,' replied Younger. 'And angry — I'm not sure why.'
'Pragmatic, I would have said,' reflected Oktavian, their coachman. 'Professional.'
'I've never seen such sad eyes,' said Colette.
'I didn't find them sad at all,' replied Younger.
'Ah, there, you must take me out of it,' declared Oktavian. 'I could hear him from the window, but I couldn't see his eyes.'
'That's because you never know what other people are feeling,' Colette said to Younger. 'It's a good thing you gave up psychology. You're like a blind man.'
