The Subject seemed very pleased with that answer.
9 APRIL 1967, SUNDAY
“You look well, Brano. Not so lonely anymore?”
“I get out some.”
“Sure,” said Ludwig. “It’s good to see. We were a little dismayed by that depressive crap you pulled at first. But we know as well as you that Vienna can be a very alienating place. It’s funny how, the bigger a city is, the more people it has, the more alienating it becomes.”
“Yes. That’s a funny thing.”
“And you know what, Brano? You’re a damn lucky man.”
“I never thought of myself that way.”
“Open your eyes. I once knew a girl in Heidelberg. A beautiful girl. We were going to school together. She was from Amsterdam, over for a few weeks. On her last night we-well, you can imagine. It was dark, the stars were out, I was charming… it was wonderful. Really. I think back, and even after all these years, that girl was the best I ever had. Can you believe it? A nineteen-year-old girl.”
“I can believe it.”
“But then she left. The next day. I was completely and utterly in love, and you know what?”
“What?”
“Her parents had moved while she was gone, so the address and phone number I had were no good. I learned this from the new tenants, but they didn’t know where the family was. I was truly and completely screwed.”
“Is this leading somewhere, Ludwig?”
“I think you know what it’s leading to. Your girl is back. It was obvious to even to our denser associates on Friday that you are still hooked.”
“Then it must be true.”
“Don’t kid me, Brano. You’re a romantic, just like the rest of us. You’ve found her again. Don’t tempt fate by screwing this up.”
“You know what, Ludwig?”
“What’s that?”
“I just might do what you suggest.”
The Austrian raised his whiskey. “I give a lot of useless advice, I know this. But with love I know what I’m talking about.”
“You seem to.”
Ludwig grinned. “Okay, Brano. Enough of that. Tell me what you and the great Filip Lutz have been talking about.”
“A lot of things. Primarily him. He’s got a huge ego.”
“That’s true. But he’s good at what he does.”
“If what he does is being a slanderer.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“He talked about his interviews with exiles. I suspect he embellishes their stories before they make it into print.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because otherwise you won’t pad his bank account.”
Ludwig’s grin spread over his face and his lips parted to let out one short laugh- Heh. “You really believe that?”
“He’s got a new car, a Fiat.”
Ludwig shrugged. “He’s just a smart capitalist. You know how much longer Lutz thinks your anachronistic system has left?”
“Three years.”
“What do you think of that?”
“I think Filip Lutz is an optimistic man.”
Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest. “You want to take a little walk? It’s a beautiful day.”
Ludwig paid, took the receipt, and gave Brano his hat. They made themselves small to squeeze around the packed tables, and once they were outside, the Austrian asked Brano if he had a cigarette. Brano lit two. As they passed the flags of many nations fluttering in front of the Hotel Sacher, Brano said, “What’s on your mind?”
Ludwig took a drag. “I just wanted to give you some advice.”
“I thought you’d already done that.”
“Not about love, Brano. I want to warn you not to escape anymore.”
“We’ve been through this, haven’t we?”
Ludwig didn’t say anything until they had turned onto Kartner Stra?e. “It’s different now. You have to realize that when I picked you up and then gave you that apartment, I did it of my own accord. My associates have never made a secret of their disagreement.”
“What do they want you to do?”
“They don’t care what deals I’ve made. They want you in prison, Brano. And they don’t want you to ever come out.”
“I see.”
“I’m not sure you do.” Ludwig tossed away his half-smoked cigarette. “I’ve had a few poor years in the service. Some mistakes have been mine, others were my responsibility. And when you eluded us a couple weeks ago, my associates reminded me of each mistake. I’ve had to fight hard to maintain our deal, to keep you out of prison. But if you leave again, it will be out of my hands.”
“And what about you?”
“What?”
“What happens to you?”
Ludwig frowned. “There’s an open desk in Accounting-I’ve been told this more times than I’d like to remember.”
“Oh.”
The Austrian patted Brano’s shoulder. “Just go see your girl and get out of my hair, okay?”
Brano caught the number 38 tram north to Doblinger Hauptstra?e, got out, and paused, looking up. Hers was the concrete tower near the corner, up from the train overpass. It was noticeably plain in a city of Habsburg baroque. He waited with a small crowd for the light to cross the street. Once he reached her building, he glanced back as the sunburned man sneezed into a handkerchief. Brano entered the building.
On a panel were three strips of buzzers above a speaker grille, FRANKOVIC halfway down the last row. He pressed it and waited.
Through the glass doors behind him, the sunburned man took a small 35 mm camera from his trench coat and brought it to his eye.
“Ja?” said the speaker. “Wer ist da?”
He opened his mouth.
“Hallo?”
“Dijana?”
A pause. Then his language. “Is you?”
“ Pa da,” he said.
The door buzzed, and he pushed through.
He couldn’t remember if she was on the third floor or the fourth, so he took the stairs instead of the elevator, recalling the last time he’d taken these stairs, in August, following as she walked in her tight, flesh-colored pants, one hand reaching back, holding his. But unlike then, his knees tingled, and he couldn’t tell if he was moving fast or slow until his quick, shallow breaths began to make him dizzy. His palms were dripping.
