Read Online Against the Wind by Brock Thoene, Bodie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brock Thoene, Bodie
Tags: Against the Wind
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yet I am beginning to feel it is inevitable.
I am so proud of Rudy Dorbransky. He is our concertmaster, the leading musician of our orchestra. Tonight he proves his leadership.
We are all onstage, waiting for the performance to commence. Just after Rudy steps out of the wings some madman in the upper gallery shouts, “No Jews on our stage! Heil Hitler!” and “Germany for Germans!”
Then he shoots at Rudy!
The bullet strikes the stage and more shots follow. Through the fusillade Rudy protects the Guarnerius.
Rudy is not hurt, but someone calls for a doctor. Someone has been wounded.
A dozen men beat and wrestle the shooter to the ground. He is hauled away shouting, “Germany and Austria are one! Death to the Jews!”
“A crazy man,” I say.
Leah is crying and hugging Rudy. She says to me, “If Hitler comes, he’ll have forty thousand crazy men just like that one with him.”
Rudy raises his violin and the auditorium falls silent. “Herr Wertheim is wounded. A flesh wound only. He will recover.”
Applause from the concertgoers.
Rudy continues, “The criminal is behind bars. We pray he will never recover.”
Much clapping and tears of joy.
Rudy flourishes the violin. “Our instruments are undamaged. Let the concert continue. It is the Biedermeier thing to do.”
Biedermeier : simple and graceful. In Vienna, it means we are family and we pull together.
Wild applause and cheering.
We play as never before and receive six curtain calls and a continuous roll of applause. Austrian spirit as displayed by Rudy will never fall to Nazi oppression.
Leah is wrong.
John Murphy is wrong.
He is in the audience and sees it all.
He meets Leah and me at the stage door after the concert. He offers to buy us coffee at the Hotel Sacher. He says he has bought tickets for every performance until the sixth of January.
I remember last year when I sent him away, telling him the concerts were all sold out.
Leah, pleading the excuse that Shimon is home ill, deserts me.
I ask Mr. Murphy if he is a music lover.
He asks about my father and my mother and tells me again I should not still be in Vienna. He says what happens tonight proves it.
Then he grows very forward. “I feel responsible for you,” he says. “Like I need to look after you.”
This after I haven’t seen him for a year!
When he teases me about how we met on the train, I slap his face. When he apologizes and says, “Good night,” I correct him and say, “Good-bye.” Then, with great dignity, I depart and leave him frozen there on the sidewalk.
But secretly, I wish he would follow me….
5 A traditional Gypsy song, recited in a lecture entitled “Deep Song,” by Federico Garcia Lorca in Granada, Spain, on Feb 19, 1922, and translated by A.S. Kline, © 2008. http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Spanish/DeepSong.htm
8
LONDON BLITZ
SUMMER 1940
T here was a saying that the only way a man could get out of the infantry was on a stretcher or six feet under. That was also the only way civilians could escape the front lines of the Battle of Britain.
In those difficult days there were more civilians wounded during the Blitz than soldiers on the battlefield. Hospital wards overflowed into great houses of private estates, where volunteers were recruited to fill in for the lack of medical personnel.
On our days off from the BBC, Mariah, Raquel, and I continued to do our bit. Our performers auxiliary often traveled outside of London to military and civilian hospitals.
Raquel was the custodian of the three young girls with whom she had escaped from Fascist Spain, and then from Paris just ahead of the Nazis. Mariah lived with her widowed sister, Patsy, and Patsy’s two small children. Raquel’s three girls stayed with Patsy when we traveled out to entertain the wounded.
At least one day a week I kissed my darling Murphy farewell at Paddington Station and set off to perform in person for the wounded and the heartsick.
Mariah’s sparkling green eyes, copper red hair, and
I am so proud of Rudy Dorbransky. He is our concertmaster, the leading musician of our orchestra. Tonight he proves his leadership.
We are all onstage, waiting for the performance to commence. Just after Rudy steps out of the wings some madman in the upper gallery shouts, “No Jews on our stage! Heil Hitler!” and “Germany for Germans!”
Then he shoots at Rudy!
The bullet strikes the stage and more shots follow. Through the fusillade Rudy protects the Guarnerius.
Rudy is not hurt, but someone calls for a doctor. Someone has been wounded.
A dozen men beat and wrestle the shooter to the ground. He is hauled away shouting, “Germany and Austria are one! Death to the Jews!”
“A crazy man,” I say.
Leah is crying and hugging Rudy. She says to me, “If Hitler comes, he’ll have forty thousand crazy men just like that one with him.”
Rudy raises his violin and the auditorium falls silent. “Herr Wertheim is wounded. A flesh wound only. He will recover.”
Applause from the concertgoers.
Rudy continues, “The criminal is behind bars. We pray he will never recover.”
Much clapping and tears of joy.
Rudy flourishes the violin. “Our instruments are undamaged. Let the concert continue. It is the Biedermeier thing to do.”
Biedermeier : simple and graceful. In Vienna, it means we are family and we pull together.
Wild applause and cheering.
We play as never before and receive six curtain calls and a continuous roll of applause. Austrian spirit as displayed by Rudy will never fall to Nazi oppression.
Leah is wrong.
John Murphy is wrong.
He is in the audience and sees it all.
He meets Leah and me at the stage door after the concert. He offers to buy us coffee at the Hotel Sacher. He says he has bought tickets for every performance until the sixth of January.
I remember last year when I sent him away, telling him the concerts were all sold out.
Leah, pleading the excuse that Shimon is home ill, deserts me.
I ask Mr. Murphy if he is a music lover.
He asks about my father and my mother and tells me again I should not still be in Vienna. He says what happens tonight proves it.
Then he grows very forward. “I feel responsible for you,” he says. “Like I need to look after you.”
This after I haven’t seen him for a year!
When he teases me about how we met on the train, I slap his face. When he apologizes and says, “Good night,” I correct him and say, “Good-bye.” Then, with great dignity, I depart and leave him frozen there on the sidewalk.
But secretly, I wish he would follow me….
5 A traditional Gypsy song, recited in a lecture entitled “Deep Song,” by Federico Garcia Lorca in Granada, Spain, on Feb 19, 1922, and translated by A.S. Kline, © 2008. http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Spanish/DeepSong.htm
8
LONDON BLITZ
SUMMER 1940
T here was a saying that the only way a man could get out of the infantry was on a stretcher or six feet under. That was also the only way civilians could escape the front lines of the Battle of Britain.
In those difficult days there were more civilians wounded during the Blitz than soldiers on the battlefield. Hospital wards overflowed into great houses of private estates, where volunteers were recruited to fill in for the lack of medical personnel.
On our days off from the BBC, Mariah, Raquel, and I continued to do our bit. Our performers auxiliary often traveled outside of London to military and civilian hospitals.
Raquel was the custodian of the three young girls with whom she had escaped from Fascist Spain, and then from Paris just ahead of the Nazis. Mariah lived with her widowed sister, Patsy, and Patsy’s two small children. Raquel’s three girls stayed with Patsy when we traveled out to entertain the wounded.
At least one day a week I kissed my darling Murphy farewell at Paddington Station and set off to perform in person for the wounded and the heartsick.
Mariah’s sparkling green eyes, copper red hair, and
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