Too Late for Tears

By Eleanor Cripps

Born in 1914 just prior to WWI in a small town in Austria, a young Valerie is determined to escape the modest background of her family. Early twentieth-century convention and financial circumstances limit her career choices, and she reluctantly follows her father's footsteps to become a teacher. Faced with the first real dilemma of her young life, she bravely deals with adversity and mishap, and when during her time as student she becomes familiar with the Nazi underground movement, she wisely resists joining. In March 1938, Valerie and many people in Austria are confounded by the Anschluss, Hitler's forced annexation of Austria, which renders the country part of Germany. It is during this time in her life that Valerie believes to have realized her dreams, when in September 1939, World War II breaks out, an event destined to end in worldwide cataclysm, though at the time no one thought, or dared to think, of it as such. For the first few years, the German Army is remarkably successful until hopes for a peaceful conclusion are dashed by Hitler's ruthless blunders and the Russian winter. Valerie's story closely follows the war years in historic detail through its catastrophic end, the ten-year Allied occupation and post-war challenges. Conditions gradually return to normal, and Valerie feels content with her life until she suddenly faces events that even her lifelong strength and determination cannot overcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098086985

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Too Late for Tears

Eleanor Cripps

Copyright © 2021 by Eleanor Cripps

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

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To Keri Lewis, my dear friend for forty-seven years

This book is a work of fiction, and any similarity with persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental. However, I have lived through WWII and well remember its main events, which to the best of my knowledge are historic.

1

Dawn breaks early in the Austrian mountains at midyear. The light is soft and gray prior to the sun’s first rays reach the horizon, and the stillness of nature imparts an intense feeling of a new beginning. During this uniquely beautiful summer, it is the hour when I enjoy the cool air outside my chalet to await another glorious morning. White dew covers the meadows as the grand spectacle of sunrise draws near; I watch the stars fade and the sky break into colors so breathtakingly lovely, I cannot think of words to describe. A new day arrives with spectacular beauty.

My thoughts, though, are focused on the past, my own past that no longer has a future. As my life courses through my mind, I recall my dreams and the ambitions I expected to have the power to realize. And it is so very hard to accept that suddenly, there’s no longer a new beginning or even a dream left.

The world stood at the threshold of a gigantic struggle in 1914 when I was born in a small Austrian town a few months prior to the outbreak of World War I.

Chaotic times followed the 1918 breakup of the once mighty Austrian monarchy.

My family was fortunate during times of skyrocketing unemployment because my father was a high school teacher, which assured him of a steady, though modest, income. Some of the kids he taught came from surrounding farms, and his pupils often brought a loaf of bread or pound of butter for the teacher, so we suffered less from the food shortages prevailing in larger cities. As I grew up during the 1920s, I remember everyone complaining of rampant inflation, devaluation of currency, and loss of savings. My family never had been well-off, and the savings my father did lose, albeit not substantial, caused him much grief. Fortunately, my parents owned our small house at the edge of a little town in the province of Styria I’ll call Hallberg.

I was a good student from the day I entered school, always more ambitious than my lazy younger brother Hans. Like all children, we walked to school, rain or shine, summer or winter, which was no hardship for we found plenty to amuse ourselves, be it exploring the depth of mud puddles or having snowball fights during the long alpine winter that lasted November through March. Hardly anyone except physicians or businesses had telephones, and we satisfied our urge to communicate with our friends while walking to and from school. Winter afternoons we skied on the slopes at the edge of town using equipment handed down from sibling or friend. The girls were in skirts and woolen stockings, and everyone wore the ordinary lace-up boots used almost year-round. We learned to ski early, and as with most sports, I was good at it.

Boys and girls attended separate classes in the same building. We completed four years of elementary school, followed by three choices: continue four more years of elementary school, as did most peasant children; or four years of intermediary school, which enabled graduates to learn a trade; the third choice was eight years of high school, known as gymnasium and ending with a rigorous exam called matura (baccalaureate) that entitled graduates to attend any university in the country. Our little town was fortunate to even have a high school, which spared us the arduous commute by train many children from more remote areas endured.

There was never any doubt that I would attend high school and follow in my father’s footsteps to become a teacher, one of the few career opportunities open to women at the time. I had no penchant for nursing, and while teaching was not exactly my vocation, it seemed a reasonable option. Though keenly aware of my limited opportunities, I was ambitious and dreamed of something better than teaching for the rest of my life.

I became interested in boys at an early age. I wasn’t really pretty; my best features were a sinewy figure and intense blue eyes that I early on discovered had a distinct effect on the opposite sex. I was a blonde with a straight nose and rather large pale mouth, but what boys, and later men, remembered about me were my eyes.

My first sexual experience happened when I was a senior in high school and became involved with a handsome boy of our school. He’d been madly in love with the prettiest girl of my class and never seemed to notice me. I don’t remember in what way this girl slighted me one day, only that I decided to get back at her. The boy’s name was Max, and I had no trouble faking an errand to share his way home on a day she was out sick. I chatted about things in which I knew he was interested, and by the time we parted, I had caught his interest. The next day, he happened to run into me, which wasn’t difficult in our town with few shops or places of interest. After that, we met almost every day, and I noticed that he and his girlfriend no longer chatted in the hallways during recess. When she began to look sullen and depressed, I knew I had won. I let him dangle, though, and not even allowed him a kiss when he took me home from a movie. A few weeks passed during which he grew increasingly tense, and my rival’s pretty eyes were red from tears.

One afternoon in late March, Max and I went skiing. We struggled uphill through woods in deep virgin snow, our cheeks red from exertion in a mild temperature that carried a hint of spring. Max trekked ahead, but I easily kept pace a few steps behind. I was ready for our usual downhill race but didn’t object when Max kept plugging ahead. I wasn’t about to admit being ready to quit and never guessed what was on his mind until we reached the edge of a clearing, and I saw the outline of a small barn used to store hay in winter. Well, maybe the time had come to let him kiss me; it was past four o’clock, and we’d have to turn back soon due to the early dusk that time of year.

We halted in front of the barn, and Max bent to loosen the buckles of his ski bindings. He never met my eyes while he undid mine, but the arm he put round my waist leading me to the barn was strong and determined. He opened the door with his free hand and pulled me inside. Our lips met, and though I’d been kissed before, it had never been so hard and with such passion. He held me so tight I could barely breathe, and to be honest, I offered no resistance. Maybe he deserved a kiss or two after courting me for a couple of months, and I rather enjoyed his embrace. I felt a warm sensation throughout that I knew was not due to the strenuous climb and became aware that my body was pushing toward him. I knew what was involved in the sexual act, but did not anticipate Max to go that far.

There’s little hay left in barns by March after cattle had been fed through the long winter. Still kissing me passionately, Max slid out of his heavy loden jacket and threw it on the almost bare floor. He was a strong boy, and before I realized what was happening, I was lying on it.

I had not been prepared for real sex, but didn’t really struggle with him as he pulled up my skirt, removed my panties, and began to caress me rather roughly, all the while keeping my lips sealed with his. Until then, I’d allowed boys to fondle me but always remained in control. Max now clearly took control, and I wasn’t about to allow anyone to overpower me. I tried to wiggle out from under him, but he forced my legs apart, and I felt him starting to penetrate me. I no longer resisted, not even when a sharp pain went through my body. Now his hands were beside my shoulders, and he moved roughly to satisfy himself, yet despite the initial hurt, pleasure began flowing through my body, and I fell into rhythm with him.

I’d read that women suffer through their first intercourse; I didn’t. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes later that he reached climax. His body fell on me as he moaned his satisfaction. I sensed it was not his first time; he’d been too sure of what he was doing. Did he sense that I had not really been in need of foreplay?

Neither one of us had uttered a word, even after he rolled over beside me. He just lay there breathing heavily. I felt warm and drowsy and briefly wondered how to explain at home that I was so late. I’d think of an excuse, and Mother was rather used to my acting pretty much as I pleased. I stirred to rise when Max turned toward me and without preliminaries again took me. This time, the pain was very slight. He took longer to climax, and when he did, I experienced an intense and overwhelming pleasure gripping my body. So this was what sexual gratification felt like for a woman? I knew that I enjoyed it. We rested until I started to shiver.

We have to go back, I said. They were the first words either one of us had spoken since struggling up through the woods. Max just nodded, got up, and put on his pants. I fumbled in the dark for my panties and rose from the floor. I smoothed down my woolen skirt, and noticing my shivering, he gently helped me into his heavy jacket, the only really tender gesture of our whole encounter. We stepped out into the early evening and a clear sky glittering with stars. It was cold, but he didn’t claim his jacket as we fastened our skis for the descent.

Stay close behind me, Valerie, he said, I can see pretty well in the dark, and we’ll soon be out of the woods.

I nodded, unafraid of skiing in the dark. We didn’t have flashlights then and were used to walking home through dark, barely lit streets. Silently gliding through the soft snow, we soon reached to top of the long meadow; below us were the twinkling lights of the town. Halfway down the hill, Max took the jacket from me and slipped into it. His eyes finally sought mine. We’ve got to do that again soon, he said hoarsely. I don’t think I can stay away from you for long.

I gave him a half smile. See you at school, I said, then pushed off and schussed down the slope, reaching the edge of town a couple of minutes later. I unfastened my skies, hoisted them on my shoulder, and quickly walked along the quiet road toward our home, less than a half hour away. I felt something warm run down my right leg and reaching our house put my skis into the woodshed as usual and entered through the back door.

That you, Valerie? Mother’s voice came from the kitchen. Where on earth have you been? I need you to help with supper and…

I’ve been studying with Gretel, I said, and I’ll be with you in a minute! We had a snowball fight, and my stockings are all wet. I need to change them real fast!

Her whining voice came back. Wet hose never killed any kid! Sure hope you didn’t tear them, you know how expensive everything is… the rest of the sermon was lost behind the closed door of my little bedroom. One of my gray wool stockings was bloodstained, and there was no time for washing it. Our little house had only one bathroom, and I couldn’t take the chance of being discovered, so I rolled the stockings up together with my soiled panty and put them under my pillow. Without bothering to put on fresh hose, I hurried to join Mother in the kitchen, where potatoes were waiting to be peeled. We would have potato goulash for supper, a simple dish in which potatoes replace meat. I peeled and chopped the onions, sautéed them in a little pork fat from an earthenware jar in the pantry, added the potatoes, salt, pepper, and paprika, water from the tap and covered the pot to simmer gently.

The main meal in Austria is lunch; we could not afford meat every day, but it always was a fairly substantial meal, whereas evenings only one simple dish was served. During the warm season, it often was just bread, butter, a little sausage, and a piece of cheese. Winter was different: houses were not that well-heated, and wood and coal expensive. The fire in the tiled stoves that heated major rooms had gone out hours ago, and though a little still radiated from the glazed tiles, everyone was in need of something warm to eat. The potato dish may not sound very exciting, but our family was actually quite fond of it.

I had not yet done my homework, which would have to wait. Few private homes in the ’20s and early ’30s in our little town had electricity, and ours was no exception. We depended on kerosene lamps with glass cylinders, which it was my job to polish every day using vinegar and crumpled newspaper. Each room had at least one such lamp, and except for the one above the dining table, they usually hung on the wall, backed by a little mirror whose reflection enhanced their light.

I vividly remember how I felt that evening—really good, to be honest. I hardly thought of Max, rather about the intense pleasure I’d experienced. Of course, there was no sex education at school, and most mothers—certainly mine—never told their daughters anything, except to avoid being alone with boys, who were full of evil intentions toward girls. We had no access to books on that matter either, except for a few romance novels, in which sex was usually described as something women had to endure to have children. However, I grew up in a rural town and spent plenty of time with kids whose parents had farms that provided ample occasion for observing animals. Cows, hens, or sows just went on with their business following the sexual act as if nothing had happened; I had not expected the feeling of wellness that pervaded my whole body, and as I stood in the kitchen peeling potatoes that evening, I knew that sex would form an important part of my life, even sensing that I might be able to use it both for gratification and to exert power. Though Max had neither asked my permission nor wasted any effort on tenderness, he appeared most anxious for a repeat. Well, I’d let him dangle, not because I didn’t like what he did to me, but to test my power.

To forestall any questioning during supper, I talked in great detail about some insignificant thing happening at school that day. When I was finished, my habitually quiet and withdrawn father looked at me in a strange way and said, Is that what put the sparkle in your eyes and turned your cheeks rosy?

I was taken aback and for a moment didn’t know what to say. I lowered my head toward my plate and said as calmly as I could manage, When we were finished with our math homework, Gretel and I had a snowball fight and skied on the Muller’s meadow. It was late when we got started, and we almost lost our breath struggling up the hill all the way into the woods. And it was starting to get a bit chilly too. My voice trailed off.

I see, he said briefly. Thankfully, Mother cut in talking about a neighbor, but my father’s searching look and question bothered me a great deal. Was my first sexual experience showing on my face?

When supper was over, my brother and I cleared the table, and my parents went into the living room. I washed the dishes, and Hans dried and put them away. Valerie, I need you to help me with my math problems! I just can’t get half of them right, and we have math first thing in the morning! Let’s go to my room when we’re finished here, and you can explain it all to me.

I had done none of my own homework and was less than anxious to comply with his request. Why didn’t you ask Father? I asked not too friendly.

You know darn well all that would get me is a sermon about not paying attention at school! He doesn’t have any patience with me. Besides, you lied about skiing with Gretel. I saw Max and you schussing down, and Gretel was nowhere near! Aren’t you glad I kept my mouth shut? That should earn me a little help, don’t you think?

How I hated that grin on his face! What was he doing outside that late spying on me? But I also knew that our parents detested lies, and if caught I would be severely punished—especially in view of Father’s comment about my pink cheeks. How was I to explain that Max was the cause?

I shrugged and said as casually as I could, Well, Gretel and I studied all afternoon, and on the way home, I decided I needed a little exercise. It was just by chance that I ran into Max up on the hill. Now go get your book and let’s start with your problems, I’m a bit tired and want to go to bed early.

Hans was glad to have me agree so easily; he knew only too well that if it came to tattling, I could come up with plenty of examples when he’d been bending the truth. We told our parents that I’d go over his math and then make it an early night with a little reading in bed.

Careful with the lamp, don’t bring it close to the sheets, Mother uttered, an admonition she issued each and every night. We were both old enough to know how to handle kerosene lamps; it was something every kid learned early, and actually very few house fires were caused by carelessness.

I joined Hans in his small room and tried my best to explain the math problems to him, prodding him to do a little thinking of his own. As usual, he was inattentive and sleepy at the end of the day; in the end, I just wrote out the solutions for him, and he copied them into his notebook.

My own homework still needed to be done. I was tired and really not much in a mood to study. But we had a history test, and I had to go over the material. I first dispatched of a brief essay that gave me no trouble and then tried to concentrate on the terms of the Pragmatic Union, the international agreement that Charles VI, the father of Empress Maria Theresa, spent a decade of his life to negotiate with other European monarchs. Having given up hope for a son, this contract was to guarantee the succession of his eldest daughter to the throne. Of course, his rivals used his predicament to squeeze various concessions from him, and though in the end an agreement was reached, twenty-three-year-old Princess Maria Theresa had barely ascended the throne when other monarchs, most notably King Frederick of Prussia, invaded Austrian territory in hopes of easy victories. The young queen of Austria-Hungary (the title Empress was the result of her husband, Franz von Lothringen, later becoming Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire) fought bravely and doggedly, and though she lost some territories, she prevailed in securing her position. She ruled Austria for forty years, led her country through several wars, and bore her husband sixteen children.

Though her rule was colorful, the terms of the Pragmatic Union are as dry and tedious to remember as most contracts are, and I struggled due to lack of concentration. I had placed a garment at the bottom of my door to hide the telltale light or Mother would surely have admonished me to quit reading novels and get the sleep young girls need for thriving! By the time I put out the lamp, I was really tired and never stirred until her voice woke me next morning.

Only then did I remember that the soiled hose was still under my pillow, having forgotten all about it the night before. We did not change underwear and hose every day then due to the lack of clothes and scarcity of soap. A woman came every other week to do the sheets and other major pieces; I once a week did underwear, handkerchiefs, and hose for the family, by hand, of course. I had only worn the soiled stockings for two days, and a fresh pair would elicit endless questioning. I chose the longest skirt I had in my closet, and despite the cold put on knee socks that in texture and color closely resembled the long ones of the previous day, hoping Mother wouldn’t catch a glimpse of my bare knees.

I was lucky. Mother had a headache and failed to inspect my attire. I quickly gulped down the mug of chicory coffee (real coffee beans were expensive and only used on holidays) and still chewing a piece of dark bread spread with a little butter and honey slipped out while she was nagging Hans, who by then had barely gotten out of bed.

The brisk half-hour walk to school gave me time to contemplate my strategy vis-a-vis Max. I was determined to test my power and decided to give him the impression that I felt wronged. Besides, I had my reputation to guard! His likely bragging to other boys about what happened between us could deeply embarrass me, and it was only a question of time before my parents would hear about it. But if through behavior and attitude I caused Max to fear that his overpowering an innocent girl could get him into deep trouble, he’d most likely keep his mouth shut and not advertise his conquest. After all, boys are worse gossips than girls.

My early leave from home and brisk walk to school served an additional purpose: I wanted to arrive prior to the other students and avoid running into Max. I was sure he’d be looking for me and likely suggest another rendezvous. I succeeded in arriving at school ahead most everyone else, quietly tucked into our classroom and used the time to go over a couple of items I had neglected to study the night before. With boys and girls taught in separate classes, Max would not check our room without risking ridicule from his buddies.

My classmates began to enter, and soon the room was filled with chatter. The bell rang eight o’clock, and our stern history teacher entered. Time spent the night before paid off—I was the first one called on and questioned about our assignment. The facts were fresh in my mind, and I did well. Now I could relax the rest of the hour while some of the other girls were examined. I did not quite that well with the English essay for the next period. It was my favorite subject, but I’d failed to catch a couple of silly spelling errors that deprived me of my usual A. Blame Max!

Major intermission was between the third and fourth period when everyone was asked to leave the classroom and stroll in the hallways, usually in pairs. At this time, it would be difficult to hide, since Max’s classroom was on the same floor as mine. I got hold of Gretel, who was good in math, and engaged her in a very involved question about a problem in our homework I pretended not to understand, and Gretel was only too happy to oblige. As a result, the two of us paraded the hallway with our noses deep in the book, and I blatantly ignored Max’s repeated efforts to attract my attention. Since mingling of girls and boys during intermission was not encouraged and a teacher was always supervising, he could not just budge in.

I successfully played the wronged girl for several days and derived cruel satisfaction from watching Max suffer. I was careful to always arrange going home from school in the company of others, and no matter how hard Max tried, he never managed to confront me alone. This meant no skiing for the remainder of the winter, but there was an easy excuse—the pending final exams. We had to study intensely, for not only did we need passing grades for the year, they had to be good. Written formal exams for the baccalaureate were German, English, math, and Latin; in addition, we had to choose three subjects for the oral exam, which were limited to those in which we had a good grade. If we flunked one of the written exams, that subject was added to the oral list.

Max was not a good student, and I figured he’d be forced to study extrahard to keep up. My plan worked for a couple of weeks until one morning, after again zipping out of our house as early as I could without arousing suspicion, he was waiting for me. By the time I saw him, it was too late to turn back, so I walked on and gave him a neutral nod. He immediately fell in step with me. Val, what’s the matter with you? he said breathlessly. You know I’ve been trying to talk to you, to be with you, make love to you! Why are you trying so hard to ignore me? I can’t sleep, I can’t study, I’m flunking my tests, I can’t stand it any longer! What’s the matter? For God’s sake, talk to me!

So it was an even bigger deal for him than I’d expected! I managed to hide my satisfaction and began to make my carefully prepared little speech, while suddenly becoming aware that his close presence brought back the pleasant feelings and desires our encounter had evoked.

Max, I said in a small voice, you should not have done this to me. You’ve made me feel so guilty and so… I was going to say dirty but couldn’t get the lie across my lips. My acting had the desired effect—it threw Max off track.

Val, dear, he stuttered, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I swear I didn’t! I thought you wanted it, and when I kissed you, I felt you were ready to go all the way! Val, have you told your parents? His voice now sounded really terrified. My ploy had worked!

No, I haven’t, though I was tempted to, I lied. I didn’t because Father would have beaten you to a pulp. Or have you arrested for having seduced me, and I didn’t want that because, you see, Max, I like you, I added slyly with an innocent but intense glance into his eyes. He was close to tears.

Val, he whispered, please let me love you again, I’ll be gentle and do anything you want, but I can’t stand it any longer! Val, I love you, and I’ll marry you, but please let me make love to you, I beg you!

Oh, for the joy of exerting power! I was a little touched by his declaration, though marrying Max and leading a life of drudgery in Hallberg as the wife of someone I thought would never go far in life was certainly not my aspiration. If it hadn’t been for the sensual urge his close presence aroused in my body, I likely would have dismissed him with a few cool words. But I wanted his body! I wanted to feel him inside me; I wanted to again experience that bliss and satisfaction. Even more than that, I wanted to keep him on a leash and not have him do something stupid and run off his mouth. I stopped and looked at him intensely. I’d rarely seen as much pain in anyone’s face before and felt my eyes captivating him.

Max, I said, when I said earlier that I like you, it was the truth. If you keep on loving me, maybe we’ll get married someday, but we’re too young now and couldn’t make a living, you understand that. As to making love again, I really don’t know whether we should, I feel so guilty, and if my parents found out—

But they won’t, Val, I promise I’d rather die than breathe a word to anyone about us! Please, Val, the little shack up there in the woods is safe, and no one will discover us there. I have football practice until five o’clock this afternoon and can be up there a half hour later. Will you meet me there, Val?

I lowered my eyes so he wouldn’t catch the expression of desire in them and demurely whispered, I’ll try, Max, I’m not sure I can get away, I’ll think about it. Now go take another way to school, I don’t want us to be seen together, you hear?

My ploy had worked; school gossip had us broken up, and I didn’t want anyone to think differently.

I had a hard time concentrating all day and didn’t want to admit to myself that I could barely wait for the appointed time. I had started tutoring a couple of kids from lower grades to earn a little money, and my parents supported it as good preparation for my future career. They didn’t know that one of my young students happened to be sick that day, so I had a good excuse for getting home late. I took a detour and entered the woods at a different spot, making sure that no one saw me. I was early and hid behind a tree near the barn. Max arrived and without looking around rushed inside. I let him wait a good ten minutes while warm waves of anticipation were flowing through my body. When I quietly approached and opened the door, Max was pacing back and forth, and there was a blanket spread on the floor. He rushed up to me, took me into his arms, and kissed me passionately. I could feel that he was barely able to control himself as he slowly guided me toward the blanket, where he dropped to his knees, buried his face in my lap, and murmured jumbled endearments. Breathing hard, he pulled me down and laid me on the blanket, gently stroking my dressed body for a while before he reached under my skirt and pulled down my panty. Suddenly, he started shaking and dropped to the floor in a moaning convulsion. My inexperience prevented me from understanding that he’d simply been unable to contain himself any longer. He was sobbing in embarrassment while I, yearning for his lovemaking, lay there trying to figure out how to react. In my inexperience, I didn’t understand that there were times when men, and especially adolescent boys with thriving hormones, couldn’t help premature ejaculations. I didn’t really love Max and made no effort to reassure him with tenderness. Instead, I clenched my teeth in disappointment and turned cold at a moment when a little understanding might have worked wonders. Finally, Max stopped crying. Val, I’m so sorry, please don’t be cross with me, I couldn’t help it! I’ll make it up to you, I promise, it’s just that I… his voice trailed off.

I raised myself from the floor, straightened my clothes and said coolly, Forget it, Max! I came to make love with a man, but you’re just a little boy seeking your own fun! You’re lucky that I’ll keep my mouth shut or you’d be the laugh of the town! And don’t you ever ask me to lie with you again, you wimp!

With that, I turned and walked out of the shed. I stomped back the way I came, frustrated, disappointed, and without regret of my cruelty. Max never again made an effort to talk to me and went out of his way to avoid crossing my path.

That is how my first love affair ended. I concentrated on my studies and did not take up with another boy at school. The baccalaureate is a challenge even for good students, and I needed top grades to be accepted at the teaching academy in the city of Graz, capital of the province of Styria. There was a long waiting list, and only the best students got in. I did get excellent grades and passed at the top of my class. Still, I was happy to learn that I did gain entrance into the academy much as I would have preferred earning a university degree. However, in view of their financial limitations my parents intended to send Hans to university, following the common view that boys needed higher education more than girls, as they were expected to support a future family.

Max flunked two subjects, and I later learned that he did not opt for a second try in the fall but gave up and chose working in his father’s carpentry shop.

I spent the summer doing odd jobs to earn money. I continued giving tutoring lessons, helped out in a grocery store and on a farm at haymaking time. All along I was counting the days until fall when I’d finally be able to leave Hallberg.

Tuition at the academy was free, but didn’t include books and materials and, of course, living cost. My father had a friend at Graz from student time, and the man and his wife agreed to have me live in a tiny room of their apartment for a reasonable boarding fee and the expectation that I’d lend a hand with housework. Father and I visited the childless couple at the beginning of summer and I swallowed hard when I saw their home for the first time. Why, our modest house in Hallberg was almost luxurious compared with their place! Similar to many older apartment houses, it did not have a bathroom. There was a small washstand in my room, and the toilet in the outer hallway was shared by the tenants of that floor; water had to be heated on the kitchen stove. My prospective landlady, Mrs. Heiner, made no excuses, not even for the almost totally faded little mirror in my room.

Girls should study instead of spending time in front of a mirror, she said. You’ll be mighty busy, Valerie, between classes, studying and helping me out.

It wasn’t what I had dreamed living in a city would be like, but I hoped to figure out how to spend as little time as possible in the Heiner’s musty place with its heavy draperies shutting out the light. At least, the window in my room had only a frayed lace curtain. I tried to concentrate on the city’s wide streets with rattling trams, lined with houses five and six stories high. The merchandise displayed in the shop windows was of a variety totally new to me. Near the academy in the center of town was a large, beautiful park, and as soon as I saw it, I decided that, weather permitting, it would be where I’d do my studying. My impatience to get to Graz was so great that my poor impression of the Heiner’s place had faded by fall, and I couldn’t wait to leave home. Finally, it was time to pack a bag with my modest wardrobe, mended and spruced up by my mother, who didn’t miss a chance to remind me how indebted we were to the Heiners. I was continually admonished to be on my very best behavior and to diligently help Mrs. Heiner with household chores.

Graz was about five hours by train from Hallberg. I arrived in early evening, and since the Heiners lived across town, it took me about an hour to reach their place lugging my suitcase weighted down by a heavy encyclopedia. I wasn’t yet familiar with the tram routes and only had directions for walking. By the time I arrived, the Heiners had finished supper, and all I was offered was a thick slice of buttered bread, an apple—and their dishes to wash. I was hungry after just the sandwich Mother had fixed me for the trip, but Mrs. Heiner felt it was important to do the dishes before dusk to save electricity. Alone in the kitchen, I devoured the bread and apple while working, then climbed into bed and slept like a log.

2

Ifound much about Graz new and exciting and loved it. Actually, the town was a bit provincial due to the many retirees favoring it because of a milder climate, which caused it to function at a slower and more relaxed pace than what I had imagined cities of comparable size would. But what a difference compared to Hallberg! Graz is the capital of the province, has a university of excellent reputation, an opera house, theater, good restaurants as well as coffee houses. Lack of money only allowed me to gaze at these places from the outside, but didn’t prevent me from dreaming of one day enjoying them. And dream I did! The day would come when I would be able to get to know all these wondrous things, and I was determined to make that happen.

Just looking at the impressive and dignified university building heightened my disappointment that family finances prevented me from studying there for a degree to teach high school. There would have been no tuition fees, and acceptance was more or less automatic for anyone with a baccalaureate, but it took four years to graduate, and books and materials were considerably more expensive. The teachers’ academy, on the other hand, lasted only three years and provided most materials free. Graduates could teach elementary school and, by taking additional courses, even middle school, so I chose extra courses in English to attain that goal.

The academy was co-ed; most of my fellow students were girls from various parts of the province, and I found the few young men in my class dull and uninteresting. Nearly everyone was on a tight budget and lived with relatives, friends, or in dingy boarding places where three or four girls shared a room. That caused me to appreciate my place, however modest and cramped, because I at least could shut the door and be by myself.

The latter wasn’t all that easy to attain because Mrs. Heiner was very creative in finding things for me to do. I’d expected to help with the cooking and the dishes, but it turned out I also had to sweep and dust the whole place, which was crammed with knickknacks she stressed were very precious. Vacuum cleaners, of course, were not available at the time and area rugs had to be cleaned on hands and knees with a little brush.

Lessons usually lasted until 2:00 p.m., and since we were blessed by consistently beautiful fall weather, I delayed going home and did my studies in the city park. When questioned about my afternoon whereabouts, I told the Heiners that the curriculum was tough, and several of us girls decided to study together. Just to avoid getting caught with a lie, I chose a secluded park bench where I could not readily be seen from the main walkways. Countless squirrels routinely fed by retirees populated the park, and a gang of these creatures became quite aggressive when I would not share the meager sandwich Mrs. Heiner provided for my lunch.

This is where one October afternoon I met Alex. I was writing an English essay on my knees when someone said in a slightly mocking tone, Mind if I join you?

I looked up into a pair of deep-set hazel eyes in an interesting, not really handsome, face. The well-dressed young fellow appeared to be in his early twenties and of a sophisticated demeanor. I motioned to the free space beside me and continued writing my paper. He sat down and said casually, You’re obviously a student, but I haven’t seen you at the uni. Where’d you hide?

I’m attending the Teacher Academy. And you?

I’m going to be a physician, like my father and grandfather, and I’m in my fourth year with two more to go. My parents are local, but I got my own place, couldn’t wait to get away from home. Only thing I miss is Mother’s cooking. He smiled an engaging smile, showing very white though irregular teeth. He was above-average height and lanky. The cool expression of his eyes betrayed the boyish softness of his features. We introduced ourselves and began to chat. I admit that I was soon intrigued by his intelligence and self-assured manner. No doubt he’d been raised under circumstances quite different from mine. In parting, we agreed to meet again the next day. I didn’t know at the time that Alex had observed me for several days and that our first meeting had not been accidental.

Initially I was not at all sexually attracted to him, just glad to have a good conversation with a sophisticated person apparently way ahead of me in upbringing and life experience.

The dry and mild fall weather continued, and unless Alex had afternoon classes, we regularly met at the secluded bench. Our chats delayed my studies, and I had to make up for lost time in the evening, using the old trick of blocking out the light from under my door, lest stingy Mrs. Heiner would knock and remind me that electricity was very expensive. All Saints’ Day, November 1, however, lived up to its reputation with fog and drizzle. It is a holiday in Austria, and the Heiners asked me to accompany them to their family grave and help carry the traditional greenery arrangement with chrysanthemums and candles. I used the remainder of the day to study and hoped for better weather. When the drizzle turned into heavy rains during the rest of the week, I realized how much I’d been looking forward to my meetings with Alex; I also had to come up with elaborate excuses to the Heiners as to why our group of girls couldn’t meet when it rained. At that point, it would have been hard to organize something along these lines since cliques and friendships were already formed, and because of my aloofness, I was considered either odd or a loner. Would I ever see Alex again if the weather remained bad? The following week began with another wet day, and leaving the academy, I was pulling the hood of my raincoat down my forehead for the long walk home when someone with an umbrella fell in step with me, and a familiar voice said, When the sky doesn’t cooperate, one has to take matters into one’s own hands. How’ve you been?

I was almost speechless with joy but managed to hide my surprise and remarked casually, Well, look who’s braving the elements sporting an umbrella! Did you get bored staying indoors, or did the maid forget to close the windows?

A shadow of disappointment seemed to cross his face, but his eyes did not change. Neither, he said, adopting the same casual tone. Just happened to be in the vicinity and saw you coming out of the building. I thought we might have a hot cup of something at the coffee house on Herrengasse, but if you’re in a hurry to get home, I wouldn’t want to keep you.

I immediately regretted my words. No, Alex, I didn’t mean it that way, and I’d love to have coffee with you, I said hastily, not mentioning that I’d never been inside one of these traditional Austrian institutions where one is served coffee and pastries and every newspaper printed in Europe and where as long as you can afford the money for a cup of coffee you may hang around as long as you wish.

The Herrengasse was the best street in town, lined by elegant houses, lovely shops, restaurants, and coffee houses. Alex headed toward a heavy glass door with polished brass handles, and when we entered the warm room filled with cigar smoke, I noticed that he was no stranger in the place. The headwaiter came to greet him with respect, motioned a busboy to take our coats, and ushered us toward a table in a niche. The place had dark-paneled walls and furniture upholstered in burgundy velvet. Art deco had evolved in Austria from an art form called Secession, reached its apex with Gustav Klimt and remained very popular. The room’s glass chandeliers were of that style, and reproductions of Klimt’s art decorated the walls. I savored the atmosphere and tried to conceal my slight intimidation. I’d never been in so elegant a place before.

The usual for Mr. Alex? the waiter asked with deference and then turned to me. I did not miss the condescending glance he cast on my modestly dressed persona.

Valerie, my dear, you need something to warm you from that nasty weather, Alex said cordially. Bring her a large coffee with whipped cream and have them wheel over the pastry wagon.

Neither Alex nor the waiter waited for what I had to say.