Vienna Blood

34

THE STREETCAR WAS APPROACHING through hazy darkness.

Like all of the new streetcars circling the Ringstrasse, it had no obvious source of power. The emperor had objected to the installation of overhead cables on the Ringstrasse because he believed that they would mar its beauty. But Liebermann, like many of his contemporaries, was fully cognizant of the real reason for the royal edict. Old Franz Josef (ever suspicious of scientific advances) had become obsessed by the idea that an electric cable might fall on his carriage, causing him a serious (if not fatal) injury.

Neurotic, thought Liebermann. Quite neurotic.

As the streetcar rolled to a halt, Liebermann peered through the steamed-up windows and saw that all the seats were taken; however, standing room was available on the back platform. As Liebermann took his place, the bell rang out and the streetcar jolted forward: this sudden precipitate motion made a young woman standing in front of him lose her footing. She stumbled but prevented herself from falling by allowing her open palms to land squarely on Liebermann's chest. The doctor found himself looking down at a pretty, open face-and into a pair of peculiarly arresting green eyes.

“I'm so sorry,” the woman apologized in a husky contralto. “I couldn't stop myself.”

Although her accent betrayed humble origins, Liebermann observed that her gloves were rather expensive: red doeskin and the wrists were trimmed with sable. The rest of her clothes were plain but tasteful: a long dark coat, French-style ankle boots, and a wide-brimmed hat with no decoration-not even a ribbon. She was not perplexed by her predicament and seemed in no hurry to extricate herself. Liebermann, assuming that she was waiting for some gallant gesture, gently lifted her hands from his body.

“Thank you,” she said, righting herself and smiling. “You're very kind.”

“Not at all,” said Liebermann. Then, looking over his shoulder, he raised his voice and added, “Perhaps, fraulein, one of the gentlemen inside would be willing to offer you his seat.”

“No!” the woman protested. “No. I'm very happy to stand here.”

“As you wish,” said Liebermann.

The conductor jostled onto the back platform, took a few faresincluding Liebermann's-and returned to his post. As Liebermann was pocketing his ticket, he recognized the same pleasant contralto. “You're a doctor, aren't you?”

The young woman was smiling at him again.

“Yes,” said Liebermann. “How did you know?”

“The way you're dressed.”

She reached out and touched his sleeve.

Liebermann looked down at his astrakhan coat and could detect nothing in its appearance that declared his profession. Perhaps she was teasing him? Before he could formulate a playful riposte, the woman had introduced herself.

“My name is Ida Kainz.”

“Ah,” said Liebermann. “Kainz. Like the actor?”

“What actor?

“Josef Kainz.”

She shook her head and pursed her lips. “I don't go to the theater much.” She pulled a pathetic face that recalled the pitiful melancholy of a disappointed child. “I have no one to take me.”

The streetcar stopped and more people climbed on, forcing Ida Kainz to renew her intimacy with Liebermann's chest. She did not appear distressed by her situation, and Liebermann once more found himself looking down into her eyes, which had narrowed slightly. Her perfume was sweet-like apple blossom.

“My father is a postal employee,” she said in an airy voice, as if she were picking up the thread of a prior interrupted conversation. “We live in the tenth district: three of us. Father, mother, and myself. I have a sister, but she is married.” Then she boldly took Liebermann's hand and squeezed his fingers. “You need new gloves, Herr Doctor…?”

The bell sounded and the streetcar rolled on.

“Liebermann.”

“A nice name, Liebermann. Yes, you definitely need new gloves, Herr Doctor Liebermann. And I think…” Her smile widened to reveal her teeth. “I could help you there.”

She produced a small business card and handed it to Liebermann. It showed the address of a glove shop on Wahringerstrasse. “Kleinmann's. Wahringerstrasse 24. That's where I work. You should pay me a visit. Just ask for Ida.”

They were passing the Court Theater. All of its windows were aglow with a welcoming yellow light.

“I suppose you go there often,” the shopgirl continued.

“When I can-although my preferences are musical.”

She nodded and assumed an ambiguous expression. “A doctor should have better gloves.”

The streetcar was approaching Liebermann's stop. He signaled his imminent departure with a bow, and the young woman responded by extending her hand. He pressed the red doeskin to his lips.

“Good evening, Fraulein Kainz.”

Although he had intended to perform this small courtesy in a perfunctory manner, the kiss that he delivered was lingering.

Liebermann got off the streetcar but did not walk away. Ida Kainz was staring back at him, a neutral expression on her face. The streetcar bell sounded, and her figure began to recede. As she faded into the smoky gloom, he saw her gloved hand rise-a conspicuous spot of carmine in an otherwise colorless world.

Liebermann looked at the card.

Kleinmann's.

Wahringerstrasse 24.

He lifted the card to his nose. It, too, smelled of apple blossom.

A doctor should have better gloves.

Liebermann sighed heavily. Life was already becoming far too complicated. He allowed the card to slip from his fingers.