So, what was missing? What was the grail in pursuit of which she would tear out her heart? Perhaps, she thought, as they began to walk back to the house, I will know it when I see it.

6

One chilly Tuesday evening, Rudolf Plischke left a meeting of Rebirth in an upstairs room near the Café Central, knowing he would never return. The situation was deteriorating too fast.

The next day, in the early evening, he met an organiser from the banned Schutzbund in a tavern on the edge of the university district. The man, who gave his name as Niklas, at first seemed more interested in the beef stew than in the political crisis; it had been his idea to meet in a place known for large helpings and Rudolf could see he had not eaten recently. He pushed his own dish across the table to Niklas and waited until it disappeared.

‘Dollfuss is a Nazi in all but name,’ said Niklas, wiping a piece of bread round Rudolf’s empty bowl. ‘But the Germans will have him killed if he becomes too much of a nuisance. They’ll come for the rest of us when they’re ready.’

Rudolf nodded.

‘How many people are in your Rebirth party?’

‘About five thousand members,’ said Rudolf. ‘And many more sympathisers.’

‘All in Vienna?’

‘Almost.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Most of them are young. We have a council and we talk a lot, but the members are idealists, people hoping for a better life.’

‘Some hope. Our choice is to be crushed by Germany or crushed by the Fatherland Front.’

‘I don’t want to mislead you,’ said Rudolf. ‘I’m not offering you guerrillas.’

‘I’m not offering you guns.’

Niklas wiped his sleeve across his beard and sat back in the chair.

‘What will happen,’ he said, ‘is a general strike. It’s hopeless to think we can make progress through the ballot box. It’s too late. This is a fascist country now and the only language it can understand is resistance.’

Rudolf looked down at the grainy wooden table. His hope of spiritual rebirth was almost gone. He could sense it evaporating in the steam of the stuffy room.

‘The Heimwehr have access to such arms as this country still owns,’ said Niklas. ‘Artillery, for instance. A handful of tanks. And they will have the support of the state and the police in searching our houses and arresting us. So we must take control of the factories, of the power stations. Solidarity. Numbers.’

It sounded forlorn to Rudolf, like a speech at a student rally. But he could see no alternative.

‘Here’s my card,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I have your telephone number.’

He paid the bill on the way out and walked back to his apartment. Now that the critical moment of his life had come, he felt only sadness. He had wanted to be elected by people he’d persuaded by the fire of his oratory and the purity of his cause; he had wanted to see a spiritual awakening across the country based on something more than rural superstition. But the Social Democrats in Vienna had stolen his clothes; then they had been neutered in Parliament and their private army declared illegal. His own party, he conceded as he walked past the Rathaus, was too small to matter.