Chapter 21 Not an Egyptian #3
On New Year’s Eve day, after wrestling practice, the Greco guys had showered and left the Turnhalle Leopold—except for Leo, who was always the last to leave.
Little Mirror had showered and dressed; he was wearing his socks as he paced up and down the mat with a wet cloth, looking for spots of sweat or spit or blood to wipe clean.
Jimmy sat on the mat in his socks. He was ready to go and was just waiting for his teammates.
Sol and Simon were getting dressed in the locker room; Zander and Sergei were still in the showers.
No one was screaming or yelling obscenities in the showers, because Helene and her hairdressers were on holiday; for once, they hadn’t used up all the hot water.
There was an ongoing negotiation between Helene and Leo concerning the need for a hot-water heater, either a new one or an auxiliary one—and who was going to pay what for it.
At this moment, in the unusual absence of screaming and obscenities, Annelies came downstairs and into the wrestling room.
She took off her boots before she stepped barefoot on the mat, painted toenails and all; she sat down, artfully facing away from the showers.
“It must be nice to have no hairdressers and lots of hot water, Leo,” Annelies said.
“I’m in a hot-water war with Helene,” Little Mirror told her.
Sol and Simon had heard her voice, and they could see Annelies from the locker room, where they were only half-dressed; they made no effort to conceal themselves. “It’s just the Eissler,” Sergei said to Zander; both of them went on showering.
“And you’re just the Soviets, just Russians—your dicks are no big deal to me!” Annelies called to them. Everyone laughed, Sergei and Zander the loudest. Leo paced around Annelies, looking closely at her toenails. “Don’t even think about painting your toenails, Leo,” Annelies told him.
“I’m thinking about lifting you—not throwing you, just lifting you,” Kleiner Spiegel said.
“I’ll tell you when I want you to lift me, Leo,” Annelies told him.
When Jimmy’s fellow wrestlers were dressed, they just sat on the mat; it was as if they were waiting for instructions from Fr?ulein Eissler.
Little Mirror just kept pacing—not lifting, not throwing.
“You wrestlers,” Annelies began. “You have no social lives—well, none to speak of—do you?” she asked them.
Jimmy’s teammates hung their heads; Jimmy knew he had no social life.
“It’s New Year’s Eve and you have no plans, do you?
” Annelies asked them. They could hear Hard Rain whining; the dog was alone in the locker room, but she wouldn’t venture out onto the wrestling mat.
“Hard Rain has no social life and no New Year’s Eve plans, either,” Kleiner Spiegel said, for no discernible reason. He was still pacing.
“I know somewhere to go on New Year’s Eve, and we can bring the dog,” Annelies told them.
It was a Hungarian place, with roasted paprika chicken and goulash with paprika.
The teammates could hear one another over the zither player.
Afterward, Sol and Simon escorted Annelies home, Leo took Hard Rain with him, and Sergei and Zander walked Jimmy to the Schwindgasse.
“No one’s following the Eissler—she can get safely home herself,” Zander had complained to Sergei.
“The Israelis worship the Eissler—they can’t leave her,” Sergei said.
“I worship her, too—I’m in love with her!” Jimmy told the Russians.
“We know, Jim,” Zander told his workout partner.
“Even the Eissler knows you’re in love with her,” Sergei said.
When Claude came back to Vienna in early January, he told Jimmy and Jolanda he was in love with Chantal Beaudette.
“Her written French is as good as mine, but I haven’t heard her speak!
” Claude lamented. His mother had asked him if Chantal had a French-Canadian accent; this was when Claude asked his mother to take some photos of him to send to Chantal.
“I don’t care if Chantal quacks like a duck!
” Claude cried. He’d not sent Chantal his mom’s photos, after all; in them, he looked like an angry, pouting child.
Jolanda now photographed Claude in various poses in their adjacent bedrooms.
“I’m not taking any penis pictures, Claude—you’ll have to ask Jimmy if you want to send Chantal any penis pictures,” Jolanda said.
“Poor Chantal—no penis pictures!” Claude had cried.
Jolanda had returned to Vienna with photos of Mieke. Claude and Jimmy thought Mieke was more of a girly girl than Jolanda, who was tomboyish.
“You mean Mieke is more femme, and I’m more butch,” Jolanda said.
“You mean Mieke is prettier than me—she’s more submissive than I am, too,” Jolanda told them.
“And Mieke is more sensitive than me—meaning her feelings are more easily hurt than mine,” Jolanda went on; she was more emotional than usual, Claude and Jimmy thought.
“I don’t want Mieke coming to Vienna if those thugs are still following me—not now, not when Hildegund is hanging out with them,” Jolanda told Jimmy and Claude.
James Winslow knew that Annelies and Jolanda must be talking. “Let the Eissler and Little Mirror make a plan for the followers, Jim,” Sergei said. Zander nodded his assent to this.
“Mieke doesn’t have to come to Vienna at all. We don’t have to do this—not if you two have any misgivings about it,” Jimmy said to Jolanda.
“We want to do this, Jimmy—for you and for us,” Jolanda told him. “We think sharing a child would be fun for us—if you were the full-time parent, and we were parents only part-time,” Jolanda said. She took photos of Jimmy for Mieke, who wanted to see what he looked like.
“No penis pictures for Mieke—she’s too sensitive for penis pictures!” Claude wailed. Jolanda agreed that Mieke was too sensitive to see penises.
Simon and Sol had also confided to Jimmy about Jolanda’s followers.
“What’s the plan?” James Winslow asked the Israeli wrestlers.
“Hildegund is one of those straight women who feel guilty for trying it with a woman. Some straight women and straight men who’ve tried it with the same sex are the worst homophobes, Jim,” Sol said.
“But what do Annelies and Leo have to do with it?” Jimmy asked.
“In the end, the Russians will take care of Hildegund and her thugs—the Russians will do what they do. Annelies and Leo are setting up everything,” Simon told Jimmy.
Setting up what? James Winslow wondered, but it was easier to let Jolanda photograph him in a variety of settings—while he went along with everything the wrestlers wanted.
In the beginning, this meant that Jimmy and Claude took Jolanda no farther than their local café on the corner.
If the roommates ventured as far as the Augustinerkeller or the Café Hawelka, the wrestlers met them there; they were taking no chances.
Through the first week of February, the ambiance at the Kaffeehaus Nachtmusik was enhanced by the alpine skiing at the 1964 Winter Olympics.
Because of the mild weather, snow had to be trucked into Innsbruck and packed down by the Austrian army.
“If you were Austrian, your mom might be more relaxed about your being a soldier,” Claude told Jimmy.
“Jesus F. Christ, Claude,” was all Jolanda could say.
The skiing in Innsbruck got off to a bad start.
During a training run for the men’s downhill, an Australian skier lost control and hit a tree; he died of a head injury.
The Austrian men fared better, a gold in the downhill, a gold in the slalom, a silver and a bronze in the giant slalom.
Dagmar was whooping it up for the Austrian women, who swept the downhill.
Claude was happy for France. The Goitschel sisters each won medals in the women’s slalom and giant slalom, and two Frenchmen won medals in the men’s alpine events.
Jolanda was disgruntled that the Dutch skaters didn’t do better; a Soviet woman speed skater won four medals.
However, a Dutch figure skater won the women’s singles, and a speed skater from the Netherlands took silver in the men’s 1,500 meters.
Jolanda was unimpressed, or perhaps she was just bored with her nightly confinement in the Kaffeehaus Nachtmusik.
Jolanda also bitched about Jimmy’s wrestling teammates—now her constant companions and bodyguards. “It’s too much testosterone for me to be around,” Jolanda told Jimmy and Claude.
“It’s better than being raped or beaten to death!” Claude cried.
“You’re such a comfort to me, Claude,” Jolanda said.
Jimmy knew Jolanda was inclined to chafe at too much supervision.
“Little Mirror is creepy—he’s always looking at me, and the troll only comes up to my waist,” Jolanda had complained.
“Kleiner Spiegel isn’t that short—he’s not a troll,” Claude argued.
The way Leo looked at Jolanda, Jimmy couldn’t tell if Little Mirror desired Jolanda or he wanted to throw her.
Either way, Leo couldn’t resist lifting Jolanda—his hands tightly locked under her butt.
“Not throwing, just lifting!” Kleiner Spiegel assured her—his head like a cannonball below her breasts.
Knowing Jolanda, Jimmy imagined she might rather be thrown.
The way the Soviet and Israeli wrestlers looked at Jolanda, Jimmy knew they desired her—more than other women, because the wrestlers understood she was a woman’s woman and off-limits.
When the roommates met Jimmy’s teammates at the Café Hawelka, the wrestlers gathered around Jolanda at an oval table.
Jolanda didn’t speak; she scowled, breathing hard.
Claude talked compulsively about being in love with a woman he hadn’t met.
Chantal had saved him from the Parisian heiresses his mother wanted him to have children with.
Jolanda just scowled more and breathed harder.
To escape Claude’s conversation, the Soviet med students told Jolanda about the male and female cadavers they shared with other med students.
“I don’t want to know how you share the female cadaver,” Jolanda said.