The Tooth Tattoo(5)

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘I’m a Viennese. It’s part of our city history.’

‘So they built a studio mock-up of the sewer?’ Paloma said, and she seemed to be leading him on.

‘That is my understanding.’

Determined not to have his day spoilt, Diamond rubbed his hands and said with conviction, ‘Well, at least Orson Welles did what we’re doing now – rode the Ferris wheel.’

The old man turned and looked out of the window again. ‘Have you heard of back projection? Look carefully next time you watch the film.’


Back in their hotel room, Paloma saw how deflated Diamond was and said, ‘We’ve only got his word for it.’

‘He seemed to know what he was talking about. I did read once that they shot parts of the film at Shepperton.’

‘Bits, I expect. It was the way they worked. It’s still a classic.’

‘You’re right about that.’

‘Silly old man. I bet he rides the damn Ferris wheel for hours on end lying in wait for fans like us.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Destroying people’s illusions – that’s his game. Don’t let him ruin our day, Peter. We did the tour. We visited the right places. You’ll spot them next time you see the film.’

He was grateful for her words. Paloma was a terrific support. She knew how his pleasure in the day had been undermined. And the weekend hadn’t offered much for her to enjoy. He’d been planning to fit in a visit to another of the film locations – the cemetery – next morning and now he changed his mind. ‘I’m going to suggest we do something different tomorrow. Our flight home isn’t until the evening. Let’s make it your day. How would you like to spend it?’

She took off her shoes and flopped back on the bed, hands clasped behind her head. ‘That’s a lovely suggestion. Let me give it serious thought.’

‘There’s some wine left. I’ll pour you a drink while you decide.’

‘Now you’re talking.’

But when he returned from the bathroom with the two glasses, Paloma’s eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly. It had been an exhausting day.


Over coffee next morning in a small shop near the hotel with a display of irresistible fruit tarts, they debated how to spend their last hours in Vienna. ‘Knowing you,’ she said, ‘and I don’t mean to sound offensive, you may not be too thrilled about this. So many great musicians lived and composed their masterpieces here. Could we find Beethoven’s house?’

‘Why not?’ he said, doing his best to sound enthusiastic. ‘Where is it?’

They opened their map and asked the waitress, but she didn’t seem to understand.

‘We need a phrasebook,’ Diamond muttered.

From behind them a voice said, ‘If it’s Beethoven’s house you want, you have about forty to choose from in Vienna. He was constantly on the move.’

‘Excuse me?’ Diamond turned in his chair, peeved that somebody had been eavesdropping.

The speaker wasn’t the old man from the Ferris wheel, but he could have been his brother. He had the same gnomish look and a voice like a scraper stripping wallpaper. Probably a Tyrolean hat was tucked under the table on one of the other chairs.

‘There are two of any note,’ the man went on. ‘The first is the Beethoven Memorial House, but you are too late for that. It is closed this month. The other is the Pasqualati House where he composed his fourth, fifth and sixth symphonies and the opera Fidelio.’

‘That’ll do us,’ Diamond said. ‘Is it open?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Where exactly is it?’

‘Before you dash off, I think I should inform you that Beethoven didn’t actually live there.’

‘I thought you said he did.’

‘The rooms open to visitors are furnished to look as if Beethoven was the tenant, but in reality his home was in the adjacent flat – which is privately owned and not open to the public.’

It was like being told Orson Welles hadn’t run through the sewers.

‘I give up,’ Diamond said. ‘Where do we go to see something authentic in this city?’

‘Some of the exhibits are authentic. The salt and pepper pots unquestionably belonged to Beethoven.’

‘Big deal,’ Diamond murmured to Paloma.

‘You asked where it is,’ the old man said. ‘You’ll find it west of Freyung. This is an old part of the city. You go up a cobbled lane called Schreyvogelgasse to the Mölker Bastei and the Pasqualati House is there. I’ll show you.’

‘Is it worth it?’ Diamond asked Paloma, but she had already passed their map across.