The Pan-European Picnic

August 1989

"It was in Hungary where the first stone was knocked out of the [Berlin] Wall." -Helmut Kohl, Chancellor of Germany (1982-1998)

The weather was hot and somewhat humid, as expected of a summer day. Roderich sat down as he carefully tucked the violin under his chin and picked up the bow from the instrument’s case. Before he started playing, he looked to the east. The Austrian wondered if he arrived too early (or maybe too late) and was glad that he had brought his violin with him, like he always did.

This spot, next to the Hungarian border, was where he was when he didn’t have any work to do as the Music room became unbearably lonely. Here, at least, he could see her, perhaps the only reason why he hadn’t turned insane from the political and diplomatic isolation of his neutrality. Now, at least, they had torn down their part of the so-called “Iron Curtain”, resulting in a memorable picture of the two of them cutting through the fence that made newspaper across the world. Nonetheless, there were barely any significant changes, as if the fence still stood. ’That bastard still won’t let Eliza go.’ Roderich sighed deeply as he stopped staring at the direction of the border. It was a hard time for many nations, including himself and his eastern neighbour.

He closed his eyes as began playing the instrument. He rarely noticed it, but the music he played matched the emotions he kept inside. Accordingly, it was a sad song, although it wasn’t as worse than what he used to play at the height of the war. As he played the song, he was fully concentrated and wasn’t paying attention at his surroundings at all. Even fully focused, he still wondered if the Hungarian would show up today. The song he played suddenly seemed to be drifting away from the sadness it once was, replaced by something with a little more hope. He kept playing as the music shifted from sad, hopeful, doubtful, back to sad, and so on. The music kept flowing as he completely ignored everything but the song he played. When the Austrian finally decided to end the song, he sighed once more. “Eliza would probably want to hear something happier…” He thought aloud. Roderich was about to play another song when he suddenly hesitated. He turned his head toward the border once more…

The Iron Curtain… though physically, the barrier no longer stood, it was in their minds, standing tall and strong as if it had just been built. She recalled the moment when Perhaps stronger than a physical wall was the wall in their minds… taller… stronger… as if it stretched on and on for eternity… As a trained dog knows not to cross the borders of his fence, they knew to follow suit. They were, after all, no more than dogs to that power hungry monster. It sickened her.

Though the sun beat down on the earth and the heat began to grow unbearable on the open field she walked through, there was a certain redeeming shade beneath a single large, old tree. This was one of the very few times she was able to get away from her position and rest, if only for a little while. That tree… it had been there since she was very little. She remembered it so clearly though it was in many years past that it had begun to grow. The young girl, now a woman a matured nation, remembered in her youth how she would sit under the shade and think of everything. Think of the battles she had faced and would face and how she could become stronger. How foolish she felt that she thought she could have predicted this… Never… She had never imagined…

The wind whipped mercilessly through her long hair. It was tangled and wild, though she cared not for such frivolities. She held in her hand a journal; it only held small notes of her thoughts… poetry… things that had happened to her and her people. She wrote very little each time, and spent the rest of the time thinking… She must have spent an hour there before she heard it. She would have smiled. She was smiling inside at least. That familiar sound, beautiful and soft… sad… it tore at her heart.

She put the rugged old book under her arm; the pencil tucked safely in her jacket pocket. She stood, leaving the tree and her muddled thoughts behind with it. She thought of him, seeing him… as far away as he would be... and began to walk toward the border, the sound of a soft and sad melody drifting on the whipping winds. She reached the top of the hill and sure enough, he was there.

“Roderich…” Elizaveta’s voice was lost on the wind.

The Austrian lowered the instrument from his chin as he heard her voice. He looked at her for a long, thoughtful moment. Even if he was quite happy to see her, it was painful to see her in such a state. She looked tired- No, exhausted. Every time he saw her, she seemed to have weakened. She used to be so cheerful, smiling, and heart-warming. It was truly heartbreaking. At least, he knows that she is a strong and tenacious woman. He shouldn’t worry about her that much. Then again, how could he not? They have countless childhood memories together, they spent most of their lives in the same house and were even married at one point. He knows her limits too well, and vice-versa. Any sane person would worry at that point (Even if he did question his sanity at that point).

“Elizaveta…” He finally managed to say in a shakier voice than he would have hoped. He couldn’t find anything appropriate to say. He has always been a man of few words, not much changed about that. Nonetheless, he had to say something, it was already a bit awkward to stare at her without saying anything for god-knows how much time.

He began staring at the grass in front of him. Why does Ivan think he can still keep a grip on his ‘Allies’? His own country is falling apart and Feliks had already thrown out the communists. Roderich knows Elizaveta too well and history is merely repeating itself. It was only a matter of time until she would react. The same happened in 1956… He sighed deeply. ‘This time, he swore, I’m not just going to watch from the sidelines…’

He tucked the violin back under his chin. “Why don’t you sit down? I’d like to play a song for you.” He said in his usual quiet tone. He has to keep waiting, like he’s been doing for the past 40 years or so. As much as he is tired of it, a gentleman must always be patient...

It was only a matter of time…

Sigh, depressed Austria is depressed...