Screw

While Strong With A Spear went off to do battle with the sticker windows at the post office, youngest brother, assertiveness trainer SiegLinda and I sat down to some coffee mit schlagg whereupon youngest brother again complained of oldest brother.

Naive American inquires, “Why don’t you tell him to screw off?”

Assertiveness professional SiegLinda and Youngest Brother gape at me. “To VAS?”

To screw off. It’s an American expression meaning to take a flying leap, to go jump off a bridge, to piss up a rope, to put an egg in your shoe and beat it. You know, just tell him you don’t want to go to his house for dinner, that you have other plans.”

SiegLinda looks totally dumbfounded and I must admit completely nonassertive. Brother just looks really baffled. I jump in again.

“Look, he’s your brother. His wife is the depressed Linda right?” Brother nods. “The last thing she needs is all of us to show up at her house for a backyard barbecue. So just tell him it’s a bad idea and that we all have other plans and can’t make dinner by 4. Then tell him to pick a restaurant and we’ll meet him there at 7.” Now I get all kinds of reasons why this won’t work. I get impatient.

“Look, do you want me to tell him? There’s a phone.” I point to a booth at the corner. “Dial it and hand the receiver to me.”

“No, no,” brother says. Now he’s ashamed of being such a wimp. So he makes the call and tells Brother Tryannical we can’t make it. He comes out of the phone booth beaming. “It vorked,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, “That’s conflict resolution 101 in America.”

“Yes, I zeee. Go shcrew off. Verrry nice. SiegLinda can use zat in her courrrse.”

We order more coffee. After an hour and ten minutes in Postal Hell, Strong With A Spear emerges from the Sticker Wars ready to toss a well aimed bomb at the building that he swears every time we go back to Salzburg that he will never ever enter again no matter what. Of course we both know this is an empty threat because if you have any business to conduct in Austria, it almost always gop through the post office. I think it must have been an ancient Roman way of controlling conquered peoples. As we leave the coffee and moiund of schlagg behind, he tells me he can’t stand one more day in his native country and has called Italy and moved up our reservations. We are leaving in the morning. Of course he did this at the POST OFFICE.

That night we have one last meal with the Lindas. Again I try to fix who is which in my mind. I think the depressed Linda took a few pills before coming because I couldn’t tell one from any of the others at that meal.

After the meal is over a Linda comes over and gives me a huge hug.

“Zsank you.” She smiles right at my eyes.

It’s DERLinda, the depressed one. She’s thanking me for saving her from a family ritual sacrifice and I realize these women never learned how to tell their men to screw off. No wonder depression is a problem in the old country.

I was glad to be leaving for Italy. I like pasta in all its forms except that penne stuff that looks like maggot eggs.

We packed up and headed for Lake Como where I never expected to meet a Japanese rich bitch wearing the biggest diamond bracelet this side of Yamamoto.

But before we leave Austria behind, let’s take one last in-depth look at the culture, which consists primarily of Mozart, castles, known by their Germanic title, schloss, and The Sound Of Music. This well-known musical adaptation of a legendary escape from bad Germans who had invaded Austria, and were forcing all its most elite titled nobility into forced labor in submarines, has formed the basis for an endless chain of commercial enterprises that now spans the Atlantic Ocean.

Sound of Music

Case in point. In Austria you can go on Sound Of Music Tours guided by lilting voiced Frauleins who lead you through, over and under every nook and cranny that Maria and the children touched or spat at before, during and after their escape, presumably across the Alps to Switzerland. Having seen the topography and weather, I doubt very much that Maria and Company made it past the Glockenspiel, a large cafe in downtown Salzburg where you can eat whipped cream until it oozes straight from your arteries. You can buy Sound Of Music books, cards, costumes, histories, wines, candies, pictures and even rosaries. This is no joke. I’m pretty sure the name Austria will soon be changed to Soundenofmusiclandt. Gesundheit.

But, on a less commercial note, consider the reverse. Not only can Americans travel to Austria to relive those thrilling moments of Rogers and Hammerstein (two revered Austrians if ever I met any) but Austrians can now take their own Sound Of Music Tour. Here’s the way it works. Austrian nationals, all of whom harbor a deep attachment to anything that is even remotely maudlin, can board an Austrian Airlines jet in Salzburg, fly to Munich, catch an 8-hour flight to Boston and then board a charter bus to Vermont where they can visit, in person and up close, the actual home of the Von Trapp Family after they emigrated to America and opened a ski lodge and gift shop selling Sound Of Music memorabilia.

I repeat: This is no joke. It’s a very popular tour in the Old Country.