My grandmother scrutinised me with that slight 'Got you!' smile of hers.
I repeated, 'It's a neck, Pimmi. A very normal neck.'
We were by now both lying down, facing each other.
'And her ears?' Pimmichen reached a hand out to play with mine. 'Yoodilo-i-hoo? Her ears?'
I closed my eyes. Her ears. I couldn't see them; her hair was always covering them, even when she pinned it up. Did she not like them? I'd seen the lobes but not the whole ears. Or had I? Both at once?
'Well? You can claim all necks are basically the standard pedestal to hold the old knocker up, but there is nothing more personal than a pair of ears. They can be elongated, top heavy, droopy at the bottom, thick, fleshy, rigid, cartilaginous, stuck against the head, sticking out like little catchers, gently rippled like wet sand on a beach, a valley of dense little hills . . . Their lobes can be attached, detached . . .'
I tried hard to envision the ears that would suit Elsa. 'Two delicate shells in which gentle folds, curves and rolls combine to form exquisite . . .' I was at a loss for words. That was the first thing I'd do next time I saw her, take a good hard look at her ears!
'I see she's not finished in parts. Well, maybe that isn't so bad after all. You can start erasing her from there.'
xvii
The following morning Dr Gregor was already there when I arose. He and my grandmother were speaking in low tones. As I approached, they were too preoccupied to bid me the time of day.
Dr Gregor continued, 'No, ma'am, his name is confidential. But as I was saying, he came to consult me because of . . . a problem. It's none of my business who he caught it from, but it is my business to stop the disease from spreading. He might have been embarrassed and trying to justify himself . . . but just before he left, he confided in me that he'd seen of late . . . in the same brothel-house . . . an acquaintance of ours. He said he'd seen, ah-hm, Herr Betzler . . . there.' Dr Gregor cleared his throat. 'Regularly.'
My grandmother turned to look at me, shocked.
'Excuse me. I mean, Herr Betzler the father.'
My grandmother and I were more than a little confused.
'It was only right to confirm the facts first hand before I alarmed anyone, or got anyone's hopes up. Of course I didn't believe that of Herr Betzler or I would have come to you straight away. You must understand, the situation was delicate. Mind you, it's my duty to cure disease, inform patients of health risks. Not to judge. I prescribe medicines, not morals.'
My grandmother could contain herself no longer, 'Well, was it him or not?'
'You must know that . . . Herr Betzler has had a cranial injury.'
'He's alive? He's been found?' My grandmother's expression lit up, to cloud over as quickly. 'You're saying it was him in the brothel?'
'He wasn't there in the way you are assuming, ma'am. I mean, he wasn't there as a client. He was in a room, but he was, um, how can I say this, only watching.'
'A voyeur?'
'You may call it that, but I repeat, he was not a client. He wasn't participating in the . . . doings. From what I've gathered, he was in the room as part of the programme, part of the service, if you prefer. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this.'
'That can't be,' said Pimmichen. 'He wouldn't need the money. He has a family. No, it's not my son. There's a mistake. You didn't see properly. Please, don't say any more — I've had enough pain with all I've imagined. I'll see you next time I'm sick, Doctor. I pray that will be none too soon.'
'He must have been put there by the prostitutes. He's being used as an accessory, a kind of aid. You always have deranged people who pay money for this kind of . . .'
'A king's ransom would not have turned his head to do that. You don't know my boy or you'd never be there giving mouth to this . . . stinking slander. I'm sorry to say so after you went to the trouble to . . . to do whatever you had to do. Do go now.'
'It's sordid, taking advantage of someone not in possession of his faculties,' said Dr Gregor.
'You're right! The only way he could be in such a hole is if they'd knocked him out cold. You said yourself he was the victim of a head injury.'
'If the fracture were recent, I would have informed the police. But because my medical knowledge tells me this is not the case, I thought it best to keep the whole affair quiet.'
'I'll strangle every painted lolly with my own bare hands . . . May God burn their wretched house in hell!'
'Bringing him out was worse than escorting him out of a hornet's nest. He punched and kicked — just did not want to leave. I was forced to inject a sedative. His memory has suffered. Five women of the house came to his "rescue", and a certain "Madeleine" spat in my face. The director of the establishment came to see what all the uproar was about. On learning who I was, and who Herr Betzler was, he let him go on the condition I paid for what he said your son owed for room and board.'
'The nerve! Are you sure?'
'This Madeleine groped around in her, pardon me, brassiere, and paid his due for him.'
'And he didn't say anything? He didn't come to his senses?'
'I repeat: Herr Betzler is not in possession of his faculties. And perhaps never will be again.'
'I want him home. Take me to where he is — galley, dump or dunghouse!'
'He's in my office. Still under the effect of the sedative. Prepare yourselves for what you have to face.'
***
A buxom young nurse with curly red hair and a freckled face, Dr Gregor's soon-to-be wife, was pinning my father's shoulders to the examining table. Every time she prevented him from sitting up, he laughed or cocked his head and gave her flirtatious looks. He shifted around and groats of concrete fell from the worker's overalls he was wearing. Dr Gregor gave the nurse's elbow an affectionate squeeze before hoisting the examining table up so that my father was in a sitting position.
The physical changes in my father might not have been as radical as I'd braced myself for, but the changes to his person were. His jaw, set minimally more to the fore than it used to be, left him with a less alert expression that bordered on phlegmatic, all the more so because his eyebrows were knitted into some unanswered — and perhaps unanswerable — question. His build was heavier than it had been, which had the effect of reducing his facial features, at least relatively, making his personality appear that much weaker. His head was tilted forward, depriving him of his once proud bearing, and it was this detail that made me struggle to be brave. From the snivelling I could hear beside me, I can say my grandmother wasn't doing much better.
Pimmi used the hand she'd just wiped her eyes with to cross herself and went for an embrace, whereby he pulled back.
'Wilhelm! Wilhelm! It's your mother! Your own mother!' She beat her breast to illustrate the strength of their relationship. 'Willie? Don't you remember me? Mutti? Mamma!'
My father gazed blankly at her. In an absurd pantomime of 'mother', she framed her face with her hands, while straining her features into a lachrymose smile. I think my father was taking her for some nutty old bat. The nurse's coughs drew his gaze to her instead.
'Willie? Willie!' My grandmother waved her handkerchief in high arcs to catch his eye again. 'Little Johannes? Your son, remember? Yes. Little Johannes . . . That's right . . .' She gave me a push. 'Go on, Johannes! Go and kiss your father!'
My father was staring at me in a meaningful way that led me to believe he was indeed remembering me. But as I stepped closer I understood that it was not me he'd been captivated by, it was the disharmony of my face. All of a sudden he crossed both arms over his face and uttered a series of short, strident screams that caught me unawares.
Moving me aside with his elbow, Dr Gregor ordered, 'Out of his field of vision, quick! Turn around — don't you see you're upsetting him?'
I don't know whether it was the nurse's trained grip or simply the fact of being touched by her that had the effect of calming my father down, but whichever it was enabled Dr Gregor to administer an injection in safety, after which th
e nurse pressed my father's head against her cushiony bosom and rocked him as she would an oversized baby.
My grandmother watched in silence, three fingers working her chin. Dr Gregor took some catalogues and pamphlets out of a filing cabinet and escorted us to the adjoining room.
'Don't lose hope, Frau Betzler,' he said. 'Vienna has specialists known worldwide for such cases; institutions that will take the burden off your hands. I guarantee you tiptop medical teams . . . clean facilities . . . He will be in the best hands.'
'Just out of a whorehouse and you want to throw him in the nuthouse?' Pimmichen paced back and forth holding her forehead, as if the weight of the decision was too much. She drew both palms down her face and motioned me back to my father. 'Doctor, I thank you for all your help until now, but there's one house he needs now, one house only. It's called home.'
***
Over the week and days to come, Pimmi was a slave to my father and I provided all the support I could, giving him every sort of basic care. But for some reason, rather than giving my life meaning, as did my care of Elsa, it depressed me through and through, which depressed me more by making me feel guilty about caring more about her than him. No doubt it was because he was more like some dried casing my father had discarded. Whatever we did, told him or showed him from his old life, such as his wedding pictures, he remembered nothing. His house was as foreign to him as an institution, and we ourselves were no more than a nurse and guard. The only person he missed, judging from his irregular fits, which obliged us to tie one of his limbs to my grandmother's four-poster bed with a belt before he took to the streets, was the prostitute 'Madeleine', whom he called out for.
One cloudy afternoon, the eleventh day or so, he was more jittery than usual as I was adjusting the buckle around his wrist with a hand towel so it would chafe less. After shoving Pimmi back with both legs and knocking my brow with his elbow, he stopped in mid-motion and grinned at some point behind me. Turning around, I jumped to see a figure.
The woman could have been in her twenties, as she could have been in her forties — gone to seed in the one instance or held in place by a miracle and a few stitches in the other. Her face was colourfully though not skilfully painted. The bars of green under her brows rendered her eyes less green, and whatever stuff she had applied to her skin gave her the look of a wax doll, an impression underlined by moth-like false eyelashes ungluing at the bases. Her dress, or rather lack of a dress, exposed her legs, thin up to the knees but widening out well thereafter, along with the squares of her black net stockings. A ridiculous scarf, looking like a three-metre snake that had been tarred and feathered, was coiling in front of what I guessed to be an impressive cleavage. Her trump card was her hair — luscious, long, curly and red, though from the violet glints it sent off, I doubted naturally so.
'Who are you?' I asked.
'I didn't hear you knock,' Pimmichen snapped.
'I didn't,' replied the woman.
'Then who gave you permission to come in?'
She made a jab in my father's direction, her thumb sticking out like a hitchhiker's. 'Sounded to me like he did.'
'Madeleine. Madeleine!' My father dragged himself over as far as the bedpost allowed and gave her legs a one arm hug.
'After what you did to my son, you dare show yourself bare-faced here? "Bare-faced" being a manner of speaking.'
'Sorry?'
'Remove yourself sofort from this proper abode and take your pungent aromas with you!'
'Listen here, you old battleaxe. It's a wonder you can still smell, though with such a nose I guess it's not so surprising. You certainly can't see, 'cause if you could, you'd see I took good care of your fry. If he's alive, you have me to thank.' She tossed the tail (or head?) of her snake over her shoulder. 'I saved him from starvation, to start with — he's not exactly what I'd call rattle-boned — and from a good beating more than once.'
She bent over to give my father a kiss practically on the mouth. After undoing the belt, she gripped his hand between her thighs to massage the red welts with both hands.
My grandmother said icily, 'I've been informed as to what acts you put him up to. And I will call the authorities if you don't remove yourself now.'
'Nothing illegal about our work. Just give me the name of whatever authority you want — they're some of our best clients.' She squeezed her thighs to stop my father from moving his hand up.
'You dared have my son witness your filthy copulations!' my grandmother cried.
'Grandma, don't get upset,' I said. 'I'll handle this.'
'Would you have preferred ten apes a night knocking at his back door, if you get my meaning? That's what he was in line for! I saved him from their clutches, brought him back to our house, which is a pretty decent one compared to theirs. Nearly cost me my neck. And don't you go accusing no one about what you don't know donkey about. He was half dead when they found him, and no way to know what name to mark on the grave he had one foot in. Wherever he escaped from — prison, camp or devil knows where — that's where the damage was done.'
'Madeleine's a nice woman! The nicest woman I've ever known!'
My grandmother and I were astonished to hear these, the most coherent phrases my father had spoken since he'd been back home.
By then Pimmi was beside herself with anger. 'Instead of helping this gentleman in need, you lured him into your foul trade!'
'Listen here, you old-liner, we were just working together. What's wrong with that? I did all the dirty work, if that's what you're worried about. No one touched a hair on your poor babe's head — that is, besides me.' She ran her fingers along his balding temples and gave a laugh that betrayed a growing nervousness.
My father made his lips smack for another kiss.
I slammed my fist down on my grandmother's chest of drawers. 'I think it is time to put an end to this!'
Madeleine shammed a yawn and stretch until I thought her lacy frivolities would cease to contain certain aspects of her anatomy. I saw that her hand was trembling when she took my father by the hand, but she seemed to stroll in a leisurely enough fashion from room to room, her snake swinging like a long tail behind her as she looked up and around at details of the house with a greedy, ill-at-ease smile. She picked up a silver ashtray, rubbed it against her stocking to admire the shine — or perhaps her face — before setting it back down. My father was sticking to her heels like a star-struck fan while my grandmother and I kept five paces back as if trailing a pickpocket.
'This is his house, isn't it?' she asked, flicking something that looked like fluff off her long, varnished fingernail.
'Don't even think about it,' my grandmother retorted.
I cut across her path. 'You've caused enough trouble. I think you should do what you've been asked to do and leave before we are forced to resort to non-verbal means.'
Without warning my father charged at me, like some drunkard at a beer festival. 'I'll knock your block off! Right off! Got that? Madeleine stays here.' He rested his forehead against mine and breathed like an enraged animal.
'Yes, yes, my teddy bear. Don't get all worked up.' Madeleine pinched his cheek. 'Shh, calm down, don't sweat. Why don't you go and get me a brush? A brush? You know how Maddie likes you to brush her hair. Will you do that for your little Maddie?'
My father was immediately off from room to room, banging around obnoxiously.
Madeleine gave her hair a toss and glowered at my grandmother. 'Just a word on where you stand, old fart. My teddy bear here can still have children. Take it from me. Golden rule number one. As long as a woman's ovaries are functioning, consider her as having a lethal weapon aimed at your temple. Golden rule number two. Be nice to whoever your little lovie-boy is sleeping with. The world could turn upside down for you in a night. You see? No, didn't I already say the old bat couldn't see? Well, I can. And what future do I see in my crystal ball? I see a baby on its way in . . . I see an old hag on her way out . . .'
My grandmother had begun escorting
the woman out by the arm, but at this point the woman, resisting her, pushed her back towards the staircase. Before she could deliver a second more dangerous push, I caught her by the fuzzy contour one could best name a collar.
'Leave her alone or I'm calling the police,' I said. 'This is her house.'
'Legally, I think you'll find it's his. She's just a guest. Not even a paying guest.'
'My father is not in his right mind. '
'That's true and you know it, you shameless hussy,' my grandmother said.
Just then my father came around the corner and presented Madeleine with my mother's bronze-handled brush, held in both hands as delicately as a dove. 'Oh, thank you for this magnificent brush,' she said. 'Really, you're giving it to me? It's mine, all mine?' She reminded me for some reason of Josef Ritter, whose uniform once gave him the guts to brave my father. 'How sweet! Can you use it to brush Maddie's hair?'
'Yes, yes, yes.' He set to brushing her long hair with reverence.
'You understand well, seems to me, teddy bear. You don't seem in any abnormal state of mind. Tell me, are you abnormal?'
My father gave her a salacious smile, and rocked his head sideways, imitating her example.
'You won't fool anyone,' my grandmother managed to get out, despite the trembling that had got the better of her. 'A fool can see what you're doing. Trying to take advantage of a mentally unstable man.'
'Mentally unstable? Do you have the papers to prove that? Any official certificate? Slander, oh slander! It's going to be a cold night for you outside. Not that I don't have a good address . . . You could say I was the one who sent you.' She stepped closer to my grandmother who took another step back.
'Back off or I'll throw you out myself!' I stepped up until we were just short of physical contact.
Madeleine was smiling at me as if I'd meant my menace to be sexy. At that moment my grandmother screamed and I turned just in time to see my father coming at me with an old Chinese vase of ours deep enough to hold one-third of a man. If Madeleine hadn't motioned at him to stop, I would have been smashed to smithereens along with the vase. My father only awaited the word for the deed to be done.
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