Then he discovered that she was being unfaithful with a biologist from Munich, and they got divorced.
The year after the divorce Daniel had suffered a mental breakdown. He didn’t really know why. He had gotten over the divorce surprisingly quickly and thought in hindsight that it had been the right thing to do. He was well regarded within his profession, he had a good salary and lived in a modern apartment in the center of Brussels. He had short-term flings with career-oriented women who were as uninterested in a serious relationship as he was. He didn’t really feel he was missing out on anything, until one day when everything changed from one moment to the next, and he realized that his life was utterly empty and meaningless. That all his relationships were wholly insubstantial, and that the words he expressed in the course of his work belonged to other people. Who was he really? A glove puppet who performed tricks for a few hours each day and was then tossed in a corner. He was only alive when he was interpreting, and that life wasn’t his, it was borrowed.
This shattering insight had struck Daniel one morning when he was on his way to work and had stopped at a newsstand to buy a paper. He stood there with the money in his hand, as though he’d been turned to stone. The clerk asked which paper he wanted, but he couldn’t answer. He put the money back in his pocket and sank down onto a nearby bench, exhausted. He had an important job that day, but work suddenly felt quite impossible.
He was on sick leave for two months. For depression, according to the doctor’s note. But he realized it was about something more than that: terrifying clarity. A revelation of an almost religious nature. Like converts who had seen the light, he had seen the darkness, and it had given him precisely that sense of an absolute truth that he had heard such people describe. The shabby veil of existence had been yanked aside, and he had seen himself and his life exactly as they were. The experience had come as a shock, but at the same time he was deeply grateful for it, and the thought that he might have gone on living a delusion made him shudder.
Daniel had resigned from his interpreting job, moved back to his hometown, Uppsala, and gotten a temporary job as a language teacher in a high school. The pay was obviously much worse than his previous job, but it would do until he worked out what he was going to do with his life.
In his free time he played computer games. World of Warcraft and Grand Theft Auto. To start with it was just a way of passing the time, then he started to get drawn in. The grayer his real life became, the more vibrant those fictional worlds seemed. The classroom and staff room became waiting rooms where he would spend impatient hours, reciting verb conjugations like a sleepwalker and engaging in small talk with his colleagues. At the end of each working day he would close the blinds in his small, one-room apartment, switch on his computer, and immerse himself in the only life that could make his pulse race with excitement, his brain flash with ingenious insights. When he stumbled off to bed in the small hours, exhausted by hard fighting and breathtaking escapes, he was always surprised that he could feel so strongly about something that didn’t exist, when what did exist made so little impression on him.
6
DANIEL HAD just gotten out of the elevator and was on his way to the armchairs in front of the fireplace when the front door was thrown open and Max headed toward him.
This was the moment he had been worrying about. Although he had been through it so many times before, he never got used to it: walking toward himself, looking into his own eyes, seeing his own face.
To his great relief that didn’t happen this time. The man heading toward him under the crystal chandeliers seemed familiar in a distant, elusive way, but no more than that.
Daniel ran his fingers through his beard as if to reassure himself that it was still there. The soft but effective visor that protected his sensitive face.
Max was suntanned, dressed casually in Bermuda shorts, sweatshirt, and sandals, like a tourist. His hair was cropped short and his smile was so broad and dazzling that Daniel immediately placed him at the manic end of the spectrum through which his psyche constantly moved. Of course that was also the impression he had gotten from the letter, but the letter had been written a month ago and Max’s moods changed quickly. In just a few hours he could switch to pitch-black lethargy or aggressive irritation. But for now he was clearly in a brilliant mood. As long as Daniel didn’t have to take any responsibility for the consequences, that was at least better than its polar opposite.
Max’s embrace was heartfelt, almost passionate, and was followed up by macho slaps on the back and playful shadowboxing.
“Bro! Hey! You came. You actually came! Yesss!”
He laughed out loud as he clasped his clenched fists together in a victorious gesture and looked up at the ceiling as though he were thanking some invisible god.
Daniel smiled back cautiously.
“Of course I came,” he said. “Good to see you. You seem to be doing well.”
“The default setting is pretty stable. How about you? God, you’ve still got that ridiculous beard! It’s worse than ever. I’m surprised they let you on the plane. You look like you’re in the Taliban.”
Max grabbed hold of Daniel’s beard and gave it a quick tug.
“I like it,” Daniel said, taking a step back.
“Really?” Max laughed. “And those glasses! Can you actually get secondhand frames? Where did you find those? Why don’t you have contact lenses like everyone with any sense?”
“I really don’t like the idea of that. Sticking things in your eyes.”
“You’re kidding! But it is a bit of a nuisance, sure. I’ve been wondering about laser surgery for years, but I haven’t found the right opportunity. You need to have two weeks free for everything to heal up again. And when would I have time for that? Okay, let’s get your stuff down to mine and then we can have dinner in the restaurant. They’ve got trout on the menu today, I checked. Where’s your luggage?”
“The staff took it up to the guest room.”
“Guest room? Nonsense! You’re my guest and no one else’s. So obviously you’re staying with me.”
“So where do you live, then?”
“I’ve got a little cabin nearby. Simple but comfortable. Guest room! Is that the key?”
Max took the room key with the brass plate out of Daniel’s hand and disappeared off toward the elevator.
“Wait here!” he ordered, impatiently pressing the button.
After waiting three seconds he gave up and took the stairs instead, two steps at a time.
Daniel stayed where he was, at something of a loss. Caught off guard already, dominated and overridden. How quickly it had happened.
A few minutes later Max returned with his suitcase and headed off quickly and determinedly with it through the front door, down the ornate steps, and off across the park. Daniel trotted obediently after him. What else could he do?
“This seems a reasonable place,” he said to make conversation when he had caught up with his brother. “The staff are nice. No white coats.”
“No, why should they have white coats? As far as I know, no one’s ever been cured by a white coat. I like the outfits the hostesses wear. They’re quite stylish. And sexy. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, maybe.”
On the far side of the park was a cluster of little cabins built of rough timber, in the alpine style. Max opened the door to one of them and gestured to Daniel to go in.
“This is where I live. What do you think?”
The cabin consisted of a single room with rustic pine furniture and benches fixed to the walls, covered with throws in traditional patterns. There was an open fireplace, a basic kitchen, and a curtained alcove containing the bed.
“You can live more grandly here if you like, but I prefer to live like this, simple and frugal,” Max said, putting Daniel’s bag down with a thump. “You can sleep on that bunk over there. That’ll do for one night, won’t it?”
“Do you live here on your own?” Daniel asked in surprise.
“No, we just had coffee.”
“Good, then you’ll be hungry enough to appreciate the fresh trout and a chilled Riesling. Or whatever you’d rather have. But I’d recommend the trout.”
Before they had dinner Max decided to show his brother round.
The clinic was bigger than Daniel had realized at first. Besides the old main building, it consisted of several tall, modern, glass-fronted structures. The whole place was surrounded by the beautiful park, where people were walking about with a spring in their step. Most of them were dressed casually and looked more like healthy tourists than patients at a rehab clinic. Daniel guessed that their problems, like his brother’s, were mostly mental in nature.
“By the way, do you play tennis?” Max asked. “We can book one of the courts and have a game first thing tomorrow morning.”
“No, thank you.”
“Otherwise there’s the fitness center over there. The gym. Table tennis. And a pretty good exercise room, actually.”
Max gestured toward a large building they were walking past.
At its rear was a swimming pool. A couple of patients were lying on white recliners, soaking up the afternoon sun. Daniel shaded his eyes with his hand and looked at them in surprise.
“When you wrote that this was a rehabilitation clinic, I imagined something completely different,” he said. “More like a hospital.”
Max nodded. “This is a private clinic, as I’m sure you’ve worked out. For people who can afford it.”
“So what does it cost to stay here?”
Max screwed his face into a grimace and shook his head, as if it was far too painful to talk about it. “Too much for my budget, really. I can manage it for a while. But if I’m not declared well soon, things will come to a head. That’s why I behave as normally as I can. I keep my distance from the worst nutters, flirt with the female staff, and have learned conversations with the doctors. And I hear them talking behind my back: “What on earth is he doing here? He seems sound as a bell.” Obviously there’s a risk of them keeping you here to get more of your money. That’s why I’ve made it very clear to my doctor, Gisela Obermann, that my resources have almost run out and that I’d appreciate it if they could declare me fit again soon.”
They carried on through the park. The air was cool and smelled of the forest below. From the direction of the tennis courts came the regular sound of balls being hit.
“What sort of treatment are you getting?” Daniel wondered.
“None at all.”
“But you’re still getting your usual medication here?”
A man was approaching along one of the paths. He looked like he wanted to talk to them, but Max put his arm round Daniel’s shoulders and steered him quickly in a different direction.
“Gisela canceled all my prescriptions when I arrived. She wanted to see how I function without them. She always wants to see what patients are like without any medication.”
He stopped, stood in front of Daniel with one hand on his shoulder, and went on in a firm, didactic tone, so that every word got through.
“Examining a medicated patient is as bad for a psychiatrist as it would be for a doctor of the body to examine a patient with his clothes on. Obviously a patient like that could have a skin complaint and tumors without the doctor even realizing. The main purpose of psychotropic medication is the same as clothes, to conceal things. They don’t cure anything, they’re not like penicillin, they don’t kill off harmful bacteria and so on. They just sit like a protective layer of clothing over the illness.”
Daniel nodded in agreement and backed away slightly to avoid the saliva spraying from Max’s lips as he spoke.
“Or like one of those blasting mats,” his brother went on, “those things that muffle explosions and stop stones and debris flying about and hurting anyone. Nice and safe for anyone nearby, obviously. But…”
Max jutted his head forward, fixing his eyes on Daniel’s and lowering his voice to an intense whisper: “What sort of damage do muffled explosions like that do on the inside?”
He paused, his gaze still firmly fixed on Daniel, then started to walk again.
A young man in jogging clothes ran toward them and they stepped aside to let him pass.
“And how does your doctor think you’re doing without medication?” Daniel asked cautiously.
“Fine, I presume. The last time we met she said she couldn’t see any reason to prescribe anything.”
“Really?”
Daniel was surprised. As far as he knew, ever since he was a teenager Max had been on regular medication. Periodically he had given up taking it, which everyone, him included, had realized was a big mistake. As long as he took his medication he felt pretty well and could live a relatively normal life. Yet here he was, saying that his doctor had taken him off all the drugs. Strange.
Max laughed.
“Don’t look so horrified. There’s such a thing as self-healing, don’t you know? That’s what they mainly focus on here. The healing power of nature.”
Max made a sweeping gesture toward the sloping lawn, the glass-fronted buildings, and the mountains.
“Good, nourishing food. Clean air. Peace and quiet. Tried and tested therapies that got forgotten when we came up with all those chemical treatments. People often seem to think it takes a huge amount of effort to help or calm someone down. That we’re these massive steel constructions, difficult to knock over and then just as difficult to put back on our feet after we have fallen over. But just think what a bit of stress can do to a person. There are several people here at the clinic suffering from exhaustion. Have you ever seen someone like that? One woman would just sit there staring in front of her; she didn’t even know her own name. She had to be fed, because she’d forgotten how to use a fork. You might think some sort of terrible trauma had made her like that—war, or torture. No. It was just ordinary stress. Too many demands, pressure from all sides. It’s odd that you can be so completely crushed by that. But in actual fact, we human beings are fairly simple constructs. It doesn’t take much to make us fall apart. And it doesn’t take that much to put us back together again. Time. Peace and quiet. Natural surroundings. Simple things, but often overlooked.”
Daniel nodded thoughtfully.
“So you’ve…healed yourself, then?”
Max turned toward him with a broad smile. “Well, I’m well on the way, according to Dr. Obermann.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.”
Max gave a quick nod, then clapped his hands together noisily to signify that the subject was at an end.
“Well, now we definitely need some food!”
7
TO DANIEL’S great surprise, the clinic contained a restaurant that looked much like any other high-class establishment. It was located in attractive rooms on the first floor of the main building, with an ornate plaster ceiling and Oriental carpets. There were white tablecloths, slender glasses, and linen napkins. Except for one solitary elderly man at a table in one corner, they were alone.
“Is this for the patients?” Daniel exclaimed in amazement as Max made his way toward a table and sat down.
“What patients? There are no patients here. We’re customers, paying a fortune to have a bit of a rest. Some decent food in a nice setting is surely the least we can ask for. We’ll have the trout.”
Max waved away the waitress, who was trying to hand them menus.
“And a bottle of Gobelsburger. Chilled.”
The waitress gave him a friendly nod and went off.
“So, how are things with you, Daniel, or have I already asked? If I have, I can’t remember what you said,” Max said.
&nbs
p; “Things are fine. You know I’m living in Uppsala now. Life at the EU got a bit too stressful. I was in a pretty bad way toward the end, actually. With the divorce and everything. Well, you know.”
“Here comes the wine!”
Max tasted the sip of wine that the waitress had poured and nodded happily.
“Taste this, Daniel. I have a couple of glasses most days. Maybe it doesn’t go with everything, but I don’t really give a damn.”
Daniel took a sip of the wine, which was dry and fresh, actually very good.
“Well, like I said. It got too much,” he went on.
“Too much? Have you been drinking already?” Max said in surprise.
“No, no. Too much… Never mind. The wine’s great. Fresh. Invigorating.”
“Invigorating! That’s the word! You always have such fantastic words for everything, Daniel. But I suppose you are a linguistic expert.”
“No, no. I’m an interpreter. Or was, anyway.”
“If interpreters aren’t linguistic experts, I don’t know who is.”
Daniel gave an embarrassed shrug.
“I just find languages easy,” he admitted. “But really I’m just a parrot.”
“A parrot? Yes, there’s probably something in that. You like mimicry, Daniel. But at the same time you’re absolutely terrified of being the same as anyone else. Me, for instance. What are you frightened of?”
“I’m not frightened. I don’t understand why you’d think that,” Daniel protested, sounding more upset than he meant to.
“Well, let’s not start arguing when we’ve only just met. We don’t want to upset little Marike, do we?”
He smiled at the waitress, who was standing beside the table with two plates.
“Go ahead, Marike. He looks dangerous but he doesn’t bite.”
The trout was fried whole and served with new potatoes, melted butter, and lemon.
“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Max said when the waitress was no more than a few steps away. She was in her forties, and hardly a little thing.
The Devil's Sanctuary Page 3