A Fight in Silence

by Melanie Metzenthin

  ‘May I ask you another question?’ she said, wanting to take a closer look at him once the curtains had reopened and let in the light.

  ‘Of course.’ He gave her a nod of encouragement. ‘What would you like to know?’

  He had dark brown hair, which, unlike with most of the men she knew, was not smeared with pomade. She liked that. But it was his eyes that intrigued her the most, their bright blue reminding her of a lake in a summer storm.

  ‘Those art movements you talked about, they don’t mean much to me, although I’m often at the city art gallery.’

  ‘That’s not so surprising,’ he said. ‘In the mainstream galleries, they really only have the Expressionists to represent the whole of modern art, alongside the regular Old Masters. A while back I went to the Museum of Fine and Applied Arts, and I often look in at the Galerie Commeter in Hermannstrasse, even though I can’t afford anything at the moment!’ His momentary smile softened his features, although his face remained manly. ‘Anyway, my name’s Richard Hellmer. I’m in my seventh semester.’

  ‘Paula Engelhardt,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘I’m in my second.’

  ‘And already interested in psychology?’ His handshake was warm and friendly.

  ‘The burden of heredity, you might say. My father is Wilhelm Engelhardt, psychiatrist.’

  ‘And that’s why you aspire to this particular field?’

  ‘Could be. And you? What prompted you to come this evening? Art or psychiatry?’

  ‘Both. I’m writing my dissertation on different ways of treating mental illness and am intrigued by what people are capable of, even when others have called the value of their lives into question.’ His face grew serious again and his gaze turned disdainfully towards August Lachner, who was just leaving the hall.

  ‘That interruption surprised me,’ said Paula, seizing the opportunity to keep the conversation going. ‘Art as a means of diagnosis to detect mental illness?’ She shook her head.

  ‘Our colleague is a devotee of the theories of Professor Alfred Hoche at Freiburg.’

  ‘I don’t know the name.’

  Before Richard could respond, Paula got a gentle push.

  ‘Paula, are you coming? Eckehard and Felix would like to treat us to coffee.’

  ‘No thanks, I still have lots to do today.’

  ‘Pity,’ Leonie said, winking at her, then left the lecture hall with both young men.

  ‘Looks as though we’re the last to leave,’ commented Richard.

  ‘Yes, it looks like it. And the caretaker’s keen to lock up. I’d love to continue this conversation, though.’ This time she smiled at him.

  ‘I know you’re busy, but if you could spare some time . . . ? I know a little café near here.’

  ‘An hour either way shouldn’t matter,’ she replied, and followed him out of the lecture hall into the foyer, where they collected their coats from the cloakroom.

  The café, located a couple of streets behind the faculty building, was in an incongruous little brick structure that seemed to squat crookedly behind a magnificent late-nineteenth-century villa.

  ‘Every time I see this place I feel sorry for it,’ said Richard, ‘all alone among the showy villas – that’s why I keep coming back here, and, besides, they have very good cake. Let’s hope they haven’t sold out already.’ He fished out his pocket watch. ‘Ten past seven: touch and go. They close at eight.’

  ‘Coffee and stimulating conversation are enough. We don’t need cake as well.’

  ‘Then I shan’t worry about letting the side down if it’s all gone.’

  Once inside, Paula found the café to be far bigger than she’d expected. First came the inviting high-ceilinged interior, while at the back it was altogether smaller and more cosy. She guessed they must have knocked through to the house behind to create this size and effect. Bumps and ridges beneath the ornamental burgundy rugs indicated where the old divisions between front and back had once been. There were little round walnut tables throughout with elegantly turned wooden chairs to match, the seats upholstered in dark red velvet. The daily newspapers hung from racks around the walls.

  Most tables were still occupied, even though the café would be closing shortly. Many of the students present, some of whom Paula knew by sight, sat over their books and notes, while quite a few men played chess and a group of older ladies talked animatedly.

  Richard led the way to one of the few empty tables at the back then helped Paula out of her coat and hung it on a rack along with his own. He’d only just sat down when a waitress arrived, ready to take their order. She was a pretty blonde with a pout that didn’t quite go with the prim black dress and white lace apron.

  ‘We’d like two coffees, please,’ said Richard, ‘and do you have any cake left?’

  ‘But of course – what would you like? Sponge cake or almond?’

  He looked at Paula. ‘The almond cake here is superb, I have to say.’

  ‘I can’t resist the idea of almond cake.’

  They sat in silence once the waitress had gone. Paula tried to remember what they’d been talking about when they’d set off after the lecture, but before she could ask him, Richard picked up where they’d left off.

  ‘You wanted to know about Professor Hoche. A few years ago, he and the lawyer Binding published a work on the destruction of life unworthy of life.’ Richard’s face had taken on a serious expression, similar to the one he’d directed at August Lachner.

  ‘Life unworthy of life?’ asked Paula. This was a term she’d never come across.

  He nodded. ‘I read their publication. It starts with the completely understandable call to make it possible for the terminally ill or gravely injured to have a humane death in the form of a mercy killing as a Christian act towards one’s fellow human beings. A high dose of morphine, for example, when nothing further can be done.’

  He fell silent for a moment, as if something had taken him back to a sombre past. Paula wondered whether he was old enough to have served in the war. But before she could find out, he was off again.

  ‘While the first part makes complete sense from a humanitarian standpoint, in the second he deals with those referred to as the “mentally dead”. These, according to Hoche, among others, are the type of people whose drawings we’ve just had the opportunity to appreciate, and who have no grasp of what they’re living for. He describes it as an act of mercy to kill them and calls for new legislation making it possible for a doctor to do this within the bounds of the law – out of common humanity and for the good of the people, as he puts it.’ Full of revulsion, he shook his head. ‘But that’s not all. Do you know who else he includes among the mentally dead?’

  Paula was taken aback, and yet fascinated by the vehemence of his feelings on the subject. She’d actually hoped for an inspiring conversation about art but at the same time was flattered that, instead of sticking to the usual banalities, he was sharing his innermost feelings with a woman he’d only just met. ‘No, but I can see you’re going to tell me.’

  He hesitated. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I did get rather worked up there but it’s something that means a lot to me.’

  ‘You don’t need to apologise. I’m very interested, and where would we all be with no humane attitude to life? Please, do go on.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Was that a flicker of unease in his eyes?

  ‘Quite sure, or else I wouldn’t have asked.’

  Before he could reply, the waitress had brought the coffee and cake, and Richard took a sip of coffee while Paula tried her almond cake. It was excellent.

  ‘So,’ she said to encourage him, ‘you wanted to tell me more.’

  He nodded but the passion he’d just demonstrated for the subject had gone. ‘I’m not sure it’s appropriate in such a pleasant environment.’

  ‘Where else is there? Or do you feel it’s inappropriate because subjects like this don’t usually play a part in conversation when a man and a woman are sittin
g together in a café?’

  He dropped his gaze as if caught out. ‘Well, it might be like that with other women,’ he conceded, ‘but I appreciate the chance to talk about something serious instead of wasting time on trivia. I think this is an important subject and would be so grateful if you could broaden my view on it.’

  ‘Really?’ Paula smiled. ‘Would it help if I told you that I fobbed off my friend with an excuse so I could sit here now with you?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he admitted, and his uncertain expression turned into a smile so subtle it showed only in his eyes.

  ‘When I read Hoche’s publication, what shocked me in particular was his inclusion of elderly people with senility among the mentally dead, as well as people like the artist wounded on active service who Professor Habermann mentioned. That’s a clear case of someone who fought for his fatherland, paid for it with his mental and physical integrity, and in return gets labelled mentally dead while someone tots up what he’s costing the nation – the very same nation he was protecting when he sacrificed his health for ever.’

  It was back, that bitter look in his eyes, and Paula wondered again if he was speaking from personal experience, so she asked the question. ‘Were you in the war?’

  ‘No, I was too young, and that was probably a good thing.’

  ‘Would you otherwise have volunteered?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Not many men would admit that today.’

  ‘Are you disappointed in me now?’

  Paula took a sip of her coffee. ‘Why should I be? It takes far more courage to stand by an opinion that’s unpopular with broad sections of society, because you end up lumped together with the unpatriotic types.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you mean the Social Democrats?’

  ‘Aren’t they generally viewed as unpatriotic?’ Her retort was brisk, only to see how he’d react.

  ‘Is someone deemed as unpatriotic simply because he rejects war? Isn’t it another, very special form of patriotism to want peace and prosperity for the homeland? And without the need for weapons and fighting?’

  Paula nodded. ‘I most definitely didn’t mean to insult you. I simply wanted to hear how you’d respond.’

  ‘And was it what you expected?’

  ‘It was no less than I’d expected. I was quite simply curious. Most of the graduates and students that I know are types who remain loyal to the Kaiser and mourn the good old days and have little faith in the Republic. You’re quite different.’

  ‘Different in a good way or shockingly different?’ His eyes twinkled, as though he knew what she’d say.

  ‘Different in a nice way,’ she acknowledged. ‘I think it’s refreshing that you can talk so openly on such difficult subjects, even though I’m a woman.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I talk openly with a woman?’

  ‘Yes, why indeed? I’ve asked myself that very question over and over again. It seems to inhibit a lot of men, as though a woman needs only a pretty face, a good child-bearing pelvis and no brain.’

  ‘Oh well, as a woman trained in anatomy, you can easily parry that by telling them that it’s not the external dimensions of the pelvis that help in childbirth but its inner diameter, something which is not visible from the outside.’

  His eyes were twinkling again, and Paula tried hard to stay serious but finally had to laugh. ‘You’re impossible, Herr Hellmer. Now I beg you . . .’

  ‘Please, call me Richard, Fräulein Engelhardt.’

  ‘Oh, so I’m to call you Richard and you’re sticking with Fräulein Engelhardt?’

  ‘I’d like very much to call you Paula, if you’ll permit me to do so.’

  ‘I hereby grant you permission, Richard.’ She took another sip from her cup. ‘And now you have to tell me why you’re so different from all the other students I’ve met.’

  ‘It could be because I’m the first person in my family to have the privilege of going to university.’ He paused, as if he were watching to see the effect his words had on her. ‘My father’s a master carpenter. He has a big workshop in Rothenburgsort with three journeymen and two apprentices.’

  ‘Didn’t your father want you to take over the family business?’

  ‘No, my older brother was supposed to do that.’

  ‘Supposed to?’

  ‘He was at Verdun.’ The brevity of his reply was such that Paula didn’t like to ask more. The mention of Verdun reduced everyone to silence – the final resting place of countless young men, the place of nightmares – a subject not discussed in the presence of young ladies, or not in her usual circles at least.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said gently.

  ‘So am I. He was a magnificent young man but not cut out for war. His death affected everything.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I know that certain things can no longer be changed. We can but try to make the future better.’

  ‘Is that why you’re studying medicine and are so interested in psychiatry?’

  ‘Among other things.’

  It was clear to Paula that he didn’t want to talk about it and she respected that, even though she was desperate to know what drove him on. She finished her coffee. Richard noticed her empty cup and asked if she’d like another.

  ‘If there’s still time then yes, please.’ She looked at the large clock on the wall as she spoke. It was a quarter to eight.

  ‘Oh, is that the time already? I hadn’t realised.’

  ‘Nor had I,’ she said. ‘It was very good to talk with you on such serious and weighty issues, Richard.’

  ‘Would you like to do this again, Paula?’

  ‘Very much. And I’d like to know more about the art movements you mentioned before.’

  He hesitated and Paula noticed how he swallowed hard before speaking, as if he were having to summon up all his courage. ‘Would you be interested in going to the city art gallery with me this Saturday, and then on to the Galerie Commeter?’

  ‘I would be very interested indeed,’ she said, beaming at him. ‘Would you like to pick me up on Saturday at two?’

  ‘If you’ll give me your address.’ He began to reach for his briefcase to find something to write with, but Paula quickly put her hand on his arm.

  ‘I thought you might see me home this evening to be sure nothing happens to me on the way.’ Even as she spoke, she was amazed at her own daring. That was more like Leonie’s approach to men.

  ‘Forgive me for not having suggested that myself. Of course I’ll see you safely home.’ He called over the waitress and paid and then helped Paula into her coat.

  When they said goodbye a little later at her father’s front door, Paula didn’t know what to make of her emotions. Even though not a hint of romance had passed between them her heart was pounding, and whenever she closed her eyes, he was there in her mind. She was touched by the candour with which he had treated her as an equal and shared his feelings, thoughts and beliefs, and perhaps that was why she felt so elated.

  Chapter 2

  Over the next few days, Paula caught herself constantly looking out for Richard on campus, but with no success. Although she knew this was because of the way their new university was organised, she was still disappointed. The old-established institutions had lecture halls and libraries, while Eppendorf General Hospital had only one lecture hall and that was still under construction. For the time being lectures were held in the main building at Dammtor. Students in later semesters spent most of their time at Eppendorf General, while those less far on in their studies went there only for anatomy presentation and dissection, and thus Paula moved largely within the confines of the main university, where lectures in natural sciences took place.

  ‘You can’t get him out of your head, can you?’ In a gap between lectures, she and Leonie were sitting in the café Richard had introduced her to. Since then Paula had become quite a regular. She’d told Leonie it was the delicious cake and welcoming atmosphere that attracted her to the place and was close to believing this herself, exce
pt for the fact that every time the door opened she felt an irresistible urge to look over and see who was coming in.

  ‘Who on earth d’you mean?’ Paula said, doing her best to look indifferent, but she knew it was useless. Once Leonie was on the scent, there was no escape.

  ‘Hey, you know exactly who I’m talking about! The nice-looking one with the dark hair and blue eyes – the one you talked to for ages after that lecture. Did he take you out somewhere after I’d gone?’

  Paula gave a tactical cough, wondering why she was being so evasive. Nothing further had happened between her and Richard. They’d simply had an interesting conversation with no ulterior motives. Why on earth did she feel as though Leonie’s harmless question might break the spell?

  ‘He brought me here to this café – that’s how I know about it,’ she replied eventually.

  ‘Aha. I’ve been wondering why you’ve been heading so determinedly in this direction the last few days. And? Are you hoping to find him here? A little tête-à-tête in a familiar environment?’ Leonie gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  ‘No. I like the cake.’ As if in confirmation, she speared a small piece of almond cake with her dessert fork and lifted it to her lips with great relish.

  ‘Oh, of course, the cake. So aren’t you going to see him again?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Any details?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, as my kind of detail will definitely bore you. But tell me instead how you got on with Felix and Eckehard. One woman escorted by two men – didn’t you feel like a princess with a pair of eager courtiers?’