The Hormone Factory: A Novel

by Saskia Goldschmidt

  I took her head between my hands. “You are a woman, Rivka, of course that’s the way you feel. Your life is at home with our little girls; your job is to teach them how to love. But I’m standing out on the prairie where I can hear the hyenas howling, ready to pounce. I’m guarding the entrance to our lair, to stop wild beasts from devouring you and the children. That is the man’s role, the role of the boy you once fell for.”

  “I believe there’s another way,” she insisted. “I want there to be another way; I can’t accept this. I say we stand shoulder to shoulder outside our lair and set an example of how to face the world with love and kindness.”

  We looked at each other as if we were really seeing each other for the first time. Her frown slowly relaxed into a smile, and I found myself smiling back. Slowly, slowly, with almost painful deliberation, we leaned closer and kissed, long and passionately. Rivka pressed her body against mine, and, with our lips still locked together, we stood up and I led her to the room with the guest bed. Aaron was in the room next door, oblivious to the fact that this was his last night of freedom, and I made love to my wife in my disgraced brother’s house. It was the best time I ever had with her, the best sex I ever had with any woman.

  That night, sometime during those pitiless, endless hours after my twin brother’s life was destroyed by a testosterone overdose and both my business career and my company were hanging in the balance, one of my sperm bored its way into one of Rivka’s egg cells, and Ezra, my only son, my youngest child, was conceived.

  27 …

  It was still dark when in the chilly and bleak early-morning hours, I walked Rivka home. We strolled along the dank, deserted streets, still dazed from the experience of the past few hours, when we’d been closer than ever before. When Rivka kissed me goodbye at the front door of our house, she said, “Tonight I felt he was with me again, the boy I once fell in love with. I can’t say I know where we go from here, but it’s nice to know that boy is still in there somewhere under all the body armor.”

  She shut the door softly, and I hurried back to Aaron’s house. There I took a shower, brewed a pot of coffee, and, gathering up all the scattered glasses of stale whiskey, overflowing ashtrays, and dirty plates, stacked them on the kitchen counter. Then I quietly went into Aaron’s bedroom. He was still in bed, wrapped in a blanket. His eyes were open; he was staring at the ceiling and didn’t react when the door opened. I returned to the kitchen to pour him a cup of coffee and carried it back to the bedroom, then sat down on the edge of the bed and offered him the hot brew. He sat up slowly, as if every movement cost him extraordinary effort, took a few sips, and then gave the mug back to me.

  “How are you doing, kid?” I asked.

  He gazed at me with half-closed eyes, but it was as if he didn’t see me. He was somewhere else entirely; I imagined he was drifting through some dark and dismal ghost world, haunted by swarms of demons.

  I wished I could have sat with him like that all morning, waiting for him to come back to earth from that distant realm, and let him calmly get used to the idea that this would be the last time he’d wake up a free man, at least for the foreseeable future. But there was no time for dawdling. My brother had to be delivered to the police station before the pit-bull doctor’s return.

  “Aaron,” I said carefully, unsure how he’d take what I had to tell him, fearing it might bring out the madman in him again, “I spoke to the police yesterday. Rosie had gone to see them, and I schmoozed until I was blue in the face to get you off. The officer in charge wasn’t unsympathetic, but there’s such an uproar about what happened that we can’t just sweep it under the rug. You’ll have to go to the police.”

  Aaron lifted his head. His voice sounded hoarse, as if the previous day’s bellowing had strained his vocal cords. “Are they coming for me?”

  “No,” I said softly. “I promised I would take you in. But I’m going to get you the very best lawyer in the business.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t want a lawyer. I deserve my punishment, the harshest punishment there is. I’m prepared to serve my time. There’s no denying I did what I did, and no excuse for it either.”

  He made a move to get out of bed, but I held him back with a gentle push. I would have tried to persuade him that he had the right to a defense, that he should not deprive himself of the opportunity, but he had spoken with such fierce determination that I just didn’t have the heart to insist. There was some other urgent business to get off my chest, however.

  “We do have another thing to discuss, Aaron, before we go,” I told him. “About the doctor who gave you those injections—I’m afraid that was what made you behave the way you did.”

  “I’m sure that it was,” Aaron said, starting to fold the blanket painfully slowly. His hoarse voice was barely audible as he went on. “As it turns out, our esteemed professor’s heaven-sent discovery possesses satanic powers. Are you intending to go ahead anyway with producing that tripe?”

  “We’ll have to see, naturally. Something went terribly wrong, and you were the victim. And Rosie too, of course,” I added quickly, since Aaron was about to interrupt me. “But,” I went on, “if word gets out that you were being treated with that stuff, our goose is cooked. And, well, it’s obvious the doctor gave you an overdose, but I beg you to go easy on him. Yesterday I put out the story that you’d been stockpiling a whole slew of different antidepressants, and that those had been responsible for everything going awry.”

  “You’re a rat, Motke,” said Aaron, for the first time looking at me, with narrowed eyes; “you are the most despicable sleaze-bag I know. I’m ashamed to have you as my brother. I’d bet my life that the reason you’re all in a sweat right now isn’t so much because of what I’ve done to that poor girl, or because I’m going to jail, but because you’re worried this little ruckus might expose your own dirty hands in this whole sordid affair, am I right?”

  I looked him straight in the eye, and he stared right back at me. A staring contest, to see who would back off first. It took everything I had not to look away. Aaron’s eyes bored stonily into mine. Looks can kill, they say. It was agony. In the end I had to avert my eyes from his. I looked down at my feet, thinking that Aaron did not even know the half of it; he had no idea how involved I had been in his downfall. I considered making a clean breast of it, but before I could make up my mind, he spoke up.

  “It would serve you right if word got out about the way you’ve abused your position. I have committed a single, heinous wrong, and I am ready to atone for it. But you’ve been getting away with one dirty deed after another, and you go about it in such a sneaky way that the victims don’t even realize it’s not their own fault. I’ve known you long enough to have an idea of how you get those girls to think they’re just as guilty as you of whatever obscene thing you’re doing to them.”

  I wanted to interrupt him, to beg him for the sake of the firm not to reveal any of this. He put a hand over my mouth and went on. “Now you’re going to try to persuade me not to do anything to endanger Farmacom’s survival. That if people knew, your house of cards would come tumbling down and the whole workforce would be out on the street. You’re good at that; you always hide behind the ‘greater good,’ which allows you to get away with your shenanigans. But you don’t fool me, Motke. It’s all about you, always. You are the center of your universe, and everything else is only there to serve your interests.”

  He paused for a moment and then continued. “But the scales have fallen from my eyes. I will never again defer to your wishes. I could make a huge stink about what you’ve done, which would land you behind bars. But no, I want to have as little to do with you as possible, I don’t want to be locked up next to you in the clink. I’ll keep my mouth shut about your proclivities, not to spare you, mind; you don’t rate my clemency. I’ll keep silent because I am just as guilty of your sins as you. All this time I knew what you were up to, and I turned a blind eye to what I saw. I was just another of the millions of chicken-
livered cowards in this world. Because of people like me, people like you get away with your evil behavior. A wimp who doesn’t dare open his mouth isn’t any better than the one doing the dastardly deed.

  “I am going to jail. I won’t deny a thing, I won’t assist in any investigation whatsoever, and I’ll pay the ultimate price. And only you will ever know that I’m atoning not just for my own sins, but also for yours. On one condition, mind, and don’t you ever forget it: these indiscretions of yours have got to stop. If, while I’m in the slammer, or later, once I’m out again, I ever get a whiff indicating you’re still fooling around with those girls at work, I won’t rest until I’ve sent you and the whole caboodle down the tubes. And believe me, if you ever so much as lift a finger to touch some innocent thing, I will make it my business to find out about it. I want you to swear, both on the graves of our coldhearted parents and on your Rivka’s goodness, that from now on you’ll never lay a finger on any of the girls in the factory.”

  His words seemed to be coming from very far away. I stared at him, and after a pause, I said, “I swear, on the graves of our coldhearted parents and on the goodness of my wife.”

  Aaron nodded and swung himself out of bed. I extended a hand to help him up, but he shrugged it off. “And another thing, Motke,” he said, unbuttoning his tattered and torn shirt, “after today I’ll have nothing more to do with you. You are my brother no longer. Once I’ve done my time, I am never coming back to this shithole. And you’d better make sure that Rosie gets whatever she needs. Now I’m going to get washed, and then you may escort me to the police station, and after that, we’ll each be a man without a brother.”

  Without wasting another glance at me, he disappeared into the bathroom.

  28 …

  After dropping off Aaron at the police station, which he’d entered without bidding me goodbye, I rushed back to the office. I didn’t have time to stop and think about the morning’s events; the ship was still floundering, with a huge gash in the hull.

  First I rang the doctor in Nijmegen and informed him of what had happened. I managed to assuage his panic, assuring him that I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone about Aaron’s testosterone overdose. I pressured him not to tell Professor Levine about it either. This seemed to calm him down. The poor quack must have felt duty-bound as a scientist to fill the professor in, but at the same time he was scared shitless of Levine’s wrath. My directive relieved him of that obligation. It’s astonishing, really, how people will agree to a request if you make them believe it’s an order. It’s rare that they’ll find the strength to resist an assertive demand and hang on to their own sense of what’s right.

  After putting down the phone I asked Agnes to gather together the office personnel who had witnessed Rosie’s escape and heard my brother’s brute bellowing of the previous day. Standing in the hall, I gave a short speech in which I apologized for Aaron and his transgression, brought about, I explained, by a harmful concoction of medications. He was already locked away in a cell, I told them, awaiting punishment. Moreover, I said, my brother was racked with remorse and wished more than anything that the dreadful episode had never happened. I sent the employees back to their desks, but not before warning that this was to be the last word spoken about this affair, and that I would not stand for any gossip. I also asked them to do all they could to nip in the bud any rumors undoubtedly already circulating on the outside.

  “Farmacom belongs to us all,” I said in conclusion, “and slander and scandalmongering affects all of you just as much as it affects my own family. Blackening the name of the firm is tantamount to besmirching your own. I hope and trust that by pulling together we can rid Farmacom of this blot on its otherwise sterling reputation. I thank you sincerely.”

  There was a smattering of applause from the white-coated employees, and some quiet chatter as they returned to their desks.

  I shut myself into my office and asked Agnes for a cup of coffee, hoping it would help me get over my exhaustion. Aaron’s tongue-lashing had cast a pall, robbing me of the will to go back to work. I was tempted, just for an instant, to throw in the towel, to leave it all behind, the damn factory, Levine, my children, even my “trophy wife,” and make a break for it. How would it feel to flee this doomed continent like a thief in the night, and to go live the good life somewhere else, on a white sandy beach in some exotic locale among the noble savages?

  I took a sip of strong coffee and considered what else remained to be done that morning.

  I was about to spring into action when Agnes rang to say the priest was there, demanding to speak to me immediately. Annoyed, I told her to think of some excuse to get rid of him. “Just make an appointment with him for some time next week,” I suggested, and was about to put down the receiver.

  “I already tried that, but he says it can’t wait,” she replied. Then I heard her shout “No!” and at the same time my office door flew open. The clergyman, normally so sedate and cautious, burst into my room, slamming the door behind him. His pasty face was flushed bright red, he had a wild look in his eyes, and his black cassock was buttoned askew. He leaned against the shut door, as if hoping to keep out the bogeyman that was on his tail.

  “Father,” I greeted him, mustering a feeble smile with some difficulty. The last thing I needed right now was a sermon from the padre.

  “Mr. De Paauw,” he panted, slowly detaching himself from the door and advancing toward my desk, “I must speak to you urgently.”

  I pointed to the chair in front of my desk and invited him to say what was on his mind, adding that I didn’t have much time. Unlike his customary delivery, which entailed beating around the bush for as long as possible, he came straight to the point. “The unspeakable events that took place in this establishment yesterday are the talk of the town.”

  He drummed his bony fingers together more restlessly than ever. “The town is all abuzz about your brother’s brutal attack on that little Jewish girl. People are furious, and are spreading the most horrific stories. They say the girl was grievously harmed, and that she has died of her injuries.” As he repeated these rumors, he leaned conspiratorially closer.

  “That’s nonsense,” I replied. “I personally saw her yesterday, at the police station, where she was filing her complaint. She’s had a nasty shock, but other than that she’s quite unharmed. Don’t you know how these stories get spread?”

  “Mr. De Paauw, the rumor about the little Jew girl is only one of the stories going around. They’re saying this is just the tip of the iceberg.” He opened his eyes as wide as saucers to stress the gravity of the situation. “Supposedly there’s plenty of other improper cavorting going on here. Not just on the part of your brother, but”—waving his forefinger in the air, he swallowed in his peculiar way—“it’s said that you yourself have frequently taken advantage of these young women. I had heard the rumors before but never paid much attention to them, as I told you in our last conversation. I thought it behooved me, however, to inform you of the gossip. Furthermore, the angry mood out there alarms me; I fear that even I may feel the repercussions too.”

  He paused to give these last words extra weight. So, the truth was coming out at last.

  “I therefore thought it advisable,” he continued, “to discuss with you how we can put out this fire before it consumes us both.”

  I looked at him sternly. The padre’s knickers were all in a twist, it seemed, because this whole cock-up was threatening to expose his own illicit dilly-dallying with his Catholic flock. And what, he was now expecting me to help him get out of trouble?

  “Reverend,” I said, “am I to understand that you have not always been able to keep your hands to yourself, and are now afraid it may come to light on account of my brother’s transgression?”

  The man’s face grew scarlet; he hung his head and made the sign of the cross as if to ward off my words, which had just hurled his sins out into the universe, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “So? What do you want fro
m me? How am I supposed to help you with that?” I steamed.

  “Well, we are both in the same boat, aren’t we, Mr. De Paauw?” he lisped, glancing up. “I came here so that we might, as it were, join forces.”

  “In the same boat? You and I?” I asked. “I don’t quite see it that way, Father. I gather that you have not been able to control yourself with your parishioners. In my case, however, we’re talking about mere rumors. The chief of police himself admitted to me yesterday that there is no evidence to support the accusation of one of my employees, Bertha, also one of your flock, who I’m sure is the source of these rumors insofar as they pertain to me. I do understand that this is an unpleasant situation, but I don’t see how I can be of help to you. It seems to me that it would make more sense for you to appeal to the mayor, who may be able to put his influence to good effect.”

  The padre’s face went white as a sheet; he scrunched up his eyes and sucked in his thin lips. His normally beatific expression twisted into a pained grimace.

  “You are mistaken, Mr. De Paauw. For years I have been hearing over and over again about quite a goodly number of youngsters in my flock being forced into having sexual intercourse with you, or other carnal practices. Here, in this room, on that sofa”—here he pointed accusingly at the Cozy Corner—“all kinds of lewd scenes have played out; my own occasional trespasses pale in comparison. I have always defended you until now, but that can change in a heartbeat,” he concluded, trying to muster a threatening scowl. Then he looked at me expectantly, as if he trusted I’d be badly shaken by his words.

  “Ha! You come storming in here with some cockamamie story that Rosie was murdered, whereas I can prove to you that she is very much alive and that physically, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. Isn’t that evidence enough, Father, that you mustn’t believe everything you hear through the grapevine? I have nothing to hide. And I’m not going to atone for anything. My employees know that ugly gossip is not tolerated in our firm. How you deal with it in your parish is your problem. And please forgive me, but I am terribly busy right now, as you can surely imagine.”