by Sylvia True
“Is she home?”
“Yes.”
“May I see her?”
“My mother is a centurion,” Inga said. “I doubt you will get past her. Another day would probably be better. I can phone you when my mother is out.” She tugged his sleeve. “Come meet my friend, Ernst.”
That she spoke of Rudin on a first-name basis felt extraordinary. They were introduced, and as Arnold shook the famous man’s hand, he felt like an infatuated adolescent.
“Arnold is an ardent admirer,” Inga said.
Rudin had a mane of white hair and thick, caterpillar-like eyebrows. Yet his most distinctive feature was the deep crease between his eyes.
“Yes, very ardent,” Arnold said, and felt his cheeks burn. “I have been to a few of your talks.”
“I see.” Rudin furrowed his brow. The crease between his eyes deepened.
“You spoke about the two-recessive gene theory of schizophrenia. I am interested to learn of your new techniques. I was actually wondering how you determined…”
As Rudin placed his large hand on Arnold’s arm, he anticipated a deep intellectual conversation.
“My dear man,” Rudin said. “I don’t think it is a wise topic for a garden party.”
Arnold looked at the grass. “My apologies.”
“Do tell me how you know Inga and her family?”
Arnold composed himself. “I work at the University here in Frankfurt,” he said. “It was actually you who made my meeting with the Blumenthals possible. You suggested Inga contact me.”
“Did I?” he asked, as he ate light orange caviar. One of the eggs fell into his beard. “Yes, I do recall it now. I placed a call, and Dr. Hegel thought you might be the right fit. The Blumenthals are good friends to have.”
Arnold stared at the tiny orange egg nestled in the white hair. “Yes.” His head was a cement block. No words came.
Rudin glanced into his empty glass. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said.
Arnold was left alone with his half-filled flute of champagne, feeling as if he had missed the opportunity of a lifetime.
Accompanied by a short, bald man, Inga practically waltzed to Arnold. She introduced him to her friend, Fred, who proceeded to interrogate Arnold about the infiltration of Nazi doctrines at the University.
Arnold, unable to answer most of the questions, kept glancing toward Klaus who smoked his pipe and spoke with Rudin. The conversation with Fred fizzled, and Arnold decided it would be best to go home. He walked through the house, stopping in the drawing room, where he stared at the painting of Rigmor and hoped she wasn’t suffering too terribly.
Finishing his champagne, he placed the empty glass on the mantel. He admired how the artist was able to make the fabric in the painting look so real. He touched the dress, half expecting it to feel like silk.
“Dr. Richter?”
He spun around to see Frau Blumenthal at the threshold of the door.
“I was just leaving,” he said.
“She has asked for you.”
“Has she?” He tipped his head.
“Perhaps you can go up now, if you have a spare minute.”
“But…”
“I was wrong,” said Frau Blumenthal, wringing her hands. “I should not have dismissed you so soon.”
He didn’t like Frau Blumenthal, there was no secret in that, but one lesson of his practice was that it was a rare thing for a person to say I was wrong. Three simple words, a liberating phrase that required a certain amount of courage. Or possibly desperation.
With the drapes closed, Rigmor’s room smelled like methanol and rosemary. Likely a camphor concoction that was rubbed on her chest to help with nerves. Arnold understood the need to try various potions, but they rarely did anything aside from filling the room with cloying scents.
He approached the canopy bed, and for a moment thought it couldn’t be. The woman he saw looked old, her skin translucent. Plum-colored circles surrounded her eyes.
“Rigmor?”
“Oh, Arnold,” she said. “What is happening to me?”
“Nothing terrible,” he answered calmly.
“I feel as if there is a herd of galloping horses racing through me.”
He sat on the chair next to the bed. “When did this start?”
“A few days ago. Out of the blue. I was painting in my studio, and suddenly I felt faint. But the moment I went to lie down, my heart began to pound, and I could feel it all happening again.”
“The beginning of an episode?”
She nodded. Her hair looked as if it had been in a windstorm.
“These things come in cycles,” he said. “This one will also pass.”
“It’s never been this bad. The shadows at night taunt me, their arms reach to grab my throat.”
He had heard of people seeing shadows. Sometimes it was nothing but an extension of a dream, but he had also read that shadows could be a precursor to psychosis.
“You have to remind yourself that they aren’t real. That they can’t hurt you.”
“I know. Yet I see them. That my mind can manifest such grotesque images makes me think I am mad.”
“If you were truly mad, you would not have the slightest idea that they were manifestations.”
He patted the blanket.
“I am not going to tell you to rest, as that will likely do little good, but if there is something you can do to distract yourself, that might be the best medicine.”
She gave him her hand. “Talk to me. Tell me about you, or your work, or your colleagues.”
He held her hand and talked until his voice felt hoarse. He talked about how distant his father had been, how his mother lost so much blood after he was born that she wasn’t able to have more children. He talked about case studies he’d read, miraculous ones. He talked about how medicine was improving every day and how more doctors were choosing psychiatry.
He wasn’t sure exactly when she drifted off to sleep. She appeared at peace, her lips slightly parted, her forehead smooth. He tucked her hand under the covers just as Frau Blumenthal came in.
“She is asleep,” he whispered.
Frau Blumenthal clasped her hands as if she was about to fall to her knees and pray.
“So she will be fine?”
He wished he could promise that she would be free from future episodes, but he knew better, and he sensed Frau Blumenthal did as well.
“This will pass,” was all he allowed himself.
Chapter Seven
The Baby
Belmont, Massachusetts 1984
Inga felt reenergized after Sabine phoned and asked for help, although it was somewhat disconcerting that Tanner would answer an old woman’s call and not his wife’s.
In the afternoon, Inga hired a taxi and drove around Belmont to get a feel for the area and where the shops were.
At six-fifteen, she sat in the hotel lobby. She kept her feet firmly planted on the floor, a practiced stillness she had developed over the years. But inside, a battle of emotions waged, curiosity at seeing the baby, fear that Tanner would want to leave Sabine for a more stable woman, sadness that Lisbet would not come to visit her daughter, and anger at Gerald, Lisbet’s husband—which on some level was a constant.
The moment Tanner entered the lobby, carrying the baby seat as if it were a picnic basket, Inga smiled. He was like she had remembered him, handsome and broad-shouldered, with an easy nature.
“How good of you to fetch me.” Inga stood, as he kissed her cheeks. Well done, she thought.
“I would have picked you up at the airport if I’d known you were coming.” He put the baby seat on a chair to give Inga a closer look at Mia.
Her cheeks, round and pink, radiated health. She had wide eyes and well-defined lips. It was too soon to know about the nose and hair. But the baby looked wholesome, well-fed and content, despite the ordeals of her mother.
“She is lovely.” Inga brushed a finger along Mia’s cheek.
“Hold
on a sec,” Tanner said, undoing the straps that held Mia.
He swept up the baby and handed her to Inga before she had a moment to prepare herself. It had been many years since she held a baby, and in truth, it was not something she had ever been particularly comfortable with. Mia squirmed, and because of her bulky snowsuit, Inga’s grip slipped. She held Mia closer and breathed in the fresh scent of baby shampoo.
Tanner grinned, his chest expanding, the picture of the proud father. “People say she looks like me.”
But Inga hardly listened; she was too taken by Mia’s dark eyes. “Mein Engel,” she whispered, and felt her heart stir.
On the short drive to the hospital, Tanner asked the right questions. How was Inga’s room? Had she slept well? Did she have jetlag? And then he told her how kind it was of her to visit, which made Inga feel as if she had just finished a cup of warm tea.
Sabine was waiting near the door when they arrived. She appeared to be a different person. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun. She wore a nice gray sweater over a white blouse. She stood tall and smiled widely the moment she saw her daughter. If she had been diagnosed with a serious mental illness, it was not obvious. She unbuckled Mia from her seat, lifted her, kissed her, and then unzipped the purple snowsuit, revealing legs and arms with soft, plump folds.
What an unexpected joy, to see mother and daughter reunited.
They sat in the dining area. Sabine kissed Mia’s cheeks again, then looked at Tanner and Inga. “Thanks for bringing her.”
Inga smiled, pleased to have helped.
“No problem,” Tanner said, shedding his gray overcoat. “Any chance we could get some food here? I didn’t have time to eat dinner.”
A well-dressed woman with dark, smooth hair approached.
“Helen,” Sabine said. “Look who’s here.” She held up the baby.
Inga sensed immediately that this woman, Helen, would not sit unless she was invited.
“Sit with us,” she offered, gesturing to an empty chair.
“I don’t want to interrupt family time,” Helen said.
“It’s no interruption,” Sabine told her.
Inga watched Helen perch on the edge of a chair. Her posture was excellent, her eyebrows nicely plucked, and her lipstick a sophisticated burnt red color.
“Any way we could get something to eat?” Tanner asked again.
“The food here isn’t for visitors,” Sabine said.
Cece and an elderly man, whose limbs moved like those of a marionette, joined the group. Unlike Helen, they did not hesitate to sit.
Inga watched Tanner. He rubbed his stomach, and peered over his shoulder at a man eating. Her tummy rumbled, but she could wait. On the other hand, she had had enough experience with men to know that it wasn’t so easy for them when they were hungry. He had been nice enough to fetch her and bring the baby to Sabine; he deserved some sort of recompense.
“I am also hungry,” she whispered to Tanner.
“I could have stopped on the way, but I wanted to make sure you and Sabine got more time with Mia,” he said. He had round eyes that reminded her of large English pennies, both in shape and in their copper-brown color.
“Is there a restaurant nearby?” Inga asked loudly.
“There’s a Greek place,” Helen answered. “If you go out of the grounds, and take a left, you’ll see it on the right-hand side.”
“Have you eaten there?” Inga asked.
“No.” Helen chuckled. “I can’t walk beyond the nursing station.”
“Is that true?” Inga asked, shocked.
“Yes.” Helen didn’t elaborate.
“Well then,” Inga began, resting a hand on Tanner’s shoulder. “Shall we go out for a bite?”
He scratched his chin. “We have to take the baby.”
“No.” Sabine held Mia close. “I’m sure it’s all right if you go for an hour. I’ll watch her.”
“But they said…” Tanner began.
“I have more privileges now. It’s fine. Really. You two should go and have a nice dinner.”
As they walked away, Inga threaded her arm through Tanner’s. Perhaps Sabine didn’t recognize this man’s value at the moment. Or perhaps she was simply too overcome by the baby. Whatever the reason, Inga would make him understand how important he was to the family.
* * *
Freedom. That’s what it felt like, to have Tanner and Omama gone, to be left with Mia, Helen, Frank and Cece.
“My mother told me I was a super happy baby,” Cece said, above the noise of plates being cleared.
“I believe that,” Sabine replied, and glanced at a teenage boy standing near the window. He was new to the ward, and had two staff members close by. Suicide watch, Sabine guessed. He had a beautiful face, thick auburn hair and a deferential way of standing. Sabine caught him smiling at Mia and waved him over to the table. He took a few steps toward them.
“Come sit with us,” Sabine said.
He joined, keeping his eyes lowered.
Frank shot out a long arm and shook hands. “I’m Uncle Frankie,” he said, proudly, glancing at Mia.
“Keith. Nice to meet you.”
Helen, Cece and Sabine introduced themselves. No one mentioned what had brought them to this place.
“Uh oh.” Helen raised a hand to shield her face.
Sabine turned and saw Brenda walking to the table. Brenda had brassy blond hair, dark eyeliner, a permanent scowl, and the need to create drama, especially if she wasn’t getting attention.
“What’s up?” Sabine asked Brenda.
Brenda clamped one hand on her waist and curled her lip. “Kind of loud right here. You having a party?” She took out a cigarette, and looked for a staff member to light it.
“You can’t smoke with a baby around,” Cece told her.
“Oh, I think I can.” She strutted to one of the men who watched Keith. “Light?” she asked.
He lit her cigarette. It was all a show, since Sabine had seen Brenda pull out a lighter from her bra a number of times. Lighters, like duct tape and knitting needles, were prohibited.
“At least move away from the table,” Helen said.
“I don’t know if any of you noticed,” Brenda said. “But this is not a fucking daycare.”
Frank bolted up and stood in front of Brenda with his arms extended as if he could make a wall out of himself. Instead he resembled a tall, skinny scarecrow.
“Get out of my face,” Brenda said. She took a long drag and blew the smoke upward. A small cloud hovered above the table.
“It’s not a big deal,” Sabine said. “Let’s just move to the hallway.” But there was no need; Brenda marched away, puffing on her cigarette.
Frank grinned. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” he said, which made Keith laugh.
The conversation continued in a disconnected way, jumping from one topic to another. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Sabine was feeling something close to happy. Maybe the medicine had started to work. More likely it was holding Mia.
When Nurse John approached the table, Sabine thought he was coming to see the baby. Nurse John, with the saggy eyes, was everyone’s favorite. His glasses were taped together; his brow permanently creased. He seemed intimately familiar with pain.
“Sabine,” he said. “Is there a family member here?”
“They’ll be right back,” she replied. “They just went to get something to eat.”
He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said. “The baby can’t be here without a family member.”
Sabine gripped Mia. “They’ll be back any minute.”
John’s smile was warm and conciliatory. “I know, and the rules might be adjusted in the future, but as of today, I’m afraid…”
“I can’t.” Sabine shifted Mia so that she wasn’t facing John.
Keith’s hands balled; his knuckles turned white.
“You will get her back as soon as your family returns,” John said.
But Sabi
ne couldn’t let her daughter go. “Why can’t you just sit with us?”
“I’d really like to, but I have other things I have to do, and I’m afraid we have to follow the rules.”
“Except when you make exceptions,” Helen said. “You told me last week that you make adjustments depending on the patient.”
“I understand.” He glanced over his shoulder at Brenda. “But people might feel that some patients are given preferential treatment.”
“You’re worried what Brenda thinks?” Sabine heard the uptick in her voice and told herself to stay calm.
“It would be good to show us you’re willing to work with us,” John replied. “It will help you earn privileges.”
“What if I sit in front of the nursing station where you can see me the whole time?” Sabine asked.
Now Nurse Nancy joined the conversation. “Give John the baby or you will go to the quiet room.”
Sabine stood. “Fine. I’ll wait in there with Mia.”
“The baby stays with us.” Nurse Nancy stood in front of Sabine and placed her hands on Mia, who squirmed as if she understood what was happening.
Sabine stepped back. “You don’t ever get to touch her.”
“Reinforcements,” Nancy shouted.
A few staff members ran in. Surrounded, Sabine sat back down. Nurse John knelt, and with great care took the baby from Sabine’s arms.
* * *
Inga sat across from Tanner. Behind him, a mural with poorly depicted turquoise waves of the Aegean Sea covered the wall. Tanner was a pleasant dinner companion and over the course of their meal, as he finished his steak and drank two glasses of scotch, she managed to learn that he was a financial planner, something apparently different from a banker. He helped people with monetary goals, which sounded promising. But as she pushed further, he admitted that he worked on a commission basis, and was still in the ramping up stage. Money was tight, especially now that Mia was in daycare.
Inga remembered when they met, and she learned that he was the first in his family to attend university. She had been more dubious than she let on. Good families were educated for at least three generations—on the male side. But being a forward thinker, she withheld judgment. Upward mobility was not easy, but those who were capable of achieving it had a tenacity that Inga found inspiring.