by Sylvia True
She nodded politely and spoke French with a near perfect accent.
He told her that the paintings on the wall, all of distinguished directors of the hospital, inspired him, and that he hoped that his painting would someday hang on the walls of this hallowed institution. But he would have never made it this far without Arnold, he added. Inga felt warmed hearing this about her friend.
Holgart crossed his legs. “I was such a nervous, shy man when I was young.” He closed his eyes for a moment as if he was travelling back in time. “It was difficult for me to get my words out.”
“It is good you found your voice,” she said.
“Thanks to Arnold. He knew straight away that I was gay.” He looked at Inga. “I hope that doesn’t shock you.”
“Not at all,” she replied, glad she had learned the meaning of the word only yesterday.
“I had researched conversion therapies. I didn’t want to be who I was. But Arnold.” He stopped for a moment of reverence. “He was such a genius, you know. He taught me not to be ashamed.”
“Arnold has a good understanding of humans,” Inga said, hoping they could talk soon about the reason for her visit.
“The Nazis had us killed,” Holgart said.
Inga bristled. “I didn’t know you were German.”
“Oh, I’m not German. No, I was talking about how they killed the gays. I don’t know how people survived during those times. How people like you and Arnold came through it so wonderfully and well-adjusted.”
She squeezed the strap of her handbag, took a deep breath, and stared directly at Holgart. “I have a granddaughter in McLean, and I very much want to help her.”
“Yes, Arnold told me that was the case.”
“My granddaughter has a baby and a family member must be with the baby at all times, which is proving difficult. Sabine needs to see her child and I thought that I could hire a nurse who could fetch the baby from its child-minding center, and then I would accompany them to visit Sabine.”
He fiddled with his bowtie. “An outside nurse?”
“Yes, I don’t think a nurse from your institution could be hired to watch a baby.”
He tapped his foot. “No, it must be someone from the outside. Would it be a female nurse?”
“Would that make a difference?”
“No, I suppose not. I do tend to think aloud.” He grinned. “And when do you see this nurse starting?”
“As soon as possible. It would relieve Sabine’s husband of driving so much.”
“I’ll have to speak to the doctor in charge of her unit.” He flicked a few fingers. “But that shouldn’t be a problem.” He smiled at Inga. “I will have my secretary get you the names of some agencies.”
“Thank you,” Inga said with a tip of the head.
“Now,” said Holgart, rubbing his hands together. “I have a great favor to ask you.”
“Anything.” She owed him a debt and would be happy to pay it.
“I have started to write a book about how mental illness affects siblings. The sick child often becomes the favorite. I would like to interview you and find out how your sister’s illness might have changed your life.”
The words raced out of this man without a thought, or so it seemed, for his listener.
“I would love to hear your perspective,” Holgart continued. “Arnold said he was close to Rigmor.”
Inga put a hand on her chest. She had not heard her sister’s name spoken aloud in many years. Her breathing became shallow. She needed to hold onto the arm of the sofa, afraid she might faint.
“Oh dear,” Holgart said. “I have upset you.”
Upset was too mild a word. She opened her mouth, but only a soft groan escaped.
Holgart stood. “May I get you a glass of water?”
She shook her head, and he sat next to her. “No,” she whispered. She had meant, no don’t sit so close, but he didn’t understand. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“What can I do?” he asked.
She pushed his hand away. “It was not Arnold’s family.” She took a breath. “He should not have spoken about it.”
“I am so sorry. When he revealed the account to me, it seemed that it was his story as well.”
“It was not,” she said, folding her hands and closing the topic. If she hadn’t needed something from this man, she would not have stayed. “I would like to get a few things for Sabine’s ward. It needs a bit of sprucing up. I think it helps people to have a nicer environment.”
“How generous of you,” Holgart said. “But Arnold didn’t say it was a secret.”
Inga clasped her handbag and stood. “I cannot speak for Arnold.” She walked to the door. The room felt claustrophobic. “I will be in touch if I need anything more,” she said, walking out.
“Yes, keep me posted. And come visit me anytime,” Holgart called, as she was already some distance away.
Chapter Twelve
The Asylum
Prina, Germany 1935
On his last day at the University, a few of Arnold’s colleagues bought him a farewell drink, patted him on the back, and wished him well. In nearly three years at Frankfurt, he had published only two papers, and as far as he could tell, made a less-than-average impression. Perhaps this fortuitous opportunity was just what he needed.
Arnold took the train to Dresden, his elbow perched on the windowsill of his compartment. He looked out at the landscape, the churches rising from small villages, the farmland, the grazing cows, the forests. As the train neared Dresden, Arnold noticed his heartbeat accelerating. It was not every day that one becomes the assistant to Paul Bohm.
A hired car met him at the station. Arnold introduced himself as Dr. Richter, then paused and added, “Assistant Director.”
The car pulled into an area where there were three separate buildings. The biggest by far, a castle, a schloss, with twin towers on either side, rose above the others. Next to the fountain at the center of the courtyard was a statue of children at play.
An orderly greeted Arnold in the main entrance hall, a stunning room—the size of it, the chandelier, the deep red carpeting, the antique furnishings, all tasteful and expensive.
Arnold was led to his quarters, which consisted of a bedroom with a view of the Elbe, a study, and a sitting room. Initially, he’d felt a bit bullied by Inga into taking this position, but as he sat in his new study, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window, watching boats glide past, he felt gratitude.
He washed up, ready to take a look around the grounds, but he was not sure what Bohm had scheduled. In the end, Arnold waited in his room for further instructions. He gazed at an oak tree, a few meters from his window. The oak was native to this part of Germany, considered one of the greenest places in the world. He looked at the small buds that dotted the branches. Renewal surrounded him.
About an hour later, Arnold heard a knock. He stood and combed his fingers through his hair, expecting his visitor to be Bohm. Instead, a servant held out a tray with lunch.
He ate the sausage, potatoes, salad and peas, all excellent, but he also began to feel a rising apprehension at the fact that no one had formally welcomed him. He placated himself by rationalizing that things were done differently here, that people valued a slower, healthier, unrushed pace.
Finally, at five in the evening, a young man in a gray suit announced that he would escort Arnold to Bohm’s office.
“And how do you find our humble establishment?” Bohm asked, as soon as Arnold sat in one of the leather armchairs at the desk. There was a vague scent of fresh cologne. The room was large, conservatively decorated, with filing cabinets lining one wall and bookcases along another.
“It is very impressive. It has a feel of an ancient castle with the most modern amenities.”
Bohm laughed. “You sound as if you could be a good salesman.”
Arnold gave a nervous smile.
Bohm’s bald head appeared as if it had been shined. He had a deep voice and too many teeth in
his mouth.
“I am looking forward to my work here,” Arnold said.
Bohm opened a folder.
“Very good. We are proud of our institution. We believe in a therapeutic environment for all of our patients.”
Arnold nodded. “I have read about your beliefs, but to hear them from the director himself is refreshing.”
Bohm picked up a pen. “What can you tell me about Rigmor Blumenthal?”
Arnold would have preferred to talk about his responsibilities. But he wasn’t about to contradict the wishes of his new superior at their first meeting.
“She is from Frankfurt am Main,” he said. “Her family is well off and are known in the city’s upper circles. But I’m sure you know this.”
Bohm’s lips moved as he wrote. “Does not hurt to repeat. We are thorough here, as you will soon see. I have in my notes that I have spoken to Inga Sommer, the sister, on four occasions. Would you say she is the family member in charge?”
Arnold crossed his legs and gave the question a moment’s thought. “I suppose, yes, although the mother, Frau Blumenthal, is a determined woman.”
“And the father?”
“He left years ago. I believe he was seeing another woman, and Frau Blumenthal couldn’t tolerate it.”
“Because of nerves?” Bohm asked.
“I do not think so. I don’t find her to be a nervous woman. I believe she didn’t want to live with him.”
Bohm touched the pen to his cheek. “Interesting. It may have been quite difficult for her. Have you gotten that sense?”
“I suppose it might have been.” Arnold realized that he never felt much of anything for Frau Blumenthal. She seemed to make life difficult for others, not the other way around. But, yes, it must have been stressful—to have one daughter who wasn’t well, to run the household on her own, and to have another daughter who was the most strong-willed person Arnold had ever met.
“And the mother’s behavior toward Rigmor? Is she ashamed? Angry? How would you characterize that?” Bohm opened a drawer, took out two cigars, and handed one to Arnold.
“I prefer not to smoke,” Arnold said. “It doesn’t agree with me.”
Bohm raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. I don’t know of any man who doesn’t enjoy a fine cigar.” He lit a match and puffed until the tip of the cigar glowed, then blew out a mouthful of smoke. “So, the mother?”
“I would say she is very protective. Perhaps overprotective, although I like to stay away from making judgments.” Arnold suppressed a cough.
“But we are in this field to judge human personality, are we not?” Bohm asked.
It was a rhetorical question, or so Arnold thought, as he glanced at the bookshelves behind Bohm, and noted volumes of Goethe’s work.
Bohm pressed. “You do not think we should judge character?”
“I like to think we examine character,” Arnold said.
“So Rigmor has no father and an overprotective mother.” He smoked.
“Would you mind if I inquired about my responsibilities here?” Arnold asked. “Will I be seeing patients on a regular basis?”
Bohm smiled, showing his yellowed teeth. “What else would you be doing?” He laughed. “Although we do have the best nursing program in the country here.” He winked. “I did see that you are not married. The Party wishes that all healthy German men be married by the age of twenty-six. And you are how old?”
“Twenty-nine,” Arnold lied. He was actually thirty-two. “I would like to pursue my career.”
“You can do both,” Bohm answered. “We should be grateful that this present government supports so many of the things we believe in. We can’t ignore that, even if we disagree with other views.”
“True,” Arnold said, reflecting that he would be imprisoned if the Nazis knew his preference for men.
Bohm walked to the windowsill, where there were a few potted plants, all meager and droopy, none with flowers or interesting leaves. They hardly seemed worth caring for, and yet Bohm, while keeping his cigar in his mouth, dribbled some water into the pots from a small brass watering can. “There, there,” he mumbled to the plants. Then he marched back to his desk, once again the bold, authoritarian doctor. But he did not sit.
“Will I be getting a list of who I am to see?” Arnold said.
“Do you think Rigmor’s mother is jealous of her daughter?” Bohm asked.
“I have never gotten that sense,” Arnold replied, masking his impatience.
“Tell me then, what is your sense of why Rigmor should be in this institution?”
“She is fragile.” He paused. “She has trouble with her nerves. I think also depression. I believe that her condition has worsened with her mother’s and sister’s worrying. It is a vicious cycle. I believe she needs a good rest to escape her downward spiral. I believe—”
Bohm held up a hand for Arnold to stop, and extinguished his cigar. “You do not need to begin every sentence with I believe.” He grinned. “If you are the speaker, we can assume you are expressing your opinions.”
Arnold’s face heated. “Of course.”
“You were saying?” Bohm asked.
He had forgotten his point. Something about the vicious cycle of nerves. “I,” he began, and stopped himself. “Rigmor is too keen to please others. That, I believe, is part of the problem.”
“Symptoms?” Bohm sat, but then almost immediately sprung up and made a circular path around the room.
Arnold twisted his neck right and left to keep his gaze on Bohm. “There have been a number over the years. Insomnia, dizzy spells, and the like.”
“Hysteria?” Bohm, sitting at his desk again, picked up a pen and tapped it on his chin.
“Perhaps some would call her a hysteric,” said Arnold. “But I find that diagnosis overused in women.”
“Interesting,” Bohm said. “Is she pretty?”
“I suppose so,” Arnold answered, not sure of the relevance.
Bohm continued with this line of questioning, asking about Rigmor’s features, her nose, her hair, her figure. Arnold answered as objectively as he could.
“I sensed during my phone calls with Inga that Inga is quite sexualized,” Bohm said. “Do you find that true?”
“I cannot judge that.”
“But you must. It is an essential part of our job, is it not?” He glanced at his plants and looked as if he was about to tend to them again, but stopped himself.
“Then I would have to answer in the affirmative.”
“Would you say the same of Rigmor?” Bohm asked. He seemed to have his questions lined up, ready to shoot, like a stream of bullets.
“No. They are completely different.”
Bohm stood and picked up the extinguished cigar. “Could she be repressing her desires?” He paced. “Or is it that she is frightened she will end up with a man like her father?”
“I suppose both are possibilities,” Arnold answered. “But I still think it will be good for her to get away from her mother and sister, to get some room to breathe.”
“Any delusions?” He put the cigar in his mouth and chewed on it.
“I would describe them as night terrors,” Arnold said. “Not actual delusions.”
“But there is some break with reality?”
“Some.”
“Do you see her as a good candidate for sterilization?” He made a sucking noise.
Arnold’s heart lurched. “She is certainly not promiscuous. I don’t imagine she will be married soon, if ever, so I don’t know if it would be necessary.”
Bohm looked at his watch. “It’s nearly dinnertime. We have excellent food here. We believe that our patients should get the required amount of protein every day. I am very fond of fresh fish.”
“I as well,” Arnold said, expecting to finally hear about his position.
Bohm walked to his desk, sat, and closed the folder. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Arnold remained seated, holding the arms of the chair.
“My duties. I am not sure what is expected of me. Aside of course from being Rigmor’s doctor.”
“Oh, but you cannot be her doctor. You are clearly much too close to her to see her objectively. I have watched your skin redden as we talked about her. You have avoided my gaze numerous times, and when I asked about her figure, you crossed your arms.” He modeled the gesture.
Arnold felt humiliated.
“This is what we do, is it not?” Bohm asked. “We study behavior. It is my job to notice.”
Arnold saw the wisdom, and he would now be more aware of his own techniques. He was already learning a great deal from this unconventional man.
Bohm stood and gestured to the door. “You will like the food here.”
Arnold cleared his throat. “I was wondering about my role?”
“At the moment, I don’t have those details. I wanted to meet you first.” Again, he gestured to the door.
“But you must have some idea of what you expect from your assistant director?”
“Ah,” Bohm said. “I think I am beginning to understand now. We have many assistant directors here. The title gives families more confidence.”
“Oh.”
“And perhaps—and I do hate to bring up this awkward topic—but perhaps you were not aware of the money the Blumenthals have so generously donated.”
“I was not.” But of course they would have.
“I will honor all terms of their agreement,” Bohm said.
“Agreement?”
“Oh dear,” said Bohm, and sat once more. “I didn’t realize they had told you nothing.” He rested his chin on his fist. “I hate to leave a good man like you in the dark. They asked that you have a position here.”
“You did not hire me based on my reputation?” Arnold said.
“I am afraid I had never heard of you. I did speak with a colleague of yours in Frankfurt and you seem to know your right from your left. So to speak.” He picked up the folder and gave it a small wave.
“So will I have any work to do?”
“My good man, of course you will. You needn’t look so despondent. This is a fine institution. You can work on the east ward. The doctors there are always complaining about lack of staff.” He walked to where Arnold was sitting and clapped his shoulder. “You will be well paid for work that is not that hard. You can go for long walks, take time to read.” He smiled. “I envy your position.”