“If Gustav Jung heard about this, he’d jump up and down in excitement trying to convince me what an impossible coincidence this was,” he said smiling at me. Then he turned to the secretary.
“Clarens, has Mrs. E. H. come for her appointment?” he asked, now more interested in his work than in me.
“Not yet, but she has three to four minutes, and, as you know, she’s never been late before.”
“Professor,” I said, “If you let me…it’ll just take five or ten minutes…”
“Can you imagine?” he asked, turning back to me. “Someone you’ve never met before comes to talk to you, and the patient who doesn’t attend her meeting makes it possible. What a big, magnificent coincidence. If Jung were here now, he’d try to convince me of it. He’d even go on about his thesis that events happening in the future affect us now.”
“Dr. Jung is a Swiss psychiatrist and neuroscientist, isn’t he?” I asked, trying to get more involved in the conversation now.
“What do you understand of the effects of the future in the now, young man?”
“Well, when a man buys tomato seeds now, then he can get a harvest from his tomato farm and make a profit from it in the future. I haven’t thought about this issue much, but this is the first thing that comes to mind.”
“A clever young man. Excellent.” He bypassed me and walked toward his office door. I sheepishly followed as he continued. “But you have missed the essence of the matter. The man doesn’t plant tomatoes for money; he plants them to strengthen his sexually determined status in society and to be in a position where he can meet his sexual needs.”
“So, events in the future affect our sexuality now?”
He suddenly turned to me, as if he saw and heard me for the first time. “That is a nice approach, son; it needs to be examined.”
Meanwhile, a luxuriously clothed Mrs. E. H. arrived with flushed cheeks and slightly out of breath.
“I’m sorry,” she panted. “I’ve almost missed the appointment, right?”
Dr. Freud patted me on the shoulder.
“It seems Jung was wrong. Now, young man, I need to get back to my work.”
“But…only five minutes…”
“You spent three minutes of that just now, young man,” he laughed, and, from the pleasure of hearing and liking his own joke, he laughed again.
Disappointed, I stepped to the side to make way for Mrs E.H. Dr. Freud nodded to her as she entered his office, then he turned again to address me.
“I’ll be at the Oppenheim café at 18:45, but only for 20 minutes.” He then followed his patient into the room.
. . .
I arrived at the cafe early and waited until it emptied out before I settled into a quieter spot. As I sat drinking my second beer, I saw Dr. Freud enter and stood up and waved. He looked at me from the corner of his eye, then came over with calm, confident steps. He signaled to the waiter, sat down, and I watched enviously as before he’d even finished cutting the end off his cigar, the waiter brought him “the usual.”
I watched him wet the cigar in his mouth before lighting it. He took a puff, drew the cigar from his mouth, and looked directly at me. “The time started when I walked through the door, young man.”
I put the file I’d prepared in front of him with shaking hands.
“As I said before, sir, I’ve been working as an assistant staff member for a year. I met this young woman, a young patient at the hospital, and I’ve been thinking, from what she’s told me and what I’ve observed, that there’s something wrong with her diagnosis. She’s receiving the wrong treatment and it’s harming her. I’d like to consult with you, hear your thoughts, and then help in her treatment if possible…”
My speech had gone beyond giving information and had moved toward buttering him up.
He dismissed my compliments with a careless hand gesture while his eyes scanned the file. “Is she beautiful?” he asked.
“Who? Well . . . yes, very beautiful…and very intelligent. Even . . .” My words were interrupted again by the now-familiar hand gesture.
“Where did you grow up? Where did you spend your childhood?”
“In the northwest region of Austria. I lived in a farmhouse in a mountain village that’s now been captured by the Russians…” I stopped when I saw his hand.
He looked through the file, and, after turning over some pages, he emitted some dense smoke. “Your mother?” He looked at me with questioning eyes.
“She died when I was twelve. She committed suicide…it was an accident… but like a suicide. . . .”
Without saying anything, he buried his head in the file again, then, carelessly threw the file onto the middle of the table. He looked first at me, then at my reflection on the window, and then at me again.
“It’s not a challenging nor unusual case, and I think it can be overcome in a few sessions in careful hands as long as our patient is intelligent and maintains open senses.”
“Yes, she’s very intelligent and rational. Is there any need for medication?”
“No, it hasn’t progressed enough for medication.”
“I knew it. I knew they were wrong,” I murmured in joy, feeling myself relax.
“At a very early age, probably right after the oral period, a sexually triggered awareness occurred. The patient directed his incorrectly understood and wrongly orientated sexual feelings onto his parent of the opposite sex in an obsessive manner.”
He began speaking in a measured tone, almost to himself.
“When the patient’s sexual feelings were at their height during puberty, he reacted against the apparent opponent in order to not share his obsessive sexual orientation with his parent of the same sex. The consequences turned the condition, which could have remained stable, into a trauma, and the feeling of guilt has continued up to now, increasing daily. Moreover, the patient’s efforts to save ones who resemble his mother and to whom he attaches himself in order to overcome his guilt have been, in part, straining his ties with normal life.”
I opened my eyes wide. “Resembling her mother? You mean Maria’s sexually obsessed with her mother, and, due to a feeling of guilt, she’s been suffering this?”
“Maria? Who’s Maria?”
“The patient in the file. Who have you been talking about?”
“You, of course. Usually, my patients from the medical field come with the excuse of asking help for a patient when really they are asking for help with their own problems. I made it easy for you and dealt with your problems directly... Is there really a patient called Maria?”
“Yes, and I…I mean, my mother…My mother was only my mother, and I never experienced something like that. I don’t have any problems, and…”
“Whatever you say, young man. Your time is almost over, anyway. You can think about it when you’re on your own, okay?”
“It’s not me, really. Maria is the patient. Maria really exists, and I’m trying to help her. It’s not about guilt—I just don’t want her to be hurt because of the wrong treatment.”
“My young friend, if this file is real, and there’s a patient with these symptoms, I can definitely say that she’s schizophrenic—a paranoid schizophrenic, to be exact. There’s no one, including me, who can treat her. She can be kept alive, but…”
I didn’t hear the rest. I was dizzy and stood up with difficulty. I wanted to escape and began to move toward the door. Then, suddenly, I stopped, turned back, and took the file from the table. I left the place without looking at the old man and once out of the door, I ran away.
I walked aimlessly among the people on the darkened street. No matter how much I walked, I couldn’t get rid of the memories inside my head.
A little child at the age of five hiding in the corner of the barn covering his eyes with his hands trying not to look at the naked bodies of the gardener and the cook. Their voices ringing in the child’s ears as he tries not to listen.
…
It was hard to get out of bed the next mor
ning, but during the night, I had made a decision and resolved to go my own way and only focus on my classes. It’d be easier that way, and besides, what choice did I really have? Maybe I’d even return to Dr. Freud for a few psychiatric sessions. I went to school and once again attended all my classes. I even extracted promises of help from friends to help me make up the classes I’d missed.
On the way to the hospital I began to think about whether I could manage still working there. I had decided to never see Maria again, but when I entered the staff room and began changing my clothes for work, old Eldwin came in.
I gave him a silent greeting and rushed into my uniform so that I could leave the room.
His transparent blue eyes stopped me and the old man began to talk. “That girl of yours…she was badly beaten up in a fight between some patients during the day. She had to be taken to the infirmary.”
I wanted to say, “I’m not interested in that girl anymore,” but I had to swallow those words in pain as my emotions rushed to the surface.
“How could that happen?” I asked him. “Was there no one…What kind of hospital is this?”
“Everything happened all of a sudden, right between the meal break and the shift change, and it was over by the time they stepped in,” the old man explained.
I pushed past him to go see her, but he stopped me.
“There’s a strict order for you not to see her. You can’t even get close to the women’s ward.”
“You can arrange it if you want to.”
“Impossible; don’t get me into trouble. I already regret that I told you what happened.”
“I wouldn’t ask you unless I had to. They’ve taken my keys. Only you can help me.”
I stood in front of him, wearing my most pleading expression.
Eldwin sighed. “Be at the infirmary at 10 p.m. I’ll try to take the patient to the infirmary with the excuse of a bleeding wound. But as I said, I’ll try. It’s not for sure, okay?”
“Bleeding wound? What happened?” I began to shake.
“It’s not so bad. Calm down, go back to your job, and…”
Eldwin looked over his shoulder, then back at me. “Get three yellow pills when you’re there,” he added quietly.
I nodded and Eldwin left the room.
Fortunately, I still had the keys to the infirmary. I went there early and waited. I dozed off for a while and was startled awake by the faint sound of someone walking along the corridor. Quickly, I pulled myself together before the door slowly opened, and the old man came in, pulling Maria inside with one hand.
I felt dizzy when I saw the purple color around her closed eye, the wounds on her face and neck, and the tincture of iodine stains mixed with the blood on her dressings. When the old caregiver left, I embraced her petite frame, and, being careful with her wounds, pulled her head onto my neck and lightly caressed her hair.
I whispered into her ear, my voice shaky because of the lump in my throat,
“What happened to you? What did they do to you? I’m so sorry. I should have protected you.”
The words caught in my throat, and I was on the verge of tears. I had to pull myself together; crying like an idiot was the last thing I wanted to do. Taking a deep breath, I released my embrace, gently held her hands, and led her to a chair.
She was pale, weak, and desperate, yet still graceful.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “It hurts for you to see me like this.”
“Shhhh…It’s okay, everything’ll be alright. I don’t care how you look… you’re still so beautiful.”
“I am so bad,” Maria whimpered. “I can’t take it anymore. I’m trying my best to be okay and normal, and this is the result, you see? Don’t waste your time with me, Wilhelm. I’ll never be okay. It doesn’t end.”
“That’s something that you could say to others, those who don’t know you. I’ll never leave you. You believe me, don’t you?”
With my finger, I wiped away the traces of teardrops on the edges of her eyes. I tasted the salt on my finger, and, leaning down, I kissed her first on her forehead and then on her cheek.
“I’ll take you out of here, I promise. I will.”
Staring at me with teary eyes, she cried, “I’m begging you, do not give me hollow hopes. I would be destroyed. I cannot pull myself together again.”
“Maria. I promise…Tomorrow, at midnight. Be ready at twelve sharp. I’ll get you out of here.”
“But how?”
“Trust me.”
She looked at me, questioning my plan. “There are locked doors everywhere and a lot of guards.If something happens—”
“Don’t worry, okay?” I said, interrupting. “I don’t have a plan now, but I will. Just be ready tomorrow and take care of yourself.”
She stood up and gave me a hug. I hugged her back. Eldwin returned and I handed my beloved over to the old man. I was too overwhelmed to follow them. I stayed for a while in the infirmary to sort my thoughts. There was no turning back now.
…
The next day I wandered the streets of Vienna formulating my plan and buying clothes for Maria.
When I returned to the hospital early, I put the clothes into a cabinet in the staff room and went to find Eldwin. He was sitting in the cafeteria smoking and sipping coffee. I sat down beside him and stared at him quietly. After another sip, he set his coffee down and looked back at me.
I looked around to see that no one was looking at us and said, “I’m going to take Maria out of the hospital tonight.”
“Good luck,” he said. The old man didn’t seem shocked.
“I don’t have the keys for that side, so I’ll need your help.”
Eldwin said nothing and returned to drinking his coffee.
“Did you hear me Eldwin? I need your help.”
“And what happens to me when people find out I helped you?”
I sat staring at him dumbfounded. The old man was my only hope to save Maria.
“This is the last favor I’ll ever ask of you,” I tried. “Just leave the doors open after midnight. Nothing else, soldier’s promise.”
Eldwin took a puff of his cigarette while peering at me. He wasn’t satisfied. I leaned in closer to tell him what he wanted to hear.
“I can give you all the pills in my stash,” I said. “I have fourteen here and you can have them all, just for leaving a few doors open.” I took a creased roll of paper out of my pocket and held it out to him.
After a furtive glance around, he took the roll and placed it in his pocket.
What I did next was pure improvisation. I waited in the nurses’ room with the clothes I’d bought for Maria and my eyes on the clock. Ten minutes before midnight, I stood up with great self-possession, put the clothes back into the cabinet, washed my face, and left the room. I silently went up the deserted stairs of the hospital to the women’s ward and saw the iron door into the ward was slightly ajar. As I approached the door, the calm I’d felt until then suddenly disappeared, and my heart began to race. A fine sheen of sweat lay on my face, and my hands shook. Hoping the nurse wasn’t at her desk, I slowly pushed the door open and headed into the dark corridor.
As luck would have it, the nurse’s desk was empty and the corridor was deserted. But I also noticed that the door of Room 17 was also half open, and I began to hear noises coming from inside.
When I entered the room, my expectations of a pitch-black room with sleeping patients were completely dashed. All the lights were on, and the patients were awake. They were standing by the wall, screaming out in fear while trying to protect their heads. To my dismay, everyone in the hospital was in the room, including staff members from other floors and even some nurses and on-call doctors. Some were frantically trying to calm the patients down while others were gathered around the bed by the window, engaged in serious discussion.
The group had their backs to me and, as I approached, I saw blood on the floor. I noticed a few drops at first and then I saw the pool of blood around the be
d by the window. Maria! I wanted to scream, until I registered that it wasn’t Maria’s bed. It was the bed of the old woman who slept with her eyes open. The sheets on her bed and everything around her was covered in blood, and dangling from the bed were the old woman’s cut wrists. I took a deep breath in relief when a hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to see Maria standing there in all her beauty. She touched my lips to keep me quiet and pulled me to the door. We stepped silently out of the room and scurried down the stairs and then to my room. I gave her the clothes and turned my back as she dressed. As I was trying to pick up her patient’s outfit, a bunch of keys fell on the floor. The metallic sound echoed through the room and out into the corridor. We caught each other’s eye.
Rummaging in the cabinet, she found a coat and covered her head with the hood. She kicked the keys under the bed and dragged me out into the hall.
We moved toward the exit, passed through the main door, entered the dark garden, and strode onto the gravel path. As we approached the guardhouse, we slowed down and headed more calmly toward the exit. The guard shifted a bit in his chair, looking sleepy in the dim light, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then he saw me, and he saw the person next to me. The guard opened his window and stared at me.
“I’m accompanying this nurse,” I explained. “Her father’s ill, and she has to go home.”
The guard looked me up and down and looked again at Maria. “Hope he gets well soon, miss,” he said.
Maria bowed her head with a slight smile.
As we took a step forward, the guard stuck his head out the window and turned to me. “Do I look stupid? I know all the nurses working here. And none of them wear patient’s slippers.”
I froze and looked at Maria. She gazed into my eyes and I suddenly felt a power inside me that I didn’t know I had. I turned and hit the guard right in the middle of his smirking face and pulled him toward me before he knew what was happening. I shoved his head against the frame of the window so that it shattered the glass. Now his shoulders and head hung out of the window and I saw blood from the cuts on his face dripping onto the ground. I glanced at Maria once more before I let the blow that would knock him unconscious fall on the nape of his neck.
Save the Last Bullet for God Page 4