Cafe Babanussa

by Karen Hill

  “Frau Edwards! Was machen Sie bloss? What on earth are you doing?”

  Footsteps neared the bed. Ruby felt a hand on her back, cold breath on her shoulder. Whirling to push the white blur away from her with all her might, she screamed, “Go awaaaaaay!” It went crashing to the floor. More footsteps thundered down the hall. Voices hissed like vipers. Ruby felt herself being shoved back down on the bed. She listened desperately for the sound of the drums. Instead all she heard was a voice yelling, “Give her the goddamn needle!”

  Ruby wound her body up into a tight ball, and the doctor twisted her arm flat against the mattress. She waited for the steel to bite her flesh; she waited for blackness to come.

  When she woke, she could feel the rays of morning sun streaking down her back. Rolling over to look out the window, she felt as if lead weights were attached to every muscle, every bone. With a slow, sickening realization, Ruby recalled the scenes from the previous night. She tugged hold of her pillow and crushed it against her body. Tears spilled over her face; anguish surged with every breath she expelled. When no more tears came, the cool silence of the room lapped over her.

  It was not the first time Werner had tormented her in her visions. But she didn’t want to think about him. She couldn’t dig down below the surface. So she thought about the drums. She remembered how days before her hospitalization she had spent a whole day hallucinating that she was travelling across other continents. As soon as she had stepped out of bed that morning, she found herself thinking, If it’s six a.m. here, it’ll be around midnight in Brazil. She mumbled the words repeatedly to herself, until she had willed herself into the heart of Bahia. Her feet shuffled around the apartment to a samba beat. All day long she hummed what Portuguese words she remembered from all the bossa nova songs her mom had played when they were children. Werner tried to shut her up, pleaded with her to lie down and rest. He finally gave up, conceding that her antics were harmless, even if they irritated him to no end.

  In the evening, she had looked out her fifth-storey window to find the air blackened with the buzz of insects. Bees, scorpions, flies, giant moths clamoured against the screen, wings flapping in a wild symphony. The buzz droned louder and louder in her head. Words fluttered in her ear. Africa. The whole world will return here. The flapping transformed into a steady drumbeat. Dark bodies swayed around orange firelight. Propelled by the rhythms, Ruby whirled around the room. Flinging her head from side to side, thrusting her arms out in front of her, she stamped her feet on the floor.

  Someone coughed. Ruby realized she was no longer alone in the room. A woman with greying hair and a wrinkled forehead lay on the bed next to the wall, staring sullenly at the ceiling. Ruby wondered if she had been there during the night. The woman glared back. Words percolated out of her thin mouth, hot and angry.

  “Was guckst du denn so an?” What are you staring at?

  The word du hit Ruby like a slap in the face. It was unusual for an older woman, a total stranger, to speak to her in this informal, familiar way. She got up to use the washroom.

  She sat on the toilet, her legs spread wide, and watched the stream of warm, yellow liquid form a puddle on the platform inside the white bowl. She giggled at this Germanic need to inspect every aspect of their lives, inventing thrones for their shit and piss to rest on. All in order to check out its size, colour, texture. Werner bemoaned the toilets he had seen elsewhere. Of course the German toilets were superior!

  Thinking of him, she dipped her fingers into her steaming excrement and brought the brown filth to her lips.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Beeilen Sie sich, bitte. Hurry up! You’re not the only one in here.”

  Ruby jumped off the seat with a start. Shaking, she slashed an arm across her mouth, wiping the shit from her lips onto her wrist. She turned on the taps, spat into the sink and let hot water stream over her hands.

  The pounding started again.

  “Okay, okay, I’m coming out!” she hollered.

  When she opened the door, the woman brushed by her without a word and slammed the door shut. Ruby looked at her shaking hands, hands that no longer belonged to her. She flattened herself down on the mattress and pressed her hands under her body to still them.

  She convinced herself that she almost felt safe. At least here her movements could be confined. At least here she couldn’t step out into a street, oblivious to the screeching cars around her. Only one thought continued to stalk her. The words to frame it slipped backwards off her tongue, tumbling down her throat to toss in her stomach until they were carried out of her body again. Home.

  Would she ever go home again?

  Metal carts rattled down the hall. An aide came in and handed her a tray of breakfast. As Ruby balanced it carefully on her lap, she heard the aide call her roommate’s name gently.

  “Frau Elke Jungblut, Ihr Frühstück ist da.” Your breakfast is here.

  “Ich will es nicht” came the voice from the bathroom. I don’t want it!

  The aide persisted. “You have to eat something.”

  “I said I don’t want it!”

  The aide shrugged and left the tray on the night table before leaving the room. Elke opened the bathroom door and peeked out. Seeing only Ruby in the room, she slumped down on her bed, ignoring the tray.

  Ruby slapped the cheese and wurst on a piece of bread and chewed noisily on the rubbery bits. When she was finished, she sucked at the seeds from the grainy bread that had stuck between her teeth.

  Frau Jungblut snapped: “Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners? Cover your mouth with your napkin when you do that!”

  A jet of anger shot up out of the white nothingness that enveloped Ruby like a blanket. “This isn’t exactly Café Kranzler.” The hunched old women that filled the Ku’damm Kaffeehaus on Sunday afternoons flashed before her. Carefully slipping forkfuls of Herrentorte into their mouths, taking tiny sips of coffee, blotting their lips with folded cotton napkins, they reminisced about the good old days before the Wall, before Willy Brandt, before the Turks.

  Frau Jungblut’s voice burst through the flow of images: “Why, you rude thing, you. Just who do you think you are? You’re not German. What are you doing here anyway? All you people, stealing from us, using up our money, our resources. Why don’t you go home!”

  Ruby looked at the woman lying in the bed next to hers and wondered where she had been during the war. She snarled. “Ach. You’re so right. This place should really be reserved for Germans only.”

  The ferocity of Ruby’s words stunned the old woman. She sputtered, “Well, well . . . I didn’t ask to be here, my husband put me here. I didn’t ask to come here.”

  Storm clouds closed in on Ruby again. She shoved the tray and sent it crashing to the floor. When someone came to clean up the mess, Ruby laughed at their tsk-tsking. A nurse came with more pills.

  People floated in and out of the room, holding clipboards, jotting notes, whispering secrets to each other. Ruby closed her eyes and let the waves of darkness roll over her. Night came early.

  Werner had taken her away to Corsica after Dom’s death. But she hadn’t gotten better. Every day they trudged for an hour up the dusty road. The yellow and orange flashes of the fruit trees interrupted the monotony of the dirty brown September hills, the craggy bushes that marked their way. She was careful to watch out for the scorpions that seemed to dart out from under every rock. At the village market, she picked over grapes and oranges. Her fingers finally rested on fresh figs, bursting with juice and seeds, to bring home. She smiled at Werner and thought he knew. They filled their baskets with lemons still graced with their dark shiny leaves, artichokes, olives, bread and cheese. And figs. She hummed an early Ella tune on the way back down the mountain. It was part of a collection of her father’s old jazz 78s. Werner knew the song: it wasn’t too highbrow for him. As he chirped along with her, she smiled and held his hand tightly.

  That night the owner of the house they rented brought them wild boar. On his way up
the path, Ruby saw him stop to pull fresh bay leaves from the laurel tree that shaded the courtyard. He showed them how to cook it the Corsican way. Wine, garlic and bay leaves, braised slowly in the oven. A celebratory feast. Ruby smiled at him and lifted her glass of wine to her lips.

  She left the men and wandered out into the dusk, staring at the stars blinking in the early night sky. The pungent smell of eucalyptus filled her nostrils. It all smelled so new, so clean. She pressed a hand into her belly and thought, “Daughter of the southern stars.”

  Those late-September days were filled with dark clouds that burst across the skies, crowding out the sun momentarily. She missed their drama when they returned to Berlin ten days later. The city was a blanket of grey. Werner called her sister and asked her to come. She heard him whisper, “It didn’t help. She’s not getting any better.”

  Ruby spent days staring out the window, waiting for her sister to arrive, waiting to be admitted to hospital. Four flights up, on the other side of the courtyard, she watched her neighbour knotting the muslin curtains that hung in her windows. Two knots hanging in the window. Ruby pressed her hand into her tummy, feeling around for life. “Twins,” she whispered to herself.

  That afternoon, she lay on the bed, fighting to keep the voices out of her head. They were getting louder and louder and she couldn’t hide from them anymore. Werner turned on the vacuum. He pushed the machine all around her, zigzagging over the floor by her feet. Suddenly she felt the air-sucking nozzle buzz up between her legs. Then it was inside her, shoving, sucking, shoving, sucking. One fetus after another being ripped right out of her.

  “No!” she screamed. “No!”

  She ran over to yank the cord from the outlet. But it was too late. She saw the blood streaming down her legs. She grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser to wipe off the blood and plug up her vagina so that nothing more would come out. But when she wiped the inside of her thighs, there was nothing. Nothing. Werner stood shaking in the middle of the room, still holding on to the nozzle. He let it drop with a thud on the floor and came over to where she stood. She screamed at him to get away. He stomped out of the room. She could hear him picking up the phone in the hallway, dialing. He had betrayed her. Yes, he had told her that he wouldn’t bring children into this godawful world, but she thought all that had changed. After all, he had sung the song with her. He knew. She crumpled up on the bed and wailed. Half an hour later they were in a cab, racing through the city. Another needle.

  Ruby opened her eyes. Cold sweat dripped off her body onto the sheets. She was shivering. She looked at the clock. Seven a.m. A young woman, dark hair flying about her face, burst into the room. She surveyed the cold, rectangular space with a disdainful eye. It was as if she knew the place well and wanted to be sure she had the best room possible. She stepped back out into the hall, talking loudly in a language Ruby had never heard before. Every so often a turn of phrase caught her ears, lilting with the sounds of something vaguely French, vaguely Spanish. When she returned to the room, the woman was dragging an enormous suitcase, ragged and bulging at the sides. Two other women lingered in the doorway, saying goodbye to her. Ruby looked in amazement at the suitcase, its tan leather streaked with wear, and somehow felt naked. She had brought so little with her.

  A harsh peal of laughter vibrated throughout the room. The woman had let go of her suitcase and was laughing at her friends, inviting them in. Her whole body, round and full in its curves, echoed her amusement. She began speaking in German. “Komm doch ’rein. Come in, come in. Don’t be afraid of them. They won’t bite.” She looked at Ruby and her roommate and added, “Will you?” She eyed Frau Jungblut with a look that said, Yes, I know you very well. Then, resting her gaze on Ruby, she said, “You, you’re not German. Turkish?”

  Ruby shook her head.

  “What are you, then? Where are you from?”

  Ruby smiled at this old, familiar question that had followed her overseas. “My name is Ruby and I’m Canadian.”

  The woman did a double take, her eyebrows rising right off her forehead. “Hah, Canadian.” She added brightly, “Well, they’ve captured quite a little corner of the world right in this room, eh? I’m Irina. I’m a Roma. From Romania.” She broke out into that wild laughter again, slapping her stumpy thighs, pleased with the alliteration. Behind her, her friends were nodding, smiling shyly, still not part of the conversation. Ruby was turning the word Roma over in her mind.

  As if reading her thoughts, Irina snorted. “Ah yes, of course. You Americans know nothing.” She turned a cool eye on Frau Jungblut, now feigning sleep, and continued, “But maybe this is better than the Germans who know all but do nothing. Hah! Yes, Roma, we are what you call Gypsies. Roma, Sinti, Kale, Gypsy. Call us what you like, we are all over the world.”

  She picked up the strap of her suitcase, jerked it like a recalcitrant puppy over to the only empty bed in the room. The others followed. The mattress sighed underneath the weight of the valise. Irina whisked the zipper noisily along its track. Ruby watched eagerly as her new roommate unfolded the suitcase. First came the bottles, each carefully wrapped in black, red, pink panties, all satin and lace. Ruby strained to see the names but found it easier to make them up for herself. Dawn’s Dew, Lascivious Lavender: the kind of scent that would wither your nose. Irina and her friends unpacked bottle after bottle. They were followed by slithery, slinky nightgowns that matched the panties that had snuggled the bottles so closely. Irina tossed these carelessly onto the bed. Next came shoes, spiky-heeled, shiny black ones, flat silver sandals, fuzzy pink slippers. Frau Jungblut sat up in her bed. Irina stopped fumbling with her clothes long enough to say, “Hi. I’m Irina. Who are you?”

  Frau Jungblut sniffed the air, wrinkling her short, stubby nose. “What is that smell?” she demanded.

  “Oh, it’s probably these,” replied Irina, her chubby, ringed fingers holding up a pair of satin undies. “I spray them with my perfume. I mean, even in here you gotta smell nice.”

  “Could you crack the window open? I feel a little faint.” Frau Jungblut held her hand over her mouth.

  “Why certainly,” chuckled Irina, blinking thick black eyelashes at her friends.

  “You didn’t answer my question. This is Ruby. I’m Irina. Who are you?”

  “Elke Jungblut” came the answer. Elke slid her body back under the covers, scowling at Irina’s back as she watched her get up to open the window.

  A man in a white coat entered the room.

  Irina saluted him. “Hello, Dr. Heller. Nice to see you again.”

  Dr. Heller was short and fit, with wiry brown hair. Ruby thought he looked awfully young.

  “Hello, Irina,” he said kindly. “How are you?” Stepping up to her, he told her quietly that her guests would have to leave.

  “Okay, Doc. I know the rules.”

  While Irina ushered her friends out of the room, Dr. Heller took Ruby’s hand firmly in his and gave it a resounding shake. She was aware that her hands were clammy, her grasp clumsy. Werner had told her that Germans regarded a strong, firm handshake as a sign of a strong, firm character. She felt weak.

  “Nice to meet you, Frau Edwards. I wasn’t on duty last night, but I hear you had a pretty rough go of it.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She paused before asking, “Did someone get hurt?”

  “You knocked down a nurse. But you’re lucky. She’s okay.”

  “What’s going to happen now?” Ruby’s voice was hushed as she looked at the doctor.

  “Well, the medication you were taking before you were admitted was obviously not strong enough. They had to give you a pretty hefty dose of Haldol last night. It’s what we call a neuroleptic. And a much more potent antipsychotic than what you were on. We’re hoping it will be enough to prevent the kind of hallucinations you were having last night. If you don’t get better and you continue to pose a safety threat, we’ll have to move you to the other ward down the hall until you improve.”

  “God, no,” Irina gasped,
“don’t send her there!”

  Ruby’s eyes welled up with tears. “I never thought things could get so out of control,” she stammered.

  Dr. Heller took hold of her hand again. It was still shaking. “Listen, you’re not alone here. I’m hoping we’ll be able to help you. That’s my job. Your job is to rest and take it easy on yourself. In the meantime, we’ll start you on something that will help prevent the shaking. It’s a common side effect of antipsychotic medication.”

  He picked up a book that lay on the table next to Ruby’s bed. “What’s this you’re reading?” he said, turning the book over. “Ah yes, Langston Hughes.”

  Ruby had forgotten about the book. It was the only thing she had grabbed before leaving her apartment. She had left everything else. Werner could bring it later.

  “Yeah,” Ruby responded. “Helps keep me sane. Helps me remember who I am.”

  “Well, we’ll do our best to get you out of here as soon as we can. I’ll be meeting with you once a week in my office. We also have group therapy sessions that we like the patients to participate in, but you can take your time deciding about that. No rush. I’m here Monday to Friday, and every third weekend. If you have any questions, just come on down to my office, okay?”

  Dr. Heller strode up to Frau Jungblut, who was sitting up in her bed, fidgeting.

  “Doctor,” she burst out before he had a chance to begin. “Dr. Heller, I don’t think I should be here. You know my husband brought me here against my will. I’m really fine, just a case of bad nerves. Harald, the jerk, he’s just worried about me spending all his money. I, I’m not like them.” She waved a thin arm dismissively around the room.

  Dr. Heller raised his eyebrows and reached for the file that was clipped to the end of her bed. “Well, Frau Jungblut, we’ll have to see,” he murmured as he glanced over the notes. “Hmm. Says here that you threatened to kill your husband and jump out of your condominium window. Then you took an overdose of pills after he cut up your credit cards. I think we’ll need a little time to straighten things out here, Frau Jungblut.”