“No.”
“Troubled? Soft in the head?”
“Yes.”
“And him, how is he unwell?”
“He has Parkinson’s disease.”
Heinrich lifted his teaspoon but couldn’t think what to do with it and set it down again.
“I upset him.”
She gave him a sharp look.
“It’s not because you upset him, Heinrich. There’s no point indulging in feelings of guilt. A distressing telephone call doesn’t cause Parkinson’s disease.”
“No? You think he brushed off, so easily, such a weird and nasty prank? Some stranger who’d found out so much about him? Didn’t he worry that perhaps he was wrong? Didn’t he wonder if maybe he’d hung up on his son?”
“Yes, it kept troubling him, of course it did. That’s not why he’s ill.”
“And Mama?”
Inge twisted the large opal ring on her finger. Around and around it went, rotating on her pale, seemingly boneless finger.
“Mama left.”
“Where to?”
“After you disappeared, and we all searched and waited and finally decided—well, they decided, or half decided, that you were probably dead, Mama learned of a farm in Northern Scotland, a sort of international commune for people who talk to plants. She wrote to them and signed up for a week, then stayed on. She worked on the farm. I think she was quite happy. I got the impression she felt freer there than she’d ever felt with Karl.”
“She felt freer, was happy, but isn’t anymore?”
“She died last year.”
He looked away. The effort of not sobbing caused a tightening in his chest.
“I’m sorry, Heinrich. I should have told you right away.”
Now tears did run into his mouth, and some continued on their path, slipping over his chin.
“You could go there, Heinrich, to Findhorn. You could visit her friends, and see the place. You could see where she lived. I have some photos of her that she sent. I’ll show them to you.”
Inge paused. She watched her brother dry his face. He used the sleeve of his shirt. She went on explaining as best she could.
“I never went to see her. Mama kept urging me to come and visit. She said how good the sea air would be for me, that she wanted to offer me a holiday by the sea, that she worried when she thought of how hard I was working; and did I really not mind being alone all the time? She convinced herself it was for my sake that she was inviting me. You know what she was like. She told herself that all her motives were pure, her desires selfless. If she’d just had the honesty to admit that it was as much about her needs as mine, that she wanted my approval, that she needed me to admire the wonderful refuge she’d discovered, I might have gone. I did want to see her. And, I suppose, I wanted her approval too. But mostly I wanted her to be direct, to stop denying what she was really asking me to give her. But in any case, I doubt that I could have lasted more than a day in that kind of place. All those people, discovering their spiritual connection with the earth, and feeling good about themselves, and imagining that their pure, superior thoughts might have the power to save the world—it would have driven me crazy, I’d have thrown myself in the sea. But I do think she was happy.”
Inge gestured for the waiter.
“Can I have a glass of water, please?”
“Perhaps I will go there,” Heinrich blurted out.
But I am too late, he thought. Mama is gone. I am always too slow, and arrive too late. I don’t even have a passport. Inge is free to paint any picture of Mama that she likes. I can do nothing to stop her.
“You should go. That’s where Helene was happiest and felt understood. Besides, they’d love you there, if you told them about your hike in the Arctic, about slipping through a hole in time.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Please, Heinrich.”
Her leg was once more shaking. He raised his voice without wanting to.
“If I didn’t slip through a hole in time, then what happened to me? If I’m not really your brother, then what are you doing sitting here talking to me? You’re going on about Mama, and how much she loved you or didn’t love you, and how honest she was or wasn’t, as if nothing strange has happened, as if I’m not suddenly thirty years younger than you.”
She covered her face with her hands. Now her shoulders were shaking, as well as her leg.
“Inge. I am sorry.”
She lowered her hands and stared at him angrily.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer and directed his gaze at the traffic passing outside the café.
In a voice quivering with fury, she told him, “You’ve always wanted me to know everything.”
“I should leave.”
“Please, Heinrich.”
Now she gave him a desperate look, and to stop her hands from trembling she tucked them under her thighs.
“Inge.”
“I can’t stand this.”
She released her hands, and gestured for the waiter to bring the bill. They both stood up, pushing back their chairs, the legs scraping the floor. She paid for both their coffees.
“I have money,” he told her.
They emerged from the café onto the sidewalk.
“I should have asked you right away,” she said. “Do you need some money?”
“I’m all right, thanks. I’ve got a job, washing dishes in a restaurant.”
“And a place to stay?”
He nodded.
“Where?”
“A youth hostel.”
“Is it okay?”
“It’s noisy, cheap, friendly.”
“I’d ask you to stay with me, but my place . . .”
He interrupted her, “Shall we walk? Will you walk with me a bit?”
They went west along Bloor Street. At University Avenue, a red light stopped them.
“I’ll write out my address and phone number for you,” she said.
Her book bag was slipping from her shoulder. She caught hold of it, and fished for a notebook, and tore out a page, then searched for a pen. When she’d given him the paper with all her information on it, they continued to walk. He told her about the sound of rushing water that was invading his hearing. She made him promise to see a doctor. He asked if she’d help him to call Karl. They might speak with their father, together.
“Yes,” she promised. “Of course.”
Several streets later, she looked at her watch and announced, “I have to go. I’m sorry. I have an appointment. I’m really sorry. It’s for work. Will you call me tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Or I’ll call you?”
“Yes. Yes, Inge.”
He held her tightly. Her smooth pale cheek pressed against his. He released her. He had no choice. He stood on the corner and watched his sister, the woman in the turquoise raincoat, walk away.
2
We Are All Erratics
Under a surprisingly cloudless November sky, Heinrich headed south down University Avenue and found himself surrounded by hospitals. Princess Margaret, Mount Sinai—he read the signs, debating which doors he should go through to ask to have his ears checked. On the opposite side of the broad avenue stood two more hospitals—Toronto General and the Hospital for Sick Children. Six lanes of traffic surged—cars, bicycles, and taxis competing. A finger of manicured grass, of low flower beds and tall trees, separated the southbound lanes from the lanes pouring north.
Inside his ears, liquids rushed, gurgling and tumbling. In his mind’s eye luminous blue ropes of water were carving deep paths in a vast body of ice. At Elm Street a red light told him to stop. While he waited to cross, something caused him to glance over his shoulder. A few meters behind, on the sidewalk, stood a fox and a stag. The fox was lean, with a healthy coat, an auburn plume of a tail, and a nervous energy. It was sniffing the air. The stag, broad-chested, full-grown, observed its surroundings without moving a muscle. Its antlers were i
mmense. I mustn’t stare, thought Heinrich. The light changed and he continued to walk south, as if he had not seen the two animals. This felt like the most respectful course of action. To pointedly acknowledge their presence might make them panic and run into the traffic.
He passed a building marked “Rehabilitation Sciences,” and without having to look he knew that the fox and the stag were following close behind; he could feel their eyes watching him. At Dundas Street, another red light. He allowed himself to glance over his shoulder. There they were, also waiting for the light to change: two wild animals on the sidewalk of a broad avenue in bright daylight, strangely serene. Both seemed indifferent to the noise of the traffic. Both ignored the pedestrians who passed, several of whom turned to stare. As soon as the light changed, Heinrich crossed Dundas, and the fox and the stag crossed with him.
The noise of racing water was growing in volume inside Heinrich’s ears. He would have changed direction, gone back toward the row of hospitals, but how could he enter a hospital accompanied by two wild animals?
Perhaps he was mistaken and they were not accompanying him but simply headed for the lake at the south end of the city or for some green refuge that they knew of—a park, or a grassy strip beneath a highway?
The fox trotted and the stag walked, unperturbed, past the facade of the US Consulate General. They passed in front of the imposing Canada Life Building. A young woman hurried toward Heinrich. She was pointing at the fox and the stag and saying something that he could not make out, her words drowned by the rushing in his ears. As he came parallel with the Boer War memorial he slowed his pace. A bronze woman, flanked by two soldiers, was pointing her raised arm in the direction of empire and victory. He and his two animal companions started across Queen Street.
There were now numerous pedestrians staring, and many, having taken out their cell phones, were snapping pictures. Heinrich reached the south side of Queen Street, and, in a panic, darted down a set of stairs, away from the cameras and attention.
The stairs descended into Osgoode subway station. Will the animals follow me down these steps? Heinrich wondered. If they do, I’ll have to lead them out of here, back up to the street, and continue walking. The fox may try coming down. But the stag won’t. Heinrich waited. Neither animal descended. He wondered what was happening to them. If I climb back up to the street, will they still be there? By now, someone will have called the police or the fire department. He listened for the wail of sirens, but could hear only rushing water. I can’t help them, he told himself. But he knew this wasn’t true, and in a matter of seconds he was dashing back up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
He emerged onto the sidewalk. The fox and stag were waiting for him, a growing throng of curious people surrounding them. The twisting, high-pitched notes of an approaching siren cut through the roaring in Heinrich’s ears. He held himself still, and the fox and the stag held equally still. The eyes of the two animals met his, but he could not read their thoughts.
APPENDIX
The Search for Heinrich Schlögel
On November 24, 2010, the Canadian national newspaper, the Globe and Mail, published a photograph showing a young man walking down University Avenue, possibly being followed by a fox and a full-grown stag.
The young man has a long, loose stride, and his attention is fixed on some point farther ahead, outside the frame. It is impossible to say if he is aware or not of the two wild animals advancing with apparent calm along the broad sidewalk a short distance behind him.
The article accompanying the picture offers little information. It does not name the young man. It states: “At approximately two in the afternoon of November 23, pedestrians were astonished to see a fox and a stag proceeding down University Avenue, as if part of a larger, invisible parade.” Though quite a few people captured the event on their cell phones, nobody, according to the article, could say where the animals had come from.
The young man was observed dashing down the stairs into the Osgoode subway station. At the top of these stairs, the two wild animals stopped. They stood for quite some time, maybe waiting for the young man to resurface from underground. What connection existed between the young man and the two animals? This question, when put to the public, prompted a variety of responses. Several witnesses declared that the animals, quite obviously, were hoping to be reunited with the young man. Other observers pronounced unequivocally that the young man who descended into the subway did so without having noticed the animals, and that he had no intention of returning.
The article states that in front of the city hall the police used a Taser to stun the stag and the fox, which had by then broken free of the growing throng and headed east along Queen Street, the stag leaping and the fox running. Staff from the city’s health department, the article reassures, worked alongside the police to safely remove the two Tasered animals from the scene. “Both will later be released in a suitable location outside the metropolitan area,” the article promises.
In the week following its original publication in the Globe and Mail, the photo of the young man, the fox, and the stag was reproduced in several more newspapers, including the National Post, the Toronto Star, and the Toronto Sun.
In each publication, a new and slightly different article attempts to shed light on the photograph. All of the articles agree that on the night of November 23, 2010, a German visitor, possibly the young man in the photograph, entered the emergency department of the Toronto General Hospital and asked what it would cost him to have his ears examined. The young German told the triage nurse that he’d been hearing, off and on, for close to a month, the sound of rushing water. His auditory disturbance, he said, had recently grown to a roar and gave no indication of subsiding.
The nurse informed the young man of the fee. He had difficulty hearing her, and asked her to write the number down, which she did. He agreed to pay. He gave his name, Heinrich Schlögel, and showed her his student ID, the only identification he had with him. She slid a form across the counter for him to complete. While he was filling out the form, the nurse glanced at the television screen suspended in the waiting area. A map of weather patterns vanished and was replaced by an image of a fox and a full-grown stag. The two animals appeared to be freely following a young man down University Avenue. The German looked up from the form he was filling out, saw the nurse’s questioning expression, and traced her gaze to the screen behind his shoulder. Without another word, the young man hurried out of the receiving area, abandoning on the counter the half-filled-out form.
“He had a lovely smile and a gentle voice,” the triage nurse is quoted as having commented. “I’m quite sure it was him.”
Each article concludes with an appeal to “any member of the public possessing information concerning Heinrich Schlögel and his possible whereabouts” to contact the Toronto Police.
Acknowledgements
Heinrich Schlögel is immeasurably indebted for his existence to Iris Häussler, Greg Sharp, Guy Ewing, Conor Goddard, Madeleine Thien, and Karl-Heinz Raach. I thank Joanne Schwartz, Annie Beer, Dominic Denis, Sophie Perceval, Glenda Goodgoll, Susan Glickman, Marianne Apostolides, Carolyn Black, and Mary Ellen Thomas for reading with care. Special thanks to Markus Wilcke for his wise ears, and to Anne Egger for sending me to Hannah Tautuajuk, and to Corinne Hart for sending me to Markus Wilcke.
Particular thanks to those with whom I hiked to the Turner Glacier and back: Mr. Slap Chop and Officer Wheeler (of Blackfeather), Weather King, the Finisher, Little Miss Sunshine, Blista Sista, Valery Huff (human book of plant knowledge!), and Dr. Freeze.
My warmest thanks to Hannah Tautuajuk, her daughter, and her granddaughter for their hospitality during my stay in Pangnirtung, and to Louis Robillard for his cuisine and humor.
Thanks to the Core Sample writing group for encouragement, insights, and camaraderie. Thanks to Boris Steipe for his engagement in the early stages.
This novel has benefitted from the devotion and skill of two extraordinary editors,
Meg Storey (of Tin House) and Beth Follett (of Pedlar Press).
Much thanks to my loyal and discerning literary agent, Samantha Haywood, for placing me in such excellent hands.
I thank the Pirurvik Centre for permission to quote from their Inuktitut language-learning dialogues and grammar lessons from their Tusaalanga website.
The artworks that the character Andy creates in his garage are fictional replicas of works by Brian Jungen.
I first encountered the tale of the fox wife many years ago. Vastly differing versions of the fox wife tale exist. The same is true of the Sedna tales, one of which I came upon, as well as the aliok tale, in Stones, Bones and Stitches: Storytelling through Inuit Art by Shelley Falconer, Tundra Books, 2007.
None of the quotations about animals come from Brehms Tierleben, and all are attributed to fictitious titles. All animal information taken from Internet sites has been reworded. I do thank, however, Mole Direct, for permission to quote verbatim from their site.
Thanks to the Krishnamurti Foundation of America for permission to combine sentences from several texts by Krishnamurti, resulting in the passage read by Helene Schlögel in her garden.
Thanks to Basil Hiley and David Peat for permission to quote from the work of David Bohm and David Peat, as follows: “This order is primarily concerned not with the outward side of development, and evolution in a sequence of successions, but with a deeper and more inward order out of which the manifest form of things can emerge creatively.” David Bohm and F. David Peat, Science, Order, and Creativity, Bantam Books, 1987, p.151.
Rebecca Comay’s fascinating Mourning Sickness: Hegel and the French Revolution introduced me to Schiller’s Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man.
Sara Tilley’s lovely novel Skin Room (Pedlar, 2008) inspired a moment recalled by Jeremy.
My thanks to the Toronto Storytelling Festival for unforgettable tales and tellers.
My immense thanks, always, to Mary Jane Baillie, Donald Baillie, Emma Lightstone, Jonno Lightstone, and Christina Baillie.
The Search for Heinrich Schlögel Page 21