I Confess (8 page)

"Yes."

"Were you able to save her?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"She will never have another chfld," he said and left me standing there. Now I hated him.

I went to Margaret. She was lying in a stark, light room and looked twenty years older. She was smiling her madonna smile which looked especially good in profile, and she said, "Don't be upset, darling."

I went to her and knelt down beside the bed and laid my head on her breast. "Forgive me," I whispered.

"I forgive you," she said quietly.

I looked up.

She was smiling.

10

Tve been reading this through and I see I have said nothing about the mood I was in during that first day in the hospital, about my thoughts and my attitude toward the possibility that I might have a tumor on the brain which would have to be operated. I imagine this can be explaifaed by the fact that as a result of all the visitors I had and the many facts I had to absorb, there simply hadn't been time, until evening, to come to grips with my mysterious illness. The first opportunity came after night had fallen. I had of course experienced moments of depression and a rising irritation in connection with my inability to say certain words, but until then what was actually going on around me had distracted me completely. Only as the examination progressed did I lose interest increasingly in external matters and begin to shut

myself up more and more in brooding thoughts of the future and my fate.

After Margaret's call, my headache was worse. The whiskey I had drunk with Joe probably had something to do with it. I rang because I wanted to ask the nurse for something to alleviate the pain but for some reason or other my ring, and the one that followed it, remained unanswered. I turned on the bedside lamp and got up to go out into the hall. It was the first time I had stood up, and I felt as if I were walking on clouds, as if all objects were far removed from me, as if they were faUing back before me, and the floor was in motion as on a ship in a high sea. I was dizzy, and when I finally reached the door, I clung to the knob. Another few steps and I would have fallen flat on my face. What was it? Only weakness? How sick was I really? What was wrong with me? When would they tell me? When would my doctors finally put in an appearance? For the first time I panicked. I broke out in a sweat. I breathed deep in the hope that this would relieve the dizziness. But it didn't. Only the floor swayed less. My right arm hurt. Dear God, where were the doctors?

Just then the door handle was pushed down from outside. I stepped back from the door which opened, and Dr. Eulenglas appeared. He was accompanied by a short fat man in a white coat. He looked like a boolde—sly, unscrupulous and cynical. Only his hands betrayed the fact that he was a surgeon. It was Professor Vogt.

Eulenglas introduced us and went to get me something as soon as I told him why I was up. Professor Vogt helped me back to bed.

"It would be better for you not to move around too much right now," he said. He had the voice of a eunuch, high-pitched, melodious, feminine. A most extraordinary doctor. He sat down beside me and took a stethoscope out of his pocket. "Would you please take off your jacket, Mr. Chandler." I did, and he began to examine me. His fingers were hot and beat a hard tattoo on my chest

"Take a deep breath," he said. "Now stop ... now a deep breath again, yes...." He examined me thoroughly and quickly. He looked down my throat, felt my glands, tested my reflexes with a little silver hammer. Then he looked into my eyes, told me to roll them. "A thorough check-up will be all to the good, Mr. Chandler," he said. "I promised your wife we'd give you one. Early tomorrow morning we'll start with an eye examination."

"Do you think that I . . . that I . . ."

"Yes?" He was looking at me calmly out of his sly little eyes.

"... that I have a tumor?"

He smiled genially. "My dear friend, do you think you could write a book about my life?"

"I don't know, Professor. I'd have to know a lot more about you."

"There you are," he said. "And I know too little about your body to know whether you have a tumor. For that you are going to have to give me a httle more time."

Eulenglas came with a capsule and I took it while continuing to describe my symptoms to Professor Vogt.

"Aha," he said, as I told him about my occasional difll-culty in expressing certain words. "So some words don't come to you."

"Yes."

"What words? Certain definite words?"

"No. Just all of a sudden—any word."

He took a pencil out of his pocket. "What is this?" I told him. He pointed to a picture on the wall and asked again. After the fourth question he must have noticed a change in my expression because he asked me what was wrong. "Nothing," I said. "I'm just a little confused."

"Why?"

"Because . . . because of your questions. They give me the impression that you think I'm insane."

"That's ridiculous, Mr. Chandler," he said sternly, in his squeaky voice, which made me want to laugh. "Now pull yourself together. There is no reason at all for you to

get any impression like that." He looked at me, his face suddenly authoritative and cold. My desire to laugh fled.

"Certainly, Hen* Professor."

He went on asking me to define objects and at last caught his fish. He took a pair of scissors from a tray. "What is that?"

"A sci . . . sci . . . sci . . . sci ..." I sweated. My temples throbbed crazily. I was near tears, gasping. I tried again. I could not say the word 'scissors.'

"But you know what one does with it."

"Yes, Herr Professor."

"What does one do with it?"

"One cu . . . cu . . . cu . . ." I could see Eulenglas write something on a pad which he then put in his pocket.

"One cu . . . cu . . . cu . . ." The tears shot to my eyes in my frustration. "I can't say it but I know what to do with it."

"Would you please show us, Mr. Chandler," Vogt said amiably. I took the scissors and went through the motion of cutting.

"Thank you," he said. "That was very good. Yes, one cuts with a scissor."

"One cuts with a scissor," I said, and was at once immensely relieved. I could even smile. "I knew it, Herr Professor, but I couldn't say it."

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Has the capsule begun to take effect."

"A little."

Vogt rose. "Have a good night's sleep so that you're fresh in the morning. And don't worry. There is absolutely no reason to worry until we find something." He gave me his dry hot hand. "Goodnight, Mr. Chandler."

"Goodnight, gentlemen," I said. Eulenglas bade his fareweU and followed Professor Vogt. I was alone again.

Literal paraphasia, I thought. It sounded impressive. I would add the words to my vocabulary and kid my friends with them once I got out of here. "CoUins was my

successor for Cry in the Dark, He wrote a literal paraphasia. . . ." It sounded sharp and sarcastic. Especially if no one knew what it meant. Tomorrow the eye doctor would see me. Why the eye doctor? What did all this have to do with my eyes? And if it did have something to do with my eyes, could it be damaging? Was I in danger of going blind? Or crazy? Or bUnd and crazy?

Thus began the first night. I didn't think I'd live to see the end. I couldn't grant Professor Vogt his request to get a good night's sleep. I didn't even sleep badly; I didn't sleep at all! I lay there and thought about my illness about which nobody as yet seemed to kno>y anything. I imagined its consequences. I could think of plenty. I had a good imagination.

I always had a good imagination. That was why I could feel sorry for people Uke myself. When somebody has too much imagination, there are a lot of attributes he can't have: for instance, courage. Imagination and courage are irreconcilable. The one excludes the other. Anyone who can see a possibility totally, with all its ramifications, is no longer equal to it. Courageous are those who have no imagination. They don't know everything that might happen to them and they can't imagine it. The great heroes are always simple men, and the greatest cowards therefore are probably the intellectuals. I envied the simple man. He had it easier. And he was more popular. It wasn't really fair, looking at it that way.

It was five o'clock when I finally fell into a confused and joyless dream. In the garden outside the birds were already chirping. Barely two hours later a nurse woke me. She was colorless, young and stupid.

"Breakfast, Mr. Chandler." She put the tray, down in front of me. I sat up. I wasn't dizzy any more and my head hardly hurt at all. "Couldn't you have let me sleep?"

"Sorry, Mr. Chandler. Dr. Eulenglas' orders. Your examination starts at eight."

"Ah so. ..."

"Did the second capsule help?"

I Stared at her uncomprehendingly. **What second capsule?"

"The one I gave you."

"When?"

"Two hours ago, Mr. Chandler."

It turned out that in the twilight of dawn I had rung and asked for a second capsule for my headache. For the life of me I couldn't remember doing it. It was all highly disturbing, I decided as I drank the hot coffee. Now I was forgetting things that had happened.

"Maybe you weren't fully awake, Mr. Chandler," said the nurse. "You were very restless. I sat with you for a while."

"Oh."

"You cried out and talked in your sleep."

"I did? What did I say?"

"You kept talking about a man." The girl must have come from Bavaria. She had a strong Bavarian accent.

"What was the man's name?"

"Job... I think."

She was a stupid nurse.

11

•At 7:45 T was shaved, washed and dressed. I felt quite well. The floor no longer moved under me, the dizziness was gone, my headache minimal. At eight Margaret called and said she'd be by in the afternoon. Fidelio had been divine. The Baxters sent greetings. At ten minutes past eight Eulenglas appeared with Vogt. Vogt wasn't wearing a white coat. For psychological reasons? I was to get the impression of an easy-going casual examination?

To begin with I did. We walked, smoking and chatting, down the long white corridors until we came to a door that said Lab I. It was an x-ray lab.

"The first thing we're going to do," said Vogt, "is have a look at your head." In the lab an assistant was waiting for us. It was Eulenglas, though, who examined me. All Vogt did was stand to one side and watch. I was put into position in front of the apparatus, the room was darkened, the tubes hummed, and Eulenglas disappeared with Vogt behind the shield. They exchanged a few words I couldn't understand in their scientific jargon, and two pictures of my head were taken.

"Did you see anything?" I asked just as soon as I could move again. The assistant disappeared with the film. Vogt shook his head. "No," he said.

I took a deep breath. "Well, thank God for that. So may I go?" .

"We're not quite finished yet."

"But if you found nothing . . ."

"What were we supposed to find?"

"WeU ... the tumor," I said.

He smiled as he led me to a door that opened into another room. "I'm afraid you're seeing things too simply, Mr. Chandler."

"In what way?"

"An x-ray picture can't show a tumor."

"It can't?" Suddenly I felt miserable again. Tked and cold.

"No. Because a tumor is flesh, like the rest of your brain."

I was confused. Then I knew why I was confused. "So why did you x-ray me?"

"For another reason, Mr. Chandler. We wanted to familiarize ourselves with your brain pressure.. .."

"And how is my brain pressure?"

He looked at me a little nervously. We had in the meantime walked into the next room which looked hke the office of an eye doctor.

"Mr. Chandler, you must not be impatient.'*

"I'm not impatient."

"Nor too curious."

"All I wanted to know "

"Yes, yes," said Eulenglas, catching a look of his superior. "But give us a little time, Mr. Chandler. We'll soon be able to tell you everything." He led me to a chair, the room was darkened, and he began to examine my eyes.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the instrument in his hand.

"A mirror.'*

"And what are you doing with it?"

Eulenglas looked at Vogt and sighed.

"Gentlemen," I said. "Don't be angry with me, but I am upset. After all it is my head you are examining. I know you're not excited, but I am. Because if anyone here is ill, it's me. Then it's my tu . . . tu . . . tu... ."

I was choking. I could feel hysteria approaching in mighty waves. I couldn't say the word 'tumor.' "My tu ... tu ..." I stammered helplessly and had the feeUng that I couldn't shut my mouth any more to stop saying it. "So help me, for God's sake!" I cried. "Say the word!"

"Your tumor," said Eulenglas. Vogt said nothing. He wasn't even looking at me. I was sure he hated me, a rich, hysterical coward who had to be humored.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I won't trouble you any more. It's because I have too much imagination." After which I was silent for quite some time. Suddenly I couldn't stand either doctor. To be quite fair I must add that I had the feeling both of them detested me. Eulenglas moved the mirror in front of my face, back and forth, and asked me to look up, down, to the right and left. Every now and then a ray of hght that must have been hidden in the mirror hit me square in the eyes, blinding me. It was very unpleasant. It must have been a very bright ray of light; the odd thing was I couldn't see where it came from.

"Hm," said Eulenglas, after quite a long time. Then he

got up and gave the mirror to Vogt and the examination began all over again. This time it was Vogt who told me to look up, down, to the right and left, in the course of which he moved his face very close to mine, looking into my eyes all the time. He paid special attention to my left eye. He must have eaten something for breakfast that contained garlic. Finally he got up and began to converse with Eulenglas. Of all I could hear, only one word remained with me,'and that was the word Stauungspapille. I kept it in mind so that I could look it up later in an encyclopedia and see what it meant. A couple of minutes later Eulenglas turned to me and offered me a cigarette. "Thanks," I said.