Save the Last Bullet for God (3 page)

“How do you think your husband reacts?”

“He doesn’t participate much. He just focuses
on the activity.”

“But you can still be together?”

“I’m sorry. What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you have a happy and satisfying
sex life?”

“He is the first and only man in my life.
What can I compare him to? Doesn’t everybody experience something
similar in sexual intercourse?”

I tried to change the topic.

“The food is very delicious, isn’t it? And
the service is really good. We must come here more often,” I
said.

“Of course,” she said, now distracted.
“Whenever you want.”

I wondered whether we were flirting, and if
she was already emotionally invested in us being together. I hoped
to avoid such entanglements. I decided to get to my real reason for
the dinner

“Maria Orsic,” I started.

“Sorry?” Hellen asked, stopping in the middle
of drinking her wine.

“The Vril community…you mentioned…” I said,
recovering. I had started poorly.

“Yes, of course,” Hellen confirmed.

“When did you see them last?” I asked.

“Two weeks ago, just as I told you. I always
visit them when I come here.”

She was clearly surprised by the sudden
change of topic, but she continued “If you hadn’t given me this
dinner invitation, I’d be with them now. Maybe it’s fate.”

“I don’t believe in fate or coincidences. I
think everything results from conscious decisions.” I was being too
harsh. I treaded carefully. “Of course, coincidences also have a
part in the development of surprising events…”

Hellen winked and gave me a big smile.

“You can say anything that comes into your
mind, Dr. Reich.”

“Can you tell me about them?”

Hellen blushed now and looked pleased.

“Your superior talent in charming a woman
really amazes me. You’re making an effort to learn about something
I’m interested in just to get to know me.”

“So?” I pressed, hoping she would tell me
more.

“
It’s enough that you’ve thought about
it,” she continued, “but if you’re not interested in such things, I
don’t want to torture you. We can do more pleasant things
together.” Her slender, delicate fingers touched my
hand.

“No, really, I am interested.”

“Wow. You don’t belong to this world. You are
really showing interest in me and doing it so naturally.”

Her coyness was tying me up in knots and she
knew it.

“If you are really interested, Dr. Reich,”
she said, “I will be attending a meeting two weeks from now.
Perhaps it might be useful for your research. Of course, you may
need to cancel your appointments.”

“I can do that,” I said.

“Really?” she asked. “I’m excited now. I have
a lot of things I’m going to tell you.”

She grabbed my hand tightly, smiling.

I thought to ask more but I kept quiet so as
not to give myself away.

On the river, the road lights reflected off
the water as a small ferry disappeared into the distance. The scent
of the purple orchids wafted in the light breeze and pleasant
shadows cast by the candlelight flickered over the face of the nice
woman in front of me. But my only thought was of Maria.

Spring 1920, Vienna

Wilhelm Reich / Maria Orsic

Ribot’s Law says that the most recent memory
you have is the first thing you will forget. Therefore, the last
thing I will forget about Maria Orsic is the first time I saw
her.

The Great War was over and our army was
defeated. My young soul had been mangled, and I felt the angst and
hopelessness of defeat.

I aimlessly wandered over Vienna, trying to
adapt to life again, engaging in only the most basic social
relations with the people around me. I turned inward and breathed
in the depressed ethos of my defeated and shattered country. It
wasn’t until the age of twenty-three that I finally pulled myself
together and started medical school.

To finance my education, I began working
nights as a nurse in a mental hospital. The hospital management,
crushed under the patient load and the lack of qualified male
personnel after the war, accepted me easily. After that, all my
time and energy was consumed by the intensive coursework during the
day and the shifts in the overcrowded hospital at night.

One night, I was doing my late-night room
checks in the women’s ward of the hospital. The nurse had told me
it was a calm night, so I was relaxed in my procedure. After a
quick check, I planned to study a bit and get a good night’s sleep
before class the next morning.

When I entered Room 17, the pale light of the
ceiling lamp made long, dark shadows across the room. All the beds
were full, and an unforgettably pungent smell emanated from the
collection of restlessly sleeping bodies.

As I headed deeper into the room, I saw a
young woman with blonde hair down to her waist sitting upright on
the edge of her bed looking out of the window. The rain outside
slid in drops over the window, and far away trees swayed in the
wind, throwing more shadows about the room. The blonde woman sat
gazing at the dark sky beyond the trees. As I approached, I felt a
warm glow inside of me and, when she turned to me, my heart gave a
slight spasm. I saw her face, drawn as if by a fine pencil, and, at
the center, two deep blue eyes. For a long time, I stood there,
stunned, keeping my gaze steady, hoping not to spoil the
moment.

I had never seen her before, but it was as if
I had always known her.

The young girl had no response to my stare
and she returned her gaze to the upper corner of the window, and
beyond to the dark sky. I decided to stop standing there like a
fool and again become a member of the hospital staff.

“You need to sleep now,” I managed to say.
“Come on, lie down and fall asleep, you can look out of the window
as much as you want in the morning.”

The young girl didn’t change her position. It
was as if she hadn’t heard me.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Silence.

I took a step and stood between the window
and her gaze.

“Your na –” I couldn’t even finish my
question.

“Maria,” she said with a slight foreign
accent and a voice with such a heavenly timbre that I labored to
breathe normally and struggled to speak.

“Maria?”

“Maria Orsic . . . I’m from Zagreb.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My father is a soldier; he brought me to
Vienna after the war. The doctors and hospitals here were said to
be good.” She was speaking in halting phrases, choosing her words
from a language she didn’t yet command.

“How long have you been here?” I was using
all the advantages of my position and for a moment, I questioned my
motives.

“Three days and one night,” she said.

I was so confused that I took some time to
remember my question and comprehend her answer.

“Okay, let it be three days and two nights
and try to sleep,” I said.

I reached out and gently pressed her soft
shoulders down towards the bed letting my hands linger on her
fragile shoulders longer than was necessary. It was hard to let
go.

She wasn’t sleeping when I left her, and as I
went out of the dark room into the dim corridor, I hoped she was
looking at me. As I walked along rapidly, I felt an indescribable
excitement as thoughts raced through my mind.

…

For the next day, I wandered around elated.
It was impossible to focus. I began putting off all my other duties
so I could go to the hospital early. I invented jobs for myself and
just wandered around wasting time. I lived in my own dream and
formed a new habit of talking to myself, even in the middle of
crowds.

I did my best to keep myself away from the
women’s ward and tried to have some conversations with a few staff
members, but it didn’t work. Time didn’t seem to pass, and I
couldn’t think about anything but going back to Room 17. To
distract myself, I entered Room 16 and paced across the floor,
putting my hands in and out of my pockets, walking fast at first,
and then more slowly. The room was empty except for an old woman
with messy hair who was engaged in talking to her fingers. Another
elderly woman full of wrinkles stared at the ceiling, and another
patient sat following my movements. I approached the patient who
was staring at me, and I tried to ask a few questions, but her
answers were indecipherable.

I went and stood by the window and watched
the sun go down over the garden while I traced my fingers in the
dust on the window ledge. No longer willing to wait, I turned back
and left the room as if I had important things to do. I opened the
door to Room 17 without any hesitation and went inside, trying my
best not to look at the bed by the window. I instead approached the
beds that were closer to the door, like a child saving his dessert
for last. Lingering as long as I could, I finally came to her bed,
but I saw that it was empty. I rapidly scanned the room around me.
She wasn’t there. Her bed was well made and looked like it hadn’t
been used for a long while. In fact, there was no trace of her at
all. I panicked at the idea that she had been discharged, and
thinking the worst, I headed to the door in desperation, fearful of
the imminent emptiness of my life.

Hurrying out of the room, I collided with
Maria and all of the breath inside me drained out. My heartbeat
echoed through my dizziness. She was okay and much more composed
than I.The collision brought us inches apart, and I noticed the
simplicity of her perfect face: her pert nose, full lips, and her
dancing blue eyes. I felt as if I was falling through space.

I stumbled back half a step, and in my
clumsiness, blocked the door. Our eyes locked for a long moment,
and then she made her way around me, stepping aside with her eyes
on the floor. Although I didn’t want to go, I was unable to do
anything but leave. The door closed and I went away, carrying her
pleasant scent with me.

I desperately wanted to go back in to see
her, but I forced myself to go to the garden for some fresh air. As
I sat in the darkness on the bench near the edge of the road, I
thought about those disgusting relationships between doctors and
their patients and made myself remember that I wasn’t even a
doctor. As I ruminated, I dug angrily at the ground with the toes
of my shoes until the smell of tobacco shook me out of my
reverie.

“Are you okay?” a voice said.

I immediately recognized the voice, but all I
could see was a single bright ember moving toward me in the
darkness. It was Eldwin Meyer, a skinny decrepit caregiver still
allowed to work despite his old age. It was said that the hospital
had been built around him. The old caregiver had thin white hair
and pale blue eyes that gave him a furtive but intelligent look.
There was talk of Eldwin sampling the patients’ medicine, but he
ignored the gossip and never shirked his duties.

“How are you doing, Eldwin?” I asked.

“Fine, but you look depressed, young
man.”

“No…,” I said weakly before Eldwin sat down
next to me. “Just fatigue.”

“If you’re tired, then we should all die.” He
scoffed before flicking his cigarette into the grass.

I had no response.

Eldwin watched me for a moment and then he
smirked.

“Have you seen the Croatian girl?” he
asked.

“Which one?” I asked, playing as dumb as I
could.

“Come on, if I notice her at this age, you
surely know about her. The quiet girl in Room 17.”

“Oh . . . ,” I lied, “I guess I saw her last
night. . . . Who is her doctor?”

“Dr. Hubert.”

“Egbert Hubert?” A stupid question. There was
only one Dr. Hubert.

“She’s been here for two or three days, but
he’s already had two sessions with her while other patients are
unable to get one session with him in a month. Her father is an
important figure, I suppose. It must be the reason for all the care
and interest.”

My ears reddened and my stomach ached, but I
went on acting naturally and pretending not to care. “She seems
young and healthy. What does she have that made her come here?” I
asked.

“Apparently, she’s here after a few
unsuccessful attempts at treatment,” the old caregiver
murmured.

I nodded and could feel Eldwin watching me. I
finally met his eyes.

“Her file is in Dr. Huber’s office,” he
offered.

I tried not to reveal my surprise at his
suggestion, but he had my interest.

“
Oh, have you seen it?” I asked
tentatively.

“No, but I have the key to every room and I’m
sure it’s there.”

“Why are you telling me this,” I asked, my
guilt turning to annoyance.

“You seem interested in her condition. Maybe
you could skim over the file tonight . . . and . . . and . . . ,”
he said suddenly looking down at my pocket.

I realized I had one of the yellow pills in
my pocket. I fingered it for a moment before pulling it out to show
him. He closed my hand and looked away from me.

“I blame your youth for your
indiscretion.”

“Well . . . I didn’t mean. I thought you were
asking me….”

“So you also believe in the hospital rumors
and are trying to benefit from them.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly very
confused.

“
I have a little granddaughter,” he
explained, “and my daughter and her husband died during the war.
She’s a seven-year-old girl, and I have to look after her because
she has no one but me. You think about all that responsibility and
obligation. Is it possible for me to use drugs?” His voice grew
severe.

“I really didn’t know . . . and I . . . I
never meant it . . .,” I mumbled in shame.

“I take those pills, yes, I do, but I take
them to sell so that I can look after a poor orphan. Do you
understand?”