The Devil's Grin: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 1) (15 page)

I desperately hoped my rooms would not be invaded by all the other thirty inhabitants of Barry’s house.

— eleven —

I
started my journey to the continent on September 30th. On the ship to Hamburg, I read Watson’s
A Study in Scarlet
. The whole of London seemed to know Sherlock Holmes, and I had the feeling this educational gap needed to be filled.

My reactions while reading the story drew the occasional glances from my fellow passengers. As I learned about Holmes flogging corpses in the morgue, I volunteered a very audible
Good heavens!

As he tried to explain to Watson how very exciting and significant his haemoglobin test was, I had to laugh out loud. He had been as excited as a child about this newly developed technique, which would help solve crimes in the future. And he was apparently the only one who understood it. The situation felt so familiar to me.
 

After thinking it over for a moment, I noticed that it wasn’t funny at all.

Some of Watson’s descriptions gave me a weak glimpse of Holmes as I knew him. Some were very precise indeed, while others seemed to speak of a stranger. But each friend will provide a different angle of our character, and we would be extraordinarily lucky to find one who is able to see the whole picture and still respect all of it.

I have to confess that Watson’s narrative annoyed me a little. He described obvious symptoms of poisoning but did not draw the conclusion. His attention seemed to be focussed on the superficial only. He thought it noteworthy how people were dressed, what colour their eyes had, or the state of the wallpaper at the crime scene. He saw and described, but never made the connections. I had to pull myself together to not slap the journal against my forehead.

I started wondering how two so very different men could be friends. After a while, I thought I understood. Holmes was, in a way, the least judgemental person I had ever met. He could easily accept Watson’s blindness. In that, Watson did not differ from the other blind ninety-nine per cent of the human population. But one thing made him very special indeed: he did not resent Holmes’s sharpness — the main reason for the ninety-nine per cent to avoid Holmes, because he made them feel small. I wondered whether Watson sometimes did feel small next to Holmes and had accepted it as the little price to pay for their friendship. Somewhere inside my strange heart, I felt respect growing for the stocky surgeon.

A train took me from Hamburg to Berlin. The city came into view and I began to vibrate. Here, I had defended my thesis. This had been an exception – although I had studied medicine at the Leipzig University, I had spent several months at the Charité Hospital and had met Robert Koch there. He had been part of my thesis committee. To honour him, my PhD defence had been relocated to Berlin.
 

And I had lost my so-called innocence here. But it wouldn’t help to pull the old horrors out of the pirate’s chest again.

A student of Dr von Behring picked me up from the train station and showed me to my quarters. There was a small restaurant close by where I took a late supper. It was so odd to hear everyone speak German. It did not feel like my language anymore, sounding so rough.
 

After I had eaten, I made my way back to my temporary room and quickly fell asleep, exhausted from my long journey.

The following morning, I took the tram to the Charité. Although I was familiar with the place and still knew some of the staff there, it made me feel very small.

Robert Koch’s Institute for Infectious Disease, Charité Hospital, Berlin, 1891 (17)

Dr Koch’s laboratory was spacious and the best equipped I had ever seen. I got a friendly reception from both Dr von Behring — diphtheria specialist, and Dr Kitasato — expert in tetanus. A lab space was assigned to me, equipment for my personal use, and an assistant to both Dr Kitasato and me. The two of us aimed to isolate tetanus germs as a first step in the production of a vaccine.

We used solid media to isolate the germs, a novelty invented by Dr Koch. I was surprised at how much easier the cultivation of pure bacterial cultures was compared with the traditional liquid media. While I focussed on the isolation of the germ itself, Dr Kitasato would spend his energies on the characterisation of the tetanus toxin — suspected in causing the typical muscle spasms. With these complementary approaches, we hoped to shorten the laborious and time-consuming path to vaccine development.

For two months, we worked almost around the clock. Twice I woke up lying face down on my lab bench, but more often I found myself close to falling off my stool. During that time of extensive work, any bodily needs were a bother. Eating and sleeping felt like a waste of time. Most nights, I forgot to change into my female self.

Despite all efforts, I had no success in cultivating tetanus bacteria. Before the dawn of my third month in Berlin, I decided to leave everything behind and pay a visit to my father.

On the train to Leipzig, I saw my childhood rushing past, intermingled with the familiar countryside. It made my heart ache in a good way.

My father was waiting at the station, holding on to one of his coat buttons, and waiting for his only child.
 

I pushed through the crowd, anxiously wondering whether he still loved me. What a silly thought, I realised, when I flung my arms around him, pressing my face onto his warm chest and inhaling the smell of fresh wood shavings. He held me tight as though he hadn’t seen me for years. I pushed a quiet sob into his coat as I realised we had indeed not seen each other for a very long time.

He released me then and gazed into my face, slightly abashed. We rarely hugged. Besides, his only daughter looked like a man.

We left the station, climbed into the dog cart, and he flicked the whip across the backs of his two yellow Haflinger ponies. He asked me about my work in Berlin and about the journey. We both felt a little awkward, as though we had to get to know each other again.

When we reached the forest around Naunhof, I asked my father to stop the cart so I could change into my women’s clothing. Upon my return from the woods, I pointed at the stocky horses. ‘Don’t you think the two old ladies should retire?’
 

He only grunted in response and I got the feeling that something worried him. With my hand on his knee, I said, ‘Anton? Can I ask you something and you promise me not to be mad?’
 

Another grunt — he probably guessed what was coming.

‘You did get the money I send you every month?’

He nodded, but did not look at me.

‘Are you using it? At all?’

He shook his head, finally turning his face towards me, wearing an apologetic frown.

‘Why?’ I asked, unbelieving. ‘I mean… Sorry, it’s your own business; you can do with it what you want, of course; but please tell me if I offended you by sending you money. Er… Did I offend you?’ I stammered.

He snorted and shook his head. ‘Anna, you behave like the elephant in the china store who finally learned that she has pretty big hindquarters.’

‘What?’

‘Never mind. I put the money aside. And before you ask why, I did it because I know that one day it will all come out — you will lose your position and will have to hide somewhere. So I saved the money you sent. You can have it back when you need it.’

For a long moment I sat there, speechless.

‘You always tell me I got the brains from Mother, but I don’t think that’s true. You are quite a brainy carpenter.’
 

The awe in my voice made him blush and we both fell silent again.

Pöppelmann Bridge in Grimma, 1880s (18)

An hour later, we crossed the river Mulde at the Pöppelmann Bridge. I was about to see my old home again and the thought sped up my heart and lungs. Then I remembered the money. ‘Anton, I have to tell you something.’

He gazed at me with one bushy eyebrow pulled up. Every time he did that, he looked like a ten years younger and very smug version of himself. I had to hold on to myself as not to kiss his brow.

‘I sent you only half my income. The other half, minus the little I need for a living, goes to the bank. I, too, know that I may need a safe hiding place and some money to get me through several months.’
 

Now his other eyebrow went up, too.
 

‘Last year I bought a small cottage in the countryside. It’s in an awful state, but when I need it, I’ll fix it. I have a safe place; so would you
please
use the money?’

Smiling meekly, he nodded.

‘Aw! Come now, old carpenter!’ I poked his ribs with my elbow. ‘Allow the ladies their much deserved retirement and don’t turn them into salami before you get yourself new ones!’

He wrapped his one arm around me as the two horses pulled us up the hill. We turned a corner and I could see it — the small stone house with the mossy straw roof, which was now partially covered with snow; a garden surrounding it, a hen house, a wood shed, and the carpenter’s workshop. I spotted my large cherry tree that had carried me for years and felt the familiar pang in my chest — the place I had called home for the best part of my life. It made me feel calm and nervous at the same time. How odd!