The Unforgiving Minute (10 page)

can find myself. If I go back now, I’ll only be restless again

and it won’t be good for our marriage or anything else.”

Christine, who had been quiet until now, joined in.

“Why in the world didn’t you just tell Julie that you had

to get away alone? Why did you just disappear? I really don’t

understand you? How could you bring such anguish and pain to

people who love you. You’re very sick and you need

help … don’t you see that?”

“Of course I’m sick,” I said. “Do you really believe that

I think this is normal behavior?” I put my head on my hands and

felt lower than I’ve ever felt. “I just don’t know what to do.

I’m in a state of great mental anguish. I’m at my wit’s end.”

John got up and filled all of our glasses with cognac.

Both he and Christine had looks of great concern on their faces.

“There is no need to be at your wit’s end, Robert. All

you have to do is go home, beg Julie’s forgiveness, apologize to

your children, and seek help.” John was quite authoritative.

“Tell me, it’s very important for me to know. What in the

hell is it that makes you two so happy after all the years you’ve

been together? I’d give my eye teeth to have that kind of peace

in our relationship.”

“I’ve never thought about it,” Christine said. “I should

think that a couple like us, with no children, has even less of a

chance of being happy.” She stared, pensive, for a moment and

finally said, “I think maybe it’s our careers. We’re both very

successful and respected in our professions and we’re in no way

jealous of each other. We both contribute equally to our

affluence, so neither one of us thinks we are the financial

savior of the family. Our careers also give us something

interesting to talk to each other about. We are both very

interested in each other.”

“I think you’ve got something,” I said. “The key is

probably always being interested.”

I thought to myself that this was probably, aside from

newness, one of the things I liked about love affairs. Since I

really didn’t know the person, all of the conversations we had

with each other either contained new information or alluded to

how happy we were with each other. By the time it got tiresome,

the love affair was over.

Christine’s voice softened, “What are we going to do about

you, Robert?”

I was lost for an answer when John suggested we adjourn to

the small neighborhood restaurant where he had made dinner

reservations. I was grateful for the respite and stood up,

almost too quickly.

The restaurant was small, quiet and intimate. We sat at a

table in a corner and were able to continue our conversation

without embarrassment. The conversation quickly shifted to

catching up on each other’s lives since last we met. We dined on

a typical English dinner of roast beef, potatoes, and Yorkshire

pudding. We had an excellent red wine and a Trifle for dessert

that was marvelous. We were sipping our coffee when Christine

brought the subject up again.

“Robert, perhaps we’ve been a little strong with you, but

it’s only because we love you both. You know that, don’t you?”

“Chris, I know that, but trust me, I just can’t go home

yet. What I’d really like to do now is go to a spa somewhere and

diet and exercise. I want to lay off alcohol and stop eating so

much, and I think the exercise and massage therapy will relax me.

After that, I promise I’ll go home … please.”

They looked at each other and seemed to be communicating.

I got the idea that they would like to confer with each other,

without me being present.

“Would you excuse me for a moment,” I said and headed

discreetly to the men’s room. I purposely stayed there longer

than was necessary before returning. Christine spoke first.

“All right. I guess you’re going to do it anyway, but

there are conditions attached. Firstly, we’re going to call

Julie and tell her you’re all right and that we’ve counselled

you. We will not, however, tell her your next destination. That

is up to you, but we strongly advise that it would be imminently

fair to her if you would tell her.”

John spoke next. “Robert, I’ve nothing terribly different

to add, but I am pleading with you to stop this madness. We’re

both very concerned about you and Julie. We’re going to tell you

about a wonderful place and I’m sure it will do you worlds of

good, but our first preference is for you to go home and give

yourself up, so to speak.”

I sat there pensively for a few moments. “I accept your

terms. As a matter of fact, I’m slightly relieved that there is

a way to communicate with my family. I might very well call

Julie when I’m at this place. It’s even possible that after a

few days there, I’ll be relaxed enough to call off the rest of my

trip and go home.”

“Good show,” said John and Christine nodded her assent

with a smile. “I hope we can get into this place as soon as

possible. Let me tell you about it. It doesn’t even have a

name. It’s in the Alps, about an hour and a half from Geneva by

train. The problem is they only cater to ten clients at a time.

It’s owned by a retired psychiatrist and staffed with the finest

exercise therapists, nutritionists, and beauty technicians. I

hope you realize that it will be outrageously expensive.”

I waved my arm in a gesture that said, “money is no

object.”

“Have either of you been there?” I asked.

“No, we haven’t,” Christine said. “I went to school with

the resident physical therapist and I’ve sent them countless

people who have raved over the place.”

“That’s good enough for me,” I said. “When do I leave?”

“I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to call. Let’s

say about nine o’clock. I’ll call you as soon as I know

anything.”

“I’d really like to go immediately. I don’t feel like

just hanging out in London. It’s very important. I’d even be

willing to pay extra.”

Christine patted me understandingly on the back of my hand

and said, “I understand, I really do, but it’s a matter of

available rooms. I’ll do the very best I can.”

We left the restaurant and I thanked them for the dinner

and for all of their help and advice. After a warm round of

goodbyes, I hailed a cab and went back to the hotel. I slept

that night as well as I’d slept since the night before I broke it

off with Jane.

I awoke at eight o’clock and bathed and dressed. By the

time I finished it was eight forty-five and I decided to

breakfast in my room lest I miss Christine’s phone call. I rang

the butler button and asked him for the breakfast menu.

“Sir,” he said with a look of impish surprise, “we don’t

have a menu. You can have whatever you want.”

“Of course,” I laughed. “For a moment I forgot where I

was.”

I ordered porridge (oatmeal), wheat toast and jam, and

tea. I decided to start eating healthy immediately. I tried to

eat as slowly as possible and concentrate on the morning paper

and not look at my watch constantly. I was strangely relaxed

after many days of nervous agitation and wasn’t even thinking

about it when the phone rang.

Christine’s voice was cheery and ebullient.

“Good news, Robert, you’re on your way!” She proceeded to

give me instructions on where to go and when to be there.

“Slow down, Chris, you’re going too fast. It’s too much

to digest at once.”

“All right. Get a pencil and paper and take this down

carefully.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. There was space at the spa

for me and I could leave London as soon as possible. Christine

fed me the details and I wrote furiously.

“Chris, I want to thank you again, so much, for

everything.”

“I’d like to tell you it’s my pleasure, but I must tell

you we’re both very angry with you. This whole thing is

disturbing and we meant what we said. We’re calling Julie

tomorrow. I only hope that your stay with Dr. Bierbauer will

help you to shake whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“You won’t believe this, Chris, but so do I … I really

do. I’ll keep in touch with you. I’ll call you in about a week

and let you know how I’m doing.”

She repeated the instructions several times and made sure

that I would make air and train arrangements immediately.

Her tone softened as she wished me a good trip and no

sooner did we hang up than I was on the line with Swissair. The

airline made my train connections for me and I would be on my way

at one-thirty. It was important to me that Ann Marie know my

whereabouts since my only communication with her would be by

mail. I sat down at the desk in my room and took my pen in hand

to write her. The tone of my letter would be repentant and I

really meant it. Between Ann Marie and the Dinsmores, I had been

roundly chewed out in the last few days.

Dear Ann Marie,

Please forgive me for upsetting you in our last

phone conversation. It hurts when the only person I

really believe in turns on me. I guess I’m so used to

getting my way with you that I can’t believe it when you

stand up to me.

I miss you every day but, believe me, I just

can’t come back yet. Do you remember me telling you

about the Dinsmores, a delightful couple we met in

London? Well, I got in touch with them soon after our

phone conversation and we had dinner. Would you

believe that the whole evening turned out to be a

continuation of the conversation I had with you? They

were all over me about how wrong I was and arranged

for me to go to a spa in Switzerland which is run by a Dr.

Bierbauer who is a psychiatrist. I intend to discipline my

mind and body for about a month. By the way, the

Dinsmores have told me in no uncertain terms that they

are going to call Julie. So don’t be surprised if Julie

mentions to you that I am in England. They are not

going to tell her my destination, so only you will know

where I am.

Here is the address:

Mr. Robert Boyd

c/o Dr. F. Bierbauer

Drawer 3423

Baig, Switzerland

Please write to me. It is important that I hear

from you. I need you desperately. You are what holds

me together. Hopefully, after a month with Dr.

Bierbauer and his staff, my attitude will change and we

can be together.

All my love and adoration,

Robert

I placed the letter in the envelope, sealed it, and

slipped it into the top pocket of the jacket I would wear on the

trip. I eagerly started to pack my belongings and looked forward

to leaving London, even though it was and is my favorite city in

all the world.

Chapter 5

The train rolled along through the lush Swiss countryside.

There were mountains in the distance and their peaks in October

were already glistening in the afternoon light with white snow

tinged with a hint of blue. It would be a relatively short train

ride with a transfer to a cog railway in the town of Brig and,

thereafter, a twenty-minute ride. The train was spartan in

appearance and contained no compartments. It was obviously a

short-haul train and the seats were made of plastic. The train

was not made for comfort but for quick, convenient transport.

I sat back, extremely relaxed, finally getting into Madame

Bovary, when suddenly I smelled the sweet, nauseating odor of

pipe tobacco burning somewhere in the car. If there is any smell

that enrages me it is that of someone smoking a pipe. It seems

to permeate any area it touches and makes me nauseous with a

throbbing headache. I looked up and saw that the car was neither

smoking nor non-smoking, which meant in effect that it was a

smoking car. I muttered under my breath as I threw open the

train window. I would assume the temperature outdoors was about

fifty degrees, making the wind-chill factor of the air flowing

into the train fairly low. Most of the people in the train were

dressed in suit jackets, light sweaters or, in the case of the

women, dresses or sweaters and skirts. The occupants of the

train glared at me. I ignored them completely and, although I

was cold, continued to read. There were shouts in French of,

“Fermez la fenetre.” Since there were no “s’il vous plaits,” attached, I

knew they were angry shouts. I knew I was getting into one of my

obstinate moods. I get this way when I am very annoyed at

injustice or lack of manners. I have this thing about pipe

smokers that is probably my greatest prejudice. I would never

hire a pipe smoker in all my years in the business world. I

consider them plodding, lethargic, boring and, above all, the

most inconsiderate people I have ever seen. They have ruined

meals for me on many occasions by lighting up in restaurants and

permeating the room with the foul odor of their pipes. Even

though I don’t particularly like the smell of cigarettes, they

don’t bother me that much and cigars only seem to spread their

odor in the general vicinity of the cigar smoker himself. Just

the sight of someone lighting a pipe gets me going. I knew that

war was about to start. It was me against the pipe smoker and

the other passengers. In about five minutes, a conductor

appeared and, without a word, reached over me and brusquely

closed the window. Like a finely choreographed scene, my arms

reached up and opened the window almost at the exact moment that

it closed. The conductor reached over me and closed it again.

I, in turn, opened it again. I remember thinking that “The Anvil

Chorus” would have made great background music for this scene.

Finally, the conductor left the car in a huff, obviously to get

reinforcements. I knew I was painted into a corner, so I took a

parting shot by screaming across the car at the pipe smoker in my

very fractured French.

“Idiote. Qu’est votre probleme … vous n’aimez pas d’air? Votre pipe tobac rassemble

merde.”

He in turn let loose a flow of invectives in French that

must have been too idiomatic for me to understand.

I do know that whatever he said to me inspired laughter in

the other passengers, who were clearly on his side. I had the

distinct feeling that I had already lost the battle if not the

war.

Sure enough, in about five minutes three conductors came

through the door. One of them looked like he could easily break

me in half and throw away the pieces. I smiled weakly, reached

over, and closed the window. The three conductors scowled at me

but stopped and went about their business. The other passengers

were all scowling at me except for the pipe smoker who had on his

victory smile as he contentedly smoked his pipe, loosing billows

of foul blue/white smoke throughout the car. When we arrived at

Brig, I was nauseous, irritable, and had a world-class throbbing

headache. I dragged my two large suitcases and shoulder bag off

the train and found a porter with a wooden wagon to take them to

the cog railway which was three tracks over. He, too, was surly.

“My God,” I said to myself. “Doesn’t anyone smile in this

country?” I tipped him and got a derisive grunt in return as I

boarded the cog railway.

The little train on the cog railway was like something

from the nineteenth century. It was quite narrow with plush

seats and wooden wall panels. I had taken this trip years before

on a ski trip to Zermatt. If you continued on this railway for

about an hour and a half, you arrived at Zermatt which is in the

valley of the Matterhorn. If you take three cable cars to the

top, you can ski into Cervinia in Italy. My destination,

however, was at the first stop, which was twenty minutes away. I

couldn’t believe that I had been in London until eleven o’clock

this morning. It seemed like ages ago. I leaned back in my seat

and closed my eyes. The agitation of the train ride to Brig was

behind me and I was calm and relaxed in anticipation of a

therapeutic stay at Dr. Bierbauer’s retreat.

As I stepped off the train I saw a man of indeterminate

age with leathery tanned skin, holding a sign with my name on it.

When I identified myself, he took my bags to a cart pulled by two

horses straight out of a Budweiser ad. I climbed up on the seat

next to him and he soon turned onto a road that I doubted could

accommodate an automobile. He spoke little English and my German

is not very good, so we plodded along silently. We had crossed

the line somewhere along the way from French-speaking Switzerland

to German-speaking Switzerland. The smell of the woods was

invigorating and clean after weeks of Paris and London pollution.

The air was cool, crisp and dry, and I felt incredibly alive

already.

After about ten minutes, we broke through the woods into a

clearing nestled among some hills and trotted through a bubbling

brook. Before my eyes was one of the most beautiful complexes

I’d ever seen. A stone wall about three feet high enclosed a

group of cottages and rectangular-shaped buildings. In the

center of the buildings was the main house. It resembled in many

ways an antebellum southern mansion rather than the Swiss chalet

I expected. Pathways of cobblestones connected all of the

buildings, which looked as if they had been freshly painted white

the day before. A wide cobblestone path led from the main gate

to the large house. I could hear the clip-clop of the immense

hooves as we pulled up to the main house.

The driver took my bags into the house and I was instantly

greeted by an elderly woman in a starched white uniform. She

spoke English with a German accent.

“Welcome, Mr. Boyd. I trust you have had a pleasant

journey. Please come inside and I will process you as far as I

can this evening.”

I stepped inside and was led to a small, white antiseptic

looking office.

“I am Frau Blecker, Dr. Bierbauer’s secretary. You will

be meeting him in the morning, after your physical. This evening

you will be shown to your cottage, where you will be served a

meal. You will not be eating in the dining room until after you

are processed. Our meals there are customized to each guest.

“You will be going through extensive examinations and

tests tomorrow. We give you a full physical with stress

electrocardiogram and check all facets of your health right down

to your body fat content. After your physical you will meet with

Dr. Bierbauer for a psychiatric evaluation. We have our own

laboratory on the premises, so by the time you are finished with

Dr. Bierbauer, you will receive printouts with your diet and

exercise schedule and will be assigned your own personal trainer.

We have, for your entertainment, a fully stocked library in four

languages and a video tape library, the contents of which are

available to take to your cottage and play on your own personal

tape player. You may also, in the evening, come to the main

lobby to socialize with the other guests, but I must warn you

that the exercise program is so vigorous that most of the guests

are in bed by eight-thirty each evening.”

She handed me several brochures in English describing the

facility. At a quick glance, I could see that the facilities

were enormous. There were both indoor and outdoor pools and two

fully-equipped gyms. The complex consisted of forty acres. I

didn’t glance at the prices yet but I could imagine that they,

too, were enormous. I really didn’t care what it cost. I was

certain that this place was the answer to all of my problems.

I was shown to my cottage which was breathtaking, to say

the least. The bedroom was quite large with a king-size bed with

down pillows and a down comforter that was like a soft cloud.

There were night tables on either side of the bed, one with a

large clock and both with large lamps, easy to read by, unlike

most hotel rooms. There was a unique feature in an alcove right

off the bedroom. It was a three-way mirror that swung out for

easy viewing of your own body from all angles. I decided to

immediately strip naked and view mine. I didn’t like what I saw

at all. My muscle tone was still good, but large love handles

were starting to sprout at my lower back and my chest was

becoming fleshy. My first estimate was about ten pounds and a

lot of toning work. I walked naked to the bathroom and, before

stepping into the shower, observed it. It was a large bathroom,

white, like everything else in this place seemed to be. A

bathtub with whirlpool jets with a real shower head rather than

the hand-held shower head you find in hotels in Europe. The

bathtub seemed large enough for two and brought back memories of

Jane, which I quickly tried to shake from my mind. The sink had

a large console which was stocked with creams and oils which

obviously were products of the spa, since they had no brand

label, only instructions for use. The bath had heat lamps, a

suspended shaving mirror, and a hair dryer.

I was in the bedroom, in the fluffy terry robe provided

for me when there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and

a porter stood with a covered tray of food which I accepted with

thanks. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I looked at the

tray incredulously. The meal was spartan at best.

It consisted of a salad of sliced carrots, lettuce,

radishes, peppers, and raw cauliflower. There was no dressing,

only a slice of lemon. Next to it was the main course. It

consisted of a small slice of chicken, a few half-cooked green

beans, and about an ice-cream-scoop worth of brown rice. Dessert

seemed to be an apple and a small orange. There was no salt, no

gravy. The only condiment was pepper. Instead of bread there

were two large crackers that seemed to be made of cardboard. The

beverage was a bottle of sparkling water, again with no brand

label. There was no butter but there was a small container of

what seemed to be apple butter. What I really wanted was a drink

but I knew that I had to get alcohol out of my mind. From the

looks of where I was, I would guess there was no alcohol within

twenty miles.

There was a doorway from the bedroom that led to a small

deck overlooking a lush forest. On the deck was a small white

table and two chairs. I carried my meager fare out to the deck

and placed it on the table. I decided that the only way to be

satisfied by this meal was to eat very slowly and make it last.

I brought the literature that Mrs. Blecker had given me

and read it with my meal. I squeezed the lemon onto the salad

and brought a forkful to my mouth. God, how I yearned for some

salt! How was I ever going to get used to this? While reading

the literature I noted that they recommended drinking eight to

ten bottles of their water, which was ostensibly obtained from a

spring on the property, every day. There was a refrigerated

locker where guests could take as many bottles as they wished,

twenty-four hours a day. I poured some into my glass. It had a

lightly carbonated tang to it and was quite good, but still it

was only water. I made the salad last as long as I could but the

lack of flavor was totally unsatisfying and I was still hungry.

The main course wasn’t much tastier even when I doused it with

pepper. After finishing the main course, I spread the two

totally tasteless crackers with the apple butter and chewed them

slowly. I then sliced the orange into quarters and hungrily

devoured it. For a moment, I considered trying the peel. I took

the apple back into the bedroom and decided to eat it later, when

I was sure I would be so hungry that my stomach would be

screaming for food. I remembered my love handles in the mirror