Until I Find You (120 page)

“Yes, please—ask us
anything
!” Dr. Horvath, the skier, said.

“In what way are mirrors
triggers
?” Jack asked.

The doctors seemed surprised that he knew about the mirrors—not to mention
triggers.

“Jack had a conversation with Waltraut, about taking William shopping for clothes,” Professor Ritter explained to the others.

“Sometimes, when William sees himself in a mirror, he just looks away—or he hides his face in his hands,” Dr. Berger said, sticking to the facts.

“But
other
times,” Dr. von Rohr began, “when he catches a glimpse of himself, he wants to see his tattoos.”

“
All
of them!” Dr. Horvath cried.

“It might not be the appropriate time and place for such a
detailed
self-examination,” Professor Ritter explained, “but William seems not to notice such things. Occasionally, when he starts taking off his clothes, he has already begun a
recitation.
”

“A what?” Jack asked.

“His body is a tapestry, which he can recite—both a history of music and a
personal
history,” Dr. Huber said. Her pager beeped, and she went back to the phone by the door. “Huber
hier. Noch nicht!
” she said, annoyed. (“Not yet!”)

“The problem for someone with your father’s meticulousness is that he can never be meticulous
enough,
” Professor Ritter told Jack.

“He’s proud of his tattoos, but he’s very critical of them, too,” Dr. Berger said.

“William thinks that some of his tattoos are in the wrong place. He blames himself for a lack of foresight—he has
regrets,
” Dr. Horvath elaborated.

“
Other
times,” Dr. von Rohr chimed in, “it’s a matter of which tattoo should have been closest to his heart.”

“But you can have only a limited number of things that are
truly
close to your heart,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe interjected. “He has marked his body with what he loves, but he has also recorded his grief. The antidepressants have calmed him, have made him less anxious, have helped him sleep—”

“But they don’t do much for the grief,” Dr. von Rohr said, bluntly—turning her head-on-a-coin profile to Jack.

“Not enough, anyway,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe admitted.

“It might be overwhelming to discuss specific diagnoses right away. For now, let’s just say that your father has suffered
losses,
” Professor Ritter told Jack. “The Ringhof woman, the German wife, but first of all
you.
”

“He is an absurdly
emotional
man,” Dr. Berger said, shaking his head—wishing that William Burns were more of a
fact
man, apparently.

“The antidepressants have
helped—
that’s all I’m saying,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said.

“Keeping him away from mirrors
helps,
” Dr. von Rohr remarked in her silver-streaked, head-of-department way.

“Are there other triggers?” Jack asked the team.

“Ah, well . . .” Professor Ritter said. “Maybe Jack should meet his father first?” (The team, Jack could tell, didn’t think so.)

“Bach!” Dr. Horvath roared. “Anything by Bach.”

“Bach, Buxtehude, Stanley, Widor, Vierne, Dubois, Alain, Dupré—” Dr. Berger recited.

“Handel, Balbastre, Messiaen, Pachelbel, Scheidt—” Dr. von Rohr interrupted.

“And anything to do with Christmas, or Easter—any
hymn,
” Dr. Huber added; she was glaring at her pager, as if daring it to go off.

“
Music
is a trigger? Or even the names of certain composers?” Jack asked.

“Music
and
the names of certain composers,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe answered.

“And when he plays the piano, or the organ?” Jack asked.

“Ah, well . . .” Professor Ritter said.

“When the pain starts—” Dr. Krauer-Poppe began.

“When his fingers
cramp—
” Dr. Huber interjected.

“When he makes
mistakes,
” Dr. von Rohr said, with what sounded like finality—at least in her mind. With almost everything she said, Dr. von Rohr spoke with the emphasis and certainty of a concluding remark—this in tandem with the way, as a tall person, she was always looking down at others. Dr. von Rohr seemed no less tall sitting down. (When he’d shaken her hand, Jack had observed that he came up to her shoulder.)

“Yes, mistakes are triggers,” Professor Ritter worriedly agreed.

“William’s
meticulousness,
once again,” Dr. Berger pointed out.

“
And,
albeit only occasionally, when he sees your
movies,
” Dr. von Rohr said, looking at Jack.

“Particular lines of dialogue, mainly,” Professor Ritter said.

“But for the most part, the movies
help
him!” Dr. Krauer-Poppe insisted.

“But
other
times—” Dr. von Rohr started to say.

“Ah, well . . .” Professor Ritter said. “I think Jack should
see
his father,
hear
him play,
talk
to him—”

“In what order?” Dr. Berger asked, perhaps sarcastically; Jack couldn’t tell.

Dr. Huber’s pager beeped again; she got up from the table and went to the phone by the door. Dr. Krauer-Poppe covered her face with her hands.

“Maybe we should tell Jack a little bit about William’s
schedule
?” Professor Ritter asked.

“Talk about
meticulousness
!” Dr. Horvath cried.

“Your father likes to know in advance what he’s doing every day,” Dr. von Rohr explained.

“Every
hour
!” Dr. Horvath shouted.

“Just tell him the schedule,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. “Maybe it will help.”

“Huber
hier,
” Dr. Huber was saying into the phone by the door. “
Ich komme sofort.
” (“I’m coming right away.”) She came back to the table. “An emergency,” she told Jack, shaking his hand. “
Noch ein Notfall.
” (“Another emergency.”) Jack had stood up to shake her hand; all the others stood up, too.

The team and Jack, minus Dr. Huber, prepared to leave the conference room. (Dr. Huber had left in a flash.)

“Wake up, hot wax, ice water, breakfast—” Dr. Horvath was saying as they marched down the stairs. Jack realized that the
recitation
of his dad’s schedule had begun.

“Finger exercises in the exercise hall, immediately after breakfast,” Dr. Berger explained.

“Finger exercises?” Jack asked.

“What William calls playing the piano for the dance class, because he is blindfolded and plays only the pieces he has memorized,” Dr. von Rohr told him.

“Why is he blindfolded?” Jack asked.

“There are mirrors in the exercise hall,” Professor Ritter said. “Lots of mirrors. William always wears the blindfold there, or—sometimes, at night—he plays in the dark.”

“
Jogging,
after the finger exercises—depending on the weather,” Dr. Horvath carried on. “Or sometimes a trip to town, with Hugo.”

“We haven’t really talked about Hugo,” Professor Ritter told the others.

“
Must
we talk about him?” Dr. von Rohr asked. “Maybe not
now
? I’m just asking.”

“Sometimes—I mean after the finger exercises—William needs more ice water, doesn’t he?” Dr. Berger asked.

“It seems to help,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said with resignation.

“Lunch—I mean
after
the jogging,” Dr. Horvath continued.

“Or after the
Hugo
business,” Dr. Berger said, shaking his head.

“Not
now,
Manfred!” Dr. von Rohr said.

“More hot wax, after lunch,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe noted. “More ice water, too. William often does this while he watches a movie.”

“One of
yours,
actually,” Dr. Berger told Jack. “A different Jack Burns film every afternoon.”

“And another one in the evening!” Dr. Horvath cried. “Always a movie before bed!”

“You’re jumping ahead, Klaus,” Dr. von Rohr said.

They entered the building with the exercise hall, which was outfitted like a dance studio; barres and mirrors ran the length of the interior walls. A piano, a C. Bechstein, shone a glossy black in the late-afternoon light—like the coat of a well-groomed animal.

“For the finger exercises, both the morning and the afternoon sessions,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said, pointing to the piano. “He plays again after the movie, in the afternoon. This time, not for dancers—it’s a yoga class. The music he plays is more atmospheric, softer—like
background
music, you might say. But he’s always blindfolded if there’s any daylight in the room.”

“The finger-cramping can be disturbing to the yoga class,” Dr. Berger interjected. “Less so to the dancers, even if William is in obvious pain.”

“He
hates
to have to stop playing,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. “He pushes himself.”

“Ah, well . . .” Professor Ritter said. “After the yoga class, we have the ice water ready—and the hot wax, too, if he wants it.”

“And the ice water
again,
” Dr. Berger stated; he was making sure that Jack had all the facts, in proper order.

“Calisthenics!” Dr. Horvath continued, waving his arms. “Especially if there’s been no jogging. Just some abdominal
crunches,
some
lunges,
some
jumping
!” (Dr. Horvath was demonstrating the
lunges
and the
jumping,
his big feet thudding on the hardwood floor of the exercise hall.)

“We have group therapy three times a week—the patients discuss dealing with their disorders. Your father’s German is quite good,” Professor Ritter told Jack. “And his concentration is improving.”

“Just so long as no one starts humming a tune,” Dr. Berger interjected. “William
hates
humming.”

“Another trigger?” Jack asked.

“Ah, well . . .” Professor Ritter said.

“We have a movie night, every other Wednesday—in this case, usually
not
a Jack Burns movie,” Dr. Berger stated. “Once a week, we have an evening of lotto, which William doesn’t like, but he loves the storytelling café—this is when we read stories out loud, or the patients do. And we have a night when our
younger
patients visit the gerontopsychiatric ward. William is very sympathetic to our patients who are growing old.”

“Some nights we bring the older patients to the exercise hall, where they like to hear William play the piano in the dark,” Dr. von Rohr said.

“I like it, too!” Dr. Horvath cried.

“We have patients with schizophrenic or schizo-affective manifestations,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe told Jack. “I mean those who are in a relatively stable remission phase, the ones who have sufficient ability to concentrate. Well, you’d be surprised—the schizophrenics like listening to your father play the piano in the dark, too.”

“And the piano-playing seems to soothe our patients who suffer from panic attacks,” Dr. Berger said.

“Except for those who suffer from panic attacks in the
dark,
” Dr. von Rohr pointed out. (Jack saw that she was conscious of the light from the windows catching the silver streak in her hair.)

“Are there other patients in Kilchberg who have been committed by a family member—I mean
for life
?” Jack asked.

“Ah, well . . .” Professor Ritter sighed.

“It’s highly unusual for a private patient to stay here for a number of years,” Dr. Berger said.

“We are expensive,” Dr. von Rohr cut in.

“But
worth
it!” Dr. Horvath bellowed. “And William
loves
it here!”

“I’m not concerned about the cost,” Jack said. “I was wondering about the long-term effect.”

“
Hospitalism,
do you mean?” Dr. von Rohr asked in her just-asking way.

“What exactly is hospitalism?” Jack asked.

“The disease of being in a hospital—a condition
in addition to
your reason for being here, a second disease,” Dr. Berger stated, but in such a way that he didn’t seem to believe it—as if hospitalism were a speculative illness of the kind Dr. von Rohr was
just asking
about, an almost dreamy disease, which a fact man, like Dr. Berger, generally
ruled out.

“There’s no medication for hospitalism,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said—as if the disease didn’t really exist for her, either.

“But William is
happy
here!” Dr. Horvath insisted.

“He’s
happier
in St. Peter,” Dr. von Rohr corrected Dr. Horvath. “
Die Kirche
St. Peter—the church,” she explained to Jack. “Your father plays the organ there—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning, at eight o’clock.”

“Jack can hear him play tomorrow morning!” Dr. Horvath cried.

“That should be worth the trip—even all the way from Los Angeles,” Dr. Berger told Jack.

“One of us should go with Jack—he shouldn’t go with William alone,” Professor Ritter said.

“William never goes to St. Peter
alone
!” Dr. von Rohr exclaimed.

“They shouldn’t go with Hugo, either,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe suggested. “One of
us
should go with Jack and William.”

“That’s what I
meant
!” Professor Ritter said in an exasperated voice.

“I can take them!” Dr. Horvath shouted. “Your father will be excited to play for you!” he told Jack.

“
Too
excited, maybe,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. “I should go, too—just in case there’s a need for medication. A sedative might be in order.”

“
Too excited
can be a trigger,” Dr. Berger explained.

“
Can
be, usually
isn’t,
” Dr. von Rohr told Jack.

“Anna-Elisabeth and I will
both
go to St. Peter with them. Nothing can happen that we’re not prepared for!” Dr. Horvath said assertively.

“Your father is special to us, Jack. It’s a privilege to take care of him,” Professor Ritter said.