Forever Yours (10 page)

Because of work being carried out on the canal, the lighting shop was closed from Thursday to Monday. It was Judith's ambitious aim to make it unscathed through to Sunday, when Lukas would be coming for afternoon coffee – although this time with his “family”, which slightly unsettled her.

Her plan fell apart the very first night, which passed sleeplessly in spite of the tablets. Judith had waited in vain for the by now familiar metallic noises and the voice with its well-worn phrases. By early the next morning she was absolutely exhausted and utterly despondent. Was he not going to talk to her, the coward, now that she'd got used to his night-time incursions?

She'd deleted his mobile number long ago, but in her mind the numbers were clearly visible on a black background, encircled with yellow roses. There was no answer for ages, but when it switched to voicemail he finally spoke his name. As she had nothing better to do – too agitated to eat and too feeble to sleep – and because Lukas' visit was still eighty hours away, she phoned every few minutes and waited with growing tension for the same message each time: “This is the voicemail of” – and then his voice – “Hannes Bergtaler.” On several occasions she couldn't help but laugh out loud, after which she'd shake with anger again. Finally she spoke – no, screamed – into his voicemail: “Hello, it's me! I just wanted to say… you can't fool me that easily. I know you're somewhere near, keeping a watch on me. But do you know what? It doesn't bother me anymore. You can't put the wind up me anymore. So show yourself, coward! And if you don't, then get this: I'll find you, wherever you are.”

After the call she couldn't bear to be at home a moment longer. Out in the hallway she realised she still had her pyjama bottoms and slippers on. Careful, Judith! No silly mistakes now! She went back inside, ran cold water over her forehead, applied some dark-red lipstick, put on the clothes she'd been wearing the day before, hid her pounding head under a violet woollen hat, left her flat and locked the door behind her.

At this second attempt she made it outside. The thin misty light stung her eyes, so she put on her sunglasses to face the world. The people on the street made funny noises and were morose as well as strangely slow in their movements. To start with Judith felt they were just avoiding her, then she found them openly hostile. The children stared and competed with each other to pull the cruellest grimace. The women made fun of her appearance and hurled insults. The men cast looks implying that they'd like to drag her into the nearest bush, rip off all her clothes and then pounce on her.

Hannes appeared at the tram stop, but when she approached him she saw that it was someone else. He scowled at her fiercely. You'd be better off on the other side of the road, Judith, no-one can touch you there.

Her enemies weren't asleep, they crossed to the other side too. Enemies always change sides, sometimes they're here, sometimes there. But you're quicker, Judith, you're one step ahead. Come on, Darling, cross over again! Hannes? He was going to offer her his hand, but then retracted it. Another stranger. He gave her an evil look. “Do you hate me, now?” she asked. Darling, you don't know what you're saying. Passers-by were bearing down on her. She defended herself as best she could. She fled to the other side of the street, and then back again. Always zigzagging, so the poisonous snakes couldn't catch her. Cross once more and you'll have shaken them off. Watch out for the cars screeching! Too late. She couldn't run away anymore. The enemies were bent over her. Hannes stood in the distance, waving. “I'm sure we'll bump into each other a lot,” she said. Yes, we certainly will, Darling.

Someone was holding her hand. The others were silent. Haven't I told you a hundred times to watch out for cars? At last, a voice from her past, when she was still a child.

“What on earth have you been playing at, child?” said her mother by the side of the bed. Judith blinked. Her eyes would take time to get used to the white neon light. “What time is it? Have I been asleep?” she asked. Judith was being attended to by a blonde ward nurse with crooked teeth, who studied her patient chart, measured her pulse and forced a smile.

It was Friday afternoon. On Thursday morning they had diagnosed Judith with “acute schizophrenic psychosis”, she learned. Before that, apparently, she'd been wandering around the streets, accosting passers-by and ranting at them. And then she'd been knocked down by a car. Fortunately, the accident wasn't serious; she'd suffered light bruising to her arms and legs, and a cut to her head. The doctor in A. & E. had immediately referred her to the psychiatric clinic.

“What happened, child? What's wrong with you?” “Oh, stop going on, Mum, it's all fine,” Judith replied. She felt like a newborn baby, but in a rather disagreeable way, crumpled and squashed, tossed into the world in a clinic, of all places, where it reeked of veal goulash mixed with penicillin, blinded by a glaring, sterile light, not really there yet, but endlessly tired, even though they told her she'd had almost twenty-four hours sleep. To cap it all she was facing one of life's toughest challenges – she had to calm her mother down.

She found no support from the young junior doctor, who had different coloured eyes (the dark one suited his face far better). According to his diagnosis the probable trigger for her psychotic episode was physical exhaustion – stress combined with a lack of sleep, food, vitamins and suchlike. “That's when your head starts playing up,” the doctor said. “Child, why, for heaven's sake, are you not eating?” Mum asked tearfully. Judith: “Mum, please! They're feeeding me through a tube in here, which is far more convenient as you don't need a knife and fork.” “And why aren't you sleeping? What are you getting up to at night?” “Sex, Mum, non-stop sex!” The junior doctor winked at her with his unalluring lighter eye.

“When can I get out of here?” Judith asked. “You've only just arrived and you want to leave us already?” he said, playing the offended party. “No, no. You're going to be with us for a little while.” And to her silently applauding mother: “First we'll nurse your daughter back to health, then we'll take a look and find out what's wrong with her.” He meant inside Judith's head, which at that moment presented a rather unstylish and unlovely picture. But Mum gave a nod of satisfaction. “What you urgently need is total peace and quiet,” the doctor said. Four eyes in three different colours glared at Judith's mother, but she didn't get the message and stayed for a good half hour longer.

On Sunday afternoon the Winnigers – Lukas and “family” – had been invited for coffee. For organisational reasons, the engagement unfortunately had to be relocated to the visitors' room of the psychiatric clinic, which they called the “cafeteria”. Their children, Sybille and Victor, didn't come. Presumably to spare them the sight of mad Auntie Judith and her fellow sufferers.

Lukas and Antonia sat neatly beside each other, like figure-skating identical twins waiting for the judges' score. They told funny stories from the provinces, passed on wishes for a speedy recovery from everyone the patient had met at least once in her life, and asked her tactful questions which skilfully circumvented the sensitive topic of “psychosis”.

When their idle chatter had petered out, Judith overcame her low-level inner equilibrium – probably induced by medication – and casually asked Lukas: “Have you heard anything of Hannes?” To Judith's surprise it was Antonia who replied, “Yes.” Even she appeared to be startled by her own admission. Judith realised at once why Antonia had come to Vienna on this occasion, and why this Lukas was not the same man who had promised to stand by her side whenever she needed him.

“Judy, we didn't want to say anything over the phone,” Lukas said by way of justification. Judith: “Very considerate of you. Much better on the psychiatric ward!” Antonia: “He visited me a week ago.” Judith: “You?” Antonia: “Yes. I was dumbfounded too, but suddenly he was standing there at the door.” Judith: “Just like the old Hannes.” Antonia: “No, not just like the old Hannes!” She paused deliberately and then continued in a lowered tone.

“Judith, you and I don't know each other that well.” “That's true,” Judith said, trying her best to sound neutral, and stopping herself from darting an overdue glance at Lukas. Antonia: “Maybe it's an outsider's perspective…” Judith: “I know what you mean. Come on, spit it out!” Antonia: “Judith, you don't have to be worried about this man ever, ever, ever again.” Judith: “That's his message to me?” She pretended she was trying to suppress a yawn. Antonia: “No, Judith, that was what I concluded from our conversation. And it's my firm belief. I just know, I could see it, I could sense it. And I'm saying that to you as…” Judith: “An outsider.”

“Judy!” Now it was Lukas' turn to speak. He reached cautiously and tenderly for her hand, as if he'd been practising this scene in front of the mirror. It was mildly disappointing that Antonia betrayed no hint of jealousy. “Judy, we want to help you get rid of this idea of Hannes as a bogeyman. There's got to be an end to it. It's grinding you down. It's making you sad. It's frazzling you. It's making you… Yes, it's making you ill.” “And it's all based on a mistake, on an entirely false assessment of the situation,” Antonia concluded. Now these two were starting to
talk
like identical twins. Twin sister: “Judith, Hannes doesn't mean you any harm!” Twin brother: “He really doesn't, on the contrary.” Twin sister: “He's prepared to do anything he can to help you get better.” “Just a moment!” Judith protested. At last there was some strength in her voice again. “Where did he get the idea that I was in bad shape?” Lukas: “Come on, Judy, we can't ignore it any longer. We all know. Ali's suffering, Hedi, your family. All your friends are suffering, too, everyone who loves you.”

“But I don't want Hannes to love me. Because – he's – definitely – not – my – boyfriend!” Now even the ward nurse with the crooked teeth knew. “And he never will be, no matter how many supplicants and intercessors he sends to my hospital bed.” She removed her hand from his grasp. “What a shame that you've joined his group of P.R. agents. I thought at least you, Lukas, might be on my side.” She shot a glance at Antonia. Lukas: “Judy, I AM on your side. Because there is only one side here. There is no other side. Please try and understand this, once and for all! It's the only way you're going to get out of this mess.” “O.K., O.K., O.K. Is that the end of my therapy session?” Judith asked. She squeezed out a smile. This was the signal the nurse appeared to have been waiting for. “If you wouldn't mind!” She tapped on her watchless wrist.

“I'll come again tomorrow, Judy, if you like,” Lukas said, “and we'll talk about it.” He took her hand again – it felt good, because of or despite Antonia. “Thanks, it's really not necessary. I think I've got the message,” Judith replied as cordially as she could. “But I'm really glad you came!” Without the injections and tablets that last sentence would never have been uttered. “Call me whenever you like,” Lukas said. “I'm there whenever you need me.” Antonia nodded, giving her blessing to his words. Then there were four kisses on Judith's cheeks: two warm and two cold.

On the Tuesday she had her first in-patient appointment with Jessica Reimann, a woman who wasn't quite forty, wasn't quite 1.65m tall and wasn't quite 50 kilos. She was, however, highly intelligent, or at least a psychiatric consultant. She sat behind an enormous computer screen and entered Judith's details from a sheet of paper with five or six names. “Who are the others?” Judith asked. Reimann gave an impish smile. “Patients with similar medical histories, from our archive.” How marvellous that Judith was also writing “medical history” now, she thought; perhaps she too would be archived one day. The doctor then looked at analyses of her brainwaves and all the stuff relating to her examination, with curves, tables and legends. She shook her head in disappointment, looked up sympathetically at Judith and finally said: “Dreadfully boring! No cerebral damage, no disorders, no abnormalities, no pre-history, nothing inherited from a gaga grandmother, nothing at all.” Judith liked this woman.

She explained that schizophrenic psychosis was nothing to get worked up about; one in a hundred people would be afflicted by this at least once in their lives. “Well, it's nothing for
you
to get worked up about, I mean, I imagine you only know about one hundred people,” Judith said. Reimann burst out laughing; maybe she hadn't heard this joke before?

At any rate she was delighted to be able to tell Judith that one in four patients with psychosis were spared a repeat of their hallucinatory episode. “And if you're a good girl and take your neuroleptics before or after brushing your teeth – it doesn't matter which, just not
while
you're brushing – then I bet you'll be one of the four.” This was the kind of woman one could deal with, Judith thought.

But things were about to become less pleasant. Judith was invited to talk about her “episode” for the first time. “I'm sorry,” she said, resisting. “I can only remember fragments.” “Perfect,” Reimann said. “I love fragments. I often spend weeks putting the pieces together. Come on then!”

Judith: “It was at the end of a night when I couldn't sleep. I'm afraid I don't remember much after that.” Reimann: “Why not?” Judith “What?” Reimann: “Why couldn't you sleep?” “I expect I wasn't tired enough.” “Because you heard voices?” “Why do you think that?” Reimann: “Because it's very common amongst the one in a hundred people.” Judith: “I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, then. I didn't hear ANY voices. That's why, er… perhaps that's why I couldn't get to sleep.” Jessica Reimann rubbed her hands: “I like it, for once it's the other way round! Go on.” “What do you mean ‘go on'?” “What happened the next day?” “I was exhausted, depressed, shattered, but somehow hyper, too, as if I was in a trance, or being remote-controlled, I dunno.”

“What's weighing on your mind?” “Hmm, hard to say,” Judith lied. They didn't know each other well enough yet. “Is it your job?” “No, definitely not,” Judith smiled. “Your private life, then.” “I haven't had one of those in a while.” “Those people that don't have private lives often have the most intense lives of all. That's to say they have it all to themselves,” Reimann said. She became slightly impatient: “Who is it then? Your mum, dad, boyfriend, ex, lover, his wife, their rabbits? All of the above? Who's getting on your nerves? What's rubbing you up the wrong way? What are you suffering from?”

Judith bowed her head and pretended to think hard. “O.K., let's leave it. It's
your
private life, after all,” Reimann said, remarkably warmly. “At some point I assume you left the house. What can you remember?” “Lots of people bending over me. In my bewilderment I must have run into a car.”

“Who pushed you to it?” Judith shrugged. The question was distressingly blunt and not the least bit discreet. “Voices?” Reimann asked. As Judith said nothing, she probed further: “Voices giving you orders?” “No, there weren't any orders,” she said. “Just suggestions.” Reimann laughed, and she liked that. “And what did they suggest?” “That I cross the street.” “Not the best suggestion.” “I know that now,” Judith said. “I won't listen to them from now on.” At times she felt she could actually enjoy this conversation.

“O.K., we're almost finished,” Jessica Reimann promised. Judith guessed what was coming. “Who do the voices belong to?” Of course. Judith sighed. “It's not so easy to work that one out. It's – how should I put it? – a combination of friends, relatives and strangers…” “O.K., let's leave it at that,” Reimann said then, as if she'd seen through the deception. “Now you can relax and enjoy our wonderful clinic food.”

As she left, the doctor gave Judith another good look up and down and remarked, this time rather seriously, anxiously even: “I've got a suggestion for you.” Judith: “What's that?” Reimann: “Don't close up. Trust those who want to help you. Go and chat to your friends. You'll never get over your psychological problems alone. The most fertile breeding ground for one in a hundred people is isolation.”

She was given permission to leave the clinic on the Friday. But apart from the chronic nastiness of having to endure decaffeinated coffee – you don't drink alcohol-free booze, do you? – she liked being on the ward more and more by the day, which is why she extended her recuperation, during which she'd already put on four kilos, until the weekend was over. Much to the delight of her doctor with different-coloured eyes, who suspected that he might be the reason for Judith's desire to stay. He drastically reduced the intervals between his visits. In short, he had his eye on her. The wrong one, unfortunately.

She took Judith Reimann's suggestion to heart, acting on it so quickly that her stay in hospital soon became like one big house-share. After a while she invited all her friends from the past, and received a shower of compliments: how great she looked, how happy, relaxed and refreshed, how beautiful her smile was and how sexy her short, white nightie. This encouragement gave her a boost and made her feel euphoric. Her mental recovery in this psychiatric institution had been so speedy that someone really ought to bottle the formula.

And now she was able to lend her ear to other people's problems, to their petty everyday concerns, always necessarily shoved to one side, but never cleared up for good. Soon it would be her turn again to get wound up by blessedly trivial things, like missing binbags, squadrons of fruit flies hovering over her apples, socks that changed partners in the wash and no longer matched in either colour or fabric.