Forever Yours (12 page)

She lasted at the table until the chocolate dessert and tried to laugh at all the right points in the conversation, which she couldn't help but allow to drift past her in snatches. Afterwards she asked if she might lie down on the sofa; she felt slightly dizzy. “Judith, if you want us to leave, please say!” one of the three male voices said. “No, no, you've
got
to stay,” she insisted. “Stay as long as you can. I'm so happy you're here!”

From the sofa she could listen to the reassuring sound of a muffled conversation. Occasionally someone bent over her. Once one of the women sat beside Judith and asked whether she could do anything for her. No, she couldn't. Later, somebody pulled a blanket over her, lifted her head and let it sink into something cool and soft. Soon after that she heard the shifting of chairs, the clatter of crockery and the gush of washing-up water. Towards the end all she could hear was a faint muttering and a few tired “night”s. The light became dimmer and dimmer before vanishing for good, taking with it the last peaceful noises in the room.

When she rolled onto her back, she found herself in her bed. Anybody who thought the party was over had underestimated the keenness of her hearing and the sharpness of her mind. She was familiar with the ritual. First the whispering started. Then the metallic sounds echoed around the room and the fanfare resounded. The main guest was here. He had come after all. As if she had known that he would. You could rely on him. He wouldn't leave her hanging out to dry, not him, never. He'd promised her that.

It was nice to hear his voice. “Such a scrum, such a scrum, such a scrum.” It's what he always said at the beginning. It all went back to the beginning. Back then in the supermarket, when he'd trodden on her heel. “It can hurt like hell. It can hurt like hell. It can hurt like hell.” She felt pain. She tried to grab her head, but couldn't move her hands.

Stay calm, Judith, and keep lying here. Keep your eyes closed! I've brought you something, a present. He'd brought her something, a present. They were sitting around the table, it was dark, it was the middle of the night. The others had gone. Just the two of them, just the two voices, his voice. You have to guess what it is. She had to guess.

Listen to that! What a sound that was! A familiar sound, she recognised it. You know that sound, don't you Judith? Are you pleased? She was pleased. The way it played in the wind, the delicate jingling and jangling. Rod against rod, crystal against crystal. Her most valuable piece. From Barcelona. “I hope this isn't a bad time. I hope this isn't a bad time. I hope this isn't a bad time.” That was his first visit to her shop. Do you remember? The beginning of the story, the shining light, the rods in the wind, as if shooting stars were inviting each other to dance. The promise made to eternity, our great love. What did it sound like? What light did it give? How does it sound? Can you hear? Louder? Even louder? Brighter? Her head!

Stay calm, Judith, and keep lying here. Keep your eyes closed! Don't open them. If you open them you'll frighten the lights away, you'll drive away the sound. If you open them you'll be in the shadow, you will be the shadow. Everything around you dark and silent. Stay. Stay with me. She was to stay with him.

*

Her shoulder smashed hard against the edge of the bed. Judith opened her eyes wide. Hannes? Where was he? Shit. Her head! Where was the Spanish crystal chandelier? Who had made it move? Where had those sounds come from? She felt her shoulder. The energy-saving bulbs on the Prague bedroom lamp came on, illuminating this room devoid of people and voices. This silent room.

Judith felt her way to the sitting room. Hannes? No-one was seated at the table. It had been cleared. Nobody was there anymore. In the kitchen were stacks of washed-up plates and pans. Everything clean. With her wet T-shirt she wiped the sweat from her brow. Her legs were trembling. She staggered to the door of her flat, opened it and turned on the hall light. Nobody, no message, no signal, no dead Herr Schneider, a lifeless stairwell. She bolted the door, hauled herself back into the kitchen, then into the bathroom, bent over the basin, ran cold water over the back of her head, took the towel and rubbed her wet hair.

Shit. Her head was groaning from the alcohol. She found a strong painkiller, which looked like a small egg-timer, and swallowed it down with a gulp of lukewarm water. Then she took a second pill – the yellow one – for the worm in her cortex. And a third – the oval one – to prevent the worm from reproducing (if it hadn't already done so). She wondered whether she ought to call the emergency doctor. But what emergency did she have? A man's voice had gone missing, as had the sound of a chandelier. No doctor could treat gibberish.

She gave herself a deadline of daybreak. Going back to sleep was out of the question, so she busied herself instead with useful activity until it got light. She put away the crockery as slowly as she could. She dropped one plate, only one, unfortunately. It took five minutes at most to hunt for, and gather up, the pieces.

The storm inside her head slowly subsided and the first patches of fog appeared. Judith crept back into the bedroom, opened the massive wardrobe and emptied it with both hands, flinging out its entire contents. Coats, jackets, jumpers, shirts, T-shirts, blouses, trousers, tights and underwear formed a huge pile. Then she began to group her clothes together and put them away again, from top to bottom, piece by piece, crease to crease. After a while Judith's hands eschewed Judith's help and carried on alone.

Some of them watched her from a distance. They stood on the shelf and hung above the chest of drawers. Completely normal photographs from her childhood, you might think, but the frames couldn't hold them any longer. The one she was staring at now moved right up to her. It had large, sticking-out ears, thick black hair and long eyelashes. Come on, Ali, you could lend me a hand. If we do it together we'll tidy up the cupboard in no time and then we can go to the cinema.

What's that you're saying? Come closer, I can't understand you. Please don't make a face like a wet weekend. You've only ever wanted to play hide-and-seek; we've been playing it since you were born. Alright then, if it's light outside we can go to the park. Why don't you go and put your shoes on? I've just got to finish off here quickly.

Yes, Ali, yes. No need to shout like that, I'm coming. I'm just going to fetch my sunglasses. I'm going to put my hat on. No, Mum, I don't need a jacket, I won't catch a chill, I feel hot, no, I'm
not
going to get ill. Yes, I
will
look after Ali! Here's his photo. The nail's staying there. But Ali's coming with me. We're going outside. We just want to play a bit, Mum. We're in Reithofferpark.

I put the key in the lock. I open the front door. It's already light. Stay with me Ali, don't run ahead. Watch out for other people, don't bump into them, don't barge them, they're cops and robbers but they're not playing a game, they're serious. “You leave Ali alone! He's my little brother! This is his picture.” “Don't give us such black looks!” “And don't you
dare
lay a finger on us! We're going to the park!”

At last, there are the trees, the bench is occupied, I lie down on the grass, the fresh air is making me feel a bit dizzy. I mustn't rush around. Ali, where are you? Are you hiding? Are you playing already? Come here, Ali, I need to rest a while longer. I've done too much running, my legs are tired.

Ali? Ali, come here! It's not funny. You're not allowed to hide for so long. It's not funny anymore. Ali? Ali? Aaaaaaaaliiiiiii? “Excuse me, have you seen my brother, Ali?” “No, I don't need a jacket, I won't catch a chill, I'm just feeling a bit dizzy and I've lost my brother.”

“Hey, you lot over there! Are you all deaf? Why are you running away? Are you mad? Nothing but mad people!” I feel dizzy, I don't feel well. “Why are you staring like that? I'm just having a little rest.”

I know that man. “Hannes? Hannes? Is that you? Like an angel from heaven!” “Thanks, but I'm not cold.” “No, Hannes, I'm not crying, I've lost Ali. You've got to help me… You've found him? Is he alright? Is Mum really angry with me?” “No, I'm not getting worked up. I'm just so happy, thanks so much…” “Yes, I promise. Take me away from here. I can't bear the people here, the way they stare. No, I'm not afraid of an injection…” “Yes, please stay! I need you. You've got to stay with me now.”

The grubby white bedside table belonged to a psychiatric clinic, and unfortunately she was in the bed next to it. Judith's first sight of the foam rubber floor was so depressing that she thought it best to go straight back to sleep, in accordance with the substance administered by her drip.

Her second awakening, much later, was neither good nor bad. It was otherworldly. But maybe she ought to start acknowledging the otherworldly things as the important ones in life and warm to them rather than try to wage a continual struggle against them. Hannes. Yes, Hannes was actually sitting there, his entire face beaming with those supernaturally white teeth of his grandmother's. He waved at Judith affectionately, thereby drawing her out from her medically induced hibernation. In defence of his being there, he was doing an excellent job of blocking out her mother, who had already assumed her Wailing Wall position and was only waiting until Judith was finally in a state to talk.

“Hey, what are
you
doing here?” Judith breathed voicelessly, striving to put on an expression vaguely related to a smile. “I found you,” he said with a misplaced touch of pride and fascination. “Hannes picked you up off the ground and brought you to hospital.” This was her mother's earthier version. Judith: “But how…” “Sheer luck,” he interrupted her, needing to clear up the matter as quickly as possible. He'd phoned Gerd on the Sunday morning. Gerd was worried because he hadn't been able to get through to Judith after the previous evening when she'd suddenly become quite unwell after “a lovely dinner, such a shame that I couldn't be there”. He, Hannes, happened to be in the area at the time, so he told Gerd he'd try her entry phone – maybe she couldn't hear her mobile. In Märzstrasse, at the top of the Reithofferpark, he'd come across a small huddle of people. And a woman was crouched on the pavement, looking as if she could do with help and support. “That woman was you,” he said, more with delight than horror. “That's how I found you.”

Mum: “Child, what are you doing…” Judith: “Mum, please, I'm really not in the mood…” Mum: “You're running around the streets half naked, you could have caught your death of cold…” “Judith, we'll go now and leave you in peace,” Hannes said, putting a hand on her mother's shoulder. “We just didn't want you to be alone when you woke up, because you ought to know that there's always someone here for you when you're not feeling well.” Judith didn't have to look at her mother to know the expression spread across her face. For that alone she could never have loved Hannes. “That's good of you,” she said. He'd already stood up, taken her mother by the arm and was waving with his left hand as only he could. It never looked like a goodbye, but always like a “welcome back”.

Although she felt like a stunned housefly that had been knocked from the white neon light onto the bedclothes, she was keen at once to start piecing together and ordering the events of the last few hours – or was it days or weeks? A diminutive nurse in round glasses approached the bed, checked the figures relating to some of her internal values, drew up a syringe, the contents of which Judith was indifferent to, even as they probably had the potential to make her even more indifferent. “Where do you come from?” the patient whispered. “The Philippines,” the gentle creature said. “Shame we can't be there,” Judith breathed. “Oh, much too hot!” the nurse said. “Here better!”

“And I could have sworn I'd never see you again,” Jessica Reimann said instead of offering Judith her hand. “Yes, I know, I'm really sorry. Somehow it all ended up a right mess,” Judith replied. It was her first conversation for four days, and even getting started on it made her feel tired and mushy. She'd refused to see all her friends as she was so embarrassed about her disastrous collapse, and the thought of having to go through another round of “I'll-be-normal-again-soon” was unbearable after she'd just been caught deceiving them and brutally thrown back to the start.

“Do you know why you're here at least?” Reimann asked in a pleasingly strict way, the way you'd speak to a mature person who'd been up to silly things. Judith: “Not exactly, if I'm being honest.” Reimann: “I do.” She took a piece of paper and a pencil. “It's a simple miscalculation.” Judith: “Oh dear, I was never good at maths.” Reimann: “Don't worry, you just talk and I'll take stock.”

The psychiatrist wanted to know over what period that Saturday she'd taken how much alcohol in the form of what drinks, what and how much she'd eaten at what times, in addition to when she'd stopped taking which of the three tablets, when she'd started again and with what dose, and which and how many painkillers she'd mixed with them. Below the list – they were only rough estimates, to be on the safe side; under “alcohol” Judith had put only half the probable volume she'd consumed – Reimann drew a thick line and recapped: “If you take the interplay between all those substances and the timings of the various effects you get the following result, illustrated graphically.” Then she drew a neat skull on the paper, from which pretty clouds of smoke billowed. “With a cocktail like that, straying into the park is about the most harmless thing I can think of,” Reimann explained. “So you can see just what a harmless person I am,” Judith replied.

After that she had to come up with the second set of fragments from her memory. She talked about the euphoric start to the evening with her friends, the sudden deterioration of her mood, the peaceful phase on the sofa, and her attacks of anxiety in bed. “Caused by?” Reimann asked. “By voices and noises that sounded so real that…” Reimann: “What sort of noises?” Judith: “The jangling of a chandelier, when the crystal pieces touch each other. It was my favourite chandelier in the shop and no other lamp could make that particular noise.” Reimann: “Hmm… interesting. I've never had a patient hear a jangling chandelier before. What sort of voices were they?” Judith: “Err… a sort of jumble of voices again.” She couldn't bring herself to mention the Hannes thing; she couldn't expect this highly intelligent person to put up with something so nutty.

“A jumble of voices. I see,” Reimann said, unimpressed. “What then?” Judith: “Then I panicked and took your pills.” Reimann: “Excuse me, but they're not
my
pills. I'm just dependent on them, I'm sorry to say. I can't get by without them. Which is what I have in common with most of my patients, by the way. So what did the tablets do to you?” Judith: “They took effect.” Reimann: “Well, yes, but how exactly?” Judith: “I was all fuzzy-headed and started to see ghosts. The family photos on my wall suddenly came to life. It was as if my brother Ali were really there in front of me. It was like a dream from the past, but very real.” Reimann: “Where did this dream take place?” Judith: “In my head.” Reimann: “There, too, but also out on the street, unfortunately, where you shared it with quite a number of passers-by.” Judith: “I don't remember any of that. My memory conked out on the other side of the front door.” Reimann: “Where did it get going again?” Judith: “In hospital.” Reimann: “That's late!” Judith: “Early enough, I reckon.” “True again. It's fun having you as a patient,” Reimann concluded. “For me, too,” Judith replied. Both of them really meant it.

The doctor stood up, put her hands on Judith's shoulders, took a deep breath, like a gymnast about to perform on the asymmetric bars, and began her summing up: “You are an atypical patient, because you're capable of being ironic about yourself in your situation. That doesn't fit with the picture of someone who's sick. And you're a headstrong patient; you don't like being helped. You've got a complicated knot in your head, but it seems as if nobody else is allowed near it. At the very least I'd like to offer you a simple piece of advice to take with you: seek out the beginning! Go back to where your problem started. My highly esteemed colleagues in psychotherapy will be happy to help you. You see, I'm not going to let you out without any assistance.” Judith nodded, as she couldn't think of anything to say.

“And please, please,
please
!” Reimann called after her, “After they let you out, take your pills. Not mine, but
yours
, every day and exactly in the dose that's been prescribed. Otherwise part three of your remote-controlled adventures will soon follow.”

Ever since he'd sat with Mum by her hospital bed, she wasn't afraid of him anymore. But she was afraid of herself, which was no less unpleasant. Hannes was merely a screen on which to project her sick thoughts, and even though he'd vanished for good there was probably a worthy successor skulking around the corner. The “worm” in her head had evidently knotted into a large clump which tightened by the night. How could she get back to the root of her troubles, the beginning of the thread with which she had lost her way?

She always felt at her best when resignation at the state she was in turned to apathy, for which the staff here fortunately had every means at their disposal. The more that doctors and nurses cared for the miserable course of her illness, the calmer she became. For it meant that she could stay on the ward for longer. She knew of no better protection against herself.

After a few days she also started receiving visitors again in her tiny white apartment, whose austere interior was watched over by a starved philodendron. Gerd and all the others who were firmly banking on the resurrection of their old Judith. Or at the very least they were playing their roles more professionally each time, and the patient thanked them with a smile which she hoped looked less tortured than it felt.

Nights in the clinic passed unspectacularly, even though when she awoke her deep sleep seemed a little contrived in retrospect. All the same, this prescription had fully silenced the voices. The crystal chandelier was the only thing which sometimes entered her head. And at some point she also remembered the name of the customer who had seized this treasure of hers: Isabella Permason. Why did she imagine she'd heard the name before or seen it written down? As this was the latest puzzle in her life she was happy to turn her mind to it. Afterwards there was always a part of her that was pleased she hadn't yet solved the mystery. For in her short phases of thinking about Isabella Permason, she felt that at least something in her head was functioning. Most of the rest was low-level intellectual decommissioning, no higher than the mattress of her institutional bed which, if she had her way, she'd never ever leave.

The first colourful ray of hope to pierce the cloudiness of her in-patient existence was Bianca. “Bianca, you are life in all its radiance,” Judith croaked like a great-grandmother on her deathbed. “No offence,” Bianca replied, “but I can't say the same about you. You look absolutely shattered. As I see it, what you need is a good dose of fresh air and a trip down the hairdresser's.”

Judith did not, however, envy her apprentice, for in her absence Mum was looking after the shop. “Is she quite hard work?” Judith asked. “No, not at all,” Bianca said. “In many respects your mum's totally like you.” Judith: “One more compliment like that and you can go.”

Later the conversation turned to Hannes. “Basti and I found out something,” Bianca said. “No, Bianca,” Judith replied. “I don't want you to do that anymore. Please stop spying on him, it's really quite unfair.” Judith told her how it was Hannes who'd found and taken her to hospital, and that he'd been the one at her bedside when she awoke. “Yeah, I know. Your mum told me,” Bianca said. “She won't stop raving about him. I think she's a bit gone on him herself, but then, why not? I mean, it's a bit funny given the age difference, but so what? Look at Madonna and Demi Moore…” “He doesn't frighten me anymore, and in my condition that's the most important thing,” Judith said. Bianca asked: “Can I at least tell you what Basti found out? I'm so proud of him, he'll make a proper detective some day, then he might star in a T.V. series.” There followed Bianca's highly intricate discourse on luminous squares: “In the evening, when it's already dark, Basti says, whenever anybody goes into the building where your Hannes, or should I say ex-Hannes lives, five squares light up, one above the other. Those are the lights in the stairwell, Basti says. You wait a while and then another square lights up somewhere else. If it's a long wait, Basti says, a square at the top lights up, on the fifth floor, let's say. If it lights up on the ground floor or maybe the first floor, Basti says, it's only a short wait. 'Cause everyone who lives in the building's got a window overlooking the road. Sometimes it's bright, which is the light they turn on when they come in their front door, near the window. And sometimes the light's dimmer, which means the window is further from the door, Basti says. But all of them light up in some way or another. And after that, other squares beside these ones light up too, maybe the kitchen or the sitting room or the bedroom where someone's switched the light on. But one square at least has to light up when someone comes home. Basti says. Unless it was already on, in which case someone else was already at home. Perfectly logical so far, isn't it?” Judith: “Perfectly.”

Bianca: “Now, Hannes, our object, has his squares on the fourth floor, squares seven and eight, Basti worked it all out to the last detail. So listen to this: whenever our Hannes comes home at night, the five squares above one another light up, as they do with anyone else – all perfectly normal. Then Basti looks at squares seven and eight on the fourth floor. He waits ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes – nothing. Five minutes – still nothing. Ten minutes – still nothing. Fifteen minutes…” “Still nothing,” Judith murmured.