The Tower: A Novel (43 page)

Josta was in Ward 4, the intensive-care unit, of Friedrichstadt Hospital. Richard knew it, he’d often enough had to take patients there in the doctors’ emergency car when he’d been the duty doctor. Moreover he had done his clinical practice there when he’d been a student. ‘Four’, as it was called, was on the top floor of one of the Friedrichstadt clinics that had survived the war. As in all hospitals the strong smell of Wofasept disinfectant, and doctors running upstairs and downstairs. He knew the pale, freckled Nurse Markus with the red beard from the days when he’d been a student nurse on this ward, now he was the nurse in charge of the ward. Because of his beard, which had been impressive even in those days, they’d called him the ‘Evangelist’. Richard had admired him, for when it was a matter of taking a blood sample
and everyone failed, they called Nurse Markus … All that went through his mind as he tried to look past Markus and get a glimpse of the resuscitation room. ‘I’d like to see Frau Fischer. We had a call in Outpatients.’

Markus pointed to one of the rooms at the back. ‘She was lucky. In a stable condition now. Her stomach was pumped out, twenty Obsidan tablets. Is she from your clinic?’

‘No. Rector’s senior secretary.’

‘Good grief!’

‘Can I see her?’

‘Five minutes. She’s still under observation.’

‘Nurse Markus –’

‘Hmm?’

‘If our big shots should turn up –’

‘Yes?’

‘Please don’t mention that I was here.’

Markus gave him a swift glance.

‘Can I rely on you? – I ought to be at a meeting.’

Markus looked past him, nodded. ‘We have a duty of confidentiality as well, Dr Hoffmann.’

‘Thank you. Can I phone you? She is your patient, isn’t she? – And it’s brought us together again, hasn’t it?’ Richard concluded weakly, hoping Markus would accept the gesture. He felt uncomfortable, had the feeling all the nurses hurrying hither and thither at the beck and call of the ringing and buzzing of the drips were giving him questioning and reproachful looks; also he didn’t want to run into any colleagues.

‘I’m on early tomorrow morning,’ Markus said, ‘you can phone me.’

‘I can still remember your number,’ Richard said in a further attempt to revive old acquaintance.

‘Do you know her family? Someone who could bring a few things?’

‘As
far as I know she has a son. – Have you put her on a pacemaker?’

‘Temporarily. You can go in all the same.’

‘Perhaps it would put too much of a strain on her.’

‘Is there any message I can give?’ Again Markus gave him a swift glance.

‘Best wishes … from Dr Hoffmann.’

He ran down the stairs. He was so embarrassed he wished the ground would swallow him up. Markus had seen through him, he was pretty sure of that. Best wishes … from Dr Hoffmann! In the crumbling, ash-grey plaster of the wide façade of the R-Building, as the clinic in Friedrichstadt was called, many of the windows were open. Crows were croaking in the trees in the middle of the hospital, which was arranged in a square, patients were walking on the paths in the park. The wail of a siren came from the direction of the Yenidze cigarette factory, Richard broke out in a sweat and looked for a bench, his hands over his ears. When he took them off, the siren died away, the bells of Marcolini Palace, in which the hospital Administration was housed, and of the Old Catholic Cemetery on the other side of Friedrichstrasse rang out. It occurred to him that he ought to check on the children. Perhaps they were at home, waiting, perhaps Daniel was running round the streets and Lucie was alone in Josta’s apartment.

He drove on automatic pilot, streets and rows of houses flickered past, he almost missed the signal of a traffic policeman, starting when he whistled and swung his baton round vigorously. He rang at Josta’s door, no one opened. He waited, tried again. Finally he knocked and shouted for Daniel through the gap in the door. ‘Open up, it’s me.’ The door to the toilet on the half-landing opened to the sound of the lavatory flushing, Josta’s neighbour, Frau Schmücke, a divorced assistant in a fish shop who often seemed drunk, came out. ‘An ambulance came earlier on. Must have been pretty serious from all the noise they
made. I think the boy’s there, I heard his voice. He called the ambulance. Are you the uncle? Frau Fischer told me about you.’

‘Yes,’ Richard said after brief hesitation.

‘I haven’t got a key.’ She went to the door and knocked loudly. ‘Daniel, your uncle’s here. Open up.’ She turned back to Richard. She was wearing shabby jeans, a paint-smudged jersey shirt, under which her nipples stood out, and a crocheted stole that had slipped down. Noticing his glance, she drew the stole over her cleavage. Her hands were covered in paint.

‘Bye,’ said Frau Schmücke. He looked at her hips. The door to Josta’s apartment opened a crack.

‘So it’s you,’ Daniel said.

‘I’ve been to see your mother,’ Richard said. ‘Are you going to let me in?’ Reluctantly Daniel let him through.

‘How is she?’ A flicker of fear went across the boy’s face, which was strangely ugly: ears that stuck out, the head with almost no neck in between his shoulders. Like Dwarf Longnose, Richard thought. He had no idea why that occurred to him, why he was in the mood for such observations, why his eyes presented them to him in that pitiless fashion. As shame welled up inside him he stroked Daniel’s hair, but the boy drew back.

‘All right. She’ll be well again soon.’

‘Can I go and see her?’

‘No. – Where’s Lucie?’ Richard peered into the living room.

‘Still in the kindergarten. Josta didn’t collect her.’ Daniel always called his mother by her first name. Richard didn’t like it and had once told him off, but Daniel had replied, ‘I don’t take orders from you, part-time-dad.’ – Was that the love the boy was supposed to feel for him? Josta had calmed things down. ‘Leave him alone. I don’t like it when he calls me Mummy. Or Mum. Why not Josta. After all, that’s what I’m called.’

Suddenly Daniel turned to him.

‘Now,
now, son, now, now … It’ll be all right.’

‘The gas was on as well, I turned it off and aired the apartment as it says on the notice downstairs,’ Daniel said calmly.

‘You did well.’

‘I’ve still got your penknife.’

‘Let’s see it.’ They went into the living room, where the television was on without sound. Richard switched it off. Daniel unclasped the knife. ‘All the blades, and there: the scissors. It’s even still got the two pairs of tweezers.’ Richard took the knife, Daniel stood there, arms hanging down.

‘Now, Daniel, I’ll go and collect Lucie. You can stay here – no, you’ll come with me. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll go and collect her together.’

Daniel nodded. ‘I can always wait outside the kindergarten,’ he said, not looking at Richard.

‘No, that won’t work. I’m the one who has to wait outside. I’m only your uncle, I don’t think they’ll give Lucie to me. But they will let you take her, you’re her brother. Do they know you? – Good. Let’s go.’

Lucie had been completely immersed in her play, happy that for once she had all the lovely toys to herself. The teacher was relieved that Daniel had come, fortunately she asked no questions. She hadn’t been able to get in touch with Josta; no one answered at the emergency number she’d been given, that of Josta’s hairdresser. Lucie enjoyed the drive in the car; when they stopped at a crossing, she waved to the passers-by, some of whom waved back, amused. By now Richard couldn’t care if he should be seen by anyone who knew him; he was whistling to himself, broke off when he saw Daniel’s face in the rear-view mirror.

Josta had been shopping, he found cheese, bread, butter, cold sausage in the refrigerator, there were meat and eggs there too. ‘Should I cook something for you?’ Too late it occurred to him that he would smell of cooking fat and his excuse that he’d been in a meeting
would sound implausible. Fortunately Daniel shook his head. ‘Not hungry.’

‘But you must eat something, my lad.’

‘Where’s Mummy?’ Lucie asked from the living room. She’d switched the television on, Richard heard the signature tune introducing the news, shortly after there was a burst of gunfire, she’d presumably changed channels and there was a Western or something on.

‘Lucie, what would you like for supper?’

‘In the evening Josta just gives her something light, otherwise she can’t sleep and gets tummy ache.’

‘Something light, aha. And – is that something specific.’ He didn’t even know what his daughter had to eat in the evening. Daniel sighed. ‘Oh, I’ll do it. And she has to be in bed by eight at the latest. Usually after the
Sandman
programme. And she has to be told a story.’

‘And you, when do you have to go to bed?’

‘Ooh …’

‘Hey, my lad, that’s not on! – I could tell your grandparents.’

‘Do you know where they live?’ Daniel asked suspiciously.

Richard didn’t and he didn’t manage to conceal the fact.

‘Well, you’re going to leave after this anyway. Otherwise your Anne will give you hell. And Josta’s in the hospital, so I can do as I like,’ Daniel replied defiantly and with a malicious grin that alarmed Richard. ‘Listen, Daniel, you have responsibility as well now. So far you’ve been great, like a grown-up. But until Josta comes back, you have to look after Lucie. And the apartment. Do you understand? Perhaps Social Services will send someone.’

‘Are you coming back tomorrow?’

‘Yes, tomorrow’s Thursday, I can come and check up on you. Will you promise you’ll be sensible?’

‘Will you promise me something too?’

Richard hesitated, the look on the boy’s face confused him. It was a mixture of hatred, sorrow, fear. ‘What?’

But
Daniel said nothing, suddenly ran out.

Richard wasn’t happy with the idea of leaving the children by themselves. It could be a fortnight before Josta was discharged from hospital. Until then he had to find someone who could check up on them regularly. Daniel’s father? He’d never seen him, knew neither his name nor address; whenever he’d asked, Josta had been evasive. Her hairdresser? She’d only have time in the evening and, anyway, hairdressing salons were hives of gossip. And even if by now his carefully maintained cover had probably been blown, he shouldn’t do anything himself to attract attention. Would Nurse Markus hold his tongue? Whether he did or not, Josta’s attempted suicide would stir up a commotion, people would be wondering what had driven her to it, make enquiries, the Arbitration Commission or some other of the organizations in the Academy that made the welfare of individual employees their concern would take her under its wing. ‘Take her under its wing.’ He said it quietly to himself and as he did so, he realized what that might mean for the children: who would have looked after them if the ambulance had arrived too late; what if Josta should attempt to repeat what she’d done that day, but then –

Had she not thought of the children at all? He couldn’t believe that. No mother would do that. At least he’d never met a mother like that. Had she hoped he would take care of the children? Had she told someone? He searched the apartment for a farewell letter but couldn’t find one. In the drawer of her bedside table there were vast amounts of sleeping pills and tranquillizers, including further packets of Obsidan. Where had she got them? Beta blockers were only available on prescription, someone must have prescribed them for her, or had she acquired them illegally? But these medicines were registered … Had she a heart condition she hadn’t told him about? How thoughtless to keep this stuff here, the children could get at it and Lucie at least was still at an age where she put everything in her mouth. He threw all the pills away, she’d get the Obsidan back if she really needed it. Then he
searched through Josta’s clothes and bags in the wardrobe – nothing. So, a knee-jerk reaction. He sat down on the bed, where the crumpled sheet still showed the outline of her body. On the bedside table there was the mark made by the bottom of a bottle, the ambulance men would probably have taken the bottle to the hospital with them, along with the packet of pills. What should he do now? How were things going to work out with Josta, with him, with Anne and the children? For a long time he sat there without moving. The television was on in the next room. Lucie was clearly quite happy, he heard her laugh, clap her hands now and then. Perhaps Daniel was sitting with her, examining his penknife … Or wondering what he would do once his ‘uncle’ had left. That brought Richard back to the unsolved problem of who was to keep an eye on the children.

Frau Schmücke had changed and seemed to be drunk again, she was waving her left hand, but then he realized that she had just been painting her fingernails, clearly she was about to go out. Richard was astonished at her profusion of uncontrollable hair, he hadn’t noticed it before.

‘Can I … I’m sorry, I’ve disturbed you. Could I speak to you for a moment?’

‘Come in,’ she said after a short hesitation.

‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary, I don’t want to –’

‘Look, it may be May already, but I’ve still got the heating on and the warmth all slips out when the door’s left open. I’m sure it’s about next door and we shouldn’t discuss that out here. Moreover’ – she leant forward a little, her voice dropping to a whisper – ‘the people like to have an ear out in the hallway, and not only there, I think.’ She went back into her hall and he followed her hesitantly. This woman aroused him, it was grotesque, but his heart was pounding as he went into the stranger’s apartment and, to his astonishment, that made him curious. She walked smoothly and had no shoes on, a little chain round her left ankle, her toenails were also painted. The sight of her bare feet
with the red nails and the chain aroused him even more. In the hall and the living room the walls were covered with paintings hung side by side; there was a smell of paint. He found the paintings disturbing, death masks with sharp contrasts, screaming blue mouths, yellow birds with black and green heads could be seen, painters’ palettes had been nailed to the living-room ceiling and, on an easel, in the corner where most apartments of this type had the television, there crouched a picture in a brutal red that coagulated in streaks, wound into fat whorls, had suffered yawning cuts in the top-left corner, smouldered in the middle round a darker spindle. All the pictures were powerful and gripping, but that one in particular; Richard was impressed but ignored that, he hadn’t come to view paintings. ‘By you?’ he asked hurriedly and more out of politeness.