She wanted to be nice to an
She told me her name was Naomi. ‘Are you Czech?’ she asked me.
‘Originally, but I’ve lived in Warsaw for twenty years now.’
My lie was a key clicking open a lock – the rusted one imprisoning me in myself. I felt as if I’d escaped a trap whose existence I’d failed to notice until now.
Mikael Tengmann saw Naomi and two more patients before coming out to see me. It was a few minutes before six. By then, the nurse – Anka – had warmed to me and made us a pot of tea. I was on my second cup and was sipping it – as I’d learned from a Russian friend in Vienna – through a sugar crystal I kept between my teeth. The crystal was a gift from Anka.
‘Hello, Erik!’ Mikael exclaimed, shaking my hand exuberantly. He wore a white medical coat but kept woollen slippers on his feet. ‘Sorry to have made you wait.’
‘That’s all right,’ I replied. I took out what was left of my crystal and sealed it in an old receipt I had in my pocket as though it were a precious gem, which made his eyes radiate sympathetic amusement.
‘I expect you want to talk about Stefa,’ he said.
‘Yes. I’m very grateful you came to see her. I want to buy serum for her. How long will it take you to get some?’
‘A day or two. I know a young smuggler who specializes in medications. I’ll get him right on it. But, Erik…’ Mikael grimaced. ‘It’s expensive – a thousand złoty.’
‘I know – Ewa told me. I promise I’ll have the money for you tomorrow – the day after, at the latest.’
He waved away my concern. ‘I trust you. The important thing is for Stefa to get well.’
Turning to his nurse, who was writing in the office appointment book, he said, ‘Anka, I’m sorry to have kept you so late today. You can get going whenever you want.’
‘Yes, Doctor,’ she replied, smiling warmly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Listen, Mikael,’ I said, ‘I also need to talk to you about a girl named Anna Levine. Rowy Klaus told me she might have come to see you.’
‘Anna Levine? I can’t recall her.’
I took out my photograph and handed it to him. Mikael put on his tortoiseshell glasses, and I noticed now they were on a chain made of linked paper clips.
‘Classy chain,’ I commented.
He laughed brightly. ‘Helena made it for me.’
Jealousy surged inside me, but I hid it as best I could. He studied the photograph. ‘I remember this girl,’ he told me, ‘but Anna wasn’t the name she gave me.’ He handed me back the picture. ‘And she never mentioned any chorus.’
‘That seems odd.’
‘Erik, I think we’ll be far more comfortable in my office,’ he said, gesturing me towards the open door at the back.
I sensed he didn’t want Anka to hear any more of our conversation.
Once we were in his office, he offered me the chair in front of his cluttered desk. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
Behind Mikael were his sensual photographs of the Alps, and I speculated now that they were to remind himself that a monumental natural world – far beyond the control of the Nazis – still existed. And was waiting for him.
Sitting down, I asked, ‘So what name did the girl give you?’
‘I don’t think she even gave me a name,’ he replied, taking off his medical coat and hanging it on a hook. ‘Whatever the case, I didn’t write it down.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she asked me not to take any notes about our conversation.’
He took a cigar from the box on his desk and offered me one, but I was feeling too tired to make the effort. ‘If I remember correctly,’ he continued, ‘she came here without an appointment.’
‘So you’d never seen her before?’
‘No.’ Kicking off his slippers, he sat down and leaned back with a grateful sigh. ‘How do you know her?’ he asked.
I told him about my conversation with Dorota, focusing on Anna’s relationship with Paweł Sawicki. Mikael lit his cigar, sucking in so hard that his cheeks hollowed. He looked like the eccentric doctor in a children’s story – off-kilter and endearing. Or was he making a great effort to appear that way and was someone else entirely? I again felt as though I’d wandered on to the stage set of a play, and that everyone had his lines but me.
When I finished my account, Mikael said in a horrified voice, ‘This place, this time we’re living through, it defies description.’ He stood up, went to the window and opened the pane, taking in a bottle of vodka that had been chilling on the outside ledge.
‘May I pour you a drink?’ he asked, carrying the bottle to his desk.
‘No, thank you. If I had any vodka, I’d fall right to sleep.’
He laughed sweetly. ‘Still, you should have a smidgen.’ He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart to indicate how much – the gesture of a man used to coaxing children to take their medicine. ‘It’ll help you relax,’ he added. ‘And keep you warm.’
