Authors: John Irving
At Kilchberg, those younger nurses—the ones who stood in line to shave Jack’s father—wouldn’t have given Hugo the time of day. The older women there—Hugo’s sister and the doctors included—probably bossed him around. Hugo was a thug; he knew no other way to behave. But at least Jack had met someone who could tell him where a good gym was in Zurich, and Jack saw in their first meeting that Hugo
doted
on William.
For a young man who consorted with prostitutes, Hugo, by his association with a handsome older gentleman like William Burns, had doubtless upped his standing in
that
community of ladies.
“Hugo!” Jack’s father hailed the big brute, like an old friend. “I want you to meet my son, Jack
—den Schauspieler.
” (“The actor,” William called his son—exactly as he’d introduced Jack to everyone on the number one-sixty-one bus.)
William had insisted that Jack and Dr. von Rohr ride with him from Kilchberg into Zurich on the bus. Jack’s dad was proud of his knowledge of the public-transportation system, and he wanted Jack to see how he usually rode to and from the city—on his shopping trips with Waltraut, and his
other
shopping trips with Hugo. (The black Mercedes was for nighttime travel only.)
Most of the passengers on the bus seemed to know Jack’s father, and to all of them William had said: “I want you to meet my son, Jack
—den Schauspieler.
”
“I’ve seen all your movies,” Hugo said, introducing himself to Jack. “William and I have watched them together. They never get old!” he cried, shaking (and shaking) Jack’s hand.
Jack saw the look that passed between Dr. von Rohr and Dr. Krauer-Poppe—as if
old
were a trigger, maybe, or in certain contexts perhaps could be. But not this time. Jack’s dad was smiling—possibly swaying on his feet more than he was bouncing on them. (Either
old
was not a trigger or the pill that Dr. Krauer-Poppe had given William was taking effect.)
“I’m
not
saying good-bye to you, Jack,” his father told him. William put his arms around Jack’s neck; his head fell on Jack’s chest as lightly as a baby’s.
“You don’t have to say good-bye to Jack, William,” Dr. von Rohr said. “Just say ‘
bis morgen
’ to him.” (“Just say ‘until tomorrow’ to him.”) “You’re seeing him in the morning.”
“
Bis morgen,
Pop.”
“
Bis morgen,
” his dad whispered. “I am already imagining that I’m tucking you into bed, dear boy, or maybe you’re tucking
me
in.”
“I’m afraid it’s time for
Hugo
to tuck you in, William,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe told him.
“Oh, what joy,” Jack’s father said, releasing his son.
Jack kissed his father on the mouth—a dry kiss, just brushing his dad’s lips with his own lips tightly closed—the way Heather had taught him. William kissed Jack the same way.
“I know what you’ve been up to, dear boy. I can tell you’ve been kissing your sister!”
Jack took a chance, but he felt it was the right time. After all, Hugo and the two doctors were with them—in case anything went wrong.
“I love you, Pop,” Jack told his father, heedless of whether or not
love
was a trigger. “I love every inch of your skin. I really mean it.”
Hugo looked as if he might punch Jack. Dr. von Rohr and Dr. Krauer-Poppe closely watched William. How was
skin
going to affect him? they all wondered. Were they in unstoppable territory, or—in this context—was
skin
suddenly acceptable?
“Say that again, Jack,” his dad said. “I dare you.”
“I love you and every inch of your skin,” Jack told him.
William Burns put his black-gloved hands on his heart and smiled at Hugo and the doctors, not looking at Jack. “He’s got balls, hasn’t he?” his father asked them.
“That’s not an area of my expertise,” Dr. von Rohr answered.
“I just do
medication,
William,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said.
But Jack’s father was fine. He was holding his heart because he wanted to feel it beating. “I love you and every inch of
your
skin, dear boy! Please don’t forget to call your sister.”
Suddenly William seemed exhausted. Hugo helped him into the backseat of the Mercedes, where William Burns looked as small as a child on his way to his first day of school. The bodybuilder had to buckle the seat belt for him, and—before he got into the driver’s seat—Hugo came up to Jack and shook (and shook) his hand again. Jack thought that Hugo might pull his arm off.
“You’ve got balls as big as
der Mond,
” Hugo told Jack. (“You’ve got balls as big as the moon.”) Then Hugo got in the car and they drove away.
“
Bis morgen!
” Dr. Krauer-Poppe called after them.
“Now I’m taking a taxi home,” Dr. von Rohr said. “I live in another part of the city,” she explained to Jack.
There was a taxi stand in the vicinity of the Bellevueplatz, where Dr. Krauer-Poppe and Jack waited with Dr. von Rohr until she found an available taxi. The two women kissed each other on both cheeks and said good night.
“I assure you, Jack, I was never struck by lightning,” Dr. von Rohr said, when they shook hands. “Not on my head, anyway. I think your father has hit me with a lightning bolt, not on my head but in my heart.”
Jack walked with Dr. Krauer-Poppe over the Quaibrücke; they walked back to the Hotel zum Storchen together. “Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” he asked her.
“I live near your hotel,” she said, “but you’d never find your way back. The streets are small and go every which way.”
“Your children are how old?” he asked her. It was a beautiful night, with the lights from the city winking up at them from the Limmat.
“They are ten and twelve, both boys,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe told him. “If I ever had to say good-bye to them, the way your father had to say good-bye to you, I would kill myself. Or, if I were lucky, I would be in a place like the Sanatorium Kilchberg. I don’t mean as a
doctor.
”
“I understand,” Jack said to her.
“I love your father
and
every inch of his skin,” she said, smiling.
“Will he ever get better?” Jack asked her.
“He can be much worse than he was with you tonight. He was on his best behavior for you,” she told him. “But he will neither get worse
nor
get better. William is what he is.”
“He’s very lucky to be with all of you, in Kilchberg,” Jack said to her.
“You have to thank your sister for that, Jack. She has made her share of sacrifices,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe told him. “Are you serious about buying a house here?”
“Yes,
very
serious,” he answered.
“My husband knows something about real estate—he can probably be of some help to you. I’m just in the
medication
business.”
They were back in the Weinplatz, in front of the Storchen.
“Are you sure—” Jack started to ask her again, about walking her home.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she interrupted him. “I’ll be home in bed while you’re still talking on the phone to Heather. Don’t forget to call her.”
But Dr. Krauer-Poppe stood there, not leaving. Jack could tell there was something more she wanted to say, but perhaps she felt that she didn’t know him well enough to say it.
“You’re
not
going home, Anna-Elisabeth?” he asked.
She covered her face with her hands again; for such a serious (and such a beautiful) woman, it was a curiously girlish gesture.
“What is it?” he asked her.
“It’s not my business—you have a psychiatrist,” she said.
“Please tell me what you’re thinking,” Jack said to her.
“I’m thinking that you should finish this chronological-order therapy,” she told him, “and when you
do
finish, you should ask your doctor about a little something she might give you. You just wouldn’t want to take this while you were still trying to put everything in chronological order.”
“You mean a pill?” he asked her.
“Yes, a pill,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. “It’s not unlike what we give your father, but it’s newer and a little different from Zoloft or Seropram. It’s Cipralex; it’s
like
the Seropram we give William, but this one has a new agent in it, escitalopram. You get a more rapid onset of action—a week compared to two or three weeks—and because of the higher potency, a normal dosage would be ten milligrams instead of twenty.”
“It’s an antidepressant?” Jack asked.
“Of course it is,” she said. “I think the brand name is Lexapro in the States, but Dr. García would know. With escitalopram, there were supposed to be fewer side effects. But not all studies have shown that this is true. You might not like the loss of libido, possible impotence, or prolonged ejaculation.” Dr. Krauer-Poppe paused to smile at him. “You
definitely
wouldn’t like what it might do to your ability to tell the story of your life in chronological order, Jack. So first finish what you’re telling Dr. García. Then try it.”
“Do you think I’m depressed, Anna-Elisabeth?”
“What a question!” she said, laughing. “If you’re putting in chronological order everything that ever made you laugh, or made you cry, or made you feel angry—and if you are truly leaving nothing out—then
of course
you’re depressed! I’m surprised you’re not in a place like the Sanatorium Kilchberg yourself, Jack. I don’t mean as a
visitor.
”
“But how will I know when I’m finished? It just goes on and on,” he said to her.
“You’ll know when you’re finished, Jack,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. “It ends when you feel like thanking Dr. García for listening to you. It ends when there’s someone else you feel like telling everything to—someone who
isn’t
a psychiatrist.”
“Oh.”
“
Gott!
” she said. “Who would have thought the way someone said, ‘Oh,’ could be genetic?”
Dr. Krauer-Poppe shook Jack’s hand; walking away, with her high heels somewhat unsteadily navigating the cobblestones, she called over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you right where you’re standing in the morning, Jack. I’ll take you to the church. William will come with Dr. Horvath.”
“
Bis morgen!
” he called to her. Then he went into the hotel and called his sister.
On the little pad of paper for messages—on the night table, next to the telephone—Jack recognized his handwriting in the morning.
Cipralex, 10 mg
(Lexapro in the States?)
Ask Dr. García
What had Professor Ritter said? “Your father has suffered
losses.
” The losses alone were enough to make anyone feel cold; maybe William’s tattoos had nothing to do with it.
The conversation with Heather had gone well; even though Jack woke her up, she was happy that he called.
“Well, I
finally
met him. It took long enough! I’ve been with him for several hours,” Jack began. “Dr. von Rohr and Dr. Krauer-Poppe and I took him out to dinner at the Kronenhalle. I met Hugo, of course—and all the others.”
“Just
say
it!” his sister yelled.
“I love him,” he told her quickly.
“That’s all you have to say, Jack,” she said; she started to cry.
“I love him and every inch of his skin,” Jack told her.
“My God—you didn’t say the word
skin,
did you?” she asked him.
“In the context of telling him I loved him, I got away with it,” Jack said. “He thought I had balls for saying it.”
“
I’ll
say you have balls!” Heather cried.
“There were just a few episodes—nothing too terrible,” he explained.
“There will always be episodes, Jack. I don’t need to hear about them.”
“Are you okay about the prostitutes?” he asked her.
“Are
you
okay about them, Jack?”
Jack told her that he was, all things considered. “He can’t get in trouble if Hugo’s with him,” was how he put it.
They talked about whether or not Jack should tell Miss Wurtz about the prostitutes. Jack was eager to call Caroline and tell her everything. (“Maybe not
everything,
Jack,” Heather had cautioned him. “Maybe save the prostitutes for a later conversation?”)
They asked themselves if Hugo—having lost part of one ear to a dog in a nightclub—could have conceivably done anything more preposterous than dangle a gold earring from his remaining earlobe. “Do you think Hugo wants to draw attention to the earlobe the dog bit off?” Heather asked Jack.
“He could have put the earring in the
top
part of the damaged ear, and not worn anything in the good one,” Jack suggested.
Heather wondered if Jack might meet the particular prostitutes their dad was in the habit of visiting—that is, if Hugo would introduce him. “Just to see if they’re nice, and to ask them to be nice to him,” Jack’s sister said.
“He has very little privacy as it is,” Jack said. They agreed that you have to give the people you love a little privacy, even if you’re afraid for their lives.
“Don’t you love them all?” she asked him. “I mean his doctors—even Professor Ritter.”
“Ah, well . . .” Jack started to say. “Of
course
I do!” he told her.
“Will you call me every day?” his sister asked.
“Of
course
I will! If I forget, you can call me collect,” he said.
She was crying again. “I think you’ve bought me, Jack. I’ve completely
sold myself
to you!” she cried.
“I love you, Heather.”
“I love you and every inch of your skin,” she said.
Jack told Heather how their dad had thrown a tantrum over how expensive Zurich was, and that the issue of his children buying a house there had struck him as
crazy.
(This objection from a man who had no idea how expensive the Sanatorium Kilchberg was—or that the money had run out to pay for his care, which was why Heather had contacted Jack in the first place!)
Jack and his sister also talked about mundane things—those things Jack had imagined he would
never
talk to anyone about. The specific details of the house they were going to share in Zurich, for example: the number of rooms they needed; how many
bathrooms,
for Christ’s sake. (Exactly as William would have said it.)