The Perfectionist

Chapter Eighteen

He opened his eyes slightly, and peered at what he could see above him. His person was exhausted and aching, his eyes were darkly underlined, his hair was unkempt, his teeth clattered, his throat burned, and he felt more dead than alive. The discerning powers of his eyes failed him, but he was able to recognize the vague shapes and forms of several monks above him, two men with priests' collars, a veiled woman, and several others. He heard nothing, but felt that he was lying on a bed, and that some hand was patting his head. He saw the vague shadow of a visitor on the wall, having just arrived, and observed with a blank mind the majority of the crowd rushing to it, so that his bedside, just recently crammed, was now almost emptied. Once hearing had come to him, it received in full volume and intensity the hubbub in the room: several voices spoke at once, women's and men's, and amongst them was a gentle, repetitive hush from Dieter's left bedside; though it was the lowest in volume, he was able to hear it more clearly than the other noises in the room. Whoever was caressing him was as well calming him, but, try as he could, Dieter could not figure out who: the countenance was much too blurred.

The crowd at the door seemed to have come to their resolve, as several figures returned to Dieter's bedside, and the shadow in the wall had moved away. The veiled woman, who sounded, as Dieter thought, like Katarina, had asked the figure at the left-hand side to take his place, and soon established herself at the desired spot. Someone with round spectacles had bent over to raise Dieter's head, and he drank some water, instantly refreshing him to the point of gratifying pleasure. Then a woman with a red-cross on her white apron, shouldering her way through the crowd, clutched his shoulders, and called out: ''Dieter Siedemann? Brother Dieter Siedemann? Are you alright, sir? Brother Dieter Siedemann, you had collapsed. You are in your cell. Do you remember?''
Dieter faintly nodded.
''It is noon, the year is 1921. Do you know that?''
He nodded again.

He made an effort to sit up, which was aided by the two women present, and rested his back on the bed frame, surveying the people around him. His eyesight was by now bettered, but he attained no pleasure from it, as it showed him almost all the monks standing in the little cell, eyeing him- some with fear and sympathy, yet some with sternness and disapproval. On his left side were found Katarina's grave, sorrowful eyes, on his right the doctor was setting him straight, and all around were monks' faces. The two curious priests were just leaving the cell, and a few other common men (as Dieter in his compromised understanding saw them) had accompanied them, each loudly voicing their opinion on the matter. Some monks followed suit, while the majority, a multitude of about fifteen men (including the doctor and Thomas), had lingered.
Dieter felt at that moment as if he loitered in one spot as the center of the universe, and the satellites around him, dumb, mechanic rocks that they are, blindly turned all their attentions to him. How badly he wished to disappear from sight then! How he yearned for darkness to envelope the room, or for one outstanding thing to steal the attention stifling him, or for a means to quickly rise from his bed, and fling himself away- down the window, across the hall, anywhere! Only, to escape from what he had brought forth! Before long, Katarina saved him: ''Can he get some privacy, gentlemen? It's too loud here. Let's give him some peace and quiet.''

After several nods, the crowd quickly broke, and everyone, except Thomas and Katarina herself, walked quickly out the cell. Looking lost, Thomas turned to his wife and shrugged his shoulders. She chuckled, and beckoned him to leave as well. Having been left alone, Katarina sighed, and patted her sad brother's shoulder. He looked at her quizzically, and then gazed about the room with an uncomfortable, frightened expression.
''Who were those men?'' he asked, moving her hand away.
''Priests, Dieter.
''Why were they here?''
Katarina put it upon herself not to answer.
''Am I to be excommunicated, Katarina?'' he guessed.
''No, Dieter. But you will go somewhere.''
''I've predicted as much...Where to? The tavern?''
''Tavern?''
''No, nevermind... Where am I to go?''
Again Katarina did not answer.
''To a madhouse?'' he guessed casually.
''Fie, Dieter, no! Don't you ever put such thoughts like that into your head again! They will inform you soon enough.''