(Extract from the novel Auf Peamount, Skarabaeus Verlag, www.skarabaeus.at, translation)
Good morning, I need some blood.
Sorry?
We need some blood from you. For a test. – A short break. – What’s up?
I can’t do this now. – A short break. –
I’ll be back in a moment.
It was half past six in the morning.
It seemed that all the others were still asleep, with the obvious exception of Paddy who showed an open eye. As if still uncertain whether it was a good idea to open the second one, too.
Why did they have to this so early in the morning? Well, anyway, at least I had managed not to let the nurse take me by surprise with her empty jabs.
What a wonderful morning indeed! One body after the other slowly began moving around in its bed and changed from a lying into a sitting position. The heads began to blink and to twinkle.
There she was again, our nurse. Are you finally ready now?
Of course I said yes. Yes, I am. What else could I say? Blood for a test that had to be done. That’s what I’m here for: tests. Yes or no? Yes. Her needle entered my vein and began its sucking.
After that I took my first Peamount medicine, about a dozen pills. The eyes of a nun watched my moves critically. Two fingers take one pill after the other out of the open hand. The hand is a leaf. The pills are the seeds. Inside your body they’ll grow fast to become little strong soldiers. Open your mouth wide, child. Put it on the tongue. Take a sip. Swallow. One after the other. Half a glass of water for all of them. Yes, you can get a refill. Yes, your stomach must be empty.
All right. Now I felt sick. What a shame because it’s time for breakfast now! Seven o’clock. Yes, it has to be like that. Half an hour after taking your medicine feed your medicine with something. With a nice breakfast for example. That is very important for your stomach, child.
Oh dear, life was funny and noisy here in the kitchen! Mixed spices of chatting, shouting and coughing. You had to feel good here. When I entered, I saw the cook gliding through the small space between the tables with three egg-cups between his fingers. The heads of three little eggs were looking out of them. He gave them away to the patients. The last egg caused a fight between Johnny and the young man. He had his hard-boiled egg yesterday! Johnny was shouting. Now it’s my turn! – No way, not in any way. The young man did not want to call Johnny a liar, but Johnny was definitely not telling the truth. The young man’s face was nearly red. Yes, Johnny was a man to make you angry. Johnny always got an egg while nobody else got one! The cook did nothing. He was just standing there in front of the table, watching the scene with interest. This gave the young man the opportunity to win simply by taking the egg out of the indecisive hand. A broad grin rapidly found its way through his face like a new main road. Jovially he patted on Johnny’s back. The loser had to fight hard again – now to bite back the cough that felt urged to arise out of that patting. Sit with us Stefan, said the winner, take a seat here Stefan, said Johnny. Good morning, Stefan. – This was Paddy’s voice. – Look at him! His name is Stefan. He’s from Austria. He came over for a visit. And he chose Peamount. He chose here of all places. He didn’t choose the worst hotel, did he. How many toasts Stefan, by the way.
One toast, thank you.
Not two toasts Stefan, Paddy asked.
I think one is enough. I’m not well.
You’ll better have two, Stefan.
Paddy also accepted orders from other patients, then he went over to the long toaster. In the morning his nose was grey and not red. His nose was chameleon. Only one more toast for Johnny. The toaster is not the Virgin Mary who can put an indefinite number of devouts (or toasts) under her coat to protect them there against the evil. The young man however somehow managed to order two toasts.
I am hungry, Stefan. The egg lay in front of him, naked. Having lost its skin it was damping helplessly.
Light or brown, Stefan?
Paddy had pushed back the lever and now the toasts were hanging there up in the humid air of the big kitchen. That’s too light, isn’t it Stefan?
Yes, that’s too light.
Medium for me, said Johnny. For me too, another voice said.
All right. Paddy pulled again and all the toasts disappeared again into the stomach of the metallic machine. Here and there people shouted for more hard-boiled eggs, but sorry folks. Tomorrow there’ll be eggs again, said the cook. The young man was smirking.
D’you want my hard-boiled egg, Stefan?
Oh no, thanks.
His black moustache was laughing at me. Take that egg Stefan, you can have it.
Thank you, no.
Take it Stefan, said somebody from another table. Hard-boiled eggs are hard to get.
No, thank you. I did not like the young man and I did not want to take anything from him. But Paddy was nice. Unless he started speaking about Hitler.
Hitler was a great man, wasn’t he Stefan.
No, he wasn’t.
Oh he was Stefan, he was a great man indeed! That’s what he was, a great man! And you’re his son.
What?
Stefan is the son of Hitler.
Laughter. I was much too tired. I felt much too sick to say something in reply to that. I could not counter, I was not quick at repartee.
Here’s your toast, Stefan. Paddy’s laughter was jumping into my face. He showed the fuckin’ Brits just how it was done, your father.
But he was a loser, said the young man, still smirking.
Thank God. I tried to say it in a deep and serious voice. I tried to load the two words with a heavy – load. I tried to sound like an existentialist philosopher. No, I tried to sound like a priest. Thank God, I mumbled again, even darker than before. Not very quick at repartee.
Porridge or flakes, Stefan? There she was again, our nurse. Porridge for me, said the young man. He winked at me conspiratorially, then he laughed at us all. Lots of porridge.
You’ve had your porridge already.
But Johnny was still waiting for his porridge. I want some porridge, too! He was shouting again. I want my porridge!
Flakes please, I said.
What? Flakes? Johnny looked at me as if I had just spit into his porridge that was not even there.
You should eat porridge Stefan, said Paddy while watching me slowly eating my flakes. That makes you strong. It gives strength to the whole nation. Forget about these flakes. Even Hitler always had his porridge.
I couldn’t help it, I had to laugh.
Hitler loved porridge, he always had a big bowl of porridge for breakfast. And another big bowl after that big bowl. Each and every morning. Until he died. He could have been an Irishman, your Hitler.
That would not have been very nice for the Irish. It’s me again, strikingly quick at repartee.
Oh, if he had been an Irishman, he would have shown the fuckin’ Brits just how it’s really done! As an Irishman, he would have shown them much better than he did as a German. We are still at war Stefan, you know.
No, I don’t.
Paddy’s eyes were moving rapidly. You know nothing, Stefan! Ireland is still making war on the Brits. Right until the whole island is free. Each and every tiny little spot of it. Right until the last fuckin’ Brit has gone. They always helped us, the Germans. They were always on our side. They would always give us guns when nobody else would. We won’t forget that, Stefan.
Who is we?
It’s us, of course. The Irish. Everybody here excepting you. But don’t worry. In case of a breakfast together with an Austrian we’re also between friends. They were a great help, too, these Austrians. They sent us Hitler.
Who is us now?
The world, Stefan. The world, Great Germany and Small Britain. Oh yes, they loved their Hitler, these Germans.
You can’t say it like that.
Oh yes, they loved their Hitler, Stefan. They loved him more than anything in the world. They loved him exactly as much as he loved his porridge, his daily porridge. They did anything for him and he did anything to get his porridge. He loved porridge, Stefan, I can tell you. Oh yes. Ireland is beautiful, isn’t it Stefan?
Yes, it’s beautiful.
Paddy laughed at me. Well, I’d say it’s a fuckin’ green country.
Motherfuckin’ green, agreed the young man.
So why did you come to the most fuckin’ place in the whole country, Stefan? Paddy bit into his toast. To fuckin’ Peamount!
I’m only here for a test.
Laughter. All right. What was it like, your first test, Stefan? The young man smirked at me.
I don’t know.
Laughter. Did the nurse already test you, he added. Did you test her, Stefan? That’s what she’s waiting for. You know, Stefan -
The young man was interrupted by Paddy: Did you have an X-ray yet, Stefan?
No, an X-ray has already been made in the other hospital. In the hospital where I was before. And there, they realized it.
They realized what, Stefan?
That I have TB.
I see Stefan. Laughter. Not that you’re pregnant. Laughter.
You’ll have a few more X-rays here, Stefan. Laughter.
No, I won’t.
Why not, Stefan?
X-rays are not good for you because of the radiation.
Laughter. You have fuckin’ TB, Stefan.
Yes, I know.
There you are, Stefan! And TB-men have X-rays. Twice a week.
What? No. No, that’s not true. I don’t believe you.
Do I look as if I was lying to you, Stefan?
Look at me, Stefan! D’you think that all the X-rays were bad for me? X-rays are always fun, I tell you. The young man is grinning. It’s great fun, Stefan. He winks at me. They love it, these nurses. When a man undresses a little bit. He winks again. The nurses are from the countryside, all of them. So they take every opportunity. They make the most of every opportunity. And you have to do it as well, Stefan -
The young man’s statement was on the verge of turning into a speech. But it couldn’t. Suddenly, we all had to turn around. Somebody at the last table started coughing. It was Mícheál, the man who loved nothing more than listening to his Irish-speaking radio station. What a nice fit of coughing! A tickling in the throat for everybody here who was watching him. Who had TB, just like him. Everything was flying to everywhere, it even reached our table. Everything? Everything was everything inside him, inside his mouth, inside his gullet. And it was the white and yellow scum that came from his lungs.
The young man covered his egg with his open hand. He was still grinning. And it was still there, waiting to be swallowed by him. He would never stop grinning. Nobody said anything. And after four or five minutes, the fit was finished. Everybody cheered up again. But I felt unable to talk now. Now I was really slow at repartee. I was so afraid of the same thing happening to me. Of me having a coughing-fit like the man who loved his Irish radio. Of me spreading my flakes all over the tables. No, I did not want to move my tongue now. I did not want to tickle my throat. What a terrible thing to happen. To be forced to lose control. And everybody’s watching you. A nurse was cleaning Mícheál’s table while the colour of his head was slowly changing from red into white again. Some of the others also cleaned their table a bit, their plates and their cups, using their handkerchiefs. If they had one. Everybody was laughing. That was a fit. Fits happened. Fits were fits. Sister, it’s time now for Stefan to have an X-ray, isn’t it?
No, tomorrow it’s Stefan’s turn. Today it’s impossible. But don’t forget that you’ll have an X-ray today, Paddy.
That’s unbelievable, Sister! The young man was laughing at her. It’s again Paddy’s turn, isn’t it. It’s always Paddy’s turn. X-rays are always for Paddy, aren’t they? His eyes sent a wink across the tables. Paddy is always a lucky man, isn’t he!
Why should I have an X-ray? Now I could talk again. As everybody knows, anger and indignation are the best cure for fear.
I don’t know why, Stefan. You’ll have to ask the doctor.
When will the doctor come to see me?
The next round is on Tuesday.
It was Thursday.
I want to talk to my doctor before having an X-ray.
That’s not possible, Stefan.
Why should it be impossible? What was the nun talking about? Peamount was a hospital, wasn’t it? All right. And in hospitals, you usually find doctors as well, don’t you? Not only patients.
That’s right, Stefan, but there is only one round a week. Once a week the doctor comes to see you, Stefan. And then he decides what to do. With you.
I was told that I’ll only be here for one or two days.
The doctor will decide on Tuesday.
But there is a doctor here?
An emergency doctor, Stefan. A doctor on emergency call. But you are not a case of emergency, Stefan. So he’s not the right doctor for you. And only the right doctor can decide how many pills you need. It’s the same thing for everybody here. The doctor makes the decisions. You won’t get an extra treatment here, Stefan. This is a hospital and not a hotel.
Not a hotel? The young man repeated her last words, turning them into a question. He was laughing.
But there is a doctor here?
In case of emergency, yes. I told you already.
I want to talk to him.
He only comes in case of emergency.
You better finish your breakfast now, Stefan. Paddy’s voice was surprisingly serious and peaceful. Its sound had changed completely.
That’s right, Stefan, your toast is getting cold. And the nun left us, not without giving me a reproachful look.
The fuckin’ nuns are always right, Stefan. Paddy’s voice was still soft. The young man’s grin seemed to be serene now. You know Stefan – you know who tells them what to do with you. His index finger is pointing to our ceiling. It is brown rather than white. Ornamented with stains of dampness. No, he does not mean the ceiling. He means heaven.
I don’t know what to do. Paddy is cleaning his glasses. I don’t know what to say. I am watching him. He is using the table-cloth. I am staring into the air. I am trying to think. What am I supposed to do now? What can I do?
Eat up your fuckin’ flakes now, Stefan, stop thinking about the fuckin’ nuns! His voice becomes soft again: It’s of no use anyway. You can’t have it your way here. They’ll keep you in here for a good while. But you’ll soon be hungry again if you don’t eat your flakes now. You won’t get your lunch until twelve o’clock. You can refuse your father’s porridge. But don’t refuse your flakes.
Paddy is my father, not Hitler. Yes, I know Paddy means it well. The tip of his nose is still grey, not red yet. It is furrowed with holes that create a mysterious pattern. In the morning-sun it seems to be alive – to live a life of it’s own. It is very hard for the sunlight to come inside, to pay us a visit. The windows are dirty. We don’t want the sunlight in here, it is … pungent.
But no. No! I don’t want to stay here that long.
I am not hungry any more, I mumbled. I want them to do this fuckin’ test now! I want to see the doctor.
Stefan, don’t pick a quarrel with the fuckin’ nuns. Paddy looks at me firmly, his voice is impressive. The glasses are sitting on their nose again.
[...]
