Klbko Vretenic: Den of Vipers

DEN of

VIPERS

Ludovit Pavlo, M.D.

Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, Inc Wauconda, Illinois.

Editors Lucy Bednar and Patrick Romane English Translation by Tatiana Jarosova, Ph.D. Cover Design & Typography Viera Vassova

Den of Vipers Translation of

Klbko vreteníc

Ludovit Pavlo, M.D. © 2005 Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, Inc. 1000 Brown Street Wauconda, IL 60084 USA www.bolchazy.com

Printed in the United States of America

2005 ISBN 0-86516-594-7 ———————————————————————————————————— Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Pavlo, Ludovít, 1925[Klbko vreteníc. English] Den of vipers / Ludovit Pavlo.-- 1st ed. p. cm. ISBN 0-86516-594-7 I. Title. PG5439.26.A95K5913 2005 2005000155

Preface

I

n the human race there is a constant, on-going battle between Good and Evil. There are wars of liberation, wars for survival, wars among nations and social ideologies.“War never again” was heard from the leaders of victorious allies, but the same day, the day when people of good will all over the world were celebrating a longdesired peace, yes, that same day the Cold War began. Yesterday’s victorious allies had become today’s bitter enemies. Under the cover of peace, the dark forces of yesterday’s allies were creating the nucleus for the next and final confrontation. The time for espionage and counterespionage had begun, when human lives were swept off chessboard of life, removed quietly and without fanfare. A great number of Soviet agents had entered the United States. Their task was to acquire information on the production

technologies of the most recent military systems and to undermine the foundations of American freedom and democracy by all possible means. The Soviet Union, intoxicated by its victory over fascism and its possession of the secrets of nuclear weapon production, made it very clear to the West that it wanted to initiate a global revolution in which capitalism would be destroyed and power would be taken by the proletariat, naturally under the leadership of the Soviet communists. Between 1948 and 1950 American counterintelligence used Venona decryptions to identify many Soviet spies, but of the 349 Americans revealed as having covert ties to Soviet intelligence agencies, less than half could be identified by their real names, and nearly 200 remained hidden behind cover names. The skill and perseverance of the Venona code-breakers led the U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) and British counterintelligence (M15) to the atomic spy Klaus Fuchs. Venona documents unmistakably identified Julius Rosenberg as the head of a Soviet spy ring, and David Greenglass, his brother-in-law, as a Soviet source at the secret atomic bomb facility at Los Alamos, New Mexico. Leads from decrypted telegrams exposed the senior British diplomat Donald McLean as a major spy in the British Embassy in Washington and precipitated his flight to the Soviet Union, along with his fellow diplomat and spy Guy Burgess. The arrest and prosecution of such spies as Judith Coplon, Robert Soblen, and Jack Soble was possible because American intelligence was able to read Soviet reports about their activities. The charges by the former Soviet spy Elizabeth Bentley that several dozen midlevel government officials, mostly secret Communists, had assisted

Soviet intelligence were corroborated in Venona documents and assured American authorities of her veracity. By 1947, Morros, swept up by patriotism and worried that he might be exposed, went to the FBI, revealing all he knew about the Soble ring. The Bureau asked him to become a counterspy and he accepted, providing the FBI with all he knew. In the 1950s, when my family and I arrived in the USA, espionage and counterespionage were commonplace, and a large hospital like the one I describe in my book was no exception to this rule. And there it was, dear reader, where my novel Den of Vipers took place. The members of the ring were later indicted or arrested in 1957, with Morros appearing in court to witness against them. Jacob Albam, Jack Soble, and his Russian-born wife, Myra Soble were sent to prison. Robert Soblen was convicted of espionage. While out on bail he fled to Israel but was deported back to the U.S.A. While stopping over in England, he committed suicide. If the stories of the characters in this book remind you of the fate of some real people, it is not coincidental.

Connecticut, Fall 2004 Ludovit Pavlo, M.D.

Chapter I

D

r. Lou Fox had finished reading the papers that had been delivered from Bellevue in the afternoon’s mail. He had read the case history very carefully, word by word, line by line, to the last period after the last word. He hardly believed that there was a blank space, any more words, after that period. Once more, he stared at the first page, then at the last page, again at the last period. He did not get up; he stayed seated. He closed his eyes and started thinking, wondering what could have been the proverbial last straw that caused the woman, whose case history was before him, to collapse mentally and fall headlong into the hard, unreal, distant world of disillusion. A week ago she appeared as a happy, vivacious, and gracious person. A first-class singer, she inspired her audiences. Her velvety voice would soar from the stage to enthusiastic connoisseurs and

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drove her many fans to euphoria. Her voice resonated with both the sublime and basic yearnings of people and fascinated them with its infinite beauty. Dr. Fox could not pull himself from out of his chair. He read the report again. After a while, he stood up, reached for the telephone and called the head nurse on the second floor. After two rings, he heard her gentle voice. “Nurse Schmidt? This is Dr. Fox. I am on my way to the second floor. I need two nurses to assist me. I would like to examine a new patient. I want you to be there, too. It’s a very unusual case.” “Certainly, I will be there.” “Thank you,” said Dr. Fox and hung up the phone. He remained standing, pondering the mystery of life. He chased away gloomy thoughts and took a step toward the door. He unlocked it, then locked it, and started walking downstairs. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself. “Locking and unlocking doors all the time, so many times, and with such a huge key? It’s as big and as heavy as if it were made of lead. You could hit somebody over the head with it and seriously cripple him. But rules are rules, they have to be observed.” Dr. Fox looked at the giant key, unlocked the door, and locked it again. He reached the hallway where the head nurse was already waiting for him. “As you can see, it’s difficult for me to get used to the role of a psychiatric doctor in this huge hospital.” “You are the new resident doctor, aren’t you, Dr. Fox?” Not waiting for his answer, she continued, “We have over ten

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thousand patients here. For those who are severely ill there is the Department of Internal Surgery Building. It is a modern, well-equipped department with two internal specialists and two surgeons, an X-ray, laboratory, and an operating room. As you can tell, we are self-sufficient here. New York’s Bellevue Hospital regularly sends us busloads of mentally ill patients in acute condition twice a week. Once they arrive, we examine them, perform lumbar punction, measure the cerebrospinal liquid pressure, draw two vials for analysis, check their neurological responses, determine the diagnosis, and devise a treatment plan. It is completely different from what you were accustomed to. Don’t worry, you will get used to it. You need to have an understanding of mentally ill patients. They live in their own world, their own reality. Only when you understand them will you be able to successfully treat them.” She added jokingly, “Only a fool understands another fool.” “Thank you for the orientation lecture, Nurse Schmidt. I would like to hear more, but I have to examine a new patient,” he said sulkily. They entered the room. A classic beauty was in bed, lying completely immobile, her face as if made of marble, gorgeous long hair, eyes focused at a distant object. “I am here to examine you.” No answer. She remained immobile. She did not seem to breathe at all. After about a minute, she responded “Thank you!” in a strong, explosive voice. “Eva, bend your head and touch your chest with your chin, will you?”

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No answer. After a minute, she again responded with an explosive voice, as if it were coming from the grave. “Yes!” The nurse bent the patient’s head, so that her chin touched her chest. The patient remained as if completely frozen. Shivers crept up Dr. Fox’s spine. He had never seen anything like this before. He lifted her long, raven black hair and spotted a nest of lice. Her hair crawled with them, and he felt as if he had just uncovered an anthill. Together with the nurse, Dr. Fox tried to pull the patient to her feet. She stood as rigid as a marble statue. Dr. Lou Fox took her hand and bent her right arm. After some strong resistance, her elbow gave way, but the arm remained in an unchanged position. She answered all the questions with a one-minute delay, as if she were far away, not with them. They put her back to bed. Once more, Dr. Fox examined her lungs, heart, abdomen, her entire body. They then covered her up to her ears with a blanket. Dr. Fox leaned over and injected some nutrition. She showed no reaction to the stab of the thick needle. “Tomorrow we will present her in the Round. Thank you, Nurse.” “Nurse Lucia,” she added with a smile.

Chapter II

D

r. Fox left the same way he had come, still thinking about the unusual case. He closed the door of his office, sat at his desk, and began taking notes from his medical textbooks, looking for everything connected with catatonic schizophrenia. Although he had heard about this illness from lectures and read about it in professional literature, what he saw was new to him. Around 5 o’clock in the evening he had enough notes to present the case to his colleagues the following day. Dr. Fox looked around his office again. Everything seemed to be fine. He leaned over his gray-tinted desk and reached for the notes. Then, with keys in his hands, he turned off the light. As he was about to grab the doorknob, he looked out of the window. Snow blew hard across the glass.

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The lights shone dimly through the heavy snowfall. He locked the door and moved towards the exit, walking through a long, broad hallway with a steel door at its end. Stopping in front of the door, he took the large key out of his pocket and looked around to make sure no one was following him. He then quickly opened and closed the door again. He checked to see if it was securely locked and started walking down the stairs. At the exit he met a colleague. “I am Dr. Giovanni Bucci,” said the man as he reached out his hand. “My name is Dr. Lou Fox. Lou Fox, the new resident,” he said, shaking his colleague’s hand good-naturedly. “Going home?” “No, I have the night shift tonight. I’m on my way to the cafeteria. Have a pleasant evening!” “The same to you. With luck you’ll have an easy night, especially if it keeps snowing like this.” Dr. Lou Fox turned up the collar of his winter coat and, trudging through the snow, headed for the hospital cafeteria. In front of the entrance door he shook the snow off his coat and shoes and entered the building. It was pleasantly warm there. On both the left and right sides were corridors leading to the apartments of the doctors who lived there. In front of him Dr. Fox saw a large door. “This must be the cafeteria,” he thought. He opened the door and slowly entered the room. The curious eyes of all present turned towards him, and the aroma of the Christmas tree standing in the corner of the dining hall washed over

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him. As he looked into the shining balls on the tree, he was reminded of the wonderful times of his childhood, when the dreams of children’s souls merge with reality. Barefoot, nearly naked angels beckoned him to join them on their way to Bethlehem and sing “Glory to God in the Highest!” He would have remained absorbed in his sweet memories longer if it were not for a redhead sitting at the table where a vacant chair was waiting for him. He shook away his daydreaming and jumped back into reality and looked around. All the tables were taken except for the one in the middle of the hall. A redhead in her fifties was sitting there. When she saw him, she stood up and said, “You must be our new doctor!” She spoke with a penetrating voice and an accent reminding him of the Bronx. “You guessed right. I am Dr. Lou Fox.” “I am Dr. Miriam Kleinholz.” Miriam was very talkative and friendly. She beamed with good heartedness. Maybe it was to cover up her outspoken personality. She wore her heart on her sleeve. Enthusiastically, she began to introduce him to the people sitting around the table. “This is Father McCormick, the Catholic priest for our patients. A bright man, and well experienced in psychiatry. He knows more about the mental state of madmen than any expert. He’s a good and wise man!” The priest smiled quietly. Father McCormick was not the kind of person who smiled indiscriminately. He stood up, shook the new doctor’s hand, and sat down. Dr. Fox

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looked at the Father more closely. He saw a tall man in his forties with a high forehead, a firm look, and thin lips. A deep furrow connected the center of his nose to the center of his upper lip, considered to be a sign of a highly intelligent person. His thin lips betrayed his reserved yet strict nature. He was objective and reticent. His blue eyes, however, beamed with warmth and goodness. One could see through his eyes to the core of his noble and pure soul. Dr. Lou Fox recognized this person who was in front of him. The firm and friendly handshake revealed that they had met before. But where? Where indeed? He racked his brain, but in vain. This did not escape the attention of another colleague, who watched them closely, observing every move and every change in their facial expressions. He was good at reading faces and gestures. Dr. Fox thought, “This man can read people’s thoughts, classify them and record it in a small notebook in his memory. Nothing goes unnoticed, nothing escapes him.” The man finished his chewing quietly, then stood up, and introduced himself in a clear voice. “Robert Eichelmann,” he said stretching out his hand to Fox. Lou felt the hardness of his hand and noted his concealed military moves and stiff face. “What a difference between the two of us, two different worlds,” Lou Fox thought. Robert took his seat again and gazed into the distance. He had little interest in small talk at the table, although he did pay some attention to it just to be sure he would not

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miss anything important. This introduction ceremony took his attention away from thoughts about his younger brother Jack, who was serving time in the infamous Sing-Sing prison on the other bank of the Hudson River.

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Chapter III

T

he Hudson, the powerful Hudson River. Three times a week, Robert drove through the West Side of Manhattan, along the river, to his private practice. There he had his selected clientele of comrades, psychopaths, and lunatics, who had become obsessed with an ideology for which they were willing to sacrifice and, if need be, to die. In his mind, Robert drove up the Hudson River, near Tarrytown. There, on the river, stood a Chevrolet plant. Cars are manufactured there on an assembly line. Each worker knows only how to do what he is supposed to do and will only do what is necessary. He then pushes a button, and the car moves to his colleague. His co-worker will do what he is pre-programmed to do; then he also pushes a button. And so it goes, from one worker to another. At the beginning, there

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was just a car frame; in the end there is a completed car. In assembly line production, people work day and night, in three shifts. During World War II, car production was turned into airplane production, and so the mass production continued. True, it was more complicated getting pilots. Pilots could not be produced on an assembly line. They were taught how to take off and how to land, but once in the air they were only able to follow their flight commander, who was an experienced pilot. He was the one who gave orders to push the button and drop the bombs on the designated target. The Germans figured this out in a short time and always aimed for the commander’s plane. Thoughts like these whirled through Robert’s head. In his mind, he looked to his right, at the hill called Sleepy Hollow, after a Halloween legend. He shivered a little at these memories from his childhood. He drove through North Tarrytown. Between this cozy little town and Ossining Township, the huge brick building of the Phelps Memorial Hospital protruded from among the trees. The hospital was built by Rockefeller and was equipped with state-of-the-art technology. Rockefeller’s castle towers over Tarrytown. In his mind, Robert continued farther, all the way to the famous Sing-Sing prison. There, at the gate, he stopped and searched his conscience. “I should be behind those walls, not my brother. My brother Jack has been there for 10 years. Jack, poor fellow! I think about you often. Everything is going according to our plans. I must be careful. I am being followed, always, all the time. The other day I was driving along the West Side and they

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were behind me. I turned into side streets, and they did the same. I stopped and they stopped, too. I became infuriated! I got out of the car, approached them, and screamed in anger, ‘Up to now you’ve been following me. Now, you go first, and I will follow you.’ They pretended that they did not know what I was talking about. This is truly a beautiful place. Everything is green. In the back, there is the wide, mighty Hudson River with U.S. submarines sitting lazily at its bottom like fish. During WWII, they would wait there for the order to put out to sea and attack their prey. I know it’s no vacation spending so many years behind bars, Jack. Stay strong, don’t give up, because the alternative is even worse, and the assigned task has to be carried out to its completion. We are serving them so that our widespread family could live abroad in safety, free from iron chains. Jack, we are serving ideas that will win, because they must win. I am sure that they are interrogating you every week, again and again. Don’t give anything away; otherwise, we will be in trouble. We will all be in big trouble! Remember the alliance. Do you know what it means to breach, to betray the agreement? Yes, you have to suffer, even though you suffer unjustly. Please, be strong, dear brother Jack. Ten years have passed since the gates at Sing-Sing closed behind you. You still have twice as long to endure. Hold on, you are suffering on our behalf, on behalf of a noble cause.” He came back from his gloomy thoughts and looked around, wondering if he had not been thinking aloud. People

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around him did not seem to notice anything. They were used to seeing Robert silent. He always spoke little and his answers were restrained and brief. Those around the table were discussing the weather, a favorite topic. Suddenly, Robert stood up and said good night to everybody, especially to Dr. Fox, wishing him a quiet night shift. Then stepping out of the cafeteria, he trudged through the snow towards his home. After a short while, Dr. Kleinholz, who remained sitting at the table with Dr. Fox and Father McCormick, broke the silence. She could not keep silent any longer. Silence irritated her. “Robert is a strange character, a loner. Not very talkative.” “He must be saving his words for his wife, Nina,” said McCormick. “He doesn’t communicate with her either. They are not seen together very often. It’s rumored that they are going to separate,” added Miriam. Lou would have liked to stay with them longer to find out more, but he could not. “Dr. Fox, you are asked to go immediately to building 18,” said the nurse who had taken the message and came to his table to deliver it. He stood up, put on his coat and left the cafeteria building.

Chapter IV

S

now was falling continuously, and Dr. Eichelmann’s footsteps were already completely covered. Dr. Lou Fox plowed slowly through deep snow. He looked at the number of the building. Yes, it was eighteen. He rang the doorbell. A nurse on duty opened the door and led him to a patient who was bleeding from a wrist wound. The patient had tried to cut his veins. Fortunately, the cut was only superficial. Within a few minutes Dr. Fox had sutured the patient’s left wrist and dressed it with a thick bandage. “Why did you do that, John?” “My wife has left me. She’s living with another man and isn’t taking care of our children.” “You’re drunk. You can hardly stand up straight on your feet. Where did you get the liquor?”

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The guard interrupted, “Doctor, this building is for chronic alcoholics. They work in the field and have bottles of liquor buried in the soil. People sympathize with one another here and don’t say anything. They like the asylum better than the outside world. John fell into depression and despair. He’ll sober up and everything will be OK again. He’ll forget. That’s life. It’s not fair. With a battleaxe like John has for a wife, he’s got only two options: to hang himself or become an alcoholic. The latter is easier. She’s ruined his life. If only he knew what he was marrying beforehand.” Dr. Fox looked at the nametag above the guard’s chest pocket. “George, you’re unhappily married, aren’t you?” “Was unhappily married, Doc. One has to rise above the situation, there’s no other way. What can I do, kill her? She’s not worth it. There were two other men after me. She cleaned us out. We were like corn on a cob. She ate the corn and threw away the cob.” They understood each other. Dr. Fox patted George on the shoulder. He shook his hand firmly and they each went their own way, one went to bed and the other left the building. It was not snowing anymore. Here and there a snowflake fell. There was no wind. Silence fell over the countryside blanketed by snow. The hospital’s inhabitants lived in their own worlds, full of wonders. These inner worlds of fable made the outer world surreal. One spoke with the Virgin Mary, another envisioned a barefoot woman, wearing a bikini, with long red nails on her fingers and toes. A third believed he was

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Jesus Christ himself, a fourth that he was Napoleon. Each of them lived in his own world. Lou came to his room, tired and his head full of impressions. He had more than enough for the first day in an unfamiliar field of medicine. He collapsed onto his bed and fell into a deep sleep. He awoke the next morning at seven, washed himself, dressed, and ate breakfast, all very quickly. At eight he was back in the ward. He examined his catatonic female patient, read through her chart twice so as not to get confused at the presentation, and left for the main building where all lectures and meetings were held. Shortly before ten, the lecture hall was buzzing with noise and discussion. Within 15 minutes the hall was packed with doctors. They were coming from all directions. Their conversations were loud, one smarter than another. In a short time, all the seats were filled. At ten sharp, the Director of the Institute stood up, approached the front table, and looked around at all those present. At that moment, as if on command, silence fell in the hall. “Dr. Lou Fox, our new colleague, will present the first case.” Dr. Lou Fox stood up, came to the front table and carefully read aloud the case history. As soon as he finished reading, a statuesque attractive young woman was brought into the hall. The Head of the Women’s Reception Department stood up and demonstrated this interesting case of catatonia. Dr. Johnson, an elderly, experienced psychiatrist, described the mental condition in detail and promised that he would

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explain the psychodynamics of this case next time. An open debate followed the fascinating case and there was no end to the exchange of opinions. Free associations sprouted like mushrooms after the rain. Everybody had his truth, his explanation of the case. They compared it to the previously presented case of an eighteen-year-old patient in a catatonic condition. The girl responded to the sound of music by jumping like a little puppy on its hind legs. Lower tones produced lower jumps; higher tones produced higher jumps. The doctors present tried to establish a common denominator. Around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, Dr. Fox left for the nurses’ station. Dr. Johnson was already waiting for him there. He said dryly, “I’ve been waiting for you, let’s go.” Then he nodded at the station nurse. She grabbed the prepared material and they left for the patients’ ward. The nurse unwrapped the necessary sterile instruments and put sterile gloves on Dr. Johnson’s hands. He opened a 10 ml vial of sodium amythol and sucked the contents into a syringe. He then sterilized an area on the patient’s right forearm, found the vein, and plunged the syringe into the skin. Then he wormed his way through the sub dermal fat and carefully pricked the syringe into the vein. The patient did not move. Her face was like a mask. Dr. Johnson cautiously pushed the thick syringe deeper into the vein, stabilized it, and tied the entire arm to the board, so that the patient could not bend her arm. Watching her facial expressions, her breathing, and heartbeat, Johnson started to slowly inject the contents of the syringe into the vein. After about 1.5 ml of the contents had been injected, the

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patient started to flutter her eyelashes and her breathing accelerated. Her heart began to beat more rapidly. “Where am I?” she finally asked. “In a hospital,” the nurse answered. “And who are you?” “Dr. Johnson,” the doctor answered. “When was the last time you were at Radio City Music Hall?” he asked. “Yesterday,” she responded. “What was the day?” “Tuesday.” “Tuesday…and what was the date?” “November 17, 1957.” “Did you go home after the performance?” The patient started to breathe heavily and her eyes swelled with tears. “After the performance you went….” “No. No, let me be,” she started screaming, slapping and kicking him. Dr. Johnson skillfully injected the remainder of the amythol, and the patient passed into a deep sleep. Her breathing became calm and steady. “That’s enough for today,” he said quietly and pulled the syringe out of the patient’s arm. He sterilized the area again and carefully bandaged the forearm. He disposed of his gloves and left the ward with Fox. They walked down the hallway. “Go home, colleague. You had a night shift, and it is only your second day in a new field of medical science. You must be tired,” said Johnson warmly.

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He shook Lou’s hand and looked at him in a fatherly way. “I will see you tomorrow,” he waved farewell to Dr. Fox.

Chapter V

H

alf a year’s training in the Women’s Unit of the Psychiatric Clinic was required of each doctor. Older psychiatric colleagues were extremely helpful. It was a friendly environment for training future specialists in this field of medical science. Each lecture broadened the horizon of the doctors’ knowledge. There was a lot of clinical material. In addition to the strange and unusual clinical cases presented each Wednesday morning, there were mandatory courses on neurology and hypnosis every Friday. These were held in the Psychiatric and Neurological Institute in Manhattan, near the George Washington Bridge. Friday lectures were an all-day affair, and Dr. Lou Fox drank in every word. He observed how he gradually changed, gaining new knowledge, like a snowball that gets bigger and bigger as it rolls. It was as if his

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brain were growing in every direction. Dr. Fox was no longer only a general practitioner, he was becoming a psychiatrist, a master of mental processes. He tried to understand normal and abnormal manifestations, and explain the relationship between them. Dr. Johnson fascinated him with his knowledge. He could analyze difficult, complicated cases with ease. Johnson was an expert in existentialism and had written several books on the subject. However, he gave the impression of being an odd fellow, as if he himself needed psychiatric help. At the beginning, Lou was afraid of him; he felt uncomfortable in his presence. He felt as if Dr. Johnson wanted to compress his big heart into a small one and Lou was afraid that it would suffocate. In Lou’s eyes, Dr. Johnson was becoming a giant, like a genie released from a bottle. At the same time he, Dr. Lou Fox, was becoming smaller, shrinking into a hardly visible speck, into a dust grain that is easily blown away. When Johnson left, the small speck called Dr. Lou Fox again began to breathe fresh air. He inhaled again and again until he was bigger than ever before. It was no wonder then that one day he had the courage to ask an elderly, very nice gray-haired secretary, “Isn’t Dr. Johnson a little…?” and motioned a little circle above his right ear. The secretary answered with a smile, “This is nothing. The previous head doctor used to talk to trees.” Johnson was Johnson. On Wednesday he presented Eva’s condition and her psychodynamics so well that all his colleagues listened, their mouths agape. Dr. Lou Fox spent hours with Eva, who was slowly recovering from her

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catatonic condition. She now spoke about herself, her past, her dependence on her mother and her mother’s dominating nature, about her husband and the forced, unhappy marriage that drove her to a nervous breakdown. At the beginning, Eva’s mother often came to visit her at the hospital, but even there she wanted to run Eva’s life. After each visit, Eva’s condition always deteriorated. Eva’s mother was therefore forbidden to see her. Dr. Lou Fox coordinated his patient’s conversations, her meetings, and her therapy process, of course, under the supervision of his boss whose wisdom he admired. In the course of time, Dr. Johnson became his role model. Days, weeks, and months passed and the number of Dr. Fox’s patients increased, occupying more and more of his time, leaving him less and less time. Three months after his arrival, an office on the second floor was assigned to him, allowing patients to visit him freely, at any time. They could knock on his door and enter his office with all of their problems. Dr. Fox had night shifts more often. He was now substituting for other doctors to make more money. He had recently bought a new car, so he had to make the loan payments, and his base salary was relatively low. More than one hundred and twenty doctors, his new colleagues, quickly became accustomed to his face. In the dining hall, which was reserved for them, he adapted to their company very well. He adjusted to the new place, blended in to it like a chameleon. As soon as he entered the dining hall, he headed for Father McCormick’s and Robert Eichelmann’s

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table. They consequently grew accustomed to his presence and Robert would even expect him at times. Indeed, Lou got used to their company, even to the somber McCormick. And Robert was glad that he did not have to suffer McCormick’s taciturnity alone. Nobody could say that McCormick was a bad or unpleasant companion. On the contrary. He was an intellectual and a good conversationalist. Even Robert had to admit that McCormick was a knowledgeable person, good at philosophy, history, medicine, and psychiatry. He was intimately familiar with the works of Sigmund Freud, and even more so with those of Adler and all the new voices in the field of medicine. But in truth, he was most familiar with the borders of moral philosophy, the strict, conservative Catholic, moral philosophy that never changed and never adapted with time or age, where evil was always evil. Moral philosophy has always remained the same. People were the ones who adapted and twisted it according to their needs, providing their own explanations and interpretations. The twisted explanation was often used as a “Band Aid” to cover one’s own guilty conscience. Robert often entered into sharp debates with McCormick. It could be expected that diamond cut diamond here. Father McCormick was a very hard diamond that cut Robert’s provocative “arguments,” tinted with Marxist-Leninist ideology and Communist moral philosophy. Sometimes Dr. Fox thought that the relationship between Robert and McCormick was like that of cat and dog. But there must have been some deeper connection.

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“Love and hate. That’s what it is,” thought Lou. He knew that hate is a continuation of love and a counter-pole of indifference. “The person who is indifferent has to bury love and put the cross with ‘Rest in Peace’ on the grave.” These were Lou’s thoughts as he watched Dr. Eichelmann. The latter was speaking convincingly and provocatively, using demagogic leftist arguments, as committed Marxists usually do. The priest continued eating. He did not seem to be fully attentive. He was calm. Dr. Eichelmann was spreading the doctrine of red moral philosophy so enthusiastically that his face turned red, as he obviously expected a response from the Father to his “arguments.” McCormick was chewing both his food and his colleague’s indigestible ideas. He swallowed the food, but not Eichelmann’s leftist demagogy. The philosophy, being indigestible, was thrown back in Eichelmann’s face, which had turned pale and lost all redness. Eichelmann looked under the table. He smiled and said, “James, you are right. The Marxist moral philosophy lies under the table.” McCormick smiled back, looked automatically under the table and mischievously retorted, “There is nothing there.” “You’re right, Robert. Red moral philosophy is not a philosophy. It serves only its goals. And its goals accept telling lies, stealing, and killing both people and their characters as moral. Anything that aids the Communist party is viewed as moral and the apparatchiks know that very well. What kind of moral philosophy is that anyway? What today is considered good and moral can tomorrow be viewed as bad and immoral.”

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Miriam approached their table. “Excuse me for being late, I had some work at the station.” She nodded to the waiters, signaling that she was there and ready for her dinner. “I’m glad nobody took my chair,” she said. “Everybody knows that that is Dr. Miriam Kleinholz’s chair,” said Robert, flattering her. “Thank you, Robert. What’s new?” “Nothing special,” answered Robert dryly. “And how about you?” he added politely. “I was running late because I wanted to finish up my work. I grabbed my coat, ready to leave, when Rabbi Glueck stopped me. He so angered me that I’m fuming. He’s a good man, but he always rubs me the wrong way. He meant well, but it ended badly. He should take care of his patients instead of trying to save my soul.” “Miriam, it’s been 20 years since the end of the war. You don’t have to hide anymore. You’re not being persecuted any longer. You are a Jewish girl, and you belong in a synagogue.” “It’s as if Rabbi Glueck didn’t know that I’m a doctor! I earned my medical degree in Rome and defended my thesis with honors. I worked as a physician in a hospital, but when I was needed I would operate on the Italian partisans in the mountains. I didn’t have any problem riding a horse to help the wounded. Here in the U.S., I not only validated my degree but also specialized in psychiatry. I am a recognized expert in the field now. I am not a naïve Jewish girl, as Rabbi Glueck thinks. Pope Pius XII saved many Jewish girls from

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Poland. He gave them the opportunity to study. I was one of them. He did it because of his love, his true love for his fellow man. After I received my medical degree and thought about my life and what the Catholic Church had given me and other persecuted people, I decided to convert. I am happy now, embraced by the Catholic Church. Since my arrival in the U.S., I have been sending $100 a year to Bishop Sheen for Catholic Missions. I told Rabbi Glueck that I was a staunch Roman Catholic, and that I would remain one. I’m glad that I converted and followed the advice of my predecessors. In keeping with the Christmas spirit I told him, ‘Glory be to God in the Highest and Peace to His People on Earth. I wish you peace of mind and let’s remain friends.’ Then we shook hands. The Rabbi patted me on my shoulder and added, ‘You’re right, Miriam.’ I smiled at him and said, ‘Shalom.’” Miriam finished talking and Robert, all excited, stood up and said, “Miriam, even if I am not practicing my Jewish religion, I am proud of you for following your convictions.” Father McCormick and Dr. Fox were silent witnesses to the drama. The rest of the evening passed cheerfully with discussions and exchange of ideas. After some time one after another left until only Fox and Eichelmann remained at the table. “May I call you Lou?” “Of course you can, Robert.” “I have been observing you. It’s obvious that you’ve had a few baptisms by fire,” continued Robert.

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“You’re right, Robert. Sometimes one gets into a mess by mere chance, but ultimately everyone is responsible for his own happiness. When he follows his own happiness, he does not mind overcoming obstacles. Quite the opposite, obstacles reinforce his commitment, making him stronger and more determined. Obstacles have a stimulating effect, driving one towards his goal. The bigger the obstacle, the sweeter the reward when one has the satisfaction and joy of reaching his goal.” “Lou,” Robert turned serious and began to think. After a while, he spoke again, but his words were muttered, rolling out one after another. His words were well measured and drenched with bitter tears, tears that do not run down the cheeks or remain where they were born, but slip through the mouth, down to a dry throat to wet the vocal cords so that they may produce a sound. “Lou, in your opinion, what is more important: family or nation?” “According to Judeo-Christian philosophy, family,” responded Lou. After some time, a saddened Robert broke the silence, “The price is disproportionately high sometimes.” One strikes the iron while it is hot, thought Lou and continued, “It depends on who is the subject of evaluation. Everybody has his price.” As Bismark the great German statesman of the 19th century said, “It depends only on the supply and demand.” Both fell silent. Robert broke the deep silence.

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“Our exchange of ideas has been like a balm to my soul. Let’s keep this to ourselves.” “OK, Robert. It’s already been forgotten. Good night,” said Lou. They shook hands and parted.

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Chapter VI

D

r. Lou Fox, or Foxie, as his colleagues now dubbed him, got used to his evening rounds, which became routine. He got used to the alley, full of trees, to the buildings, to the staff working the night shift. He began to feel as if he had become part of a team. He was comfortable around them, like feet in comfortable slippers, but he still could not get used to the office that had been recently assigned to him on the second floor. The door was all glass, as a matter of fact the entire wall was glass. The patients knew if he was there or not. What is more, they could see if a patient was in his office choking him and come and save him from a violent death. He shivered at the thought. What if one of his female patients began to hallucinate, mistaking him for the husband who had abandoned her for another woman? And is a head

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doctor infallible? You can trip on a level path, too, can’t you? That’s how Foxie meditated. He had even gotten used to the new nickname. However, every time he rested his eyes on the glass wall, something in his brain gave a squeak and then whispered quietly, “Foxie, you’ve gotten yourself into a mess, a real prickly mess that will sting you badly. You are going to be like a gold fish in a fishbowl in that office. This is the end of your privacy.” Nonetheless, after several days he did get used to the office and everything would have been fine if it had not been for Rose, the 50-year old, hot-blooded, fading beauty. She would not leave him alone. Sixteen times a day she would knock on his door to show him her nose, complaining that it curved to the left. Dr. Fox looked at her nose from all sides, but could not see anything unusual. All he saw was an ordinary nose. He assured her that her nose was not curved at all, yet despite many hours of discussion she would not be convinced. She insisted that it was curved. He was convinced that it was not; she that it was. Time was passing by, actually flying by. Then he would think that he had finally convinced her. When after two hours Rose finally left his office, he was happy that she believed him. However, less than half an hour later she was back, showing him her nose and how it “curved to the left.” This happened every day, day after day, week after week. Rose was completely disheartened. After all, what is she supposed to do with a curved nose? People are looking at it. It was terrible! Maybe plastic surgery would help. Where could she get the money though? Rose with her curved nose

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was driving Fox into a state of desperation. Three weeks had passed and Rose’s nose remained “curved.” Daffodils, forsythias, and snowdrops had bloomed and wilted, but the nose remained the same. Dr. Fox was at his wit’s end, so he approached Dr. Johnson for help. “OK, Dr. Fox, we’ll look at her together tomorrow at 3 o’clock.” The next day the woman with her curved nose was brought into an examination room. Dr. Johnson looked at her and asked a single question, “You’ve been secretly touching and enjoying the most sensitive area on your body down there, haven’t you?” “Yes, doctor, and I’m ashamed,” she responded sorrowfully. Dr. Johnson turned to the nurse and said, “Tomorrow afternoon we will start electric shocks. Dr. Fox will help me. The patient will get them daily for two weeks. You can take her back.” He then turned to Dr. Fox and said, “There is a link between the clitoris and the nose. That’s why the patient has all that remorse and depression, because the entire world can see on her curved nose that she sinned secretly and with pleasure. I will see you tomorrow at 3 o’clock.” The electric shocks were very helpful. Her depression and delusion disappeared. After two weeks when the white daffodils started to bloom, replacing the yellow ones, her nose straightened out, and a happy and cheerful Rose left the hospital. Spring was here and Rose was breathing the air, full of the aroma of awakened nature with her straight nose.

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Spring was here and all of nature was racing to show it was alive. Even his office on the second floor was tolerable, quiet, and pleasant. One day he found a pretty vase with a white narcissus and a card on his desk. He opened the card and read, “Thank you for everything. Rose.” A few days later, Dr. Fox met with Dr. Johnson and confessed that he was afraid to be in an office where patients had free access to their doctor at any time. Dr. Johnson laughed heartily and said, “Foxie, there are only quiet, harmless lunatics on that hallway. The hospital staff is forbidden to reveal this to new doctors.” Dr. Johnson and Dr. Fox smiled at each other. “So, how do you know they call me Foxie?” asked the surprised Lou. “Everybody here has a nickname. Yours is Foxie, mine is John. A car pulled up near them. Dr. Stanley stepped out of the car and turned to them. He shook their hands firmly. His behavior clearly indicated that he was the administrator in charge of the hospital, the doctors, and all the patients. He was treated with respect and regard by all and Dr. Fox understood why. The destinies of more than ten thousand patients, one hundred and twenty-seven doctors, and a number of staff people, let alone the best research department for psychotherapeutic drugs in the United States depended on him. Dr. Stanley spoke with them as a benevolent master does with his apprentices. His behavior was not that of a conceited person, but rather it was sober and pragmatic.

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He registered every word; nothing escaped his attention. He turned to Fox and said, “You are progressing well. The reports from your supervisors are very satisfactory; before long you will be transferred to the men’s unit. You will be notified. Keep up the good work.” Dr. Stanley shook his hand and left with Dr. Johnson. Lou Fox was left alone. Not completely alone, though. A lamppost stood behind him. The lamp was a silent witness to his meeting with Dr. Stanley. Fox had only met him twice; the first time was when he was hired. This was the second time. “That Stanley fellow knows a lot, but doesn’t say much,” he thought. “That rascal, he certainly knows how to play the game. The time will come when we will talk more. He never mentioned Dr. Izzel, his superior. He’s playing it well, very well indeed,” Lou mumbled under his breath to himself while walking to the afternoon’s lecture. Near the entrance, he was joined by a heavy man with a rugged face and a balding head with a thin wreath of chestnut brown hair. “We have not been introduced,” the man said and extended his hand. “Dr. Weinberger.” “My name is Dr. Lou Fox.” They shook hands warmly. “And aren’t you that famous Hollywood scriptwriter?” “Indeed, that’s me,” answered the fifty-year-old man smiling. Fox was flabbergasted. Is it really he or some lunatic or patient or hallucinating schizophrenic in a maniacal phase? Fox did not trust the man very much. “What is the number of your building? I’m sorry, I cannot hear very well,” said Dr. Fox.

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“My building is on Wooster Drive,” answered the prematurely aged man. “That’s the one where the doctors live,” he added, pulling the wallet from the back pocket of his pants and showing Lou his ID. “Excuse me, Dr. Weinberger, I was just joking,” added Fox. “Are you a writer, too?” asked the man with a lightened face. “No,” answered Dr. Fox. “I am a reader,” he added jokingly. “The lecture has already started,” whispered the writer into his ear. Fox looked at him and quietly said, “I am only deaf where certain things and certain people are concerned.”

Chapter VII

T

he lecture hall was crowded. Psychologists and nurses had also come. They all wanted to hear Dr. Alfred White, a well-known authority on the development of personality and dynamic functions in childhood. Although Freud’s classification was hypothetical, it was easy to understand the id-ego-superego structure, as well as the dynamic relationship among them. Dr. White, brilliantly and with illustrations, explained each of the three structures and emphasized that the classification only serves to improve understanding, the specific words and their interpretation being only symbolic. He expertly defined the id, a part of the energetic system of the psychic, as a common denominator in primitive biological impulses. It can be defined as the urge for physiological satisfaction regardless of the cost. Under

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this function fall sexuality, as well as aggressive behavior, fury, and swift outbursts of anger, all of which can arise when the ego is not well adjusted or is not functioning properly. In such cases the urges will appear either as fantasy or apparent reality. It must be stressed that it does not have anything in common with an adult person’s sexuality. After a thorough illustration of the id, the lecturer repeated that he would illustrate the ego and the superego in his following lectures. The audience was pleased and rewarded him with long applause. After that, while talking among themselves, people swarmed out of the door like bees out of a hive. The group of doctors became smaller and smaller until only two remained, Fox and Weinberger. They parted ways in front of the doctors’ building. Weinberger went to the Wooster Drive building, and Fox went to the cafeteria building. He opened the door and headed towards the dining hall. He found only Miriam there, who was very pleased to see him. She would have company at dinner. “I saw you walking to the lecture with Weinberger,” she said with curiosity. “He works in the Geriatric Department building. That building houses 2,000 patients. The first two floors are mine; the third and fourth floors are his responsibility. He takes care of his patients like a father, especially those who are terminally ill, mainly cancer patients with tumors. He follows them to the bathroom, checks their urine, takes all the necessary notes, and gives them shots to relieve their pain. He has been doing that tirelessly, several times a day for months. His last round is at 11 o’clock at night. Maybe

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he’s doing some kind of research or working on a script. I admire his compassionate heart, his self-sacrifice, and his love of science, but I’m not sure if it’s love of suffering men or if he is writing a new script for which he will get generous royalties. If it’s the latter, then it’d be love of self and his own pocket.” Miriam stopped talking because Robert entered the dining hall. As soon as he took his seat, Father McCormick showed up. Robert was in a good mood and immediately turned to Miriam, asking her merrily if she had signed the petition against the Sunday morning bells. “No, I have not signed it. The majority of patients are Catholics. They asked for the bells and enjoy them. Two or three hundred Jews cannot dictate to the majority. What kind of democracy is that?” “But this is a state institution,” said Robert. “Don’t the patients and their families pay taxes?” snapped Miriam. “I don’t want to talk about it and ruin my dinner,” she angrily finished the conversation. Robert only smirked and kept his thoughts to himself. Silly, immature ninny. It is not about the bells. There are two cutlets on the plate: one is small and “kosher” and the other is bigger but not so good. Choose the one you want. Forget the bells. At the beginning all they wanted was to have services in the hall. Now that’s not enough, they need bells so that they can wake up all the faithful on Sunday morning like an alarm clock and let them know that it’s time to go and converse with God and his representative on Earth. Of course,

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for liberals, those rotten liberals, it is against their grain. You will see when Communism comes! It will swallow up both the small and the big cutlet. That’s right, the big one with the church and the bell. Our little parish priest here is an old Irish fox. He is up to something. He has a plan. For now it’s just a bell, soon he will be collecting for a new church, and before we know it there will be a new church with a bell that will be calling the flock to church every Sunday morning. Don’t trust that Irishman! He is quiet, smiling, and smart. But he is also as cunning as a fox and knows what he wants. Don’t worry; our dear Party will handle both of them. This was what went through his mind. From time to time a cynical, even diabolical grin appeared on his face, especially when he recalled the slogan “The victory of Communism is certain.” During those blissful moments, Beria, Stalin’s righthand man, whom he adored and feared at the same time, was smiling at him and he thought it wiser to smile back so as not to antagonize him. Robert was smiling at him even though Beria had passed away five years ago, choked to death by his own comrades. Robert knew this, yet he was still afraid. He was afraid because Beria’s place had been taken by another comrade who might be even worse, and Robert might be in trouble. Bills have to be paid. There’s no such thing as a free ride. Time will show if the new boss is worse than the previous one. In the espionage business, taxes are paid in blood, in triplicate. The job that was ordered and paid for in advance has to be done, otherwise not only will I be in trouble, but my family, too. Chills ran up his spine when he

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thought of the thousands of poor wretches whose names and places of residence he had reported to his superiors when he was in charge of the International Refugee Agency in West Germany. As the head doctor there he had access to the registry. At night, those poor fellows were taken from each camp and thrown into sealed railroad cars. Freight trains took them all the way to the Black Sea, where they were put on a ship and transported to the Crimean peninsula. One after another, they were led out of the ship down a narrow gangway to shore, which they never reached because they were shot to death with machine guns and became food for hungry fish. He shuddered when he thought about it, but only for a moment. That was a long, long time ago. And, after all, he was only following orders. His love for his homeland and his own family drove him to it. He stopped thinking about it and smiled awkwardly, an expression of pain, of a big open wound deep in his heart. Miriam saw his cynical smile and asked, “Robert, are you making fun of me?” “Not at all, Miriam. Something came to my mind, that’s why I am smiling.” “I hope you are not hallucinating.” “You know, Miriam, I used to hallucinate some time ago, but I was cured, and now I am completely immune,” answered Robert cheerfully and everyone started to laugh. Even Lou could not resist and he too laughed heartily. It was a pleasant evening as they left the cafeteria building. Everyone shook hands and went his own way. Dr. Fox went to check on

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his patients on his evening round. When he finished, he took a deep breath. Spring was in the air. He would have stayed outdoors longer, but he did not know what was waiting for him during his night shift. He went to the doctors’ lounge and read for a short time. Then he undressed and searched his conscience. In his mind he went through all that the day had brought, thanked the one who does not exist in “their” world, and peacefully fell asleep.

Chapter VIII

I

mmersed in the work that consumed him, the minutes ticked away, hours passed, and time just flew by. Two weeks had sped by and, as if it had been yesterday, Lou once again had the night shift. And again, the four met at dinner. “Miriam, thank you for your call. That surprised me,” said Lou, walking towards the table. “It shocked us all, like a cold shower. You can’t trust anybody, not even those who pray every day. Can you, James?” she turned to Father McCormick. He looked at her in a reserved way. “Miriam, only the Lord can see in your heart if you are being sincere or hypocritical. Isn’t it true, Robert?” he asked, turning to Robert. “True, if he even exists,” Robert cynically answered.

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“What happened? Why did they fire Dr. Weinberger after all these years?” Miriam looked at him, “Lou, you’re probably the only one who doesn’t know about it. Dr. Weinberger took exemplarily care of his patients. We all admired him, his self-sacrifice and noble heart. Except that he wasn’t treating his patients, he was treating himself. Instead of giving his terminally ill patient an injection of morphine to alleviate the pain, he was injecting his own finger through his patient’s skin. He was a morphine addict and his condition got worse with time. He had been under suspicion for a while. His superiors could not understand his tremendous self-sacrifice. Half an hour after the injection they would take samples of the patient’s blood and urine for analysis. They couldn’t find a trace of morphine. They kept watching him. Nothing was found, not a trace. One day, after Weinberger had given his patient a shot, our hospital administrator came with the head lab technician to draw Weinberger’s blood for testing. The results shocked everyone. He couldn’t deny it, he told them everything, how he did it, how he had abused the trust of a terminally ill patient. No wonder he was in a fabulous mood, euphoric all the time,” she finished, nearly whispering towards the end. Following a pause, she raised her voice again and in a strong Bronx dialect said angrily, “No wonder he was such a good scriptwriter. He was getting his morphine free and fat paychecks for his scripts. Maybe I too would be able to write like that. Poor patients.” She stopped talking, but it was evident that she was shaking with rage.

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Spring was in the air. A warm rain fell for three or four days, then a hot sun heated the fertile water-drenched fields. The soil, mixed with the warmth and rain, was ready to receive the seeds so that they might germinate and grow, giving fruit and bread to the tables of all, the old and the young. Men and women tilled the fragrant black soil. They ploughed it, hoed and raked it. They planted seeds and seedlings. Fields were alive with people and everyone was busy. Spring comes abruptly and does not last long in the fields and slopes of Orangeburg in Rockland County. Overnight everything begins to sprout from the soil, and suddenly everything is green and in bloom. As from time immemorial, this year’s spring also came completely unexpectedly. Dr. Lou was pondering that change while driving his car to the Rockland Hospital. Nothing was there a week ago, just naked, sleeping branches, and now forsythias and lilacs were in full bloom. Easter came later this year and it was that much more beautiful. The day before yesterday, on Easter Sunday, women and girls were all dressed up, with new hats on their heads. There were white lilies and palm branches in churches, on top of and around the altar. There were beautiful painted eggs in baskets. All of nature was in bloom. These thoughts were flying through his mind as his eyes took in the trees, bushes, flowers, and fresh green grass. He was entirely absorbed in the beauty of the surrounding environment. He felt connected with nature; he felt more vigorous and younger when in nature. He felt he was part

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of the black soil that we walk on and which after the winter rest was heated by the warm rays of a brilliant sun. It was due to the sun’s rays that the black soil was enlivened in its festive multicolored attire. Moreover, he, the man, small like a poppy seed, was also enlivened. He suddenly felt that he was part of that lush nature, a part of the universe that was created by God. In his mind, he saw the words of the Holy Bible, gleaming and glistening, “God created the heavens and the earth, nature, plants and animals, and finally he created Man in HIS own image.” Suddenly he gave a jerk. Just in time, at the last second. On his right was a “STOP” sign and across from him, driving in the opposite direction, was a policeman, patiently waiting for his victim. Lou stopped his car. He looked at the policeman and thought, “Keep waiting, you old fox, just keep waiting.” Lou happily turned to the right, drove up a mediumsized hill and arrived at the hospital gate. He parked his car in front of the reception area of the women’s pavilion and entered the building. On his right, through the glass, he could see an old secretary with her hair neatly styled and he greeted her warmly. Elisabeth responded with a mild smile and nodded, inviting him to come in. She had a letter for him. Dr. Stanley, the administrator, notified him that he was to start working in the men’s unit. Dr. Fox was very pleased. “I am glad that I’ll get to see another side of the fence. I’m fed up with women’s depressions. They whine about trivial things, get depressed, and run to a psychiatrist,” he said to himself silently. Suddenly he stopped and looked around to

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see if there was anybody who could see or hear him speaking to himself. Patients not only watch other patients but their doctors, too. The hallways were empty. No one was around. He reflected for a moment, then straightened up and turned down the hallway leading to the second floor. Mrs. Ronaldi, a crying, middle-aged patient, was already waiting for him. She had received a letter from home saying that her beloved Fupsy had chronic colitis and was experiencing a lot of pain. She too was suffering with him. Supposedly, he was sick, suffering, and lonely. She too was suffering here because she could not be with him to comfort him. “Who is Fupsy?” asked Dr. Fox, trying to understand. “Fupsy is my darling dog, my everything.” “Who determined his diagnosis? What is the name of his veterinarian?” “Dr. Miltz, but the diagnosis was determined by his previous veterinarian, Dr. Braun.” “Why did you leave Dr. Braun when he was right about your dog?” asked Dr. Fox with curiosity. “Because he insulted me. I asked what the cause of that disease could be and how to treat it. Do you know what he told me? He said I was the cause of my dog’s colitis. Dr. Braun said it was my neurosis that caused Fupsy’s disease. He said I was the one who needed treatment, not my dog. Isn’t he a pig?” “I don’t think so, Mrs. Ronaldi,” said Dr. Fox and continued, “He is not a pig; he is a veterinarian who treats pigs. I am treating you now.”

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She was shocked. She turned white, then red, and white again. “My blood pressure is going up and down. It is like a yo-yo. I think I am going to faint, doctor,” she said in a small voice. “There is a bench near the wall. Take a seat there. In case you fall, you will be closer to the floor,” Dr. Fox said in a matter-of-fact way. After a while, he asked inquisitively, “And how about your husband? I have heard he is very sick. What is wrong with him?” “He has lung cancer. It is spreading. The doctors say he has tumors, and they have spread all over his body, even to his bones. Serves him right! He was a heavy smoker. I had reprimanded him so many times! ‘Don’t smoke; don’t throw money down the drain. Give it to me; I will buy a pretty dress for myself.’ He brushed me off cruelly saying that I had enough dresses, too many, closets full of dresses. I told him that there is no such thing as too much for a woman. He was a good husband, but he didn’t want to understand such things. I often told him to just let me have my caprices: shopping sprees and phone calls, even if it did take up lots of time and money. True, he didn’t drink. He smoked to calm his nerves. But soon he’ll be at peace. I am getting ready for his funeral. They will fix him up nicely. He will be handsome, more handsome than in life. It will be expensive.” “And what will you do after his funeral?” asked Dr. Fox, just out of the curiosity.

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“I will have him cremated,” she answered in a carefree way. She did not faint after all. Her blood pressure kept jumping according to her needs. Dr. Fox heard her out as she wanted. Then he reached for the door handle and she understood that she was to leave. As she left, he said he would prescribe something so that her time passed faster. “Please, don’t forget, Dr. Fox,” she reminded him in a loud and happy voice as she started walking down the hallway, then on reaching the end, she turned to the left and disappeared from view. Dr. Fox silently mumbled to himself, “Schizophrenia, a mixed type,” as he opened the door to his office. “So, June 1,” he said aloud after having read the administrator’s letter once again. He went through his day’s schedule in his mind. First, he was to go through the unit, greet his female patients and talk to them to find out what progress they had made in their thinking. If needed, he was to increase the dosage of medication. He was to read through his notes to see his patients’ progress, then record their current condition, dosage of medication, and any side effects. After lunch, he was to meet with Dr. Hank. Dr. Hank was the psychiatrist who could determine the mental condition and progress of a patient from the patient’s drawings. He was to go to the Department of Work Therapy, where patients made vases, pots, plates, sculptures, and animals from clay, and then paint and bake them. Other patients wove rugs; still others liked to embroider pictures and tablecloths, some of them knitted. The purpose of these activities was to fill their time with

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work, with the activity that interested them. Some of their artwork could be purchased by visitors as souvenirs. Their paintings were also for sale. Here and there, hidden talent was discovered, but for the doctor, it was always a display of how a normal healthy man could mentally lower himself to the level of early childhood. A doctor can see the entire range of mental dementia, mental degeneration. It was interesting to sit next to the patients and let them explain, interpret their artwork. There was a dinner at five in his schedule and an evening round at eight. That was probably all. Just then Dr. Fox realized that he had been talking to himself. “These things happen,” he thought, “but it doesn’t mean that I’m a nut.” He opened the door, locked it from the outside, and started walking down the hallway to begin his day. He kept strictly to his plan. The day was coming to its end when his work was finished. He was just making it towards the dining hall, when he was greeted by an elderly, heavy-set man of short stature, who was wearing the bowler hat. “We haven’t met yet. My name is Dr. Pauker,” the man introduced himself very gracefully. Dr. Fox shook his hand and said, “I am Dr. Fox. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Pauker.” “Uh, could you please tell me what time it is?” “Sure, it is exactly ten past five,” answered Dr. Fox politely and continued, “Where do you work?” “I work for the State of New York. Do you see this heap of invoices in my left hand? They weigh over 40 pounds. I am a millionaire, Dr. Fox. The State of New York alone owes

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me over seven million dollars. I keep precise records. I can see you are in a hurry, but could you lend me twenty cents for a cigar? I will honorably return it to you as soon as I get my money from the State. In the meantime, thank you very much.” Dr. Fox gave him twenty cents. They shook hands and went their separate ways, one to the store to buy a cigar, the other to the dining hall. While walking to the dining hall, Dr. Fox thought about the wonderful acquaintance he had just made. One never knows what it may be good for. He cheered up. When he entered the dining hall, everyone was already eating and enjoying dinner. “Come on in and join us,” said Dr. Kreinholz aloud and made a sign with her fingers to the cook, signaling that Dr. Fox was there and that his dinner was to be served. “So, how was your day, Lou?” Miriam turned to him and asked. “Reasonably good,” said Lou, “On my way here I met Dr. Pauker. A real gentleman!” “Did he ask you to give him twenty cents for a cigar?” asked Miriam with a laugh. “Yes.” They all began to laugh, so Lou started laughing, too. After a good laugh, Miriam turned to Luigi (which is how she called Lou in Italian and it stuck) and said, “Dear Luigi, Dr. Pauker is a nut, a paranoid lunatic and he will reside here for the rest of his life. We will be long gone from here but he will still be asking for twenty cents for a cigar.”

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Lou was puzzled, thinking about how he had been taken by the patient. “Don’t worry, Luigi. We all swallowed the bait. Dr. Pauker was a Hungarian attorney, born in Budapest. He came to America when he was very young. He wrote many screenplays and also translated a number of them from other languages. He can be credited with the achievement that some even found their way to Broadway. For 20 years he was considered the best scriptwriter. In the course of time, he became more and more paranoid, until the doctors sent him to the Institute for the Incurably Ill. Because of his merits in the American Theater, his Broadway fame, and his intelligence, he is not considered an ordinary patient; he has a reserved room in the Department of Internal Medicine for the Mentally Ill. A seemingly nice man, he has a fixed paranoia, well rooted in his brain. He is also suffering from grandiose ideas. It takes a long time to understand his thinking. But otherwise, he is a quiet, harmless lunatic.” “Thank you, Miriam. Now I’ve met another one,” said Lou. The topic then changed to Cuba and Castro. Specifically, to the country’s poverty, its night bars, casino gambling, prostitution of young Cuban girls, and to its unspeakable social injustice. It was no surprise that Castro was becoming the people’s hero. Dr. Fox had first hand information about Cuba. His professor of existentialism had been in Cuba the previous week and had witnessed Castro’s victorious arrival in Havana. His information was about the current situation

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and the causes and effects of social injustice. Fox’s account soothed Robert’s spirit, which was writhing in convulsions. Robert had been deep in thought the last few weeks. It was obvious that he had become more serious and bitter. No smiles emerged on his face that even before was very serious. He was chewing on current events, comparing them with past events. He compared present results with past results, the pros and the cons, and contemplated necessary steps for the future. May these steps be good! May he not stumble on a nearly smooth path! As Confucius put it so well, “Man does not stumble over mountains, but over molehills.” This stumble could cost him a lot, and not only him, but many other people, too. He felt as if he were sitting over a chessboard with an unequal partner, and a lot was at stake. One misstep could cost him dearly, his own life as well as the lives of others. He asked the waitress to bring him a glass of cold water and drank it in one gulp. “I’m thirsty and have an indigestion problem.” Miriam responded promptly, “Could it be because Castro has invaded Havana, Robert?” “Of course not, Miriam. I’ve recently had more troubles than usual and you know how it is. I have always been on top of the situation. I still am, but somehow I’m not sleeping well. When one cannot sleep all kinds of thoughts go through his mind. It has an effect on the body. Before you know it, you have an indigestion problem.” He stopped talking. Suddenly, there was silence. He never spoke much. He knew that silence was golden and he

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lived by that principle. They knew him as a man who was stingy with his words. Now he seemed to be even more immersed in his thoughts. He stayed for a while, then stood up, wished everyone good night, and left. Dr. Fox did not stay warming his chair long, either. After a while, he said good night and left for his room. When in his room, he stretched out on his bed. He did not want to sleep but just rest. Lou got up after a half an hour, dressed again, and went for his evening round. He passed every pavilion, one after another. Everything was in order there. After two hours, he returned to his room, took off his clothes, and went to sleep. Through the open window he could hear the sounds of a quiet spring rain. It did not last long, and soon he was sound asleep. His was the sleep of the just; only the morning sunrays were able to wake him. He got up, shaved, took a bath, and before long was walking down the stairs. None of the doctors was in the dining hall yet. He ate his breakfast and after a while was seen walking rather briskly towards his building. He passed the office and peeked through the open door. Elisabeth nodded at him, inviting him in. As always, she was well groomed. She looked fresh, every strand of hair in place. “What women go through to be beautiful,” he thought and greeted her warmly. Betty looked at him solemnly and said, “Dr. Fox, Dr. Stanley called yesterday and asked me to tell you that you will have to take up the new position two weeks earlier, as

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early as May 15, because their doctor will be leaving on vacation. You will get official notification today. Well, we will not see you here much longer. I hope you will come back around from time to time.” He promised her he would and left for his unit of female patients. He visited with each of them, looked at their drug dosages and entered the review and the prognosis of the day into their medical charts. The morning went by fast and the afternoon was dedicated to lectures, which were very productive. They transformed the doctors’ way of thinking and their judgments and opened up to them a new, heretofore unknown, world of the mentally ill. The doctors began to better understand the conditions of “mental torments.” Each lecture expanded the dimensions of an unknown horizon. Dr. Fox literally soaked up every new piece of information. His mind was enriched, and he was completely carried away by the lectures. He did not miss anything; rather he did his best to register everything. He wanted to absorb as much as he could. In the evening he would leave for home tired, his head stuffed with the new material. He was tired, but happy. In such an uplifted mood he arrived in Yonkers to his family, his wife and daughter. When Anna-Maria fell asleep, he told his wife about his new knowledge with great enthusiasm. The next morning, at daybreak, he was already up, quickly ate something, started his car, and was on his way. A fifty-mile drive there, a fiftymile drive back, in snow and rain, it was no fun. He had to be at work at eight, he left the Institute at five, and he arrived

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home at seven in the evening. Dr. Fox was a persistent man and the term “give up” did not exist in his vocabulary. He wanted to persevere and reach his goal. His work meant everything to him. He felt it was his mission. This feeling gave him inner satisfaction, but more than that it actually gave him pleasure. It was his elixir of life, a productive life. Days were passing by. Two weeks later, on May 15, at eight in the morning, Dr. Fox knocked on the door of the head doctor’s office of the Men’s Unit. They introduced themselves. Dr. Izidor Menkoff shook Lou’s hand and welcomed him, “I have heard a lot about you, all good stuff. I am sure I will be happy with you.” The new boss added that Dr. Robert Eichelmann had praised Lou very much and that that was quite significant since he was very sparing with his compliments. There were no female nurses in the Men’s Unit, only a male staff. Fred, one of the nurses, showed Dr. Fox the office on the third floor that had been assigned to him. After Fred opened the door, he gave him the key to the room and showed him a beautiful three-sided view. “I like the view off the left window most. Have a closer look, Doc. How do you like it?” Dr. Fox came to the window, looked at all sides. The view of the downhill side drew his attention somewhat longer. It was a nice view of Robert’s building. He could see it from every side. “Nothing will escape me here,” he thought.

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Fred smiled as if he were reading his secret thoughts. “Let’s go,” said Fred. “It’s probably what you wanted, isn’t it?” Dr. Fox just nodded. It was a sign of satisfaction. Like old friends they walked down the hallway, then down the stairs, until they came to the ground floor. There they turned right and entered the head doctor’s office. A warm smile appeared on Menkoff ’s face. He came to Dr. Fox, put his hand on Lou’s left shoulder and said, “Please, call me Izidor, Lou.” “Very well then, Izidor,” and they shook hands. Fred turned around and disappeared. They were just about to start a conversation when Menkoff ’s secretary knocked on the door. “Emil, this is Dr. Fox, our new doctor,” Izidor introduced Fox. “Dear colleague, give me ten minutes and I will be with you,” he said, taking the documents from his secretary’s hands as he started studying them. Foxie took notice of his thin lips, above them a slightly hooked nose, thick eyebrows, and impenetrable eyes. His long gray hair was carefully combed. He was short of stature. Dr. Menkoff was wearing a custom-made gray suit. He was a real gentleman, a quick thinker: always a perfectionist. He finished reading the papers and signed them. Emil left. Having seated themselves on a sofa, Izidor Menkoff and Lou Fox engaged in a friendly conversation. An hour and a half later they shook hands and parted. Izidor was exceedingly satisfied. He learned everything that he wanted to know. His sincerity was

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matched twofold by Fox’s sincerity. Izidor was happy and Lou even more so. Izidor was sure he had gotten everything he wanted for his boss. Lou knew exactly what to tell him, how to answer his questions. They then walked together through the unit as Dr. Menkoff introduced Fox to all his new colleagues.

Chapter IX

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r. Mann was as tall as the Eiffel Tower and as thin as a toothpick. Her neck reminded him of a giraffe’s. She looked like a real Scottish woman, with very light hair and anemic face, as white as a sheet. It had to be admitted that she was very bright, though. She only spoke when necessary and very briefly, too. Dr. George Hajvoronsky was a true Czech, born in SubCarpathian Ruthenia. He was as good as a loaf of freshly baked bread. He loved psychiatry, but devoted himself to it only up to a point so that he would have enough time for his wife Jarmilka and his daughter Rose. Politically, he was clean and transparent. Next to his office was the office of Dr. Wiener, a good man and an excellent hypnotist. They hit it off immediately, and Dr. Fox suggested that he would

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visit him when he was in need of good sleep. Dr. Wiener willingly agreed with this suggestion, given that he was also Hajvoronsky’s best friend. After the introductions to his colleagues and workplace had finished, Dr. Fox thanked Dr. Menkoff for his kindness and time and asked Dr. Menkoff to assign him some patients. “I will assign some patients to you tomorrow and after that you will get more of them gradually.” “OK, agreed.” They shook hands and parted. Dr. Fox went upstairs to his office on the third floor. He wanted to get accustomed to it as soon as possible. He was happy. The room was full of light. He looked out of his window on the left. A green Pontiac was approaching the building. It stopped. Robert stepped out of the car. He took off his jacket, folded it in a military way, and put in on the front seat. Then he locked the car and started walking briskly towards the building. In a few seconds he was in the building. Foxie shook his head. Something is really gnawing at Robert. So much energy! Something is tormenting him, haunting him, pestering him. This was what Lou was thinking while watching people and the country from his window. Exactly at five he left for home. He had a nearly twohour drive before him, sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, depending on the weather and the traffic. He was getting used to this. When he came home, he was tired and did not feel like talking about his new assignment. He ate his dinner and went straight to bed. Before Maria knew it, he was sound asleep. No wonder. He was inundated with new

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impressions and the following day he would have a night shift again. In the morning, he woke up a little later than usual. He ate a little something, kissed his daughter, Anna-Maria, and his wife, Maria, and headed for the parking lot. He started his car, looked to the left and to the right, stepped on the accelerator, and hurried in the direction of the Tapanzee Bridge. He knew the way by heart and so could pursue his thoughts. He was at his building a couple of minutes before eight. It was nice to be able to sit in his car for a while. Then, at eight sharp, he went in. He greeted Emil and went to his boss to ask what was new. “We have a new patient with depression. Would you please examine him?” “Sure, I’ll do that immediately.” Dr. Fox had the patient brought in and he examined him. Physically, he was in good condition. His blood and urine tests were fine. The mental examination took longer, much longer. The patient claimed he was so depressed that he did not know what to do. From the facts that Dr. Fox had, he could not make any diagnosis. The patient was then examined by Dr. Mann. She could not find anything, either. Nevertheless, the patient was hospitalized for observation. The patient remained depressed for several days, but became less and less so. There was nothing abnormal in his behavior and after two weeks he was ready to be released. Before his release, Dr. Fox looked into the book of admissions. There written in red ink was: “Before releasing

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the patient, please call the sheriff. He will come and pick him up.” Dr. Fox notified the sheriff that Rudy was to be released that day. Rudy collected his belongings, thanked Dr. Fox for his treatment, and left. The sheriff was waiting for him at the exit. He put handcuffs on his wrists, showed him the warrant, advised him about his rights, and took him to prison. The patient’s depression was caused by the fact that he had printed counterfeit $20 bills. His partners had been imprisoned, but he slipped out and came to the psychiatric hospital with a depression story, claiming he was contemplating suicide. Dr. Lou visited his patients in the secured unit. In the course of time, his number of patients grew. One day he admitted a young hallucinating engineer named Vlado. It was impossible to communicate with him. He was sitting, stooped, in the corner of the reception room, saliva dribbling out of his mouth, a toothbrush sticking out of his shirt pocket. A pathetic young figure with a diploma in engineering. Dr. Fox would often see him during his morning rounds. When Dr. Fox came to the secured unit and read through the patients’ prognoses, medication, and progress, the engineer would appear from the corner of the room and stare at the big key on the doctor’s desk. After a while he went back to the door and brushed the metal edge of the door with his toothbrush. He did this tirelessly for weeks. Nobody paid any attention to him. Poor Vlado was hallucinating; he was confused and raving mad. One day he disappeared. He was nowhere to be found. They looked for him everywhere, but

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in vain. They notified the Municipal as well as the State Police. Then he was found. He was seventy miles from the hospital and wanted to cross the George Washington Bridge, which connects New Jersey with Manhattan. The State Police caught him there. When he was brought back, Dr. Fox was curious how he managed to escape. Patient Vlado gave him a long look; then took his toothbrush from his shirt pocket, and to the astonishment of all present, he easily opened the door. Dr. Fox just shook his head. The days literally flew by, rounds in the morning, lectures in the afternoon. The number of Foxie’s patients kept growing; the same was true about his workload. He had to spend more time with his patients, but also with the corresponding paperwork. Time became a valuable asset. He needed more money, so he gladly took over his colleagues’ shifts. Usually he had a break after his evening rounds, but from time to time there was a serious case that took up some of his night. At times, a patient had to be admitted at night; it could not be postponed until the morning. Those were very exceptional cases, though. Just like the other day. It happened overnight, from Friday to Saturday, after one in the morning that Dr. Fox was awakened by a nurse on duty. He was to see a severely depressed patient who had just been brought in. The hallucinating patient was in serious condition and had suicidal tendencies. Dr. Fox rose from his bed, got dressed, rinsed his eyes with cold water, and left the room. The nice cold night air awakened and refreshed him completely. He entered the building. In front of him was an aggressive,

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even furious patient, bound in a straight jacket. Dr. Fox injected a full dose of Sparin into his left shoulder muscle. After fifteen minutes, the patient calmed down and became more cooperative, although his hallucinations continued. Dr. Fox did all that was necessary for the patient’s hospitalization. He had also contacted the doctor who had sent the patient. When the admission procedures were over, Dr. Fox called the head psychiatrist on duty. He came promptly, exchanged a few words with the patient, and confirmed the immediate admission. “Excuse me, colleague, we have not been formally introduced. I have heard about you, but we have never met. I am Dr. Modraska, a native of Bratislava.” “My name is Dr. Fox and I too am Slovak. I completed four semesters of medicine in Bratislava; then I continued my studies abroad. Dr. Modraska…Dr. Mordaska. Your name rings a bell. Didn’t you study in Berlin with the famous Professor Sauerbruch? You must have been studying surgery, though. What Leriche was to France, Dr. Sauerbruch was to Germany! How did you manage to study with him? Oh, yes, I remember now…it was with the help of Dr. Vojtech Tuka, the prime minister of Slovakia, who supported the Nazis and pushed through the anti-Jewish laws in Slovakia. He was strongly opposed by Dr. Jozef Tiso, the Slovak president at that time who was working hard to paralyze Tuka’s influence. Isn’t that right?” Dr. Fox rattled off both questions and answers at the same time. “Yes, you are right, but only in part. The truth is that I was interested in physics, specifically its application in

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medicine. When Tuka was released from prison after eight or nine years, I offered him my services as a personal secretary, based on the fact that I was very good at German. It was only for a short time, but he never forgot it. Later, I continued my studies in medicine. When I graduated, Dr. Tuka, the prime minister at the time, being strongly pro-German, helped me get a scholarship in Berlin, Germany. I was expected to specialize in surgery, under the supervision of the king of German surgery, Prof. Sauerbruch. Nobody knew about that. How did you find out?” “Very simply. My wife was born in Nemecke Pravno, where a doctor from Romania had settled down as a local family practitioner. He had a daughter whose name was Marianna, who is now your wife. The entire town knew whom she married. That was big news there. She was marrying a very bright doctor, a prospective scientist. When the news spread that you were going to study in Berlin to get that specialization, people in Nemecke Pravno talked only about you and Marianna and how lucky she was. That’s how,” finished Dr. Fox. Dr. Modraska continued, “You must know, though, that I was neither a Nazi follower, nor a sympathizer. The following year I changed my major to nuclear physics, which was in an embryonic state at that time. I wanted to dedicate myself to nuclear physics only. That’s why I am a member of the team that is doing research in nuclear energy and its application in medicine. Here I am a psychiatrist, but my hobby is nuclear energy and its utilization in medicine. I am

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an American, trying to do my best, so that nuclear energy may serve to benefit, not destroy, mankind.” Then he fell silent. After that they spoke about their homeland and its beauty. Dr. Modraska had not seen it for a long time and was homesick. He missed the country where his ancestors were buried, where he was born, and where he had grown up. He missed his native country and its rivers and mountains. Indeed, this is a desire in all uprooted people, in all those forced to leave their homeland, their native country. It was already early morning when they parted. The morning sun was quite high and they were in a hurry to have breakfast and go to work. They promised they would not tell anyone about their meeting and conversation. It would stay between the two of them. “It will be our secret, Lou. OK?” “OK, Tibor.” A firm handshake sealed their mutual promise. They both felt elated, both were in high spirits and happier. They had found each other. They had found their native nest. Only those who have lost it can understand the feelings of these two outcasts in a foreign country that is not always hospitable.

Chapter X

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he sun was already high when Foxie, at a moderately slow pace, walked into the building and in the hallway met his boss in a grumpy mood. “What’s wrong, Izidor?” he asked with caution. His boss looked at Foxie and said, “I tell you, that McCormick….” “What did he do?” “Come to my office, I will show you the letter from Albany. You will see it with your own eyes. Since we have had Father McCormick here, the number of patients attending individual and group therapy has gotten lower. The statistics on our performance are going down. We have fewer and fewer patients in both kinds of therapy. Not so long ago we could boast of our performance, but look at it now,” finished Dr. Menkoff.

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Dr. Fox heard him out and added that at least there was less work to be done. Then he continued, “You still didn’t tell me what the connection is with McCormick.” “Don’t you know?” Izidor bellowed at him. “They all go to McCormick for confession and feel much better!” “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? What’s important is that they feel better,” responded Lou. “It’s not good, because even my Jewish patients are going to him for confession and then feel much better. They only want to go to him. They say he is such a good, tolerant, and understanding person. They say he is patient with people, willing to hear them out, and has time for everybody.” “Well, Izidor, you too should go to confession and learn to imitate his art of psychotherapy. You should compete with him. McCormick is a good and shrewd competitor; he knows his business well. I would not be surprised if he started a collection to build a new church soon. He would have enough money in a short time. The patients and their families would take care of that.” “Don’t even talk about it. He would be very capable of doing that.” “I’ll bet you that a church will be up within a year, Izidor.” “No bet. I know I’d lose,” said Izidor with a bitter smile. Foxie left as he had a lot of work to do. During his rounds he thought about McCormick, his patience, kindness, and tolerance. They were dealing with sick people and the fact that McCormick had more patience and understanding than some of the doctors was not lost on the patients.

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Nor did it escape Fox either when one day he overheard a nurse’s conversation about him, “When he matures in his work, he will be a rather good doctor, but never a match for McCormick.” The nurses looked at each other and smiled, confirming that they both agreed with the assessment. After his round was over, Dr. Fox got into his car and raced to New York to attend a lecture at the Psycho-Neurological Institute. It was a mandatory lecture on hypnosis and its application, as well as the principles of its application. Dr. Fox wanted to be there on time so as not to miss anything. He was afraid there would be heavy traffic near the bridge and that he would be late. Even though he did not have much problem with traffic he barely arrived on time. Professor Wiesenthal entered the lecture hall at exactly three. He warmly greeted his audience and summarized the main ideas of the previous lecture. He then had a young woman brought into the hall. He shook her hand and seated her across from himself. “Could you tell me something about yourself? I mean, your first name, your profession, birth date, marital status, etc.” The attractive woman in her forties responded rather promptly, “My name is Cynthia, I am 42 years old, I am a teacher with a college education, I have a Ph.D. I teach upperlevel high-school classes. I love my job. I dedicate my free time to music and poetry. I am single. Anything else, Professor?” “That’s all for now. Please, write on the board what you have just told me.” Cynthia took a piece of chalk and with

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neat, elegant letters wrote everything she had just said. Then she returned to her chair. “Very good, Cynthia. Look at me now. Keep your head high, level with my eyes. Good, very good. Don’t move your head. Look up. OK, still a little bit higher.” Suddenly, her eyelashes began to flutter. There were abrupt horizontal movements in her eyes. “Cynthia, I will count to three. When I say three, you will close your eyes and start to breathe deeply. Do you understand, Cynthia?” “Yes, Professor.” “Good. I am counting…one, two, three.” When she heard three, Cynthia closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. “Now, breathe more slowly. Good, very good. Today is Tuesday morning, May 4, 1921. Are you up yet?” “I just woke up,” she said in a childish voice. “Mommy, mom, where are you? It’s my birthday today!” “What did you get for your birthday?” asked the Professor. “Lots of stuff,” she said in a child’s voice and continued, “I got a new dress, a doll, clothes for my doll, and living room and dining room furniture for her. I also got a book. My mom will read me fairy tales from the book before I fall asleep. I also got a swimsuit and a big red ball with white dots.” “Cynthia, do you know how to write yet? Will you write something on the board for me?” “I can only print.”

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“That’s fine. Write something for us, Cynthia.” Cynthia took the chalk into her small clumsy hand and, pushing hard, clumsily wrote uneven letters on the board. She was pushing so hard that the chalk broke. But she was persistent and even though it took a long time, she finished her work. With a childish voice she proudly spelled TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY. Then she smiled triumphantly. “OK, Cynthia, you wrote that nicely. What do you want to be when you grow up?” asked the Professor. “A teacher,” answered Cynthia with a lot of selfconfidence. “OK, I am going to count to three now. When you hear three, you will open your eyes. Listen…one, two, three!” Cynthia opened her eyes. “Madam Professor, will you write ‘Today is my birthday,’ please?” Cynthia took the chalk and quickly and neatly wrote what the Professor had asked her to write. Suddenly, she noticed the same sentence written in big, block letters, with a child’s clumsy hand. She thought for a moment and then said, “I dreamt that I was five years old and that it was my birthday. It was a very vivid dream, and so beautiful.” “Thank you, Madam Professor. I will see you in two weeks.” He shook her hand and showed her to the door. As soon as he came back from the door, he drew enthusiastic applause from his audience. He waved his hand to silence them and summarized the lecture, making some comments

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on what to avoid and how. The lecture was over at five, and Lou hurried to his car. He decided to drive along the western bank of the Hudson River.

Chapter XI

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he Hudson is a big, deep river, with ocean liners, the luxury ship Queen Elisabeth, war ships, and even submarines anchored there. In less than an hour he was in Yonkers. He was very tired as he walked upstairs to the second floor. After he opened the door, his daughter, four-year-old Anna-Maria embraced him around his neck. “Daddy, daddy, what did you bring me?” “Just myself, my sweet girl, but after dinner we will go to a toy store together with your mom. You will pick out something there, OK?” “Mommy, mommy, we’re going to the toy store after dinner,” she called after her mother joyfully and appeared happy to skip dinner altogether and go straight to the store.

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After dinner they made their way down to the square and walked into the toy store. Anna-Maria’s eyes were everywhere. What joy to see and to admire all the toys there! Lou promised Anna-Maria that she could have two toys, so she ran from one toy to another to make a good choice, trying to decide what she needed most. In her selection process she eliminated one toy after another, until she got to a bathtub for her Barbie doll. She decided this was what she needed most of all. She also chose a new ball gown for Barbie and that was all. A saleslady wrapped the toys, Lou paid, and they were on their way home. It was past nine when Anna-Maria was ready to go to bed. She fell asleep a few minutes after she got into bed. She dreamed about Heaven, full of toy stores with little angels who were giving everything away for free. The snag was that she could take only what she could carry away. She could use her father’s help and a carriage, so that they could load as much as possible. She was happy and smiling in her sleep, but when she woke up she felt sad that it was only a dream. She turned on her other side and fell back into her deep, peaceful sleep. She was awakened in the morning by the warm rays of the sun, which was already high in the sky. “Where’s daddy?” “He left a long time ago,” her mother answered. “Come and eat, breakfast is ready.” “OK, but first I want to see the toys daddy bought me yesterday.”

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Anna-Maria jumped out of her bed and looked at the toys to make sure they were real and not a dream. After she finished admiring them, she was eager to eat. Dr. Fox had not finished his round yet when he was told that a new patient had been assigned to him. The patient was in an acute condition, and Dr. Fox was supposed to examine him in the afternoon to determine his mental status and introduce his case to Dr. Mann. They were expected to develop his treatment plan together. “His name is Anthony Morello. He is in the unit for acute patients, you will find him there.” “Very well,” thought Dr. Fox. The sun was shining nicely and he did not feel like spending his midday surrounded by four walls. He got into his car and drove out to the country. He stopped on a side road in the middle of nowhere, unwrapped a modest sandwich, ate it, and washed it down with tea. He then closed his eyes and took a nap for half an hour. The nap helped him a lot, he felt relaxed, and at one he was back in the building. He headed straight for the secured unit, opened the door with a large key, and immediately locked it again from the inside. He entered the office and told the head warden that he wanted to see Anthony Morello, but that he would like to be accompanied by a strong warden. The patient was brought into a room with an iron desk. Underneath the desktop was an invisible button to call for help. Two heavy chairs were attached to the floor. The raging Morello was hustled into the room. Dr. Fox extended his

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hand, but the patient spit on it. He was in a maniacal state, cursing the entire time. In between curses he prayed. His prayers were partly in Latin. He spewed a torrent of vulgar curses. His words did not make any sense. It was the talk of a person under mental stress. He did not answer questions, but rather just rattled nonsense. It was a short interview, a very brief conversation. Dr. Fox had never seen or experienced anything like that before. He was under a great strain in addition to being afraid, though he did not show it. He relied on the strength of the warden who was there with him. After the patient was taken away, Dr. Fox pulled his thoughts together and called Dr. Mann. He asked if he could give her the report and discuss plans for the patient’s treatment. Dr. Mann was an experienced physician, known for her sober judgment of patients’ cases and conditions. She was very familiar with the psychodynamics of thinking. She heard him out, turned to him and asked, “Well, dear colleague, what do you think about it?” Dr. Fox was startled. He thought for a while and then said, “Acute schizophrenia with a tinge of paranoia and a maniacal phase.” “Very good, colleague. What are your suggestions for treatment?” “Thirty milligrams of Compasin twice a day, but I think he also needs several electroshocks.” “Let’s leave the shocks for later. Rather than Compasin, I would give him eight milligrams of Trilafon, four times a day.

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Watch him every day. I will see you in a week’s time. Thank you, Dr. Fox.” He also thanked her and then left. After two days, Tony had calmed down. The third day, Dr. Fox examined him with no warden present. He still rattled on without making much sense, but the inner pressure was gone. After all those curses and Latin prayers, Tony started slowly to open up. Here and there, he started to chuckle, all to himself. The head doctor was happy with the results of the first week. “Keep working, colleague. Record every detail, but not in front of him. That could irritate him.” “Thank you, Dr. Mann. I’ll see you again in a week.” The head doctor nodded and gave him a smile.

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Chapter XII

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fter several days, Tony was “ready to open up.” Dr. Fox had his complete confidence. “Tell me everything, Tony. How did it happen? What was the drop that caused the bucket to overflow?” Tony smiled, then became serious for a while. After some thinking he smiled to himself again. The entire story seemed funny to him now, all the way up to the moment when they put him in a straight jacket and brought him to the hospital. He could not remember what had happened after that, except that he was among the stars and his head was buzzing like a hive. He blabbered nonsense. He knew he was talking, but he did not know what. It was not he who spoke, but someone else through him. That somebody spoke and cursed. He did not understand what was being said. The

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words were being thrown out of his mouth like a river of lava after the volcano’s eruption, flowing down the slopes, and taking everything in its path. He remained silent for a long time. Finally he started to talk. “I am a Franciscan priest. I was in charge of a parish. My parishioners were mostly of Italian background. They liked me. I was one of them. I was their pride, their hot Italian blood. When I preached, words soared from my mouth, falling on the heads of sinners. They were relieved when the sermon was over. They sighed with relief from the bottom of their hearts. People commented on my good sermons. That Easter Sunday started well. The congregation greeted me; one after another they shook my hand and wished me ‘Buona Pasqua.’ My sermon started well, too. Gradually, I pulled at their heartstrings, their Christian conscience, their hypocrisy and two-facedness. At a certain point, however, in the excitement of my religious zeal, I started to call out their names and point at them, ‘You, who go to Holy Communion yet secretly sleep with your husband’s friend; you in the second pew, who steal from your own husband.’ “When my parishioners heard this, they began to slip out of church, one after another, to prevent their sins from being proclaimed from the pulpit. It was then when I realized I was in serious trouble. “After the sermon I didn’t go to the altar, but to the sacristy. I took off the canonicals and ran through the backyard to the monastery, straight to my room on the sixth floor. Through the window I saw an ambulance and police cars. In my head

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I heard a single thought spinning around, ‘Tony, you’re in serious trouble.’ “I saw policemen running upstairs, but I fooled them. Using the rear staircase, I ran down to the second floor. Then I walked towards them and asked who they were looking for. One of them said, ‘Anthony Morello.’ “‘Go to the fourth floor, room 412. Be careful, he’s very dangerous.’ “The cops thanked me. Room 412 was the room of our order’s Father Superior. They burst into his room, threw themselves on him, put him in the straight jacket and took him to the Psychiatric Department at Bellevue Hospital. Only then did they realize that it was a mistake. Father protested, saying he was the Father Superior. A cop responded by saying that any nut can be a superior nowadays. He told Father to shut up and not to disturb them. In the meantime, I spent two weeks at a Jesuit retreat. Police were looking for me everywhere in New York without success. As you see, I outsmarted them well. Thank God, I feel much better now. I felt sorry for Father Superior, but I didn’t have any other choice.” They both laughed. Tony did not know that his Father Superior had visited Dr. Fox a week ago and had told him the whole story. Tony was waiting for the moment when he would be released and able to go back to his parishioners who had forgiven him a long time ago and were looking forward to his return. For Dr. Fox the afternoon dragged on at a snail’s pace. He checked to see what he was to do and took notes on some

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interesting cases. He was scheduled for a night shift, so he left earlier in order to have some time to relax before dinner. Later, when he came to the cafeteria, dinner was at a full roar. His chair was the only one vacant at the table. “We were waiting for you,” Robert said, “but you were dragging your feet.” He continued after a while, “Will there be a war because of Cuba?” “I don’t think so,” Lou answered. “Wars cost a lot of money and a lot of human lives. People in the West, as well as in the East, know that very well. True, in the East human life has a low price, but at the present time that price is increasing, since people are needed as cheap labor in Siberia. Isn’t that true, Robert?” Robert only smiled and said, “True, Foxie.” “Robert, I’ve heard that you have a private practice in lower Manhattan. Is it worth it? With the rent, insurance, and all the utilities, I mean electricity, telephone, cleaning, possibly even a receptionist. All that costs a lot of money. Do you have so many patients there that you can afford this luxury?” “Not too many. But I do have faithful patients there, mainly older Russians who are happy when they can speak their native language.” “Robert, aren’t you Lithuanian?” “Yes, but my family roots are in Russia.” “I didn’t know that.” Lou sounded surprised and continued, “Some time ago I met Dr. Hajvoronsky. He was born in Sub-Carpathian Ruthenia and his wife is a Rusyn. A nice couple.”

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Dr. Fox noticed that Robert was startled when he heard Hajvoronsky’s name, and he could not hide it. “Interesting,” said Dr. Fox to himself and promptly changed the topic. Nobody paid any attention, but Robert was visibly relieved. Lou turned to Miriam and asked her how much money had been collected for the new church construction. “It’s progressing quite well. Right, Father McCormick?” Father looked at her and said dryly, “Slowly but surely.” And with that he closed the conversation for the day. They all stood up and left. Dr. Fox went to his room. There, he sat at his desk and began to study internal medicine. He was preparing for his validation exams, exams for doctors who graduated abroad. At about nine he finished studying and went for his evening round. Following that, he went to bed after midnight and slept until morning. The night was warm and very pleasant. His window was open, and he was awakened only by the birds’ songs in the morning.

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obert joined Lou at the breakfast table. He wanted to read the morning paper, but somehow could not focus on it. He was too tense, and his answers to Lou’s ‘What’s new in the world?’ questions were very brief. Finally, he just nodded with his hand and to unburden himself he said bitterly, “The world isn’t worth a damn.” He left in a courteous, but angry mood. Before Robert’s departure, Lou asked him about his wife, Nina. Robert just waved his hand and said in a low voice, “Women are women. Don’t trust them, but they do have their uses.” “Robert, I always get a piece of Solomonic wisdom from you.” He smiled in a constrained way and hurried to his car. The day was monotonous, and it was wearing away very

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slowly. The sky was covered with heavy clouds that foretold rain. The rain was needed, since the soil was dry and yearned for moisture and the morning dew evaporated quickly. The acacia had already shed its blossoms and a cool evening breeze was blowing the aroma of yellow linden tree blossoms. During the day one could hear bees buzzing, and by evening crickets tirelessly played their penetrating tunes. When it turned dark, fireflies with their little lanterns restlessly measured the darkness. From afar the aroma of hay wafted through the air. Each month has its charm and June was no exception. Dr. Fox got into his car before dusk and through the open window could hear Tony’s nostalgic baritone singing “O, sole mio.” Even if they sin, their deeply felt song must win the Eternal Judge’s heart. This is probably how Tony used his heartrending singing: to speak with his God. Nature was sleeping, and the Lord’s serenity hovered above the earth that was sprinkled with rain. The sky cleared up in the morning, but not for long. The afternoon sky was cloudy again and the rain arrived with a strong wind. The wind stopped after an hour, but the rain continued for two full days. Dr. Fox felt ill at ease, as if he were tied up, immobile, tired, and exhausted. He looked at the phone and decided to call Dr. Wiener. In the receiver he heard his voice. “Dr. Wiener, this is Fox. Do you have a minute?” “Of course, Lou. Anytime, if it’s for you. Do you want to come now?”

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“I’ll be there in a minute.” Lou hung up the phone and in a matter of minutes had not only knocked on the door but was already in Dr. Wiener’s office. Wiener greeted him with a smile. “How many hours of sleep do you want?” “Seven will be fine.” “Sit down here, close your eyes, and look up. Breathe deeply. After the word ‘three’ you will wake up after a good sleep. Breathe deeper and more slowly. OK, that’s good, very good.” Not two minutes later Lou woke up to the word “three.” He was still yawning when he heard Wiener saying, “Lou, you slept for seven hours. Your sleep was deep and peaceful. You are refreshed and full of energy. Now, get out of here. You have to do something useful so that you don’t waste the time God gave you. You yourself say that time is something you cannot put aside or borrow, much less loan to somebody else. You can do only two things: use it or lose it. So, go do something with it before the day is over.” He patted Lou on his shoulder, opened the door, and pointed “out” with his finger. They looked at each other, smiled, and Dr. Fox began marching briskly and with energized spirit towards his room. Upon arrival he checked the list of patients he was supposed to see during the day and started off to see them. He spent the entire afternoon with his patients and from there went straight to dinner since he had a night shift again. He found only Robert in the cafeteria. He was buried in the New York Times newspaper.

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“We’re quite early today,” said Dr. Fox. “You are right, but it’s drizzling outside and I didn’t want to make the trip here twice. I’d rather read today’s paper here and talk to my colleagues and friends, like you.” “That’s quite an honor for me, Robert. What will it cost me?” Robert looked at Foxie and smiled. “I have been watching you all week, Robert, and this is your first smile. You always have a gloomy look on your face. Anything wrong?” “Not really. I’m just mad at Nathan.” “Do you mean Dr. Nathan Kline, the head of the Research Department?” “Yes, him. I have always been drawn to science. Actually, it has fascinated me. To me, science is a mystery. I would compare it to searching for a needle in a haystack. To look for something you have been searching for a long time, tirelessly and constantly, and finally find it. What a delight, what exquisite pleasure and satisfaction!” He was silent for a while and then continued, “I had been working here for three years. I was transferred from one place to another, from one department to another, from one building to another. Having been educated and trained in this field of medicine, I became a psychiatrist. But it had always been my desire to do research, so I approached Kline, the head of research. After all, we are of the same faith. He interviewed me and I was accepted. I was happy, extremely happy. I thought I would be a scientist, working in a workshop where the thinking

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process was regulated. I thought maybe I would even be a great scientist. Can you imagine that, Lou?” He fell silent again. After a while he went on, “Not a week later, Kline called me into his office and told me that he didn’t need me. He began to give me all kinds of clichéd excuses, like I did not blend with the team and so on. When I responded by telling him that even he didn’t believe that, he stopped being friendly. He looked me straight in the eyes and told me it was he who always decided who his coworkers would be. He said he didn’t want me there. I was asked to immediately take my belongings and report to the Geriatric Unit, Room 58, the following day. Before I left I told him, ‘Remember this moment when a Jew fired another Jew.’ He became furious and handed me Dr. Stanley’s official order regarding my transfer. Well, you know the rest. I ended up on the side track, in the Geriatric Unit, where I take care of senile old people.” He stopped talking. Lou saw Robert’s face harden, as if it were made of steel. Shivers ran up Lou’s spine, and suddenly, there was a flash in his mind, “this guy is a leader, not an obedient executor of another’s will. He wants to give commands and expects others to carry them out.” It was a clear, split-second flash of thought, like a comet that suddenly appears and disappears again in a black sky. What remained was a strong conviction. Dr. Fox was immune to surprises. His face remained unchanged, not revealing anything. He expressed only his understanding and sympathy to Robert, nothing else.

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“Lou, before others come, I would like you to promise me that this will stay between the two of us. OK?” “Of course, Robert.” Lou shook his hand and reassured Robert that his promise was like a written agreement. Robert was satisfied. He was sure nobody would learn about it. He was also glad he had found someone to trust, who would keep it to himself. After all, he had to confess to someone, the burden was too heavy for one person to carry. The load was too heavy for him. He knew Dr. Fox would keep this moment of weakness to himself, as if bound by the seal of confession.

Chapter XIV

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ime was passing fast and so were their lives. Nearly every day, through his window, Lou watched Robert come and go. He was always brisk and lithe, with military manners and perfect discipline, keeping his distance from everybody. Many people considered him a loner, an odd fellow, a paranoid lunatic. Incidentally, Lou had met Dr. Sanseigne who worked at the Research Department with Dr. Kline. Pierre was a native of France, a hard working and cheerful colleague. Pierre and Lou were the only two doctors fluent in French and were able to examine, physically and psychologically, those patients who spoke only French. Kline, the head of research, was an extremely bright, intelligent doctor and a person who was capable of quick perception and correct evaluation of collected data. Under his leadership, a series of

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psychotropic drugs, such as Ritalin, Thorazine, Compasine, Trilafon, and Stelazine, were developed. It was an impressive group of doctors, Modraska and Sanseigne being the most prominent. However, it was Kline who had the last word. The Institute, with more than ten thousand patients, was the place best suited for experiments. In that large workshop, cures for many patients as well as aids for their next of kin were developed. This was the place where medicines and procedures leading to a tolerable life in the asylums for mentally ill patients originated. This was the place where the door was opened for many mentally ill people, giving them hope and acceptance in their families. It was here where a huge step, a change from the dark years of the last century, was made. When Dr. Fox began administering electroshocks to hopeless patients, it was a very unpleasant sight for him to watch: muscle spasms throughout the body, broken bones, especially in older patients. Insulin treatment followed, where the patient was brought into a state of severe hypoglycemia. To keep the patient in a condition where close to the lowest possible sugar content in the blood was maintained was risky and impractical. Then there were intravenous treatments of sodium amythol. That treatment was real progress. No spasms, no broken bones, and good results. A huge change was made in less than three years, from 1958-1960. Mankind was advancing with leaps and bounds in every field of science. Human life expectancy was increasing and some previously terminal illnesses were no longer terminal. The world had become a small, a very small place.

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All this went through Lou’s mind. There was progress in every field of science, in physics, biochemistry, nuclear fission, space flights. Yesterday’s research results were old news, the more recent ones having replaced them. There was an explosion in science in all areas. Not only medical science, but also every other field had its own heroes. The truth is, though, that the best computer is not able to replace the human brain. Lou stopped daydreaming and meditating. He would leave that to Robert, who had a lot to think about. The other day Robert confided in him, saying he was being followed by the FBI. He could not start his car without them being there. They wanted to know what he was doing, where he was going, whom he was meeting, who his patients in Manhattan were, and why he was seeing them. Even when he was in a theater, they watched him to see if he was not meeting anybody suspicious. He said he was close to losing his mind. “Even my wife doesn’t want to have anything to do with me; she is drifting away from me. I am desperate. I feel as if the battle between life and death is getting close and the noose is tightening, slowly but surely. Lou, my friend, I trust you. Don’t tell anybody. I have to stop talking, because James is coming. Keep it to yourself, Lou. Oh, and if he asks, we were discussing the weather and Cuba.” “Agreed, Robert.” Dr. Fox sank into the memories of his past, the events that had happened nine years ago. It was in May 1949.

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He remembered that day very well. It was early in the afternoon. He had taken a nap and was awakened by a harsh, domineering voice, “You are under arrest.” He knew he would never forget the feel of the cold steel of a gun-barrel on his forehead. It was not a dream; it was reality. He was not allowed to say goodbye to his mother, and the neighbors saw him in shackles, being pulled to a car. He was a twentyfour-year-old medical student spending an entire night in a train with his captors. Could any of the people traveling in the same train have imagined his feelings and his thoughts? He could have guessed their questions. What had he done? Could he be a murderer? He didn’t look like one, though. But, who knows. May the Lord help him. People knew that if he were a political suspect he would not be able to escape his captors’ clutches. What followed were night tortures, beatings, humiliating brutality. It lasted for months, days of interrogation and nights of torture. In the wee hours, being tired themselves, the captors threw him into his cell. He was unable to move, covered with blood, and beaten black and blue. This went on and on, every night. They had their methods of how to extract the truth. They threw him, like a corpse, into a dump together with other stubborn or innocent victims, victims that had only a few options: collaborate and remain for years in prison, turn gray and die there, or be beaten to death in the interrogation process, in which case they would end up in a dump or be cremated. It was their choice; after all they had “free will.” It would have been easier not to have

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a conscience; then the thought that you had brought about physical and mental hell for your next of kin would not hurt so much. You had to decide. Time was ticking. Remember, it’s your life; don’t worry about the other people! He had been on thin ice for three months. The ice could break any minute, but what would his death mean? It would be a death without honor, without fanfare, and without the tolling of bells. What hurt more than any beating or torture he received were his parents’ tears, their sorrow, and unvoiced questions, like, “Son, did you deserve such a fate? Did we have to get into this trouble, too?” What followed next was his escape, a dangerous escape through the iron curtain. Death was chasing him, closing in on him with every step, even in relative freedom, when he was standing in front of Soviet rifles aimed at his chest as they verified his ID. Lou’s ID was, of course, a counterfeit, but it was his good fortune that they did not notice that the photo had been replaced. His performance was like that of a great actor in a play where his life was at stake. It was a real “To be or not to be” drama, for both defection and treason were always punished by execution, without a trial, without a sentence. He had signed his verdict in advance, collaboration or death. He promised collaboration, but used the first opportunity to escape. In his opinion this was free choice, in their opinion it was betrayal. “I wonder what Robert is going through right now. Maybe he changed his mind after some realistic considerations. After all, he has eyes and a brain, but maybe he

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doesn’t have any other choice. I am sure he looked for some other solution, but his road must be blocked and he cannot go back. Maybe he’s the leader of a group of agents with a secret mission, and their unwritten rule forbids betrayals to make sure that there are as few victims as possible. If necessary, they are to die rather than expose their subordinates to any danger. He must know what the consequences are for such actions.” These were only speculations based on all the clues that Lou had put together. He could only guess what was going on in Robert’s mind. Robert knew Lou was trying hard to understand him. He knew Lou would like to know more, but was also aware that he would not get answers to direct questions. Whenever Robert reflected on his fate, he had to remind to himself, “Remember, you are personally responsible for the success and security of the entire group. Remember the good name of our dear Communist party! Better to die than to betray and break the oath. They trust you, you were rewarded, and now they are waiting for you to deliver.” These were Robert’s reflections on his “dance on the brink of an abyss,” an abyss where he could fall at any time and be swallowed. He kept thinking hard, but could not find any other path to follow, any other solution. He stood up, straightened himself, and said to himself, “Robert, you have to suffer the consequences.” He became more irritated each day. He could not sleep. He spent his nights looking for a solution that was not there and then said to himself, “All of your relatives are out of the country. If worst comes to worst,

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you must not forget you did it because of your love for your family.” This would calm him and he would fall asleep, if only for a while. So many times he wished that he would not wake up again. Deep depression covered him like a heavy blanket, so heavy that it nearly smothered him. He could breathe only with difficulty, as if he had entered a thick fog. He jumped out of bed, took a bottle of vodka in one hand and a glass in the other. He filled three quarters of the glass with vodka and drank it. That hit the spot. After a while, he could breathe much better. He did not go back to bed, but remained sitting. This drink was good! No wonder it is called the elixir of life. He looked at the bottle and poured vodka into his glass again. It rolled down his throat and warmed everything around it, his larynx, lungs, heart, even his stomach. It seemed that those precious drops chased away his depression, far, far away, like a fresh breeze that chases away heavy clouds, far, far away, behind the horizon. When he finished the third glass, blood rushed to his head and with it his optimism, removing conscience from his mind. “Conscience does not belong there, not in the head of a ‘geroj’, a Soviet hero. His is not the mind of a poor little man, trembling before a God who doesn’t exist. He is only a fabrication of weak people’s imagination, a poison administered to Mankind by ‘black sorcerers.’ The messengers of those fallacies must be stopped, exterminated.” After the fourth glass of vodka, his chest broadened, his body felt stronger, and he started to sing Red Army songs. “They defeated Germany, they will defeat

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America, and every rotten capitalist, too.” Vodka brought him the exhaustion and the sleep he desired. The silence was disrupted only by Robert’s snores. He snored and snored, until the intense rays of the sun began to knock at his window. He wanted to chase them away by closing a curtain, but there was no curtain. Suddenly, he felt the pain of a splitting headache and pressure in the upper part of his stomach. He ran to the bathroom and vomited until his stomach was purged of its contents. He emerged with eyes full of tears and promised himself never to drink again. He realized that he had broken the basic law of espionage: never, ever drink alcohol. Violators of this law are subject to punishment. The depression came back faster than it had left and maybe even deeper. He swore that he would never take a bottle of vodka into his hands again. For a day or two he was sick, but he did not even look at alcohol. He sat at home, meditating on the meaning of conscience. “Is it something fabricated by priests or is it an innate human instinct, one that can be refined or dulled by education, that helps Man to distinguish between good and evil? For example, the conscience of a political party member as opposed to the conscience of a sensitive priest who is in charge of the moral education of future priests.” He could not help but see the difference between Beria’s and McCormick’s form of conscience. He could see the difference, but with or without a conscience he had already made a commitment and had to pay off the debt. Three days were enough for Robert to

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reevaluate the issues, to move the pieces on the chessboard so that victory would be his in the end. After all, he had been chosen to do this job and he was the best. Robert was aware of his responsibilities and of what was expected of him. He could already see himself in a general’s chair, his actions and his courage recorded in magazines for young generations of Communists, the “pioneers” of a better Soviet future. He was in his own skin again, the old Robert, who fearlessly followed his goals. Once again, everything was going according to plan.

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he hot summer was approaching its end when Dr. Fox was again transferred. He grumbled, wanting to stay in the unit longer, but Dr. Stanley assured him this would last only two months, then three months at the Pediatric Unit, and after that he would be back at the Men’s Unit again. Looking at him, Dr. Stanley said, “Come and sit down.” He gave him a friendly smile, looked straight into his eyes, and continued, “Lou, we have much in common. I am glad a friendly wind blew you here.” They shook hands and smiled at each other. Building 38 was under Dr. Dina Rochlin’s supervision. At first sight, she looked somewhat disorganized, but her grasp and understanding were excellent. Nothing escaped her attention; she saw and heard everything. She had shoulder-

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length black hair and smiling eyes that could be seductive when she wished. Her lower lip was full, as if begging to be kissed. She probably had not been kissed much, not after her fiftieth birthday for sure. If there were any kisses at all they were from her colleagues, formal and passionless. Her youth and femininity were gone with the wind. She had no husband and no children. She had only her own shadow. Dr. Dina came to the United States as a young doctor from Iran, via France. She passed the validation exams and never went back to her homeland. Her work became her life, wherein she forgot about herself. At the beginning, there was not much work for Lou at the new unit. The patients hospitalized there were mainly schizophrenics with fading energy. A little smolder remained, but not much, like batteries without a charge. Dina tried to get to know Dr. Fox, and it seemed they understood each other well. He examined about a dozen patients daily. It was not hard work and he was done in about two hours. The rest of his day was dedicated to studies and at times also to political debates with Dina. She wanted to learn as much about Dr. Fox as possible and from every angle. She wanted to know exactly who he was. He was glad to offer bits of information to her, but she was sure she already knew everything about him. The lazy summer dragged on, day after day, week after week. The heat was unbearable. No storms, no rain to provide relief to people, to refresh vegetation, and calm lovers’ hot blood. Here and there lightning would be seen, thunder

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would be heard, but not a single drop of rain. After the hot and dry summer, people were pleased to welcome the month of September, when swimming pools were officially closed, and a new school year began. The cool evening breeze was like water to a thirsty person. The days were getting shorter when Dr. Fox was transferred to the Children’s Unit of the Pediatric Department. Dr. Paul Claudel, a famous expert in the field, was head doctor there. He looked a bit clumsy, but one could learn a lot from him and Dr. Fox was very enthused to work with him. Autistic children were Dr. Claudel’s specialty, and he was one of the most competent doctors in the field. Dr. Nina Eichelmann was his assistant. Also a competent specialist, Dr. Nina was a real lady. A gentle, sensitive, and perceptive woman in her fifties, she had a pleasant appearance and was an expert not only in psychiatry, but also in music, history, and art. She was well versed in everything and could converse about anything. She studied medicine in Switzerland, where she also received her specialization degree, and then came to be with Robert in the United States. They were as different as night and day. People who knew them could not comprehend what these two might have in common. Later, when Dr. Lou knew Nina better, he noticed that she did not speak well about Robert. Actually, they were formally separated and not on good terms. One day, however, Dr. Fox overheard their private conversation. They were snuggling and cooing, so much so that they sounded as if they were truly in love, the eternal, immortal love. Dr. Fox never would have expected it from

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them. No one had any idea about their secret, and the couple did not know that Lou had overheard their amorous conversation.

Chapter XVI

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n the other bank of the Hudson River, behind Ossining Township, stands the complex of buildings of the SingSing Federal Penitentiary. Barbed wire fences surround the premises with high voltage power, and watchtowers are set on every corner and strategic outlook. This maximumsecurity prison is difficult to get into, and for those who are in, even more difficult to get out. Sing-Sing is a famous prison. Jack, Robert’s younger brother inhabited one of its buildings, in solitary confinement. He was sentenced to thirty years for espionage. He was lucky not to have been sentenced to death in the electric chair. He had been there already for eleven years. It was a long time, particularly for a young man whose life was just beginning. He was exposed to endless interrogations and observation every day, with a number of

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psychiatrists analyzing every word and gesture. His psyche was endlessly plucked of its feathers. Every discrepancy in his answers was recorded. They came and went, taking turns, but the questions remained the same, again and again. Endless questions. Day after day, often in the evening. Eleven years lost! Eleven years wasted! Eleven of the best years of his exuberant youth! And what for? That was a heavy toll for silence. Days, weeks, and months passed by. Seasons took their turn, but Jack knew he would live like this for another twenty years. But why? He thought about it more and more often. A thought chased him day and night. It troubled him so much that he could not sleep. He constantly asked the questions, “Was it right? Was it wise to be a sacrificial lamb?” Nobody in jail is a hero. He was just a number, nothing else. “An ordinary number, you are just an ordinary number, Jack.” His brain was bombarded from different sides. Before, he was sure he was serving the right cause. Now, during those sleepless nights he thought about it more often. Was it wise? Was it sensible? He could not find the answer. The time was not right for the answer; his thought was only in an embryonic state. He had to let it develop, to let it grow. He played with it like a kitten plays with a piece of paper. It was amusing. He was toying with his thought and fell asleep. He slept peacefully and soundly. He felt like Prometheus who had just shaken off his shackles. Jack did not have any dreams. Even if he had, he would not have dreamed about an unimportant young doctor who was assigned to his sister-in-law for a two-month internship

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or about his good-bye party in a Manhattan hospital on the other side of the Hudson River. Lou thanked Dr. Claudel for unveiling this field of science for him. He was grateful, because Dr. Claudel had taken fatherly care of him and showed him all the recessed corners of a child’s soul, both in the normal ones and the ones changed by disease. Lou emphasized how happy he was to have received all that valuable information from Dr. Paul Claudel, a well-know authority in pediatric psychology. Lou then turned to Nina, gave her a large bouquet of white and red roses, and thanked her, “Dr. Nina, I am especially grateful to you, for your kind assistance and for reminding me every day what is normal and what is not, as well as for teaching me that the formative development is finished by the second year and that what follows is just partial modification.” He finished his speech by saying, “To all the nurses and staff, I would also like to express my sincere gratitude. I will never forget you. I felt at home here.” A two-year-old autistic child, who had never spoken, ran to Lou with a clay toy that he had made and gave it to him as a gift. That was a wonderful surprise. Dr. Fox hugged the young “artist” and kissed both of his cheeks. Dr. Fox had been watching the boy in the workshop nearly every day, busy rolling the clay. When the child had determined that the piece looked like the doctor, he had it baked until it turned brown, painted it, and then had it baked again. For Lou, this was the most beautiful gift he could have received there.

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Lou carried the clay piece of art that left a sparkle of love in both of them. He left with a heavy walk, and with an even heavier heart. He had to crawl from the valley of children’s dreams back to reality. He walked on the old path that zigzagged between the buildings. He had become familiar with their exterior, even more with their interior. He approached a well-known entrance and rang the doorbell. He could hear steps approaching the door and then the rattle of a key. Mike, the head guard, appeared at the door and said, “Hi, Dr. Lou, welcome home. Please follow me to the boss, he’s waiting for you.” They walked to Dr. Menkoff ’s office. He gave them a smile, waved his hand, but continued the phone conversation he had been distracted from. He finally hung up the receiver, came to Lou, offered him a hand to shake and placed the other one on Lou’s shoulder and said warmly, “Welcome home.” “Thank you, Izidor. I see you are in good health. You haven’t changed a bit. Mike, where will you place me?” Izidor promptly responded instead of Mike, “You will be in the same room as before. Mike, give him the keys. He is capable of finding his own room. Let’s go home. I will see you tomorrow.” He put on his coat and wished them a pleasant evening.

Chapter XVII

F

ull of impressions from the day, Dr. Fox did not go to his office. Instead, he got into his car and set out in the direction of the Tapanzee Bridge, and from there along the Hudson River to Yonkers. The drive was pleasant and the traffic not very heavy. He could watch and admire the countryside without paying too much attention to the oncoming traffic. He was analyzing the day’s events that were added to the bouquet of forget-me-nots of his colorful life. Yes, life is beautiful. “Some people say life is short, but it depends on how you live it. It depends on what you fill it with. Even if life is short, it can still be full, rewarding, and beautiful. Man, an actor on the stage of this divine comedy, can peacefully lay down his bones before his departure for eternal rest. Just like

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a tired master before he goes to bed after a hard day’s work, like Leonardo da Vinci after he had finished his ‘Last Supper,’ or like Michelangelo who, when he had finished his ‘Moses,’ full of pride in his work, struck the knee of his sculpture and said, “So, say something!” We are here because we are part of God’s plan. We are the Lord’s tenants. We are here to pass something down to the generations that will come after us. We are here to build the bridge that we will not walk on, but there will be others who will come that will need it.” The trip passed by very quickly with these meditations and before he realized it, he was walking up the stairs of his house on War Burton Avenue in Yonkers. Lou opened the door and the home atmosphere embraced him. What is home? A nice villa, a beautiful palace, a modest whitewashed cottage, or a rented room? Home is the place where people find peace, where they are happy, where they are content with themselves. Like the young woman in Bethlehem, happy with a small cave, the only refuge she could find to give birth to the Son of God. Home is the place where Man finds himself, his next of kin, all his possessions, and his happiness. For a refugee, home is any place where he can lay down his head on the small bundle that holds all his belongings. For Lou, his home was an oasis of peace and happiness. He was always happy when he could come home on time. Today was no exception. Lou told his family the events of the day and they spent a nice time after a good dinner. Anna-Maria was still sleeping soundly when her father crept out early in the

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morning. He walked downstairs very quietly so as not to wake her. He was in his office before eight. A few minutes before the hour he went to his window only to see Robert parking his car. Robert opened the door, took off his jacket, and folded it as he had many times before. Then he put it on the back seat, locked the car, and exactly at eight was walking upstairs to the door. He walked upright, as always appearing to be on top of the situation. If Lou had not known him, he would have thought Robert was under hypnosis. Lou knew this was not the case. It was Robert’s strong discipline and self-control. He had probably planned his schedule early in the morning and never swerved from it throughout the day. Robert appeared and in less than a minute disappeared again. He was gone. Dr. Fox returned to his desk and looked at the patients’ documents that had been prepared for him. He knew he would have to examine them before lunch, because immediately after lunch two buses full of acute patients from Bellevue would arrive who would have to be examined clinically, have their cerebrospinal liquid pressure measured, and have a number of other tests performed. Everything would have to be completed before their mental condition could be determined. Twice a week, when the buses brought the new patients, the hands and brains of doctors worked in full swing. Outsiders might have thought it was all done as if on a production line. They examined a patient physically and mentally, checked the data from Bellevue, drew blood

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and brain fluid for new tests, and performed biochemical tests to eliminate any chance of error. It was an intensive, fast, and painstaking work. It had to be done right and done fast. A person who had never seen or experienced this could not even imagine how it worked. Before dinner, Dr. Fox sat down at his desk, set his elbows on it and braced his head in his hands. It was time to have a mental break, to stop time from passing. It was time to shut his eyes and ears at least for five minutes. Those blissful moments! The entire day passed through his head, one event after another. Even though he was tired, he was happy. His time had not been wasted. He did not belong to the group of people who spend their days chattering, gossiping, sitting in front of the TV, playing cards, or squandering their time in some other way, and then say that they were tired because they had worked hard all day and could not wait to go to bed to rest. There are people like that, thieves of their own time, but Dr. Fox did not belong to that category. He finished his balance sheet of the day and closed the book. He stood up, put on his coat, and left for the cafeteria. There he met his friends Miriam Kleinholz and Father Jimmy McCormick. Robert had not come yet, probably due to some commitment. Dinner was in full swing when Dr. Fox joined them. He was quite hungry. The day’s work had exhausted him, although he did not want to admit it. He enjoyed his dinner and ate it all. They were just finishing their dinner when Robert showed up. He was in a good mood. Since he was hungry, he enjoyed his dinner very much. They

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did not speak much while they ate, but their tongues loosened over coffee. They spoke about politics and art: real art, not the decadent one. They even spoke about pseudoart, that is, art in name only. They agreed that what is even worse is pseudo-politics, that is, uncivilized domestic and foreign politics. It is shameless, full of lies, and too filthy for decent people to dirty their hands with. That night they all agreed on nearly everything, even Jimmy and Robert agreed with each other. In fact, they complemented each other. It was very unusual and Miriam did not hide her surprise over their agreement. “As we have all witnessed, those two used to argue and had contrasting opinions. They always contradicted each other. Their thoughts ran in parallel lines, moving in the same direction and never meeting. What happened?” But the two only smiled and continued to criticize art and politics. “Christ was the very first Communist. He and his apostles established a collective farm, and Judas was its treasurer,” said Robert. Jimmy said, “It was St. Paul who said ‘He who shall not work, shall not eat.’” They carried on in this way, as if playing cards. Miriam did not know what to think about it until Jimmy showed the last ace and said, “The second most important commandment says, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Robert, Communism does everything to oppose that; it negates the second greatest of the Ten Commandments. In the bloodthirsty Communist regime, class struggle, hatred, and

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the slaughter of millions dominate. Compared to Stalin, Hitler was a Lilliputian. Stalin was a mass murderer, the worst of them all. “Robert, where is the love for your fellow man? A famous Moscow subway was bought with blood and lives of modern slaves. General Stefanik, Lou’s countryman, who knew about the atrocities of the Russian revolution during WWI said, ’Communism is the worst enemy of mankind.’ “Communism has nothing in common with the Old Testament, even less with Christ’s teachings of loving your fellow man. If you think differently, you are heading in the wrong direction and are in the service of evil.” Robert turned red and his forehead broke out in a cold sweat. All of a sudden he stood up, excused himself, and left. The others seated at the table were surprised. They could not understand the sudden change in Robert’s behavior, his cold sweat, or sudden departure. Jimmy was so surprised by Robert’s reaction that he turned pale. Lou did not interrupt the silence; there was no need. Miriam fell silent, as if she were at a funeral. Jimmy remained perplexed. He had not meant to hurt anyone. He made a general comment, although it was addressed to Robert. Dr. Fox was wondering why Robert’s behavior and his reaction were so strange. Jimmy must have struck a raw nerve. His words were probably a reminder of something real, something that had touched Robert directly. They were about to leave when Robert came back. He explained that he had become sick and asked to be excused.

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It was a different Robert, though. He was no longer the proud, self-complacent, conceited man. This was just a body, just a flicker of the former Robert. “What a change,” thought Miriam. With the exception of Robert, everybody smiled mechanically, trying to cover their mixed feelings. They left the cafeteria, but remained standing in front of the building for a while. Nobody felt like leaving. It would be like a silent confession without absolution. Something was missing from that situation. It was hanging in the air and it was not long before it was revealed, addressed by Robert himself when he looked at the priest and offered his hand. “Thank you, Jimmy.” Father McCormick looked at Robert with a cheerful face, shook his hand, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Everyone, including Robert, was relieved. That was the “amen” they had been waiting for; now they could depart in peace. These kinds of moments should be preserved in a safe box for future generations, so that the splendor of the moment could illuminate their way, so that they do not have to learn from their own mistakes. It was a precious moment. Dr. Fox did not feel like going back to his room, so he decided to start his evening rounds. He set out in the direction of the Pediatric Psychiatry department. It had become a daily routine for him. The sky was clear. He could not see anything in it, only after a long gaze could he see twinkling stars, distant worlds that we know nothing about. He wondered if there were also intelligent beings there. Do

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they think the same way we do? Do they want peace as much as we do? Then suddenly, a shooting star appeared in the sky. It flared and died away. Lou was a little boy when his mother had told him to make a wish every time he saw a falling star. With this in mind, he wished for peace on Earth, no wars at any time. This was probably the wish of everyone who had lived through war and was aware of its consequences. Do beings millions of years away from us earthlings also think this way? It was very quiet when he finished his evening round. He returned to his room, got into bed, and fell asleep. His sleep was peaceful. He dreamt that his bed was round and that above and below it, to the right and to the left, there were many worlds, everywhere. They were all dominated by the same desire for peace and serenity. Everyone was free to plow and plant seeds in his own land, to harvest his own crop, and pray to God, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, in his own way.

Chapter XVIII

T

he next morning was beautiful. The sun was shining and there was no wind. After breakfast, Dr. Fox walked back to his building, greeted his superior, exchanged a couple of polite comments, and hurried to the secured unit. He unlocked the door and mechanically locked it again. Then he asked the nurse on duty to bring Zbygniew. In a couple of minutes the patient was brought to Lou’s office. “Thank you. I want to be alone with him,” Lou said to the nurse. “He is paranoid and flies into a rage quite often. Are you sure you want to be alone with him, Dr. Fox?” “I am positive. In case of emergency, I hope I will be able to push the alarm,” answered Lou with a smile. The nurse also smiled at Lou’s witty answer and left.

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They were alone now. Lou offered his hand to Zbygniew. The patient accepted the offer and shook the doctor’s hand. Dr. Fox offered Zbygniew a seat. This offer was also accepted. Dr. Fox looked at the papers that had come from Bellevue with the patient. He thoroughly read the patient’s diagnosis: severe depression and paranoid schizophrenia. He looked at the patient and again at the papers. He could not believe what he had read. He decided to make his own diagnosis. He looked around as if making sure nobody else was around and then looked at the patient and began. “Do you believe in God?” “Yes.” “Do you go to church?” “No.” “Why not?” “Here, in America, it costs a lot of money to go to church, and I don’t have it. Besides, you have to dress well when you go to church. I only have two suits and I alternate between them for work. I give money to my wife and daughter so that they can dress well. Especially to my daughter, who is a student. She is pretty and wants to dress well and I understand that. I can live without it. In America, money doesn’t grow on trees, doctor. You have to work hard for it.” “Are you frustrated?” “Can you blame me, doctor? I thought I would have a different life here. Since I came, I have been working like a dog. Even on Sundays! I have to make money and save something so that my children can have a better life. Is it worth

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it? No, it’s not. My children look at me as if I were illiterate, inferior, something like a half-wit, somebody to be ashamed of. And my beautiful wife spends all her money on perfumes, creams, massages, and new dresses. She is hooked on fashion magazines. They are her Bible. And then, of course, there’s the TV. She’s hooked on it, watching all those junk programs and fashion shows. She never reads good books and is very critical of everything. She always knows everything best. As a result, I am paranoid and suffering from depression, and as I was told, I need treatment.” “Thank you, Zbygniew, that’s all for now.” They shook hands. Dr. Fox left and the nurse took Zbygniew to the common hall. Dr. Mann prescribed pills for depression and paranoid fantasies. She gradually increased the dosage of both medications and after four weeks the patient’s condition had improved significantly. Dr. Fox had been watching the treatment process with great attention in order to learn something. He also kept watching the patient daily. He spoke with him in his office and was happy about his progress. Zbygniew got on with Dr. Fox very well. They were like good friends. During the consultations Dr. Mann often emphasized that the patient was improving nicely, mainly because of a gradual increase of his dosage to the efficient treatment quantity. Time was passing, then flying by, and Zbygniew was happy that he felt much better. In front of the head doctor he often praised Dr. Fox, saying how considerate and wise the doctor was, that without Dr. Fox he would not have been cured. He kept thanking Dr. Fox for his improvement.

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Dr. Mann just smiled and said to Dr. Fox, “Now you can see with your own eyes what pills can accomplish.” Three months had passed and the three of them met in Fox’s office. The time had come for Zbygniew to be discharged. Dr. Mann was enthusiastic about the results of the treatment and the effect of the psychotropic drugs. Zbygniew thanked Dr. Mann for her help and then turned to Dr. Fox. “Doctor, you saved my life. I would have been poisoned if not for you and your understanding.” Dr. Mann did not understand, so Dr. Fox opened the drawer, full of the pills that she had prescribed. The head doctor had absolutely no idea what it was all about. Dr. Fox continued, “Doctor, since Zbygniew had stopped taking the pills and started saving them, he began to feel better. Look, they are all here.” Dr. Mann was shocked. She could not believe her eyes. Then her face lit up and she quite joyfully said, “Well, colleague, one never stops learning. The facts speak for themselves. A lesson for me well learned!” They shook hands and she said, “Goodbye, Zbygniew. God bless you.” Dr. Mann was the first to leave. Zbygniew thanked Dr. Fox and left happily. His wife and daughter came to pick him up. The family was reunited. They realized what he had sacrificed for their better future. He was a good father. He was not thinking about himself, he was thinking about his loved ones. Was he right? Yes, he was.

Chapter XIX

I

nstead of lunch, Dr. Fox called Dr. Wiener and asked for several hours of sleep. “Just come here and I will give you as much sleep as you wish. It doesn’t cost me anything. You will feel as if you were born again.” Ten minutes later they met. For a while, they chatted about their old friend, George Hajvoronsky, who had accepted a prominent position in Illinois three months ago. He had become the head of the Psychological Section of the Public Health Department. It was an enviable position, but George had been very reluctant to accept it and move to Illinois. He had racked his brain about it, having been ill at ease. “George was such a well-balanced person. Why did he hate to leave so much?” asked Dr. Wiener. After several

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minutes of sleep, which had the effect of hours in bed, Dr. Fox felt refreshed and full of energy, like a fish in water. Walking towards his office, he met Dr. Mann in the hallway. As usual, he greeted her politely. He was about to pass her when the head doctor stopped him to ask a question, “Dear Dr. Fox, why don’t you agree with transferring patient Gold to an open unit? Dr. Stanley saw him, too. We don’t think he has any suicidal tendencies. Dr. Eichelman, who is his friend and visits him often, has a similar opinion. I respect Dr. Eichelman’s opinion highly and think he would notice if anything were wrong, don’t you, dear colleague?” “Dr. Mann, Gold is my patient. He is a nice and very sensitive person. As a bank manager he embezzled $50,000. Nobody knows where the money went. He has amnesia and doesn’t know where the money is. The man is too sensitive and I am afraid that it is too soon for him to leave a secured unit. However, you are the boss here and you can transfer him on your authority. I hold in high regard your experience in this field of medicine.” “Thank you, Dr. Fox. You are being very diplomatic, as always. We will transfer Gold to the open unit tomorrow. He will feel better when he realizes that we trust him. Have a good day, colleague.” “Thank you, Dr. Mann. Same to you,” he responded respectfully. He approached his office but did not open the door. He realized that he still had to see some patients and take some

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notes on their health condition. He did not want to neglect this duty even a single day. It took longer than he had expected. After he finished, he hurried to his office. He entered and looked at the clock. It was four minutes to four. Dr. Fox was standing next to the window when exactly at four o’clock he saw Robert leave the building. Robert was walking briskly, as if he had the energy of ten people. “What discipline! Young people could learn discipline and persistence from him,” he thought. As usual, Robert left the building wearing just a shirt. He opened his car door, put on a jacket, got behind the wheel, and was gone. Dr. Fox roamed around his office for a while, then gathered his things, and started to walk down the stairs. He stopped in the central hall to check the mail. There he found a letter from Dr. Stanley. He was surprised and immediately opened the letter. Dr. Fox, we are very satisfied with your work. Your internship at the Psychiatric Department is approaching its end and I would like to inform you that as of August 1, 1960, I am transferring you to the Department of Surgery. Rockland State Hospital, July 15, 1960 Sincerely, Alfred Stanley, M.D. Administrator

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Dr. Fox was surprised to read this brief but clear message. Of course, he was very pleased, too. He was eager to learn something new. The news sounded very attractive. He hoped he would be able to specialize in that field and dedicate himself to it in the future. He got into his car happy, and while singing the tunes from his younger years, he peacefully drove the familiar highway to Yonkers. He knew his wife would be pleased, too. He knew it would be very beneficial for his family. He would have more time for them and his paycheck would be higher, too. The following day, he was at work on time, in fact, even earlier than usual. The good news pepped him up and poured fire into his veins. As soon as he joyfully entered the building, he wanted to share his good news. When he saw gloomy faces, he only managed to ask the question, “What happened?” “George Hajvoronsky passed away. He’s dead. He was only thirty-seven. He died of brain cancer.” Dr. Fox froze. Since the first time he had met George, they had understood each other very well. He was only five years older than George and they came from nearly the same area. They had the same mentality and way of thinking. They recognized the same moral values. Now Dr. Fox understood George’s aversion to leaving, his reluctance despite the attractive paycheck and the headaches. Poor George! And what about his wife, Jarmilka, and his daughter, Rose? George was so attached to them. This was like lightning, striking in

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the middle of a clear sky. It hit its target with no thunder, no storm. “When is the funeral scheduled, and where?” asked Dr. Fox. Dr. Wiener offered the answer, “Jarmilka has already taken him from Chicago. He will be buried in Spring Valley, not far from here, in the cemetery of the orthodox Russian monks. It is the resting place for many immigrants from the Czarist era, as well as scientists, poets, writers, and artists. George was a deeply religious man. He dreamed about the greatness of Czarist Russia. He loved everything Russian and believed in the future of Slavic nations. He was a good man with a big Slavic heart. The funeral will be tomorrow morning.” Dr. Wiener could not continue. He was nearly choked with grief, his mouth was dry, and heavy tears rolled down his cheeks. Dr. Fox left the room without a word. He met a secretary in the hallway and asked her quietly where Dr. Menkoff was. The secretary answered briefly, “He left a message that he would not be here today or tomorrow. He took two days off.”

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Chapter XX

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he funeral service started exactly at ten. Monks were singing a duet, the nuns’ voices were high pitched and penetrating. They were singing in a plaintive and heartrending way so that their voices could break through the clouds and open the door to the throne of the Omnipotent Lord and ask Him to have mercy on George’s soul, forgive his sins, and take George into His embrace. The tenors and sopranos were interrupted by the low, harsh voice of a priest. Burning candles in the hands of all present, the smothering atmosphere of incense and myrrh, the sprinkling of holy water, and the blowing of incense on the departed and all present created a mystical atmosphere. The ceremony ended with individual farewells to the deceased. All present approached the casket one after another and kissed him on the forehead. At half past two, when the ceremony was

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over and the last “amen” was sung, the casket was closed and it looked like George was ready for the long trip through the Siberian steps on sleds pulled by a typical three-horse “troika” team. The trip would be long, with snow, snow, and more snow. Everything white, here and there a snowstorm to interrupt the monotony. At the end of that long journey, the horses would pull their master in front of the throne of the Almighty and then drop dead into the snow. Happy is the man who keeps his faith. Hope and faith conquer all. It would be difficult to live without hope. However, love is the most beautiful of all emotions. From the smoke-filled room, Dr. Fox emerged to get some fresh air into his lungs. Several deep inhalations revived him. After the funeral everyone present went for food and refreshments. Dr. Fox decided to have a walk among the graves. He sat on the edge of one of them and meditated on the meaning of life, suffering, and human glory. Later, without saying goodbye to anybody, he got into his car, and drove towards the Tapanzee Bridge. The sun was still high when he arrived home. It was only a couple of minutes past two and his family was very pleased to have him home. They decided to go for a walk in Bear Mountain National Park on the other bank of the Hudson River, only an hour and a half drive. The weather was beautiful, as if made for spending a summer afternoon in the country. Anna-Maria was very excited. “May I join you?” asked Leander, Maria’s older brother who was living in Lou’s house at the time. Maria was very

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enthused about her husband’s plans as well as her brother’s interest in going with them. Indeed, during the past couple of years they had not had many opportunities to spend the day out together. She put some food and drinks into a basket, loaded it into the car, and they left. They were there before four. They sat at a vacant table. Lou with Maria remained sitting at the table, while Leander together with Anna-Maria went to admire the beauty of the park. Five-year old AnnaMaria was allowed to walk around, but only where she was in the view of her uncle. She was happy alone as long as she knew that her parents and her uncle were close by. While she was picking flowers and stones she noticed that an older man was entertaining himself by looking at the moss on the trees. When he thought nobody was watching him, he went to the garbage can, fished a yellow piece of paper out of the can and put it quickly into his pocket. He looked around making sure nobody saw him. There were only children around, either playing or occupying their parents’ attention. The man sat down, carefully took the yellow paper out of his pocket, read it, and then tore it into small pieces. After a while, he stood up and went for a walk, as if without a care in the world. While walking, he let small pieces of the paper be blown away by the wind, one after another. When he had gotten rid of all of them, he sat down. He looked around as if admiring the beauty of nature and the surrounding countryside. When he was sure nobody was watching him, he took a piece of green paper from his pocket, read it, wrote something else on it, and put it into the hollow of a tree. He behaved as if he

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were still interested in the tree moss, walking from one tree to another. Finally he disappeared into a crowd of park visitors who had been attracted to the park by the beautiful weather. It was dry, not a single cloud in the sky and a light cool breeze was pleasantly refreshing. Anna-Maria returned to the table. She was thirsty. She told them how she had played, and she showed them her collection of flowers and stones. “The best game was playing detective. One man thought I didn’t see him because I was picking stones, but I could see him very well. I pretended, though, that I didn’t. I was playing detective.” She told them all about her adventure, not omitting anything. The more she spoke and described the man, the more Dr. Fox was sure it could not be anybody else but his friend Robert. Everything was clear. Everything fell into the pattern, with the exception of his attire. Dr. Fox had never seen Robert in shorts, yellow summer shirt, and glasses. He asked his brother-in-law to go to the other side of the parking lot and look for a green car with the license plate RS-2365. After half an hour Leander returned with a smile. The car was there and a man in a yellow shirt was sitting in the car. He was reading a newspaper and may have seen Leander, because he suddenly put the paper on the seat and drove away. Maybe he saw him or maybe it was just an intuitive feeling of danger. Later Leander turned to Anna-Maria and complimented her on her talent for observation and perception. “Where did you get those ideas, Anna-Maria?”

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“From TV. I like to watch cartoons. ‘Detective MickeyMouse’ is my favorite,” promptly answered Anna-Maria. “You will be a success, Anna-Maria. You have a talent for observation and can put pieces of a puzzle together.” “What will I get for it?” she asked in a calculating way. “I see you can sell your talent well. OK then, I will make a treat tonight, something that will be just for you.” Leander knew what kids of her age liked most. Leander was a chemist. Since he was involved in research, he was precise and patient. However, it was hard to say if he was better as a chemist or a chef. He loved to cook and bake. They were his hobbies and, in truth, the whole family loved his specialties. As soon as they arrived home, he rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and started baking. In about an hour’s time the kitchen and all the rooms were filled with the aroma of cookies. Before Anna-Maria went to bed, she had a chance to taste his baked goodies. And not only Anna-Maria, but, with her approval, her parents also tasted what her uncle had baked for her.

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unday passed very peacefully. It was a lazy summer morning. The Foxes could have slept longer. They had a long and rich Sunday breakfast that was spiced with harmless gossip about the issues they had read about in the papers or heard on the radio, and then they went to church, which was surprisingly rather crowded. In the afternoon, after a good lunch, their friends Ernest, Tom, and Teo came for a visit. The jolly company and beautiful weather lured them to Candle Lake. After a two-and-a-half-hour drive they arrived. A large oblong lake with crystal clear water welcomed them. The place was encircled with vegetation, and the beaches were covered with white sand that was exposed to the burning rays of the high sun. Clear fresh water, hot sand, and clean air, what else could you wish for on a hot summer day?

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Lou and his family were enjoying this gift from God immensely. They recovered mentally and became somewhat lazy. At sunset they did not feel like packing and returning home. Anna-Maria was already half sleeping and as soon as she got into the car, she fell asleep completely. She slept through the entire journey and did not even wake up when she was put into her bed. Leander and Lou prepared for the day ahead and then went to bed. Maria was the last one awake. She washed the wet bathing suits, hung them up to dry, did the dishes, and put them into the cabinets. She hated to go to bed leaving a mess behind. She had a principle: “One never knows who can come to visit at night. That’s why everything must be in its place.” Monday morning everything was going well at the Institute, everything was following its routine. Reports from the previous night, the rounds, and the interviews with new patients, everything went smoothly. June was approaching its end. Patient Gold was in the open unit, working outdoors every day. He worked hard, he was never idle, but his conscience was gnawing at him. He could not sleep well. “To fall into the trap this way! My shame will fall on my entire family.” These haunting thoughts pestered him continually. “Why am I still here? And what for? I cannot change anything. Sin is sin. Guilt is guilt. Embezzling money that belonged to somebody else is more than sin. The bank manager should be a role model for his employees. What kind of a role model for my subordinates was I? A bad one, a very bad one indeed!

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If my employees spit right into my eyes and turn their heads away so as not to have to see me anymore, they would be absolutely right. I cannot live with all this. Everybody can see the sign of the devil on my forehead. Everybody is looking down at me, and rightly so.” In a secluded unit he could better deal with these feelings. He was immersed in his inner life. But in the open, outdoors, it was hard for him to tolerate himself. Very hard. A truck was approaching them at high speed. Gold looked at the truck and a thought came to his mind, “My time has come.” Acting on the thought he threw himself under the wheels of the truck. He was dead on the spot. It was a quick death, a quick repayment for his sins. At least his family remained blameless, and he repented of his sins in front of everybody. Poor Gold, such an honest and conscientious man! He was taken into the surgical department, but they could only confirm his death. The news about Gold’s suicide spread quickly, faster than wildfire. Everybody felt sorry for him. He was an honorable and decent man from a good, moral Jewish family. Nobody could understand what had led him to take $50,000 and give it to somebody. It was incomprehensible. Lou could not explain it in any way. He knew Gold too well. Gold must have known to whom he had given the money and for what purpose. He must have known that “friend” very well. It could not have been a coincidence. Conscientious Gold knew he could not give cash without a receipt. And he must have had some secret contact in the hospital, somebody who had an interest in Gold’s transfer to

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the open unit, somebody who had talked him into throwing himself under the truck wheels, into committing suicide so that any trace of his crime would be lost. There were many speculations. Everybody had his own version, his own guess. Recent events had made quite a stir. People were talking a lot, gossiping a lot. Not only patients, but the staff also had a lot to talk about. Lou had a night shift again. Robert had not shown up at all. Jimmy came as usual, but was rather quiet. He was appropriately in a serious mood. No doubt, he was praying for all of them. Miriam began her chattering, as always, but her words elicited no response. Finally she said, “Everything happens in threes. I wonder what the third tragedy will be.” They left immediately after dinner. It was the shortest and the most boring dinner ever in Dr. Fox’s memory. He left for his room where he studied for a while and then went to do his rounds.

Chapter XXII

M

iriam was right about the number three. Three days later, when Lou came to work, the secretary surprised him with the latest news: Dr. Modraska from the research department was dead. He was a young man, only in his early forties. He had been full of energy and looked very healthy. He had had lots of plans and had been very productive. “What happened?” asked Dr. Fox not understanding. “They brought him from home to the surgical department last night. He was completely covered in blood. He was throwing up blood, pure blood. Top experts with the best equipment were flown from the Medical Center. In the meantime, he was continually given blood transfusions and immediately taken to the operating room. He received five gallons of blood. Not even the best medical team could

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save him. They opened his abdomen, but there was blood everywhere. They operated on him all night. After all, the life of a doctor and a scientist was at stake. Nothing helped. The liver and kidneys had failed, especially the liver. Strange, since I heard that he never drank.” The secretary did not know more. Dr. Fox debated whether he should go and see the widow to express his sympathy. “I wonder how many people will be there now,” he thought. “After all, she may not even recognize me, much less her son. I don’t want to impose myself on them. I will go and pray that the Lord will have mercy on him.” And that is what he did. That afternoon he went to the chapel, where he was greatly surprised to see Mrs. Modraska and her son. Dr. Fox kneeled and began to pray. He meditated on the fact that one never knows when his days in this valley of tears will be over. He then decided to talk to the mourning pair. He silently placed his hands on their shoulders and they understood his message. Marianna turned to him, “Thank you, Dr. Fox. Tibor spoke about you. We were even contemplating meeting with you and reminiscing about our homeland. Please tell Maria that I would very much like to meet her, especially since we both come from the same town where we had spent our youth. We came here to pray for Tibor. I will tell you what the cause of his death was after the funeral. In a couple of days we will be working under the same roof and I will have the chance to talk to you then.”

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“What do you mean ‘under the same roof’?” asked Dr. Fox. “Dr. Stanley transferred you to our department, so in a couple of days we will be working in the same quarters. I am in charge of X-ray. In the meantime, give my regards to Maria. Please, pray that we will be strong enough to survive this.” Dr. Fox squeezed their hands and left. After he was out of the chapel, he looked around. Life was going on as usual. Nothing had changed. Only the bell near the chapel was sorrowfully announcing that one heart in the research department had stopped beating, had gone mute forever. He did not go back into the building. He opened the car door, got into it, started it, and was on his way to his family. While driving, he did not watch the surrounding countryside, but kept meditating on the meaning of life. “Why are we here? What are we here for? We emerge from a seed; we grow and get stronger. We think we can conquer the world. The prime of our life comes, the productive fifties, and after that we slowly start to decline towards the earth. We fight it, but all in vain. With the years we bend more and more towards the earth that we walk on. In the end, the earth will swallow us. We will go back to where we had come from. That is the cycle of life. Sometimes it happens that He who gave us life will take it in full bloom. Who are we to ask the gardener why he cut the flower in the prime of its blossoming?” Lou would have continued with his favorite meditation if not for the drunkard who had crossed his path unexpectedly.

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He saw him and luckily managed to turn the wheel at the last moment. It was a close call and the drunkard was lucky not to have been killed. Lou arrived home earlier than usual, but exhausted. He did not feel like talking or eating. Only after Anna-Maria went to bed did he tell Maria what had happened. Maria was shocked. She began to think analytically. She was a good internist and had excellent instincts in the field. She began thinking aloud, “He didn’t smoke. He didn’t drink. He looked healthy. He loved playing tennis. The only think that comes to mind is mental stress. You know very well how it is. Look at my brother. He is an excellent chemist, a specialist in organic chemistry. He works in research where precision is critical. Researchers must not make mistakes; otherwise, all their previous efforts will be ruined. Very often they don’t get the results they expected; nevertheless, precision must be maintained so that the results are trustworthy. And Leander’s boss is very aggressive and demands immediate results. He wants them right now; he’s quite a nuisance in that regard. The only consolation is that they understand each other and complement each other so well. Before Leander, he had replaced three expert chemists. The person who does research lives under constant stress, with a lot of mental pressure. That was Tibor’s case. In fact, many psychotropic drugs had been developed for the market, but the work was done primarily by only two researchers: Tibor and the Frenchman. Dr. Kline would only urge them to get good results and then turn those results into cash. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Tibor

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had started taking amphetamines to stimulate his brain. He probably began with a small dosage and kept increasing it more and more. Finally, his liver wasn’t able to detoxify all that poison, it was overloaded, and the kidneys started to fail, too. I think that was the cause of his untimely death.” “I wonder what Marianna will have to say. I think you may be right. That’s what probably happened. Poor Tibor.” “How are you progressing with your study?” Maria asked her husband to change the sad topic. “I’m doing fine, making use of each free moment. And how about you? Are you happy with your work at the hospital? How do you manage to combine studying for the validation exam with taking care of Anna-Maria? Isn’t it too much?” “Obstacles are made to be overcome,” she responded in an enlivened way because she was pleased by the unexpected interest of her husband. “I received my M.D. in Prague when the city was being bombed and had my graduation in a bomb shelter. Today’s situation cannot be compared to that. The validation exam in English and the new medical findings will not quell my ambition to become a doctor, a good doctor in America. I am glad you are not like other men who want to have their wives only to themselves and don’t support their personal ambitions. Validating my M.D. means more work for me, but I really like my work, and if anything happened to you, there would be somebody to take care of you,” said Maria with an ambiguous smile. “The fact that you are supporting me while I am validating my M.D. is a

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good investment for you. Don’t worry, I can take good care of Anna-Maria and the household simultaneously,” said Maria and squeezed Lou’s hand. “You are right, as long as we are healthy, we can do it.” They stopped talking. It was time to rest for the night. They had to be at work on time.

Chapter XXIII

H

e arose very early the next morning, earlier than usual. As early as seven he was already on the Tapanzee Bridge. “I can study in my car for half an hour before I go into the building at eight, or better yet, I will go to my office early. I can study there,” he said to himself, almost aloud. And that was what he did. He went upstairs to his office, opened the book, and started reading. Later, when he looked at the clock, it was five minutes before eight. A couple of minutes later, Robert’s car stopped in front of the building. He was on time as always. For about two minutes Robert remained sitting in his car. At eight o’clock sharp, he opened the car door, got out of the car, took off his jacket, and locked the car door. Then, wearing only a shirt, he turned towards the building. There was something remarkable about him, imposing movements, steady stride, determination,

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and resolution. Behind all that was also a mystery hidden in his impenetrable face. Robert disappeared in the entrance. Lou went back to his book and read a couple of pages more. After several hours, he was so exhausted that he nearly fell asleep over the book. He was roused when the phone rang. “It’s twelve. Where are you?” Dr. Wiener asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. I still have a lot of studying ahead. Sorry.” “I want you to be here in ten minutes.” “Thanks for reminding me,” responded Dr. Fox. He stood up, washed his face with cold water, dried his face and hands with a towel, and left for Dr. Wiener’s office. Dr. Wiener was waiting for him. He seated Lou on the chair and five minutes later, Lou stood up completely refreshed. “Thank you, my friend. George’s death has hurt me deeply.” “You’re not alone,” Dr. Wiener sighed and then continued, “Do you remember how he hated to leave here? I do believe in premonitions. We are on stage for only a short time. Each of us is assigned a role and after each performance there is a curtain. It doesn’t matter how long we perform. What matters is how well we perform. And George performed his role very well. He was a very good man. We will follow him when we finish our acts. Perform well, dear Lou, so that the Eternal Judge can pass a good verdict.” Only then did Dr. Fox begin to appreciate the noble soul of his Jewish friend. They approached the door and shook hands.

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“See you again soon, dear friend. Shalom. God be with you,” were Dr. Wiener’s parting words. Dr. Fox hurried downstairs to his boss. Dr. Menkoff was already waiting for him. “Here is a letter for you from Dr. Stanley. Open it. I know what’s in the letter, since I asked him to leave you here for two more weeks. We need you here even though I know they are already waiting for you there. I’ve gotten used to you because I think we understand each other very well. Dr. Stanley was not very happy about it, but he ultimately agreed. I am very grateful that he understands.” “Izidor, you know I like you and that we understand each other well. I value your friendship and will do my best to help you whenever you need me. You can count on me,” Lou said before leaving. Dr. Fox went upstairs to his office. When there, he read the administrator’s letter very carefully, put it in the drawer, and locked the drawer. For a while, he was immersed in deep thoughts, then he stood up, and went on one of his rounds. The patients were already waiting for him. They were glad to see him. He spent fifteen minutes with every patient. He understood them well, he could follow their patterns of thinking, and they felt his desire to help them. They trusted him and that was very important. He shook everyone’s hand. He listened and understood them all. Time was passing by and before he knew it, it was five o’clock. He took his final notes and left for his office. There he made several phone calls, locked the door, and left for dinner. He had a shift that night.

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He was looking forward to it because he hoped he would have time to study. He was also looking forward to being in the company of Robert, Jimmy, and, of course, Miriam. She was like quicksilver and everybody liked her. When Lou came to the cafeteria, all three of them were already there. When he opened the door, they turned their smiling faces to greet him, as if they had been waiting for him. He joined them at the table but kept the events of the recent days to himself. He did not want to share them with anybody. They were glad to be together. It did not take long for Miriam to start a conversation. She turned to Jimmy, “Father McCormick, how is the chapel project progressing? Has everything been paid off yet?” “Almost everything. I could use several hundred dollars more, but I am confident I will get them with God’s help. The main thing is that I’ve reached my goal and the chapel is standing. Our patients and their relatives are enthused and their spirit is raised,” Jimmy said with satisfaction. “I don’t want to exaggerate, but you have accomplished the impossible. They like you even more now. You have elevated not only your flock’s spirit, but the Jewish patients like to see you and speak with you as well. They know what you are doing for them. Don’t they, Robert?” Robert just nodded silently and added, “Even a lunatic can tell gold from tinsel.” Jimmy was shocked since he did not expect anything like that from Robert, especially not expressed with such sincerity. Miriam’s womanly instinct was on target once again.

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“Robert, if you agree, we can do a good deed and donate something for a noble cause. Each of us will give $250. Those who cannot should give whatever they can. In this way the chapel debt will be paid off.” Jimmy was pleasantly surprised. Miriam was the first to write out a check. Lou was second. Robert took a pen into his hand, pulled out his checkbook, and wrote a third check. Without any hesitation, Robert signed the check and handed it to Jimmy. Flabbergasted, Jimmy read aloud “$500!” They all looked at Robert. Why? They had agreed to $250. Robert said, “You are right, my friends. From the bottom of my heart I’m donating it to a noble cause. God bless you, Jimmy,” he said and shook Jimmy’s hand. After a minute of silence, he turned to Jimmy, “Now you owe me. I will need your prayers, dear friend.” At that moment the phone rang. Robert answered it and said, “OK, I will meet you as you’ve suggested.” Then he hung up the receiver, said goodbye, and left. All three of them were shocked, by his check as well as by his sudden departure. Before the others left, Miriam added, “It’s taken a long time to get this project moving. I wonder what has caused the change. May it be the events that we have witnessed? As soon as one event was over, the next one came. As if we were on a boat in a stormy sea. Some people were swallowed up and some brought to the surface. Good night, my friends. We’ll see what will happen in the morning.”

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Chapter XXIV

T

he next morning, when Dr. Fox stopped in Izidor’s office, the secretary handed him a note. He opened it and read, “Please give me a call at the X-ray Unit at your convenience. Marianna.” He called her immediately, “Could we meet during the lunch break? Is one o’clock OK, or do you prefer an earlier time?” “One is OK. See you then.” He spent the morning with his patients, then ate lunch, and around one was walking towards the surgical department. He went in and in the hallway turned to the left. The second door was open. Dr. Marianna Modraska greeted him as soon as he entered the office, “It’s nice to see you here, Dr. Fox.”

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He closed the door and asked, “What is it Marianna? What happened?” He had not expected to meet her so soon. “Look here, Lou, at these receipts. In seven weeks Tibor paid pharmacies a total of over $500, all for amphetamines. Besides, he also received samples of drugs and ate them like candy. He kept stimulating his brain to remain highly productive. I am not surprised he ended up in such a miserable way. I had no idea, though. He kept it a secret from me. I could see he was not himself and was tense. His boss drove him to that. Tibor only slept two or three hours a night. Dr. Kline praised him, telling him how much he was proud of him. In truth, Dr. Kline got all the honors and professorship at Harvard, while my husband went to the grave. I am left without a husband and my son without a father, now when he needs him the most. Life is not fair. God is not fair.” “I understand your feelings, Marianna, but people have a free will. I know it’s tough. People complain about their destiny and don’t realize that they are creators of their own happiness. And what about those who didn’t cause anything? Yes, life is cruel. I am sorry that you have to take this bitter medicine and drink even the dregs. Feel free to call Maria or me anytime. I am not sure if you remember Maria, even though you are from the same town. I will come with her next time. Take good care of yourself and your son. You will have to be both his mother and father now. Call me anytime you feel like.” They shook hands and Lou left. While walking, he was thinking about what Maria had told him about Marianna some time ago. Marianna and her

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parents had moved to Pravno at the beginning of 1939, from Romania. Marianna’s father was a doctor, and Nitrianske Pravno, or as the local Germans called it at that time Deutsch Proben, was very much to their liking. It was a small cozy town with historical royal privileges. The majority of the inhabitants were Carpathian Germans who spoke with an accent that native Germans did not understand. They also had their own customs and traditions. They married amongst themselves, but here and there they accepted a “stranger,” just to refresh their blood. They had good craft guilds and also many intellectuals who proved their worth not only in Slovakia, but also in Central Europe, and even overseas. At the beginning of 1939, Dr. Meyer had immigrated with his beautiful wife, Sara, and even more beautiful daughter, Marianna, to this town. Marianna had a dark, as if tanned complexion, which she inherited from her mother. Not fair, not dark, and here and there small darker freckles gave the impression of an exotic, beautiful rose brought from a Romanian village. Nobody knew how and why they left, nor if they had sold all their property there. However, among their pots, pans, and goose-down blankets they also brought Romania’s pride and ambitions. The small town of Deutsch Proben had enormous pride, but the new doctor, they said, had more pride than was healthy and the locals did not like that. After graduating from high school, Marianna went to Bratislava to study to be an X-ray technician. Nobody knew when and where Tibor discovered this exotic rose that so attracted all men. It was

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love at first sight for him. His friends often teased him that he turned into a lovesick fool. It is said that Romanian Gypsies can bewitch a person. Marianna was not a Gypsy, but she had bewitched him. The entire town spoke about it. And no wonder! Tibor had successfully graduated from medical school and was immediately offered an internship with Dr. Sauerbruch, the hero of German surgery. What Dr. Leriche of the Sorbonne was to Paris, Dr. Sauerbruch was to Berlin. Fame got those two surgeons far. The sky was the limit, but it could not get them to Heaven or overseas. The Statue of Liberty would not let them in. They were given conditions that they refused to meet. Marrying Dr. Modraska was Marianna’s unrivalled success and the wedding was a reflection of that reality. That was what Lou learned from Maria, and what Maria had learned from her mother. Marianna, whom Lou had only recently gotten to know, was a very pleasant and kind woman, willing to help where she could. She was intelligent and religious. She liked to arrange the altar in the chapel. Often she would go there just to pray to the Heavenly Virgin, to ask for help for herself and for others, too. She was one of those uprooted people sentenced to live in an environment where her roots could not get sufficient nurture, so the uprooted being could not grow, could not die, could only exist. She was one of those who came to this country of freedom and peace, trying to put bread on the table and secure a better future for their children. Tibor was driven by his hunt for fame and fortune, which ultimately drove him into a premature

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grave. Such thoughts worked their way around Fox’s head. He knew this was the first phase, the shock phase, the very beginning. What follows is insomnia, grumbling against God, whom she will begin to hate because He lets people be hurt. This will all come. The greater the love, the greater the hate toward the one who took it away. Marianna, you will have to drink this chalice of pain alone, all the way to the dregs. Like it or not, you do not have any other option but to remain strong. This is how He who died but still lives wishes to see you, because one is only truly dead when He is forgotten. He stopped meditating since he was in front of his building. Thoughts are like butterflies. You must catch them and put them on paper or they will fly away. He entered the building and headed straight for Izidor. He looked at his wrinkled forehead, his thick, long brows. Izidor could not bear Dr. Fox’s direct look. He was afraid that Fox could read something in his eyes, something he should not know. “We have a lecture on the ego and superego at three o’clock. Are you going, Izidor?” asked Lou. “I may. Dr. White is a good specialist, and I need to break away from some thoughts.” “What’s bugging you, Izidor? You are like an overstretched string that is going to snap at any time.” “You are right, Lou, but it isn’t because of you. I feel like I just may. I feel what birds and animals feel before a volcano erupts.”

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“I know the feeling and understand it,” commented Lou and left him alone. From the door he called, “I will see you at the lecture,” and went his way. All the faces in the lecture hall were familiar. Nearly all his colleagues were there. Dr. White began with the ego. He explained it as a conscious perception of our environment; of our thoughts, emotions, and actions; of memory and the compendium of experiences; of the relationship of our inside and outside worlds. It is a gradual exchange of information between the inner world and the world of our environment. It is the process of adaptation to the environment, requiring a harmonious balance among the desires of the id, the reservoirs of mental energy, the appetites of the libido, and the aspirations of the superego. The ego is a mediator between the blind, irrepressible desire for gratification, pleasure, and satisfaction and the necessity of adapting to the requirements of the outside world. A powerful ego can turn primitive, socially unacceptable impulses into socially acceptable norms. The superego is a watchdog of moral and social values. Dr. White clarified this hypothetical classification in a very practical and illustrative way for better understanding. He developed the ego-superego conception perfectly. The audience responded with a burst of enthusiasm. For Dr. Fox, it was an invaluable experience. A number of people remained after the lecture to speak with Dr. White. He was an equally brilliant discussion partner. He could explain basic facts masterfully. The lecture hall gradually emptied. In the end, Dr. White left satisfied and accompanied by the

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hospital administrator Stanley. Interestingly, Izidor had not shown up. Lou returned to the building, but still did not see him. He went back to his office and went through the papers of two of his patients, reading about their progress in treatment. He was pleased and happy with the positive results. Later, he locked the door and peacefully left for home.

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Chapter XXV

M

orning came fast. Night seemed to be too short. He had slept soundly, yet he was still tired. The recent events affected him deeply. The situation was still like an open wound. He got up, took a bath, got dressed, and had his breakfast. Quietly, he went downstairs, closed the door behind him, and walked across the street to the parking lot. He started his car and was on his way. “Two more days,” he thought, “and I will happily be back in the place where I will be able to rely on my surgical skills and knowledge of medicine. Those who want to specialize only in psychiatry are afraid of that place, like a devil is afraid of holy water. It is a unit with one hundred and twenty beds. The unit is dedicated to mentally ill patients who also have physical problems.

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“Patients are brought in ambulances, the doctor examines them, makes a diagnosis, prescribes treatment, and sends them back. The ones who are seriously ill are hospitalized and treated. The doctor has to take care of patients’ physical ailments, including pneumonia, heart attacks, strokes or anything that belongs to internal medicine, as well as perform any necessary surgical procedures, such as operations for intestinal perforation, appendicitis, or broken bones. Two experienced specialists are responsible for the unit. It is no wonder that younger doctors avoid it. After all, it is a test of their knowledge of internal medicine and surgery. There it becomes clear how much they know. They must rely on their wisdom and their hands.” These thoughts swirled in his head while he was driving. He loved internal medicine, and he was also very good with his hands. He could use them very well. Psychosomatic medicine attracted him greatly. That was the reason why he volunteered to work in the surgical unit as soon as it was possible. Dr. Stanley accepted him enthusiastically. He was glad he would not have to look for a “sacrificial lamb” and force him to live through his patients’ mental agonies. A doctor who is not confident regarding his skills and knowledge, but is conscientious at the same time, suffers as much as the mentally-ill patient who has to rely on the doctor’s operating skills. Lou felt competent not only in internal medicine, but also in surgery and orthopedics. Because of that, he had enthusiastically volunteered to be transferred to the surgical

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unit before they sent him there as an intern. At least, he would be able to show how much he knew. On the morning of August 15, he showed up in the office of Dr. Haymann, the head physician. Dr. Blanco, Haymann’s assistant, a polite and well-mannered Cuban, welcomed him and asked him to wait since Dr. Haymann was on the phone. Fox knew Haymann rather well. He was one of the people that Lou greatly valued and respected. Some years ago, he was the administrator of a prestigious Charitas Hospital in Berlin. He was already an excellent surgeon at that time. After the fascists had come to power, he and his wife left for France. He had not stayed there long, though, because the Germans occupied France, too. In a very close escape, he left for Brazil. During WWII, he worked there as a family doctor. He visited his patients riding a horse, and he did all he could to survive. After the war, he immigrated to the U.S., but due to his age, he could not dedicate himself only to surgery. He thought that psychiatry would be better for him than beginning his own specialty somewhere else, but after his supervisors learned about his experience in surgery, they transferred him to the internal medicine/surgery unit, and so in addition to his practice in psychiatry, his surgical skills were also recognized. He was a very gentle and sensitive man. Literature, especially German literature, was his hobby. He still considered Germany to be his homeland. He despised the fascists and their vulgar nature, but it was interesting that there was not a trace of hatred in his heart. He always tried to

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excuse fascists’ actions, even though he had every reason to hate them. He rejected the system, but he was always looking for explanations of what were the driving motives behind such hideous crimes that had been perpetrated by fascists. He loved the German people and their literature, although he was a German Jew. “We all are children of God. There are Orthodox Jews and there are reformed Jews, i.e. Christians. Jesus Christ did not come to abolish God’s laws, but to fulfill them.” He did not have to wait long for Dr. Haymann. He came in a couple of minutes, welcomed Dr. Fox warmly, and mentioned he was an old veteran of surgery and was willing to help and advise Dr. Fox if need be. He introduced Dr. Fox to his assistant Dr. Blanco and regretted that he could not introduce him to the head doctor, Dr. March. However, he commented ironically in German, “You aren’t missing anything.” He showed him the patients in the left wing. He commented on their diagnoses, on their progress, and on problems with their treatment. At that moment, Dr. March appeared in a huff. Dr. Haymann had no idea why he was so angry, but he calmly introduced them to each other and explained to Dr. March what they were doing. On their way back, they let Dr. March and Dr. Blanco walk a couple of steps in front of them. Dr. Haymann whispered to Dr. Fox, “Don’t let this Jew from Budapest upset you. Every case is unique and special to him. He always wants to operate. He speaks so loud that people can hear him on the other side of the hallway. He is permanently riled up.

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The reason I am telling you all this is so that you take his diagnoses with a grain of salt. Rely on your talent, wisdom, and judgment.” The message was understood. Dr. Haymann waved at Marianna and said, “I don’t know if you two have met. Marianna is our X-ray specialist. She is an expert in reading and interpreting X-ray photographs. Her husband recently passed away, and that has affected all of us here. Not only was he a good scientist, he was also a good man.” Then he turned to Marianna. “Marianna, how is Peter? You have to take good care of him,” he said. Then he continued to Dr. Fox, “Let’s go, Lou, I will show you your office. Mine is across the hallway. Please stop by any time you wish.” They shook hands and parted.

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L

ou was on his way to the cafeteria when Dr. Pauker welcomed him in front of the building. “Welcome to our quarters, Dr. Fox. Now you are my doctor, too. I will be informing you about everything. Especially how doctors make a mess of patients here. This is for your ears only. Doctors should be locked up, not in the asylum, but in prison. They pick a patient and put him into a deep sleep and stupefy him. Through the eye socket above his left eye they penetrate his brain. They measure how deep they are and when they are at the pineal gland, which is what remains of the ‘third eye,’ they carefully cut out a piece of tissue, and by doing so interrupt the neural paths. They study the tissue under a microscope, and later throw it into the toilet and flush it. There goes the brain, into the sewer, where it will remain

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for at least eight more years. It’s a crime, horrible crime. It’s strictly confidential, doctor. And now, could I borrow from you twenty cents for a cigar?” “Of course, Dr. Pauker, but let’s keep it between the two of us. Don’t speak about it with anybody.” “You can rely on me, Dr. Fox.” They shook hands as gentlemen do and went their separate ways. Dr. Lou did not go for lunch but rather stopped at the chapel. He went in and saw several people there, kneeling and silently conversing with the Creator. He could not comprehend why doctors are afraid of surgery and internal medicine. Both areas are parts of the foundation of medical science. No doctor can be a good professional without being intimately familiar with both, just as a person who is not familiar with multiplication and division of numbers cannot teach math. Every morning, as usual, ambulances brought sick people in for consultations. A doctor would then read the patient’s case history, examine him, have the patient’s blood and urine tested, and if necessary, also have X-rays and an electrocardiogram taken. After the results were available, he would examine the patient and the test results again. Finally he would either send the patient back with instructions for his doctor, let the patient be hospitalized, or if need be, send the patient for further examination and consultation by experts in a particular field. The only treatment usually done in this department was the continuation of mental treatment.

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From the very first day in the building, Dr. Fox had had many experiences with more or less sick patients. Some of them were tragic; some of them were tragically comical, and some just plain comical. It had all started already the first day when the ambulance brought a patient with a “dick,” the male sexual organ that was black as a lump of coal. The doctor who examined him even entered “black dick” into his medical record. This was discovered incidentally, when the patient lost a shoelace from one of his shoes. Dr. Fox read the medical record and looked at his patient’s “dick.” He was horrified. Half of his patient’s penis was black and swollen to the size of a tennis ball. At the end of the healthy part, his penis was tied very tightly seven times around with a shoelace. Dr. Fox sat down next to the patient. He sent the staff away and asked the nurse to bring two cups of coffee. The patient asked for sugar. They began to talk. First they talked about everything. After half an hour they were friends, quite close friends. The patient had a doctorate in organic chemistry and was working in research. People like him are exposed to great psychological stress. They have to perform and produce results. There are no rewards without results. Since he had four children, he had to keep his nose to the grindstone. He kept working and working, had problems sleeping, until one day his cup overflowed, and he had to be hospitalized at Bellevue for psychiatric treatment, ultimately ending up in Dr. Fox’s hospital. “And now something important, something I can only confess to you, doctor, because you understand me well.

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The Soviets have launched the sputnik. The launch was successful. The Americans were greatly disappointed. This event brought about such a ‘sputnik psychosis’ that President Eisenhower had to appear on TV to reassure the citizens that we were not far behind the Soviets, and that in other areas we were even ahead of them. The President pointed at some kind of a bell that was placed next to him saying that it was revolving around the Earth bringing valuable information to us. ‘Don’t panic, dear citizens.’ The President was right. I had a short nap after his speech and when I woke up I was completely changed. I was a U.S. sputnik. I was producing liquid oxygen and liquid gases. I took a shoelace, and after visiting a bathroom, I tied the opening real tight so that I would not explode.” “William, I understand you are producing gases. Now, I will attach a pipe there and we will catch your liquid gases into plastic containers.” William agreed. Dr. Fox ended the conversation, pushed a catheter into his penis and treated the necrotic part with antibiotics. He doubled a daily dosage of Trilafon and decided to keep William for observation, until his psychosis passed.

Chapter XXVII

P

sychosis goes hand in hand with progress, too. The days at the department passed by very fast. Here and there, a patient cut his hand, a hemorrhoid or an abscess had to be opened, or a middle-ear infection had to be treated, and so on. The internal department kept only the more complicated cases. Most of the time, Fox was amused by the Haymann-March duo. Haymann was about sixty, March about six years younger. One was a man of few words, the other spoke continuously. What was an interesting case for Haymann was a unique matter for March. One was modest, the other grandiose. March was eager to operate immediately, Haymann wanted to wait and see if a more conservative treatment would be more appropriate. On rather frequent occasions, Haymann whispered into Dr. Fox’s ears that

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March was driving him crazy. Haymann was an introvert while March noisily boasted that he was saving lives every day. From time to time, Haymann told March, jokingly, that a given nerve had a different course of action. March would run to the library to make sure Haymann was wrong and he was right since he knew anatomy so well. For Dr. Fox and Dr. Blanco this was good entertainment, especially when Dr. Haymann was in a joking mood. It was great fun to listen to the two of them. Haymann had already been the administrator of the University Clinic in Berlin when March, in Haymann’s words, was still in diapers. Haymann was a spirited aristocrat and could not stand a yelling “Hungarian Gypsy.” March wanted to do everything his way, while Haymann dryly commented that it could be done in a different way. At the same time, Dr. March had an inferiority complex in relation to Dr. Haymann. Although he kept repeating he was going to do it his way, in the end he always asked Haymann for his opinion. For Dr. Fox, working in the internal medicine/surgery unit was very relaxing. They had a lot of fun, especially during gastroscopy, when they had to pull nails and screws out of the patients’ stomachs. Patients were asked to do different activities, just to keep busy. They were asked to sort the nuts and bolts according to size and to put them into boxes. After they finished their work, they left the hall for their unit and dinner. In the meantime, the staff mixed up the bolts again, so that the patients had something to do the following day. That was how the days passed, day

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after day. This is called “work therapy,” where patients are to focus on something else, not on themselves. It was much worse when patients were in such a mental condition that they did not know what they were doing, such as when a patient would put several bolts into his mouth and swallow them. Sometimes they would even compete with each other, seeing how many bolts they were able to swallow. In the evening, when assorted bolts were missing, the patients usually confessed and had to be X-rayed. Then the doctors had to gastroscopically remove the bolts, which was not fun. It was unpleasant work. This was how both patients and doctors were kept busy. In front of the X-ray unit were cabinets with all the objects that were pulled from patients’ stomachs. One patient, who swallowed over a pound of bolts during work therapy held the record. Later they had to be removed from his stomach. Dr. Haymann was calm and did not have any problem pulling them out. On the other hand, Dr. March was fidgety, his hands shook, and he had problems. He usually called Haymann for help. The metal object often had to be isolated before it was pulled out with a magnet. In any case, it was good training for a young doctor. And hallucinating patients were unpredictable, since each of them was a unique personality. Even a very sick patient can make a judgment about his doctor, about whether the doctor is really interested in helping him. The patient is an open book. He has to be read carefully and understood. True, patients are not angels, but neither are they animals. Often, even if he wants to behave

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like an angel, he behaves like an animal. Man is the crown of creation, even if he is sick, hallucinating, and not thinking well at times. Dr. Fox had a patient once who believed that he was Christ the Savior and had to die to save mankind. He was thirty-three years old. He had refused to eat and drink thirty days before he died. He was fed intravenously, but also directly into his stomach. In spite of all the doctors’ efforts, he kept losing weight and exactly on Good Friday he passed away. That is the power of mind over body. Just the skeleton was left from the large man. The autopsy did not show any reason why he had left this earth. Magda was a thirty-nine-year-old nurse. She was a fullfigured woman. Everyone could see that she was not suffering from malnutrition. Her face was like a red rose. She was good-hearted and kind and always had a smile on her face. She claimed that she did not eat much, but that she did enjoy whatever she ate. She was rather unhappy about it. She thought this was one of the reasons why men did not show much interest in her. The ones who did, though, did not meet with her approval. She was a very good nurse. However, lately she was frequently depressed and getting worse by the day. Finally, she was admitted to the hospital and diagnosed with depression. She was in the Women’s Unit for three months, where she was given anti-depressants. They did not work well. Only after she was given electroshocks did her condition improve so that she was allowed to go back to work. She was as happy as before. One day, though, an ambulance brought her to the hospital. She complained

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about a sharp pain in her stomach. The doctor in charge as well as the surgeon knew she had been in the psychiatric unit not long ago and had undergone depression treatment there. At first they thought she had been on drugs and was suffering from a withdrawal syndrome. The X-rays did not show anything; there was no stomach or intestinal perforation. She was examined by a surgeon, but he did not find anything either. The pain was excruciating. The doctors were not sure if she was suffering from a mental problem, so after some consultations they called in a psychiatrist. He spoke with her, examined her abdomen, read the results of the blood and urine tests, looked at the X-rays, and concluded that the pain was very real. Magda watched them as they talked and debated, but they were too far to hear. The doctors arranged for an operating room, called the assisting staff and surgical nurses, gave her tranquilizers to relieve the pain, and after an hour she was being operated on. Surprisingly, they found a large oval cyst. The patient was right, but the surgeon was right, too. It was nothing intraperitonal, nothing that could be detected by the X-ray. When the patient regained consciousness after anesthesia, she immediately asked, “Did you pull out all eight pieces?” The doctors looked at her perplexed, so she said, “I was in terrible pain. You didn’t believe me, so I took four blades, broke each of them in half and swallowed them all, one after another.”

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The doctors turned pale. They took another X-ray and indeed eight small pieces were scattered through the intestines, glinting at them. By now they were fed up with her. They put her into the ambulance and sent her to surgery. There Dr. Fox was greatly honored to take over the care and treatment of the patient with eight pieces of blade in her abdomen. Dr. March looked at the X-ray, wrung his hands, raised them up in the air and said, “We will operate on her. Please get the operating room ready.” Dr. Haymann looked at Dr. Fox and asked for his opinion. Fox confirmed the head doctor’s judgment, “We have to prepare the operating room. The operating team, including the anesthesiologist, must get ready. We have to be prepared for anything.” “The blades are spread throughout her intestines. Do you want to make eight incisions there? I suggest we have everything ready, but let’s wait,” Dr. Haymann said firmly. Then he added, “I’d give her a large dose of laxative and take a new X-ray every hour so that we can map our progress. Let the nurse count the blades. What do you think, March?” “You are right,” answered March and all weariness and fear left him. The operating room was prepared. The head nurse and the anesthesiologist came, too. They were drinking coffee, eating cookies, telling jokes, and recounting numerous interesting events. Time passed quickly as they had fun. You could not find a doctor without some extraordinary,

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enlightening experience. Medicine is a wonderful science after all. Dr. Fox recalled the case of his pathology professor. One day they brought a deceased man into his examination room. The man had fallen from a cherry tree and died on the spot. “Do you know what the cause of death was?” They all tried to guess, but with no luck. Then he told them the actual cause of death and they could not believe it. “Only during the autopsy did Prof. Klein discover a 12inch piece of wood in the patient’s rectum. Nothing could be seen from the outside, not even a bruise. The stake, though, had ripped through the patient’s intestines and was driven straight into his heart.” The time passed and before the clock chimed twelve, the nurse had brought all eight pieces in a bowl. They came out of the patient’s body without any cutting. Dr. Haymann was a hero, and they all left for home.

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Chapter XXVIII

D

r. Fox was happy in his new workplace. He found there everything he was interested in since the time he had decided to study medicine. He was attracted to the unknown, how the mental condition can affect a healthy organism and change it into a sick one, often difficult to treat. There are many examples of that, such as migraines, angina pectoris, stomach ulcers, duodenal ulcers, chronic colitis, etc. Dr. Brill, a well-known psychiatrist, claims in his book that in the waiting rooms of general practitioners about 80% of the patients have psychosomatic diseases. If drops of water can drill a hole into stone, then it is much easier for stress and pressure to damage a healthy organism. For nearly two weeks, Dr. Fox was in daily contact with a high school literature teacher, a very attractive lady.

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She was bleeding from her colon and had to be given a blood transfusion every other day. Her room smelled of decomposing blood and she had bowel movements six or seven times a day. The stench was driving her to desperation. Dr. Fox spent about half an hour with her every day. Finally, a fasting diet, medications, and psychotherapy helped. The patient recovered fully. Dr. Fox kept his eyes open and gained a lot of experience. Dr. Blanco was a polite Cuban with refined manners. Dr. Fox often speculated on what would be a better profession for Dr. Blanco than that of a doctor. He came to the conclusion, “Yes, he would be much better as a headwaiter.” Lou smiled at that thought. Dr. Fox especially admired Dr. Blanco’s delicate maneuvering to avoid offending the person he was talking to. To be always polite and nice is an art that should be taught to young doctors at the university. Dr. Blanco had learned it from his predecessors. His grandfather was also a doctor in his native Cuba. Lou enjoyed listening to Blanco’s conversations with patients or their relatives. Indeed, it is an art not to let anybody upset you. He liked to spend his free time with Dr. Blanco, and he learned much from him that could be useful in the future. Dr. Blanco was also glad to have an attentive listener. But one cannot earn a living always talking. He will lose a lot of time and his work will still have to be done. Time is passing by and we are getting older. From cradle to

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grave, life is the struggle between good and evil, light and darkness. A never-ending Dante’s Divine Comedy. Man is the most fragile creation, a predestined being who is allowed to call the Creator his father. He is the crown of all creation. He shoots out his antennas to the universe to search it. He is spiritually insatiable, and yet he is aware of his weakness, of his fragility, of his helplessness, and of the brevity of his existence. He is slowly coming to the realization that we are only here to perform in a play. Everybody is an actor who has chosen his role. It does not matter what role we play, but how we perform. We often follow our goals from as early as our childhood and we prepare ourselves for that well. Pitiable are those who do not know what they want to achieve, who do not have any goals. Only those who have goals can be happy and balanced, only they live fully. Even though time goes by quickly at work, people can be happy since work is the meaning of their lives. Man with his free will becomes a participant in God’s plans. The rule “bite off only as much as you can chew” applies here. He stopped his meditations before lunch when he was walking to see Dr. Menkoff, his former boss. “Lou, I am so glad you came to visit. I’ve missed you. You are so balanced, joyful, and seemingly carefree.” It was evident he was genuinely pleased by Lou’s visit. They shook hands. “I’ve also missed you, Izidor. I have always respected you, your thoughtfulness, quick mind, and foresight. I have gained a lot here. I have learned much from you, but there is

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still a lot to get familiar with. However, that’s not why I am here now. I came to visit, to say hello, and to tell you that I am glad to see you. What’s new?” “Nothing that would interest you. Same old stuff. Oh, I nearly forgot, Dina told me that the relationship between Nina and Robert has gone from bad to worse.” “I am sorry. They are both nice people. Nina is a real lady and I have learned a lot from her. On the other hand, I respect Robert as a good doctor, too. He hasn’t looked very well recently, though. I think he speculates and meditates too much. I must admit, I’m concerned about him, I mean, about his health. Maybe it’s because he keeps thinking about Nina all the time. Well, it’s his business. It would be a shame if it affected his work in any way.” Izidor perked up. He was all ears. He raised his eyebrow as if he wanted to read Lou’s face, “What do you mean by that?” “Every intelligent person has goals, plans that he wants to achieve so that he can leave something tangible behind. He needs good health to accomplish that. He cannot be mentally or emotionally overloaded. It can have a bad influence on fulfilling his plans and goals. It can weaken him mentally and also physically. Robert was an optimist and full of energy before. He was determined to pursue the goal that he had set before himself. But this is just between the two of us. I assume that you two are good friends. Please don’t tell him anything, I don’t want to offend him or hurt him more. He must have his problems and is capable of solving them. But please don’t mention anything to him, OK?”

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Dr. Menkoff nodded, but Lou was not sure he agreed. “I’ve planted a seed in his head,” he thought and changed the topic. He began to talk about patients, but Izidor was not interested at all. He was listening, but obviously thinking about something else. He played his role the best he could, but in Lou’s opinion, not very convincingly. Izidor was answering mechanically, yet at the same time thinking about what Lou had told him. “This one is hiding something, too,” Dr. Fox thought. It began to amuse him. He felt like a cat watching a small mouse, knowing that it cannot escape. He was testing Izidor’s mental potential, which was melting before his eyes like ice cream exposed to sunlight. Finally he decided that it was enough, that he should not be so brazen and embarrass his older colleague. They shook hands warmly, but Izidor’s eyes remained expressionless, warmth had disappeared, and there was emptiness in its place. At that moment, Lou was sure he was not mistaken, that he had correctly assessed the situation and the relationship between Izidor and Robert. Dr. Menkoff sighed with relief. He was sure he played his role in this act of the tragedy well. At the exit Dr. Fox met Emil, the head guard. They exchanged some jokes and gossip. After a while, Fox said goodbye and was on his way to the building where he worked. Marianna was standing in front of the door as if she were waiting for him. She was sunbathing and drinking coffee; its aroma reached Lou’s nose. She smiled at Lou and offered him a cup of coffee that he could not refuse.

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“Milk or sugar?” “I take my coffee black; it tastes better,” he answered. They drank coffee and went inside. Marianna got busy with the X-rays; Lou went to his office to use some valuable free time to study. He had to work that night, so he went to the cafeteria earlier. He thought he would find Robert there and he was right. Robert was waiting for him. “Are you waiting for me, Robert?” “Indeed, I am. I found out that you have a shift tonight. I have to admit that I was glad. It’s been a long time since we have had a chance to talk. I have problems, all kinds of problems, and I can’t see my way out of this mess,” Robert said and fell silent. “Robert, do you have a guilty conscience? If this is the case, you should confess and repent. If you can undo what you did wrong, do it, but first go and confess. A sincere confession is like a spring rain. It will wash away all the dirt. Protestants don’t have personal confession. They confess collectively. If you sinned, repent and you will be forgiven. We, Catholics, confess in person. Catholic priests are bound by the seal of confession. The only prerequisite of forgiveness is absolute personal contrition. Only after that can a believer be cleansed before God, not before the world, though. Being a psychiatrist, you know very well what mental relief means. God forgave all your sins. You are clean and can start a new life. Priests have tremendous power to forgive sins on behalf of God. A person is clean,

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and what’s left behind is just a bad dream. It’s over. You should talk to Jimmy.” “It’s easier to talk to you; you understand me. You’ve been through fire and water yourself and know that when you sink to the bottom, you can pull innocent people down with you and they can lose their lives, their families and friends, too. When you are down, you entangle yourself so much that the only way out of that misery is death. Lou, this should stay between the two of us. Don’t tell anybody. Nobody. There are vipers everywhere. There are many of them even in our institute. Don’t trust anybody. Not even the one with thick brows and a pleasant smile.” “Did you meet with him today, Robert?” “Confidentially, yes.” At that moment, Jimmy and Miriam showed up. “Why aren’t you eating?” wondered Miriam. “We’ve been waiting for you. We enjoy dinner better with you,” responded Robert.

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Chapter XXIX

A

long beautiful fall is typical not only for the New England states, but also for New York. The sky is clear and blue, there are no clouds, it is not too hot, here and there a breeze. A true Indian summer. The nights become a little cooler and the leaves begin to change color. At the end of October the trees are in all their glory, looking like Persian rugs, and the air is clear, downright translucent. The days get shorter and at six o’clock it is already dark. The end of October is the time for Halloween, the time for ghosts, the time for spirits. It is also the beginning of the Christmas shopping season. Stores are very busy; sales are everywhere. Christmas is near. People start decorating Christmas trees, streets get a festive spirit, and houses become illuminated. People compete to have the most beautiful house.

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A week before Christmas, the stores are empty, cleaned out. Silent days come, the days without rush, getting ready for a “Silent Night” that is preceded by the Christmas dinner. There are no businessmen in town. They all are in Florida, where they enjoy warm weather, counting the money they have made. Money keeps changing owners. It passes from one owner to another. Greedy businessmen and the TV with its commercials have only one goal: to make a lot of money. How far removed this is from the spirit of Christmas, from the stable in Bethlehem where Mary finally found a place to give birth to her son. There was no other place for her where she could take shelter. Bethlehem was full of people who had gotten rich and came back home to feast. There were banquets around and the place was full of joy, only for Mary there was no place where she could give birth in dignity. There was only a stable with cattle left for her. That was the place where the Savior was born. The night was cold. Distant stars were bright, but cold. The stable was cold, too. The cattle’s breath was the only source of heat that kept little Jesus warm. And yet, it was better there than anywhere else in the world. Christmas, as it is celebrated now, does not have anything in common with that past event. It cannot even be compared. The first day all is over once the gifts are exchanged, without God’s presence, without preparation for this day, without the realization that it was not an ordinary day, but the day when Christ came to Earth.

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Yes, that is how it is celebrated these days. For six weeks before Christmas, entertainment and parties go on every day until the first day of Christmas. The second day of Christmas is not celebrated here. Then all the Christmas trees go into the garbage, and the toys that are not needed go back to the stores. The salesmen will sell for peanuts what was very expensive before Christmas. There is nothing like “after-Christmas.” New Year’s Eve is the day for parties, and the Epiphany is not a real holiday in America; it is an ordinary day. For the Catholic Church, though, it is the most important religious holiday, more important than Christmas. Has anything changed in two thousand years? Nothing, nothing at all. In ancient Rome, people also enjoyed only food and games. And we, two thousand years later, want the same: to eat well, be smart so that we can accumulate as much property as possible with little work and a lot of crookedness, and indulge in games and pleasures. Nowadays, Man plays God. He provides pills to prevent pregnancy, because everybody has the right to live in unbounded pleasures, regardless of age. And when a girl gets pregnant, it is not a problem. There are clinics where pregnancies can be interrupted. Abortions are performed without even the approval of the girl’s parents. Then she can enjoy herself again. We have made a lot of progress in science. Does science give us permission, a green light, to let young, not even sixteenyear-old girls become unnatural mothers? What kind of morals can we expect from those immature youngsters, what

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spiritual values can they pass to their offspring? What kind of contribution is this to a family? Mothers have to mold their children, to take care of their family, and guard the moral values. But what is the situation? In America, every second or every third person is divorced. What will happen to the children? What spiritual values will they inherit? What will they receive as a dowry from their mother? It often happens that boyfriends frequent the home as if it were a grocery store, so much so that the law has to intervene. Many times, a desperate mother knows she is not doing well, but she cannot help herself because she needs money. Often she is a burden to the city where she lives. She gets money to buy food, but instead she buys cigarettes because she “cannot live” without them. This is the outcome of many years of spiritual apathy, spiritual and moral decline. Some time ago the American family was very healthy. What is the cause of this moral decay? Sexual scandals, corruption, embezzlements in banks and financial institutions, and deception in the highest positions, those things we read and hear about. After WWII, when Dr. Imrich Karvas, the manager of the Slovak National Bank, was released from a concentration camp, journalists asked him the reason for the high value of Slovak currency. He gave them a very simple answer that should be remembered by every public official, in America or in Slovakia. He said, “It is based on the hard work of the Slovak people and the honesty of the Slovak government.”

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Thoughts were hitting Dr. Fox’s conscious and subconscious mind like waves. They followed one after another and the tide was growing ever stronger. Dr. Fox stopped thinking; his head began to ache. He decided to go out to get fresh air and have a rest. Instead, though, he lay down, closed his eyes, and began to daydream about the beautiful late fall, the time before Christmas, and the winter with its magic. Everything is covered with white snow: hills and valleys, houses and trees. Two boys are pulling a sled with a little girl, their sister, sitting in it. They are happy about the snow. A farmer in a nearby house is happy, too. Snow means moisture for the soil. He smokes a pipe with a smile, watching the happy kids. Dr. Fox had a feeling of nostalgia when he remembered his own childhood far away, far from America in the heart of Europe. It was east of the snowy Tatra Mountains, at the foot of Mount Vihorlat, where the town of Michalovce is located, a former village that Alexander Mach, the Minister of the Interior of the Slovak Republic, elevated to township status in 1944. Until 1930, Michalovce did not have electricity. The shops on Main Street were lit with carbide lamps. In his mind, Lou could see a picture of a snowy street, with stands selling roasted chestnuts and popcorn, called “pukalky,” on its corners. It kept snowing and Helinger and Rothman were shifting from one foot to another, calling out repeatedly, “Chestnuts, chestnuts, popcorn, popcorn here!”

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A bit farther, on the other side of the bridge over the Laborec River, where a little hill sloped gently down along the river, was a kids’ paradise, in winter as well as in summer. It was probably in God’s plans to create that oasis of happiness, joy, and peace there. There was no traffic, not even sleds pulled by horses, on that side of the bridge. The place was bustling with children. They were sledding but also playing tricks; it was part of the game. And even when their fingers were numb with cold, they still did not want to go home. They just blew on their fingers to warm them. The brave ones, after they looked around to make sure that a priest was not around and that the “coast was clear,” threw a snowball at the beret on St. John Nepomucene’s head. The one with the best hit was the hero of the day. A six by ten foot area was designated for skaters between the sledding area and the bank of the Laborec River. The skaters often grabbed hold of one another and formed a caravan. When one person pulled to a side, the entire tail flew into the snow. The smallest children would watch and the place was full of joyful noise. At dark, thoroughly frozen, red-cheeked kids returned home. A hot drink and baked potatoes with butter were waiting for them on the table. Later, when the ice became thicker, the time came for skating. Once the hockey sticks were carved of wood, the game could begin. This went on all winter. Children spent the winter holidays on the ice, from morning until evening. They came home only to eat and drink. Yet nobody got sick.

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They all had red cheeks and breathed deeply, sounding like a smith’s bellows. In the evening they would eat and go to bed. They fell asleep immediately and slept until they were awakened by the morning sun. When it was dark in the morning, they knew it was snowing and there would be no skating, but there would be sledding. This was Lou’s childhood. It’s so different now. The world has become a small place. It is the age of technology, electronics, computers, space research, submarines, and everything that Jules Verne and people such as he could only have dreamed about. Lou loved to dream. When he was lying on his bed in the twilight, he indulged in daydreaming and reliving memories, daydreaming about the past and present and even daring to daydream about the future. While daydreaming, he could relax physically and mentally. Lou loved to daydream with his eyes open. It gratified him. It was food for his soul; it gave him strength, courage, and perseverance. Daydreaming invigorated him and poured the elixir of life into his veins. Not even the worst tortures during those night interrogations could drive him into despair. When the beatings stopped, Lou would resume his dream, continuing from the minute when his daydreaming had been interrupted by the rattling of the key, the opening of the cell door, and the shouts of the night guard as he called out Lou’s name. The others were relieved. Lou stood up, said his name, and walked to the door accompanied by the compassionate looks of his inmates. He walked upright even though the thought

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of what was ahead of him made the blood in his veins freeze and his body become heavier, pulling him to the ground. The feeling became stronger as he walked up the iron stairs to the torture chamber, as the inmates used to call the place. From there, the crying and screaming of the tormented, as well as the yelling of the torturers, could be heard all night. Wild beasts found pleasure in the bleeding bodies. The sounds of heart-wrenching crying, wailing, and moaning soared through the half-open cell windows to the ears of the inmates. Nobody could sleep, hearts and breathing stopped, and their skin was covered with goose bumps. Those who were mentally unprepared succumbed, and their wailing became music to those enjoying the feast in Hell. Lou often thought that his daydreaming was not dreaming at all, but rather a conversation with his guardian angel. The angel was with him everywhere and at all times. He gave him strength, helped him endure the beatings. Man is lost without his faith, but he is also lost without dreaming.

Chapter XXX

R

obert, too, was hit with a late autumn nostalgia. All the leaves had fallen. Some of them remained at the foot of the trees; some were blown away. Only naked branches remained. A biting wind blew through them and bent them in its direction. The rain came, too. A cold rain that forced people to button their coats and turn up their collars. It is usually on All Souls’ Day, the day when we remember our deceased, that the weather changes and turns significantly colder. The day preceding this day is All Saints’ Day. On that day, people go to the cemeteries to visit the graves of their deceased, to kneel and pray, or meditate on the emptiness left behind. It seems as if they were with us only yesterday, and today they are gone. Only their graves and moldy bones remain. Yet, when All Saints’ Day comes, we go to their graves

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to realize that life is fragile, to talk to them in our minds, and to draw on their strength and courage. It is easier for us to make decisions there since our judgment is clearer. Robert had those nostalgic thoughts, too. More and more often his thoughts flew to his native Lithuania, the cradle of his childhood. He remembered the times when Lithuania was still on the pre-WWII map of Europe, when its children happily and enthusiastically spoke about their homeland. There were no religious divergences, they all embraced their dear homeland, they were all enthusiastically proud of their native country. Then the madness of WWII came. Not only did it shake the trees, it actually uprooted many of them. A great part of them dried out and died. Many were replanted in foreign soil. They did not dry out, but they never blossomed there. Even a mother hen wants to have her family around her during a storm. That was Robert’s feeling, too. He was the wisest of his family and the one to make the sacrifice. He decided to save his far-reaching family by making the greatest sacrifice. Once an idealist, now he was an egotist, free of emotions, who could put others to death without any remorse to save his family. Robert became as hard as flint. He blindly obeyed the commands that were to be carried out. He thought he was right, but in the attempt to save his family he became the devil’s prey. The graves of his own kin as well as those of others weighed heavily on his conscience. He tried unsuccessfully to chase away that remorse, as if it were an annoying fly, but it kept coming back and was always with him, like his own shadow.

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One night he had a dream. His mother had arisen from her grave. She was nicely dressed and came to visit him. She stood next to him, looking at him admiringly. Then she bent towards him and whispered into his right ear, “My dear Robert, I know you have remorse; you grieve over what you did because of all of us. You are hurting; you don’t have any peace of mind. It is haunting you in your dreams and you cannot sleep. You are tired and take naps, but your sleep is shallow, so you wake up soon thereafter. You keep thinking during those sleepless nights. You get up more tired than you were before. I know you are tormented by remorse. Robert, I know you did it to save me and the other relatives, to deliver us all to safety. Our family is more important to you than anything else. You have remorse because you have a conscience. Beria, Stalin’s assistant, who is the cause of your tragedy, didn’t have any remorse because he didn’t have a conscience. Nor did Stalin, who murdered millions. They put you into a situation where you never wanted to be. However, since you are in this situation, you have no other choice but to march and sing with them. Not only sing; you must also execute their orders. You cannot defect; that would mean sure death. The time will come, though, when you will be able to undo it somehow. And remember, God is real, and He is merciful. The God of Israel, even though He lets things happen, will never abandon you. This is how I have raised you. This is what you are in your heart. That is why you have remorse. A horse has four legs but still can trip. Don’t betray your friends whose lives are in your hands. I know, Jack is

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suffering innocently to protect you, but he understands. You have gotten yourself into this quagmire because you wanted to protect and save us. Only death can get you out of it. Take care, my dear.” She kissed him on the forehead and disappeared. It was a very vivid dream. Robert awoke as if born again and felt as if he had just had a hot bath. He could not chase the dream away for a long time. He had never dreamed about his mother before. He had never thought about her, whether day or night. It was a mysterious dream. How much truth she had spoken to him and how tender she had been. She had never kissed him with so much love before. It was more than real. He could feel her in his room. And when she patted his hair, it was exactly how she used to do when he was little and told her everything with confidence. She would hug him and pat him on the head. She made him believe she loved him and that he was her sweetheart. Yes, that was her kiss. That was how she used to kiss him goodbye. Robert was a psychiatrist. He should be able to tell the difference between a dream and an unexplainable reality. He had never believed in such things. He would call it a hallucination. Was it only his imagination? No, he answered his own question. She had been there. He had felt her presence, her voice, her touch, her manners, her walk, her way of thinking, and her tenderness. He thought about it for weeks. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure it had not been a dream. Was it mysterious? Yes. Could he explain it? No. Yet, he was sure his mother had been there to tell him something important.

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What was so important that she had decided to visit him? It was an interesting thing that since his mother’s visit he had stopped having sleepless nights. He could now fall asleep as soon as he went to bed and wake up the next morning well rested and in good spirits. His colleagues were rather surprised by his change. He had gained some weight; he was in a good mood and kind, in spite of his military discipline. That part of him did not change. He was punctual, as always. He knew what he wanted and what his goal was. Not only his assuredness, but also his arrogance and confidence were back. Those who knew him could see that he was going back to his old self. He was the same as before, only more amiable.

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Chapter XXXI

A

fter about two weeks, Robert received a letter. He looked at the envelope and could not believe his eyes. It was from Jack. He had never done that before. Yes, the letter was sent from the Federal Penitentiary in Ossining, New York. Jack’s letter unsettled him, and his heart began to beat more violently. He looked around, sat at the table, carefully opened the envelope, and started to read.

Dear Robert, My life here is very monotonous. I am serving the time that justly or unjustly I was sentenced to. Sometimes I am haunted by doubts, but I am doing my best to be an exemplary prisoner. I obey the rules and keep my mouth shut, as I have gotten used to. Ten years of my life have passed behind bars. I often think about

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the fact that we only live once. Two weeks after All Souls’ Day I dreamed about our mother. It was a very vivid dream. Sometimes I think that it wasn’t a dream, that it was real. It was her voice, her movements, her touch, and her pat on my head, her hand, and her tenderness. What she told me will remain my secret. The dream has upset me and has been haunting me since. Although I have never written to you before, I decided to do so now. I think about that dream all the time. And don’t tell me it was a hallucination! You would offend me, as if insinuating that I have also lost my mind in prison. Was it a strange, vivid dream or more than that? I wonder. Take care, Robert. Jack Robert finished reading the letter and got goose bumps. He read it again and again. Then he folded the letter and put it into his shirt pocket. He shivered and turned pale. Cold sweat appeared on his forehead. He dried it, paced around the room, then sat on a chair, and became immersed in deep thoughts. “Poor Jack! He is suffering because of me. Over ten years, just to protect us, to prevent them from tracing us. Families have been ruined and marriages broken. Moloch, that pagan God, is insatiable! He put his hands on the table, braced his head, and large tears ran down his cheeks. He dried his eyes, then the table. He left the building, got into his car, and started driving aimlessly. Finally he got onto the Garden State Parkway and turned north. Then he turned onto the New York Thruway and

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headed south to Spring Valley. After ten minutes he turned left and saw the sign for the Russian Orthodox monastery. He parked his car and began walking towards the monastery. A monk, roaming around the entrance, greeted him in Russian. Robert answered automatically in a standard, soft Russian. The monk asked if Robert was going to God’s house. Robert answered, “That, too. First, I want to visit my friend’s grave. He was buried here two weeks ago.” “What’s his name?” “Dr. George Hajvoronsky.” “I will go with you and show you his grave.” The monk willingly offered his assistance. They passed the alley between the graves and came to George’s grave. Robert thanked the monk, sat on a marble ledge next to the cross, took off his hat, bent his head, and remained sitting quietly. After so many years, he was again either meditating or praying and pondering the frailty of life. After half an hour he stood up and turned towards the exit. Suddenly he changed his mind and went into the church. He did not kneel, but remained standing with his head uncovered, meditating for another half an hour. After that he put money for candles into the box, bowed his head in the direction of the altar, and silently left. He returned to the hospital, parked his car, and went into the building. While walking, he thought about the contents of Jack’s letter and his vivid dream. He did not see patients that day. He was too disturbed emotionally. Originally he wanted to go to the chapel, but he did not want to be seen

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there, so he dismissed that idea and decided to drop in at the supermarket to do some shopping instead. People were shopping as if everything were free, and Christmas tunes were heard from everywhere. He did not stay long, but just bought what he needed and left. He decided to spend the evening with his wife, to open his heart to her, to share his problems, but not his plans. He did not want to break his rule: “Don’t trust women. Use their services, but never trust them. They are unstable and emotional.” Still, he wanted to invite her to dinner and spend some time with her. Indeed, they had not been together for months. He could not even remember when the last time was. A long, long time ago. It was before Christmas, the time of love and peace. People were looking forward to the holiday, preparing gifts to make their dearest happy, even though sometimes it was only pretended happiness. He called her. She was at home and surprised to hear his voice. Indeed, she had not heard it in over a year. Actually, she was not sure when. She was pleased by his invitation and accepted it happily. She asked what he had in his refrigerator, saying she would bring something, too. They agreed to meet in his apartment at eight. Nina hung up the receiver and just sat there, trying to recall when exactly they had been together and when they had last been happy. They had seen each other more than a year ago. And as for being happy? Well, their happiness had flown away a long, long time ago. She tried to remember, but she could not, however hard she tried.

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Exactly at eight o’clock she was at his door ringing the doorbell. He opened the door and kissed her passionately on both cheeks, and she kissed him back warmly. “Merry Christmas to you, Nina.” “The same to you, Robert.” She took off her coat. He helped her and hung her coat on a hanger. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.” “A long time indeed. But let’s not talk about that. It’s Christmas time. Let’s enjoy the moment that brought us together,” responded Robert. “I am very happy that you called and that we are going to spend the evening together. I have dreamed about it, waiting for the moment when I would hear your voice again, my dear Robert.” “We are both older, but you still look very well, Nina.” “You, too, although you look a little worn out. Are you tired?” “Let’s not get into that. Show me what you brought, and I’ll show you what I have in my fridge. You will be the chef and I will be your assistant and the waiter, too. How do you like that?” “Great. Do you have an apron anywhere here? If so, give it to me and sit down. If I need anything, I will tell you.” Dinner was ready in an hour. Robert opened a bottle of champagne and poured it into two glasses. They said their toasts and accompanied them with the kisses that were long

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overdue. The dinner was delicious, better than any dinner at a restaurant. They were both happy. It was just like before, a long time ago, when they first met at the beginning of their medical studies. At that time they could converse about everything: music, art, literature and fashion, but not people and politics. That was a forbidden topic of conversation. And they both knew why. It had to be respected more than 100%. And indeed, it was. After that long time of not having seen each other, there were many topics to talk about. Hours passed by and before they knew it, it was midnight. It was time to say goodbye and good night. They kissed gently and Robert walked Nina to her car. When her car had disappeared in the darkness, he felt the night was cold and freezing, but he had a warm feeling in his heart. That feeling was the result of their meeting.

Chapter XXXII

T

he New Year came without a roar. The sky was light blue, without a single cloud. The air was clear and biting, smelling fresh. If there had been germs in the air, they would not have survived. This kind of weather lasted nearly the entire month. People were happy, acknowledging that they had not had such beautiful winter weather for a long time. Everything was frozen, the sun was shining, but it was cold. Even in a long coat, one could still feel Father Winter’s claws. No one stayed outdoors long, only those who had to. Life on the streets and roads, as well as in the hospital, became quieter and not many people could be seen. Everyday life in the hospital buildings was less busy. It was slower and more monotonous. People did their work routinely, living their lives day to day. Dr. Fox worked every day and some night

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shifts, but he hardly ever saw Robert. Robert showed up at some conferences, but he appeared and disappeared before the lecture was over. He was always in a hurry; he never had any free time. Lou concluded Robert was avoiding people. “Why?” Miriam asked with suspicion. “I don’t know,” Lou answered. “He must have some reason.” “Is he sick, by any chance?” “I don’t know that, either,” Lou responded. Miriam was an inquisitive person, wanting to know everything. She had Eve’s natural curiosity. Dinner was approaching its end when Robert showed up and greeted everyone present. “Good evening. I hope you are enjoying your dinner. Have you left anything for me?” he asked jokingly, but the tone of his voice was not convincing. “Come and join us, Robert. If you’re having any problems, tell us and you will feel better.” Robert looked at Miriam, smiled at her in his attractive way, and said, “You want me to confess to you, Miriam? The entire hospital would know everything by tomorrow.” They all laughed, including Miriam. She knew herself well and she knew that Robert was right. “I am busy, running around and hiding from inquisitive people. I’ve gained some weight that now I am trying to lose, so I’ve been eating less,” Robert offered as explanation. “If you continue like this, you will be just a shadow of yourself. Soon you will look like your countryman, Lithuanian Bishop Sloskans,” Lou commented.

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After hearing that name, Robert jerked, his jaw dropped, and he forgot to close his mouth. “Lou, where have you heard about him?” “I haven’t only heard about him, I knew him.” “I am not sure we’re on the same page. Lou, which Sloskans are you talking about?” “Robert, there is only one Bishop Sloskans from Lithuania. He was a brave Lithuanian hero, imprisoned by the Soviets and kept in an infamous Moscow prison in Lublanka for several years. Then, before the beginning of WWII, the Soviet KGB, honoring an agreement they had with the Germans, exchanged him for one of their Soviet spies.” “It seems like we are talking about the same person after all. I didn’t know what had happened to him, but he really was a brave Lithuanian hero. Tell me how you met him?” “Our paths crossed merely by chance. It was in 1952, when I was in my second year of medical school at the Catholic University in Louvain, Belgium. I wanted to spend my vacation in Flanders and get familiar with Antwerp. About seven miles east of Antwerp is the small town of Westmalel with a large Trappist Abbey. It’s a very strict order. The monks take a vow of silence. They spend eight hours a day working in the fields. They live according to the strict rules of their founder. Some professors of theology go there to recuperate spiritually and draw strength for future work. “Bishop Sloskans used to spend nearly every summer vacation there. Every morning he would walk briskly in the dew-covered grass, then celebrate mass, have breakfast, and

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begin working. He would give lectures at the University of Louvain. He loved solitude and was rather introverted, and that style of life was very convenient for him. We met one day, while both jogging, and developed a rather friendly relationship. We would talk about ourselves and run and walk in the country together. One day, Father Alfonz asked me if I knew who the man that I was running with every day was. I didn’t know much. As a matter of fact, I hardly knew anything about him, so I asked Father to give me some information. I was a young medical student then and Sloskans reminded me of the Slovak bishop Vojtassak, not only because of his looks, but also because of the way he moved and spoke. And now, Robert, you know how I met him. He was a holy man,” Lou finished. But he added, “In fact, I was a young student of medicine and he was the man with a difficult past behind him. I want to say that I met him by sheer luck.” Lou stood up, intending to leave. Robert stood up, too, and said to Miriam and Jimmy, “I am going, too. I haven’t seen you for some time, but now I would like to talk to Lou if you don’t mind.” “I’ve been worrying about you, Robert.” “How do you mean that, Lou?” “If you give such rare appearances, people cannot explain it and then worry about you. It’s not good, Robert.” “I am doing my best, but lately I have been like a hunted animal. They are watching me. They are behind me wherever I go. They want to know everything, even who visits me and

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who my patients are. I have a suspicion that they are secretly reading my patients’ records as well as all the prescriptions.” “Robert, you must be a perfect actor by now. You can only imagine how I felt when my investigator, Captain Orlik, opened the steel prison gate and, looking into my eyes, said, ‘Do you want to cooperate with us and be free or stay here forever and never be able to leave this place?’ Do you have any idea how I felt and how perfectly I had to play my part? You have to perform, perform well, but keep a clear conscience. That is your role now. I don’t want to know anything about it, but play it well, do the best that you can. I will pray for you. The other day you told us you would need it. You chose that path and you have to walk it bravely, all the way to the end. Life is a performance and each performance has its finale.” They shook hands and wished each other good night.

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Chapter XXXIII

T

he weather was miserable in February, foggy, with frequent rains, and the temperature just above freezing, a complete contrast to the weather in January. Clouds were hanging over people’s heads. There was no sun. It was overcast or drizzling all the time. There were puddles of water on the roads and pavement. The snow disappeared, too. Dirty water from melting snow and rain ran down the hill. Lucky were those who had galoshes; at least their feet were dry. It was weather made for the flu. As we know, weather can influence people’s moods and Robert was only human. He had problems and the weather made them worse. The heavy burden of his thoughts was on his shoulders and the earth was drawing him down. He wanted to straighten up, to stretch his chest, but his body was

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defiant. His body kept harping, “You poor wretch, it’s useless to play it up, to boast. Your time is coming to an end. Accept your destiny, don’t resist, the bells toll to your glory. Don’t grumble against what is waiting for you; accept it as God’s will.” Yet, Robert would not be Robert if he did not rebel against it, “Shut up! My mind is in command here and you will obey. We are not finished yet. I am the master of my mind and my mind will listen. I will order my feelings to hide, so as not to confuse healthy thoughts and sober judgments. I am in a mess, but I will have to get out of it without endangering my comrades. I am responsible for them. My duty tells me to follow my conscience and not to try to survive at their expense. How could I do anything different? What would my mother say? She would say, ‘Robert, I didn’t raise you this way and neither did your father. Do what you have to do, but remember, you alone are responsible for your actions.’” Robert straightened up and threw aside all negative thoughts. He chased them away, wanting to be his old self, the same as he had been before and had always wanted to be. The clouds disappeared from his mind; his head was clear again, common sense came back. He looked at himself in the mirror, smiled, and said in low voice to himself, “Robert, you are on top of the situation again, your confidence is back. Never mind the other people; rely on yourself only. This is the only way to go forward, to be triumphant. Don’t rely on flatterers or on friends. Your friends today can be your enemies tomorrow. Today they cheer you and give you awards and tomorrow they will hang you. Rely on your

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common sense, your feelings, and your conscience. Be like your mother and father wanted you to be. More than that; be righteous. You should remember never to repay evil with evil. Remember it well, Robert.” He walked away from the mirror. When he was near the door, he turned back, just for a second. He was the wellbalanced Robert again. Once again, he was master of the ship, determined and fearless. Whether God so willed it or not, the clouds were blown away, far away. Towards the end of the day it even stopped drizzling. People were tired of the sleet and drizzle. The weather on the other side of the Hudson, in the penitentiary where Jack was living his prison routine, was about the same, not better, not worse. It was raining cats and dogs and they could even hear thunder coming from afar. Jack did not mind at all. The dream about his mother had changed his thinking completely. He knew that he was not willing to be a sacrificial lamb any longer. The psychologists sensed some change in him. They could see he was more active, more talkative, more enthusiastic about sports, and more involved in the games he played with fellow prisoners. He was not oblivious to what was happening to him any more. They let him be for a while, waiting to see what would happen. Jack continued to be a good prisoner, obeying the rules. At night, he tried to recall the dream with his mother, pondering each word. Was it only a dream or did she really visit him? He was sure it had been his mother. She had

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come to tell him something. It was not a hallucination, not at all. Jack had changed since his mother had visited him that November night. Since then, he could sleep well and he awoke fresh in the morning. He was full of energy, and he wanted to use it, he wanted to live again.

Chapter XXXIV

I

n the middle of March, spring was knocking at the gate of Rockland. The excessive water had dried up, the soil was moist, and the sun with its warm rays began to penetrate the shell of the earth’s surface, waking it from its winter slumber. The snowdrops, as if waiting only for that, opened their white coats and turned their yellow faces towards the sun, to give it thanks for the arrival of spring. The crocuses did not wait long, or the other flowers, and before long the gardens were in full bloom. People could not resist the warm spring weather and swarmed out to their gardens to clean lawns and prepare the soil to plant seedlings. The other side of the Hudson is located higher, so spring usually comes about two weeks later. Even there, the weeping willows were already dressed in light green.

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The catkins on the willows’ branches were also sunbathing in their blossoms. When the wild geese started migrating north, on the other side of the Hudson warm winds started to blow from the south, and bees began to fly around their hives in order to wake up all worker bees, reminding them that spring had arrived, that the flowers were blooming and that they had to get ready to collect honey. Nature was waking up the flowers, trees, animals, but also Man, the crown of all creation. People started to become impatient, restless, and agitated. They wanted to live, create, cultivate the soil, clean it, plow it, and prepare the soil for a new crop. Jack was also a human being, with blood circulating in his veins, the blood that year after year was awake, but in vain. He did not think about it before; he had given himself up to his destiny. However, since his mother had visited him, he was a different person. He was not passive any more. Suddenly, he did not want to be a sacrificial lamb. Indeed those were not his sins he was suffering for. How much longer was he supposed to suffer? Were not ten years of suffering for the party’s sins enough? One morning, when they told him that he would have visitors from the FBI, he accepted the news calmly. He would have trembled before, but not that day. “At least I’ll get a break from the extensive interrogation,” he thought. At ten o’clock sharp, the guard told him that the visitors were there and that he would be taken to meet them in ten minutes.

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“I’ll make a note of that. Should I wear my Sunday suit?” he joked. The guard smiled and said, “As you like,” and left. In less than ten minutes he was back. “Ready?” “As always,” responded Jack. Jack followed his guard along the hallway. At its very end the guard knocked on the door, used a prearranged code, and opened the door. In the middle of the room, next to the table, was a heavy-set man in his fifties, standing and looking at papers. As soon as the man heard the steps, he left the papers on the table, and walked to meet them. They shook hands. “Joe Nickle,” he introduced himself. He seemed to be a warm, friendly, and joyful person. When he smiled, his face looked fuller and his three chins shook. His eyes were clear, not cunning. He looked straight into Jack’s eyes and Jack immediately liked him. “Before we start, what would you like to drink? I will take black coffee without sugar, and how about you?” “Can I have mineral water, please?” The guard left to bring this simple refreshment, while the two of them took their seats in the armchairs next to a side table. Mr. Nickle began, “I am a happy person by nature. My father is German and my mother is a devout Italian. I have two older brothers. We have a nice family. We are all happy and well off, not wealthy, but comfortable. We are healthy and that’s important. We understand one another. I am happily married, with three children: a daughter, twelve-

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year old Monica, and two sons, Jack and Leo, fifteen and seventeen respectively. They both want to start shaving, but there is nothing to shave yet,” he smiled. The guard brought the coffee and mineral water. Mr. Nickle made a sign for him to leave. They made themselves comfortable and before long felt like good old friends. “Can I call you Jack? You can call me Joe,” offered Mr. Nickle. “OK, Joe, I think you will understand me. I want to be frank with you. I know why you, an FBI officer, came to see me. I know what you want from me. But, as you know, I have been sentenced and am serving my time.” “Was that sentence fair, Jack?” “No, it wasn’t.” “How come?” “Joe, I am a sacrificial lamb, suffering for another person’s sins.” “Jack, what will be said here will stay here. This is confidential. I know there is no tapping here. I have searched the room. I am not going to report anything to the FBI, only if you want me to. Thank you for your trust. I appreciate it.” “Joe, I know I can trust you. What is my brother Robert’s situation?” “They don’t trust him. He is under surveillance. Every step of his is being watched. Jack, if you are smart, you will follow my advice. The net has been cast and we will catch him any time now. Don’t you want to help yourself? Don’t you have the instinct for self-preservation? Robert knows you

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are here, he knows you are innocent. Where is his brotherly love? What means more to him, his brother or the party? He has left you here like a naked man in a thorn bush. If you want me to, I can arrange everything. Think about it. I will be back in two days. Use your brain and help yourself. You have suffered enough. If you decide to speak, you will get our protection. I will see you the day after tomorrow, at ten.” They shook hands. Jack could not resist hugging Joe. He felt that they had a heart-to-heart conversation and that Joe could see that Jack trusted him. Jack went back to his cell, threw himself on his bed, and started thinking. He thought about his mother, too. As a matter of fact, there were no doubts in his mind. He had made his decision long ago and now was the time. He got up and began to organize his things. He saved what was to be saved and threw away what was to be discarded. The next day he continued to sort out his papers. During all that time, all those years, he had collected many things. He looked at each, even the smallest piece of paper twice, trying to remember why he had kept it. He raked through his tenyear-long imprisonment and many unpleasant memories surfaced. After ten years, he could see better, he could evaluate events better. What he had considered important before was fit to be discarded into the wastebasket now. People change physically, but also mentally. He had to adapt to the situation, to go with today’s, not yesterday’s mainstream. Many people change with the wind. Fortunate is the person who can turn with the weathervane and go with today’s, not yesterday’s,

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political direction. These are the traits of an opportunist, who is always in the right place at the right time. He is always right and can switch over at the right time. It is a real art, the art of politics. Some people change parties and ideologies like suits. Some suits are to be worn in the spring, some in the hot summer, some in the fall, and some in the winter. Artists like that cannot be surprised by anything. They can use an umbrella even on a hot summer day. Those political acrobats know how to go with the flow of time. Jack was not like that. He was not a leader, showing the way, either. He was an idealist, one who obeys and executes commands. That is why the psychologists knew from the beginning that they did not have the right man. He did not fit the picture. That is why they kept bombarding his brain so much. The psychiatrists wanted to discover the vein of gold in his brain, but all they found was sand. They had been knocking on the wrong door. Jack did not have anything to hide. He could only bluff, and he did it well. The psychiatrists kept knocking on the barrel supposedly full of wine, but there was nothing. The barrel was empty. The aroma of wine is not wine! They had been looking for something that was not there, that is why they did not find it. There were so many bright psychiatrists working on the case, yet nobody came to the realization that it was all wishful thinking, desire, that had been created by their imagination. Jack had dedicated all those years to himself. He had read much, had refined his memory, had exercised a lot. What was a prisoner supposed to do during those long years of

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imprisonment? Just shut up and obey. He could not protest. He could not say, “It wasn’t me; it was my brother, who is free. He was the one who tricked all of you.” Jack kept quiet thinking his thoughts, “Keep searching for that vein of gold in my brain, until your hair turns gray. Will there be others after you to continue the searching? How naïve.”

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Chapter XXXV

“T

oday is the day that has been made for me,” said Jack when he got up from his bed with his left foot first. “This will definitely bring me good luck,” he thought happily. He learned this from an old Gypsy woman, Harakalka, who read Tarot cards for his grandfather and had predicted a fabulous future for him. He remembered that and always made sure not to get out of bed with his right foot first. He got up, shaved, straightened up his cell, and went to breakfast. He was in a great mood, full of energy and actually looking forward to meeting his new friend. After a while, he became anxious, he felt a pressure in his chest, and his heartbeat became faster. He sat on the chair, but did not feel better, quite the opposite. His heart seemed to beat even faster and sitting did

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not help him at all. All kinds of thoughts were racing through his head, but the pressure in the front part of his chest did not go away. It was as if his own chest were too small for him. He began to perspire, his forehead and chest were soaked, and he was sick to his stomach. He sat on his bed, feeling as if the walls were falling in on him, and he could not breathe well. He stopped breathing for a couple of seconds; then started again, slowly and regularly. It helped. He went to the yard and slowly jogged around. He felt better and felt a relief in his chest. His heartbeat was slower and more regular. He was happy about it and started pondering the effects of mental stress. He smiled, paced the yard again, and returned to his cell. There he sat at the table and reviewed everything again. He was content with himself. “What I am going to do is the right thing, Mom. I’ve come to this conclusion and that’s what I will do.” He sat for a while, then smiled, stood up, and began to exercise. He was his old self again. He looked at his watch and noticed it was fifteen minutes before ten. He paced the cell asking God for help. Suddenly, he was startled by a thought, “Did I, an atheist, really ask God for help? The one that I don’t believe exists? I used to ask God for help when I was little, very little. I used to have great faith then and prayed to the Creator of Heaven and Earth.” Exactly at ten, the guard knocked on the door. Jack opened the door and the guard told him very politely that his guest was waiting for him. Jack closed the door and they left.

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While walking, they spoke about the weather, how nature was waking from its slumber, what was budding, what was blossoming. The days were longer and even as late as six o’clock it was still light. The guard told Jack that he was spending all his free time in his garden, cleaning it, and trying to figure out what to plant there. He had to work hard, to hoe, to rake, and to make paths between garden beds, so that his wife would not rebuke him, and his neighbors would not slander him. Jack looked at his guard and thought, “Why is he suddenly so kind-hearted and chatty?” In the end he could not resist a comment, “Paul, your wife has trained you very well.” Paul only smiled, gave him a pat on the shoulder and for a while forgot he was Jack’s guard. He knocked on the door and shook Jack’s hand, wishing him good luck. “Good morning, Mr. Nickle. You seem to be in a good mood.” “Good morning, Jack. I had a good night’s sleep. How about you?” “I was packing, sorting out my papers, and tossing away what I did not need. I fell asleep fast, but then I got up early in the morning and started thinking about whether I was doing the right thing. I have come to the conclusion that I am on the right track. I have thought it all through very well.” “You won’t regret it?” “It’s behind me. Did he feel sorry for me all those nearly eleven years? For so many years he let his own brother suffer

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because of his love for some party. Is that moral? Tell me, Joe, is that what brotherly love is?” Jack was very upset, so much so that he was shaking with anger. Joe Nickle came closer to him, hugged him, and told him, “Always call me Joe. I do understand your feelings very well.” “You know, Joe, I am not here for my sins. However, it’s not my brother himself I am suffering here for so much as for his diabolical contract with Beria, Stalin’s right-hand man, and his successors. It’s for the interests of that red Moloch that craves human blood, misery, and suffering. I want to be a free man, to enjoy freedom, to say freely what I want, and to be happy like everybody else. I want to live like a human being, like everyone who lives in America, the land of freedom. There are poor, rich, and not so rich people living here, but they are all happy and free. They are the free sons and daughters of America.” Jack’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Excuse me for my emotions, but I have to tell you what’s on my mind. I have been thinking about it for a very long time.” Suddenly he stopped talking. Joe did not say anything; he did not want to intrude into Jack’s private emotional life, his inner conversations. After a longer time, Joe asked Jack if he would allow him to call the FBI and a prosecutor so that they could come and put everything on record. Jack only nodded his approval. “OK, Jack, I am going to make a phone call. I will be back in ten minutes.”

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He left, but after several minutes he was back. “Everything is taken care of. They will be here at two. I’ll help you pack and then we will go to lunch with the warden of this prison, and I will arrange with him for your papers to be ready for three o’clock this afternoon.” He pushed a button and in two minutes the guard knocked at the door. All three of them walked to Jack’s cell. The two went in and the guard went his way. Jack looked around the small place where he had spent so many years of his life. His documents were in two cardboard boxes. Souvenirs and things of personal value were in another two boxes. That was all his property. The rest was to be thrown away. They had a short conversation in the cell and then left for lunch in order to be there on time. There were only three of them having lunch. Mr. Nickle thanked the warden for treating them. They spent a nice time talking, avoiding political topics. After lunch was over, they did not have to wait very long before the warden was told that the visitors were there. They had just arrived and were waiting for them. Mr. Nickle thanked the warden again for lunch and reminded him to prepare Jack’s official discharge papers. The warden, Mr. Seeman, saw them to the room where four men, two federal officers, a judge, and a prosecutor were waiting. After all the necessary formalities and Jack’s oath in front of the judge, the federal prosecutor, Maloney, started the procedure:

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“Jack Eichelmann, do you know why you are here with us?” “Yes, I do. After a long consideration, after more than ten years, I have decided to tell the truth.” “Please, continue,” requested the prosecutor. “I am not and have never been the head of any espionage network. I have been a sacrificial lamb all these years. The leader of the espionage network, working the entire time for the Soviets, is my brother Robert. He was and still is. I have only been a screen. The head of the network was and is my brother Robert,” said Jack repeatedly. “Why didn’t you say this before? Why did you, an innocent man, spend so much time in prison?” “Because Robert is my older brother and because I was afraid that if I said anything they would dispose of me. Surely you know the rules in Soviet espionage.” “Please, repeat that under oath, and we will wrap it up. You will sign the documents and we can all leave. Thank you.” After all the formalities were over they let the warden, Seeman, know that they would be leaving in half an hour and asked him to ready the discharge papers. “OK. Everything with be ready, his belongings will be in the car. I’ll personally bring the papers to the gate. I’ll wait for you there at that time.” Paul, the guard, was the last one to say goodbye to Jack. He hugged him like a friend and told him that his prayers would follow Jack wherever he went and that he would pray

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to God to help Jack in his new life. Jack was very touched by his concern. The guards at the prison gate looked at his documents and also wished him the best. What a difference! Heaven and Earth! Then it occurred to him that it was actually Heaven and Hell. He rubbed his teary eyes. He was happy and his eyes were brimming with tears. Seeman, the prison administrator, was the last to shake Jack’s hand. He looked straight into Jack’s eyes and said, “My friend, your life is beginning again. It depends on you how much you will accomplish. This is a free country. What you earn honestly will be yours. People do not knock on your door in the middle of the night here without a reason. We have freedom here. Nothing is more wonderful than to be free and happy. Follow your conscience at all times, Jack. God be with you.” He shook his hand and hugged him. Jack was so moved that he wept like a baby. In order not to prolong the situation and to avoid more tears, Joe got into the car, waved at everybody, closed the door, and drove away.

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hey drove through the north and south parts of Tarrytown, crossed the Tapanzee Bridge, continued on the New York Thruway, and then turned south to the Garden State Parkway. Shortly before crossing the New Jersey border Jack spotted an exit sign for Orangeburg and he became tense. Joe Nickle saw this and slowed down the car. The car behind them did the same. They arrived at the border and stopped briefly at the nearest rest area. “Jack, are you OK? We will stop in about twenty minutes. Then we’ll change cars and have dinner.” “If you don’t mind, let’s continue and we can rest when we are there,” suggested Jack. They agreed and continued driving. Jack pretended to be dozing. His right eye was half open and watching the countryside that he had been intimately familiar with.

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He was sure that Robert was not there, that he had probably gone to dinner. In his mind, he was walking with Robert to the hospital gate, crossing the road, and approaching the building entrance. “He must be sitting in the same place he always does, together with Miriam and Father McCormick and God knows with whom else. It used to be such a peaceful oasis. Used to be? It still could be. If only they had taken care of their patients and nothing else. Robert’s main concern was something different, though. He was not there to serve patients and the public and to enrich his experience with new medical information. He was there to serve the ideas that were to destroy America. During the naturalization ceremony they took the Oath of Allegiance to the U.S.A. together, but even at that time Robert was working on projects that were undermining the foundations of freedom. And he was not the only one. There were many of them, even in that place. Dangerous, poisonous snakes in human form, a real den of vipers!” Sitting in the back seat with his head bent back and eyes closed, Jack pondered his lost years and his brother’s false ideals. He went back in his mind to Robert. He recalled the homes and entire streets where their mutual friends lived. Two blocks left of his house lived Nina, Robert’s wife, who often did not treat Robert well. Next to that was the home of Dr. Dina Rochlin, and a little bit further Dr. Menkoff ’s house. Three more of them were living on the next street. What a group of vipers, basking in the sun of freedom! Jack became upset realizing that he had been one of them, and now he

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was analyzing the reverse side of that seemingly elegant coat that he had worn so proudly everywhere. The moment of nostalgia quickly turned into hatred. He hated all those who served the cause of the class revolution that devoured Robert and robbed him of freedom. One brief flicker of the past was enough for him to see where he had been before as opposed to where he was now. His past, with all its ugliness, was parading in his mind. They crossed the New Jersey border. The black clouds were slowly but steadily disappearing in the reality of the new day that would change his future. “Jack, in a short while we will be at the motel where we’ll stop and have dinner. After that, the four of them will go their way and we will have five more hours of driving to Washington. We’ll be there later tonight.” They took the next exit, drove down, and at the right rear entrance parked next to a red Chevrolet. Three people got out of the red car, then one of them got back in and remained sitting behind the wheel. The other two entered the hotel. A blue Chevrolet was parked next to their car. Two men were sitting inside. One of them was reading; the other was dozing. Joe parked his car next to the two Chevrolets. The car that had driven behind them the entire time now parked behind their car. Three men went into the motel; the driver remained sitting in the car. They did not enter the restaurant together. Also, they sat two or three at a table. Their behavior was very discreet. They did not draw any attention to themselves and nobody took notice of them. After dinner, Joe and Jack were the first to leave, followed by the men from the car behind.

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The crew from both Chevrolets was the last to leave. The four men who were driving to New York said goodbye to Jack and his guide, shook their hands, and exchanged best wishes. Jack got into the car and his “driver” Joe started driving west, towards the New Jersey Turnpike. “Jack, I think you’ve had quite a day. I don’t think you’ll ever forget this day. The trip to the capital is long; you have a full stomach and a head full of impressions. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and try to get some sleep.” “That’s easy to say, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep so easily. Everything seems surreal, like a dream.” “OK, but if you do feel sleepy, don’t resist it.” “Joe, if that happens, you will hear it very well. Please, don’t get scared, I snore quite loudly.” He was right. Before long, Joe could hear Jack’s snores, a sound similar to a wood saw. It was a deep, regular snore, indicative of the carefree sleep of a man who had liberated himself from a burden that had oppressed him for years. After about two hours, he woke up, wiped his eyes, looked around, and said, “Where are we? Will we be in Washington soon, Mr. Nickle?” “Jack, you only slept two hours. We have three more to drive, and don’t call me Mr. Nickle. It’s Joe, remember?” On the side of the highway they saw a large ad for a motel with a cup of aromatic coffee. Joe looked at Jack in the rearview mirror and said, “You have a good sense of smell, Jack. It was the aroma of that coffee that woke you up. This

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is the last rest stop in New Jersey. I need something to drink and some rest. Coffee will hit the spot.” As soon as he finished saying it, he took the exit and stopped at a Howard Johnson’s. Each picked the food he liked; then they ordered two cups of good black coffee and two slices of almond cake. Joe paid the bill. “Jack, we have plenty of time. We don’t have to hurry. Why don’t we go for a short walk? It’s a nice place,” said Joe. Jack welcomed this idea. He also needed to take a walk and stretch his legs, which were rather stiff. They started to walk briskly. From time to time Jack hopped like a colt trying the strength of his young legs. He studied the countryside around. The world was different from the one of eleven years ago. So much had changed! It was a new world for Jack, a different world, the world of a better tomorrow. Full and refreshed, they got into the car and proceeded towards their destination. They were rested, the fatigue was gone, and they were discussing different topics. Time was passing by, actually flying by, while they engaged in friendly conversation. “Joe, what will happen in Washington? Will we stay in touch?” asked Jack timidly. “You are under FBI protection now. You can live wherever you want. We will help you at the beginning, but after a while, actually as soon as possible, you will have to stand on your own two feet. You will be given a new name, a new date and place of birth, a new job according to your skills and interests, a new driver’s license and a new social security number. You

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will begin a new life. You will be a new man. The old one will soon cease to exist. Your signature will be different, too. You will have to practice that. And remember, you are single; you have never been married. You will also have to change your haircut. You will be the man who lived twice. To be honest, I’d like to be in your place, especially when chasing girls,” he looked at Jack and started to laugh. “Well, this is just small talk. I would never leave my Cathy. I would never exchange her for anybody else. Even after so many years of marriage, I tell you, she is the best woman I have ever met. Sometimes I grumble at her because she nags me too much and I hate that. I have to wash the dishes I use and help her with the cleaning and shopping. I’ve gotten used to that, though, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s like when you are wearing old slippers and know that the new ones won’t be as comfortable. Jack, I couldn’t wish for a better wife. Cathy is a great wife and mother. She is very caring and hard working and an excellent cook. As you know, a full stomach is very important to every romantic relationship. What good is a wife who cannot make an omelet, and instead of knowing her way around a stove, just shakes her hips? My Cathy is such a great cook you can’t help but eat everything she makes. What’s more, it’s so good you lick your fingers clean. There is nobody like her in the whole wide world,” Joe spoke enthusiastically about his wife’s virtues. Time was passing by while Joe was advising Jack on how he should organize his new life, his preferences, and how to look for a life partner. Both enjoyed their conversation very

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much. Joe had the opportunity to open his heart to a new friend. He felt Jack was a candid person who would never let him down.

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t was just before midnight when they arrived in Washington D.C., the capital. The white, illuminated dome of the Capitol building was visible from afar. They did not drive directly to the downtown area, but turned towards Virginia. The huge buildings of the FBI and CIA are there, but what is visible is only part of a large complex, much of it underground. It is an entire city, well hidden from the inquisitive eyes of outsiders. On the surface there are parks, villas, homes for the employees. It is all nicely landscaped, with attractive architecture and green parks. However, underground there are many floors of administrative buildings and laboratories. Outside are beautiful buildings. After all, this is what is expected from a nation’s capital.

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Before Jack knew it, they had arrived at their destination. His room was prepared for him, with some fruit, juice, and mineral water on the table. Before they exchanged good night wishes, Joe reminded him that they would have to get up as early as half past six in the morning since they would have breakfast at half past seven. Joe went to bed in the adjacent room. Tired from driving, he fell sound asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Jack fell asleep, too, but he awoke before dawn, and the entire day began to unwind in front of him. He was still not sure if it was real or just a dream. Indeed, only a couple of days ago he thought he could not change his life. Now he would be free to do what he wanted, be master of his life again, and go wherever he wanted. On the way to Washington, when he was watching the people in the motel restaurant, Jack started to meditate on the meaning of happiness. Common, hard-working, polite people were all smiling. They finish work and get their paychecks. Then they go to their happy families and children. They work, get paid, and it is nobody’s business how they live, where they go, or what they do. America is a vast country and everybody can go wherever he wants. You go where you want and it is nobody’s business why, where, or for how long. You do not need to check in or check out at the police station. America is strong because it is free and its citizens are proud to be called Americans. The more he thought about it, the more he was proud of this country of unlimited opportunities, the more he wanted to be an American, the more he felt this

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was the Promised Land, and the more he could appreciate the feelings of the first immigrants, poor people from all over the world who had wanted to achieve more, who wanted to be free and to secure a better future for themselves and for their children. They suffered, worked hard, and lived hard to be successful. They had come here with faith, and they had left this world with faith and deep love for America and her citizens. The love of God and the love of fellowman, this is the American credo that all Americans profess. Jack was in ecstasy and in his mind he promised he would do his best to help build America. That was what he intended to do. He felt that he had shaken off the armor that had constrained his way of thinking and behaving for many years. He came to the realization that he had to get rid of that false doctrine of “class struggle for a better proletariat future” and all that had been stuffed into his head since early childhood. “Those Pharisees,” he said with repulsion when he thought about Siberia and the mass extermination of proud Ukrainian peasants. He thought about the gulags with their thousands of starving men and women, the labor camps from which nobody had any hope of escape. People did not know much about it and still do not know. It is a huge iceberg and only its tip can be seen. What he had known before he came to America was not more than 5%. It was good that he had not been aware of that remaining 95% because he would have lost his mind. Who were these fiends in human skin? They tyrannized

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the Russian people and other nations, too. And they did it in an age of civilization and progress, and in the name of democracy. Red posters with the word “democracy” in the hands of tyrants who were trying to restrict the free will of the people, to deform them, to take possession of their souls, to turn them into spineless slaves who did not have their own opinions. A lot of evil, a lot of suffering of powerless and defenseless people, everything was done in the name of “the people’s democracy.” Millions of poor souls could not save their lives and the lives of their loved ones if there was even the shadow of suspicion hanging over them. Jack was in a flutter and had fallen asleep only shortly before he was to get up for breakfast. They let him sleep, and Joe woke him up only at nine o’clock when he knocked at his door. At ten they went to breakfast together with Joe’s colleagues. “Did you get enough sleep, Jack? I didn’t want to wake you up early. You must have had a lot of different thoughts when you went to bed yesterday. No wonder you slept so soundly.” “Good guess, Joe. My entire life played before my eyes, but finally I fell into a very deep and sound sleep. If it weren’t for you, I would have slept until tomorrow morning. But I had a great sleep and feel refreshed now. What’s on the agenda?” “We’ll have lunch at one. The orientation will start shortly. It will continue in the afternoon. And tonight, Jack

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will cease to exist. Tomorrow you will get up as somebody else and will remain that person until your death. Before you go to bed, carefully read your new curriculum vitae. Read through your new documents; look at the money and all the rest. Everything has been taken care of. The next morning, when you get up, there will be no more Jack, he will be gone, and you will have to erase his name from your memory. It is for your safety. And it is also part of the rules and, as you know, rules have to be observed. Take it easy, eat your breakfast, and in about half an hour we’ll start with the orientation.” Jack was very happy to start a new life, a life according to his wishes, a life he could be master of again. It was Jack’s dream that was about to come true. He still could not comprehend it in its entirety. It was a dream scripted by FBI experts in their offices tens of feet underground. In spring, Washington D.C. is famous for its cherry blossoms. They are everywhere and nature lovers come from long distances to admire their beauty. Not only the cherry trees, but also the parks in Washington are in full bloom. In front of the Capitol are many flowerbeds, full of tulips and daffodils. One flower is more beautiful than the next. Jack was full of admiration for the nation’s capital, as he rode in the car and got all the sightseeing information from the driver and his new instructor. Nick was a very good and careful driver. He was familiar with every corner of the capital. His eyes were watchful. He did not miss a thing. He was not as talkative as Joe, but extremely attentive. He did not laugh

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much. He was serious most of the time, as if full of wisdom. George was quite different. He was a happy, carefree person who would be able to joke and laugh even on the gallows. He loved to have a “cocktail” before breakfast. He actually drank in moderation the entire day. Before going to bed, he kneeled in front of a small cross in his bedroom and said, “My dear Lord, if I were to die tonight, please forgive my sins.” As soon as he said “amen” he was already falling asleep. “Mr. Bradley, we’ll stop here for breakfast,” said Nick and pulled into the parking lot in front of a restaurant. He parked the car, but Mr. Bradley didn’t move. “Mr. Bradley,” said Nick in a raised voice. No reaction. George realized what was happening. He turned to the man sitting next to him and said, “Mr. John Bradley, the driver is talking to you.” Only then did Mr. John Bradley realize that Jack had died last night, that he did not exist anymore, and that he was John Bradley now. He turned to the driver and said, “Nick, are you talking to me?” “Yes, I am talking to you.” “Excuse me, I am hearing impaired in my left ear. What did you say?” “We’ll stop here for breakfast,” said Nick loudly, wondering if indeed he could not hear or just pretended that he could not hear. An hour later they said goodbye to Washington and left. After six hours of driving, they stopped at a Howard Johnson’s. There was Mr. Bradley’s car, waiting for its owner in the

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parking lot. They gave him all the necessary documents and car keys and put his luggage into his car and said goodbye. They shook hands like friends or colleagues. If anybody had been watching them he would not have seen anything unusual. They got into their car and left. Mr. Bradley did not waste any time, either. He got into his car, started it, and left for his destination.

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pring came to Rockland, too. Forsythias could be seen everywhere. Tulips stretched their necks to see the neighboring daffodils and passing pedestrians. One spring afternoon, a brown car pulled up to Robert’s building. Three well-dressed, middle-aged men got out and started walking with confidence towards its entrance. They walked upstairs and knocked on the second door on the left. They could hear a man’s voice behind the door. They opened the door and one of them asked, “Are you Mr. Eichelmann?” “Yes, I am,” responded Robert. “Hands up,” said the man in the sheriff ’s uniform resolutely. “Mr. Robert Eichelmann, you are under arrest. Anything you say can be used against you.”

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They searched him for weapons, but he did not have any. As they handcuffed him, the sheriff read the warrant, and advised him about his rights. Then they put a hat on his head and one of them said, “Let’s go.” The sheriff sat in the front seat. Another two were in the back with Robert between them. The driver started the car and they slowly moved on. The news about Robert’s arrest spread quickly. In half an hour everybody knew. Robert behaved as if he had been waiting and getting ready for that moment. There was not a trace of surprise on his face. He radiated defiance, fearlessness, and self-control. Even though he was in handcuffs, he did not act like a mentally oppressed man. The newspapers and other media exaggerated the case, publishing bombastic news accounts and fabricating sensational stories. Nina, being a sensitive person, could not handle the pressure. She continuously vomited and had stomach cramps. Dr. Fox had just finished his internship at the surgical department and returned to the Men’s Unit. Nina was in such unbearable pain that she was given permission to take a dose of morphine. She insisted that Dr. Fox administer it. The hospital administrator, Dr. Stanley, agreed and so Dr. Fox had an opportunity to listen to Nina, who under the influence of morphine spoke her mind. She was glad it was Lou who was there. She knew Lou was also Robert’s confidant. The following morning Dr. Fox met Dr. Menkoff, who was shaking. He told him that his and Robert’s good friend,

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the administrator of the Institute of Mental Diseases on Long Island, had committed suicide the day before. He had hanged himself in a bathroom. “We were in touch quite often. We were close friends,” Izidor confided to him. “What should I do now?” Izidor was shaking like a trembling poplar. “Nothing. Wait until the dust settles,” suggested Lou in a friendly way. “That’s easy to say, Lou, but I don’t know what they know and what they don’t. Can’t you see how I’m shaking?” “I can see that, but you can’t change anything now. You can only complicate it, make it much worse, and more confusing. Relax, think it over, and wait. You have to calm down and get control over your feelings, Izidor.” “You’re right, Lou.” Izidor calmed down and seemed to start thinking rationally. Then he scratched his head, lifted his thick brows and buried himself in thought. He thought about his colleagues in higher places, in higher positions. It became dark outside and Izidor still sat at his office desk, buried in his thoughts. Dina Rochlin was smarter; she took a three-week leave and immediately left for Santo Domingo. Lou spent a lot of time with Nina, visiting her daily. He was the only colleague that she looked upon as a friend and could mentally relax with. Lou took it as a good opportunity to use everything that he had learned from her when he had worked at the Pediatric Psychology Department. She had been his colleague there, always willing to help him.

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verything seemed to be handled like a routine investigation. The prosecution and defense assumed their duties, studying materials with full determination. The state prosecutor as well as the judge showed interest in the case every day because it was an unusual one, something they did not typically have. They considered the extent of the criminal act, studied Robert’s case, and collected evidence and depositions. The defense immediately contradicted everything, disputing the reliability of the witnesses, questioning one charge after another. At the same time Robert, isolated in prison, played the part of an affronted innocent citizen who had become a victim of police despotism. He claimed that it must have been a malicious accusation or a mistake. All he was doing was taking care of his patients

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in the hospital, lunatics and a group of other patients with psychiatric problems who came to see him occasionally in his office in Lower Manhattan. He claimed he was a conscientious and honest doctor, a healer of mental and physical wounds. After so many years of helping those who were suffering, he did not deserve to be accused of high treason in such a wicked and mean way, he, a proud American, the one who would have given his life for his adopted homeland, for the security of the United States of America. Those false accusations cast shame not only on him, but also on his loved ones. How wicked and mean! The state prosecutor called those lines of defense “bull.” “The friends of Soviets” as well as Robert’s friends, seated in all kinds of influential positions, where the warmth of dollar rays was best felt, were working relentlessly behind the scenes. In Eastern Europe, to be a capitalist is a sin, while in America, to be a millionaire is everybody’s dream. Even the poorest of the poor, who do not want to work, still want to be millionaires. Who wouldn’t like to get millions just by praying for it? And then, when the money is theirs, they pray to it! Everything can be bought with money. That fact was well known to Robert’s attorneys, to his friends, and comrades. His family doctor argued, “Dr. Robert Eichelmann is terminally ill. He has leukemia. His days are numbered. He should spend his last days on this earth at home. He suffered so much persecution in his homeland and even here, in America, he is not left in peace. Now that his life is

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approaching its end, he should be released on bail. He will not escape. There is no place for him to escape to. He will be waiting at home. He is a sick man. Look at him, that poor man who has dedicated his entire life to medicine. He was helping the sick and the suffering, Your Honor! Here is his blood analysis to prove he is in the last stages of myoloblastic leukemia. Look at the microscopic analysis of his bone marrow. Here is documentation and the expert opinion of the pathologist who made the microscopic analysis. This is clear evidence that the doctor is approaching the end of his life’s journey. Your Honor, take into consideration his frail health and his impending death. We are appealing to you not to keep him in prison. Release him on bail before the trial begins. The trial will clearly prove that he was imprisoned by mistake. It will prove his innocence.” Robert’s defense attorney targeted the soft spot in the judge’s heart daily, but in vain. The defense team considered the prosecution’s material not to be strong or sufficient enough. They were appealing to the judge’s emotions, but he kept delaying the possibility of bail as much as he could. In the meantime, the prosecutors found out that the documents on Robert’s health condition were counterfeit. The prosecutors were trying to find evidence about more contacts so as to kill two birds with one stone and were proceeding very well. In Rockland, at first they were all talking about Robert, but after some time, the talk gradually stopped, and Robert’s trial was mentioned only occasionally. When that happened, Izidor was all ears to catch what was said. Dina had come back

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from Santo Domingo, nicely tanned. She needed the vacation for her nerves, to be able to calmly accept the gradually increasing number of FBI visits. They complimented her on her beauty and tanned complexion. She paid attention to her appearance and the compliments increased her selfconfidence. She needed it like a fish needs water. There was no doubt that she looked good, but her visitors’ compliments were greatly exaggerated, since they were pursuing a specific goal. Lou visited Nina as his patient every day and she confided in him. She was a very kind and sensitive person, but she was a crafty one, too.

Chapter XXXX

I

t was the end of May when Dr. Fox was shocked by the sudden death of Dr. Haymann. Haymann was his tutor and good friend. He was much older than Dr. Fox and had passed on a lot of medical, as well as human, experience to him. Primarily, though, he was a just and fair human being, who hated all evil, but not the men who did the evil. He was a precious diamond, a jewel in the Judeo-Christian way of thinking. When he visited a German bookstore in New York to buy the latest publication from Germany, he never forgot to buy some fiction for Lou’s wife, Maria. This man had a reason to hate Germans, but hatred was never in his heart. It was not in his nature. He died of heart failure while preparing for his exams. He died with Psychosomatic Medicine by Dr. Brill in his hands, the book he had borrowed from Lou. Years later Dr. Fox still thought of that dear man.

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Whenever Lou had the night shift, he had dinner in the cafeteria where Robert’s place was now unoccupied. Neither Miriam nor Jimmy nor Lou ever sat in that chair. They had their places and Robert’s chair remained vacant. Since he had been arrested, nobody knew anything about him. One day he was there, the next he was taken away in handcuffs, and since then it was as if he had been swallowed up by the earth. Where was he? Only a few people knew anything about it, and even that was very little. They knew that he had not been released on bail. It was known that Dr. Fox was visiting Nina on a daily basis to give her shots and that was about all. Not even Miriam dared to ask questions about it. She knew very well that whatever Lou had learned from Nina would stay with him. Dr. Izidor Menkoff was on pins and needles. During those sleepless nights he often thought about his friend who had hanged himself. When he woke up, his first look went to the ceiling to make sure that Robert was not hanging there. The image haunted him continuously. He kept thinking about it day and night. It looked like he was close to developing neurasthenia and that nothing would be left of this previously joyful and energetic man. What was left was just a shadow; his clothes hung on him like those on a scarecrow in the field. He was not the same Izidor who used to have so much optimism that he could have given it away. In three weeks he had aged ten years. His hands were shaking and he took his time answering questions. He did not want to hang himself and he was very afraid of going to prison. He did not trust

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himself. He knew that if they pushed hard, he would confess to everything, even to what was not true. He always jumped when he heard a door squeak. “I am in a mess and have no way out,” he lamented. “All I can say is that it’s not going to end well. Would you reveal a secret or not?” he looked at Lou with the confusing question, expecting Lou to advise him. “Izidor, you would tell them the truth. They have many ways and much time to get it. Besides, you don’t have Robert’s strong will. What can you do? I don’t know. What should you do? Your situation is worse than that of a lunatic in a secured area. Besides, a lunatic’s thinking is beyond any reality. Even if he were led to his own execution, he would think he were being rewarded for his merits. What are you supposed to do now? Just keep smiling as if nothing happened. Time is the best healer. It will all work out,” said Lou. “Izidor, I have to leave now. Cheer up and don’t follow Rudolf’s example, that friend of yours who took his own life. What’s happening and what happened is not in your hands. And if something new happens, do what you think is best. And don’t forget, don’t paint it all so black, just react to the situation at hand. Well, enough therapy. You owe me a dinner.” Izidor heard Lou out and smiled warmly. “I haven’t seen that kind of smile on his face for a long time,” thought Lou. “Do svidanija,” said Lou in Russian with a bit of a tease and shook his hand. It was a warm and friendly handshake, the sign of their understanding.

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Chapter XXXXI

R

obert did not think much in his cell. He relied on “his” doctors, attorneys, and influential comrades. He closed his eyes as if sleeping and worked out his plans. He thought about all the details. In his mind, he went through all the options. As a good chess player, he visualized each move of the game in order to defeat his opponents and checkmate them before they could checkmate him. He knew he was the decisive player in the game, even with all his fans and assistants. They were only preparing the terrain. He could not say that they were idle, not at all. They were using every option and possibility to get him out on bail. The prosecution stubbornly stuck to its position, rejecting every proposition, even the defense team’s argument that their client was approaching the end of his life and had only days to live.

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Not even those arguments could move the prosecutors, or command their sympathy or their emotional response. They simply turned a deaf ear to the arguments of the defense. Ultimately, under pressure from all the health arguments, as well as lobbying from influential politicians, the judge made a decision to release Robert on $300,000 bail. Robert had to promise that he would not leave his residence until the trial. His attorneys tried to lower the bail with no success. “Let the attorneys lend him the money if they’re pleading so much,” thought the judge. At least he would have the assurance that Eichelmann would not flee, since they would lose the bail and their money. The attorneys were not willing to do so, but in a few days they found a devout soul of his own religion, who believed in his honesty and reliability, and posted the $300,000 bail with the hope that it would not be forfeited. Robert was content and assured everybody he would stay at his residence until the trial. In the same manner that he had walked handcuffed into prison, he walked out of prison: defiant, untamed, as proud as always, and full of confidence in himself. He wanted to take a cab, but did not have money. His attorney felt sorry for him, so he drove him to Rockland. Robert thanked the lawyer for his kindness, said goodbye, and walked into his apartment. He went to bed and with open eyes pondered his next move. His brain was working in overdrive, and he was able to focus on his final move. He was aware how in this game of chess everything was at stake. Everything had to

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be well thought out several moves ahead. After two hours he stood up, stretched his body, and left his apartment. He walked down the stairs, got into his car, and took care of some grocery shopping and personal chores. In the hospital he asked for a two-week leave to recuperate. He reported daily to the court to let them know he was at home, waiting for the trial. This lasted for five days. On the sixth day he did not report to court. He had disappeared. The hunt began. They found his car on the Garden State Parkway, near the New York state-line. It was in the parking lot for travelers, empty, locked, and abandoned. Robert kept changing cars until he arrived at the Canadian border. On his way there, for each segment of the trip, a different car was waiting for him. The driver did not know Robert, and Robert did not know the driver. They recognized each other by way of a prearranged signal. A man from Canada drove him across the border in his car with a Canadian license plate. Robert had a valid Canadian passport, so he did not have any problems getting through. When in Canada, he changed cars again and disappeared. They hunted for him everywhere, but they had lost him before they even realized that he had disappeared. Robert and the organizers of his escape were prepared down to the smallest detail. Many of the “vipers” were found in different influential positions. They were not only doctors and attorneys, but also people from the world of business and finance. This was the reason for the bail game.

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His defense team knew very well that he was going to escape, and they did not want to lose their money. The FBI investigators had a good harvest. Most of the network had already been identified and located, which was essential for the security of the United States. In the meantime they kept discovering more unknown paths and traces of “dangerous reptiles.” Robert easily crossed the border and changed several cars until he was safe. He swept away all traces behind him. He knew they would be looking for him, so he remained with “his” people for several days. After discussions with a higher-up, he decided to go to Tel Aviv, Israel. His roots were there. Besides, his journey and stay there would not be conspicuous. He boarded the plane without any problems and saw nothing suspicious during the flight. After a long overnight flight, he landed in Tel Aviv. The airport, as well as the entire State of Israel, was on alert, as usual. Girls as young as eighteen already had military training behind them. Airport police studied passports thoroughly, paying attention to passengers’ behavior and appearance. A young policewoman looking at Robert’s passport recognized him immediately. As he left and turned his back to her, she nodded, signaling the man standing about five yards away from her: “Follow him; don’t let him get away.” A policeman dressed in the plain clothes of an airport employee approached Robert with a question, “Do you need a cab?” “Yes, thank you,” responded Robert happily.

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The man nodded to a cabdriver. The driver pulled up the cab and asked where he was to take him. “I would like to go to an inexpensive hotel,” said Robert. “OK, I know what you want. I will be happy to take you there. I will help you with your luggage. It won’t cost you much and you will have a good rest there. Tomorrow you can go sightseeing. Is this your first time here?” “Yes, it is,” responded Robert to the obliging cab driver. Dr. Eichelmann was not aware that he was being followed by four men in a car and so he was very content. “They have very good security,” Robert thought, hardly able to conceal his smile. “And yet they didn’t get on my track. They are not smart enough to catch Robert. It’s not that easy. They’re not that good.” He continued sitting peacefully. The cab slowed down and the driver said, “We are here, in front of the King David Hotel. We’ll go through to the rear entrance. It’s more convenient.” He blew the horn, and again after a couple of seconds before the iron gate opened. The cab and another car drove through and the gate closed. They got out of the cab. “We’re here. I’ll carry the luggage and the porter will help you. It’s 82 shekels.” Robert paid the money, adding a tip. The cab driver thanked him and wished him a nice stay in Israel. The people from the other car got out, too. One of them, a handsome man, approached Robert and extended his hand to wish him a pleasant rest. Robert was slightly taken aback

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by the stranger’s kindness, but took it as local custom and wished a nice day to all four of them. The men came closer to Robert and one of them said with a smile, “Dr. Robert Eichelmann, it is a long journey from Rockland to Tel Aviv. You could have traveled directly, not via Canada. It would have been cheaper, too. The United States of America has issued a warrant in your name and asked us to arrest you.” Robert turned pale. His legs sank under him when he felt the iron handcuffs. He was dragging his feet when they escorted him into the solitary cell that was waiting for him. Drops of sweat ran down his dry, pale face. They let him rest, sleep, and eat for two days. Then they assumed that he had had enough time to search his conscience and that it was time to pin him down and try to squeeze out all the information they could. For three full days, from sunrise to sunset, six different people asked questions that he was to answer promptly. He knew what this interrogation meant. He knew how to resist it effectively and professionally, yet he was mentally exhausted. In the evening, when they brought him to his cell, he threw himself on the bed and immediately fell asleep. After three days they achieved what they wanted. The discussions were “productive.”

Chapter XXXXII

D

r. Lou Fox had passed his validation exams. He had received his U.S. medical diploma with a specialization in neurology and psychiatry. He worked night shifts during the summer again to make some extra money. In the cafeteria, a well-known group was meeting as usual; however, its fourth member, Robert, was missing. Nobody knew where he was. His wife spoke about him often with Dr. Fox, lamenting and wailing that he was innocent, but that was about all Dr. Fox could learn from her. When Lou was offered the position of senior psychiatrist in Middletown, Connecticut, he thought that maybe it was time for him to change location after a three-and-a-half-year stay at Rockland Hospital. It did not take long for him to decide. He said goodbye to Nina and the others, packed his be-

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longings, and sorted out his memories. The trio of colleagues decided to stay in contact and meet occasionally. Finally, he went to see Dr. Stanley to let him know about his decision. Dr. Stanley heard him out, gave him a smile as if he had known all along, and invited him to dinner. It was a good opportunity for them to remember their mutual friends over a good meal. Lou recalled his first meeting with Dr. Izell at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Manhattan. It was Dr. Izell who had sent him to Rockland, where he met Dr. Stanley for the first time. He remembered that day clearly. It was January 6. With his heart pounding, he walked upstairs to the second floor office of the administrator of this big hospital. The secretary welcomed Lou and told him to sit in the armchair in the hall, because the boss had to finish some work. Then she called Julius in her high-pitched voice. “Julius, here is a young doctor. Please take care of him until the boss is free to receive him.” “OK, Miss,” Julius said politely. He walked Lou to the hallway and said, “That screaming monkey has such a highpitched voice that if she sang, she would break windows, believe me. She spruces herself up every day, spends all her money on her hair and dresses only to look beautiful so that the boss and the doctors will like her. Then she harasses us all here, giving orders and commands on the boss’s behalf. Such is life though. One person commands and the other one has to obey and humbly execute the command. They call it work distribution. What a great idea.”

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They walked to the library. Julius seated Dr. Fox on a soft chair and told him to meditate in solitude among the books and think what he was going to say to the administrator. Lou sat there for more than an hour. Then he got impatient, so he went to ask Julius to find out if the boss had not forgotten about him. Julius looked at Lou searchingly and started to lecture about astronomy, orbits, and the solar system. After the half hour lecture, he looked at his wristwatch and said, “As I have just explained to you, it’s a quarter to two, exactly as it should be. My watch is controlled by planetary movements. That’s why it’s so precise. It’s absolutely precise.” “Julius, are you employed here?” Lou asked him. “Hell, I have been a lunatic, or should I say, mentally ill, here for eleven years. I’ve been teaching astronomy here, too.” When they went to the hallway and Dr. Stanley saw them, Julius blurted out, “I screwed up. I was to seat you in the hallway for five or ten minutes, but I hid you in the library.” Then Dr. Stanley came over to Lou and when he saw Julius, he understood what had happened. “Dear colleague, I have been looking for you for an hour. I was speaking to Dr. Izell, the commissioner of health for the State of New York. You can fill a niche here, so I am hiring you. Tomorrow you will report to the women’s unit.’” “Have I disappointed you, Alfred?” Lou asked Dr. Stanley at their dinner. “Not in the least, Lou. You’ve been excellent and have done a lot of work.”

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“It’s because you run this place so well.” They finished their dinner, had one more drink “to their health,” and decided to meet at the National Congress of Psychiatrists. They hugged, not as boss and employee, but as friends and colleagues. Dr. Fox had already said goodbye to everybody, but he still wanted to pay one last visit to the Blessed Virgin and her chapel, which had become Father McCormick’s pride. The project had progressed slowly at the beginning, but Jimmy’s hard work was crowned by success. Jimmy was very persistent. Doctors, as well as patients, liked him very much. There, to the chapel that was Jimmy’s masterpiece, went Dr. Fox to say goodbye to the place that had become so close to his heart. It had become his habit to go there alone when he needed to tell somebody about his troubles and draw strength for everyday struggles. The place was an oasis of peace for many. For patients and doctors, for believers and non-believers, for Jews and Christians, for all who are, first and foremost, human beings and live according to the second Commandment, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” He took a seat in the pew. He wanted to meditate but was not able to focus on praying. In front of his inner eyes ideas were born, developed, and melted away under the warm rays of the sunset. Some sunrays forced their way through a stained glass window on the left side and rested on the stairs in front of the altar, painting them with a mosaic of colors. One of the colors, golden yellow, falling on the second step, brought to Lou memories of Jerusalem.

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The sun was setting and its last rays embraced the Dome of the Rock. What a beautiful sight it was from the place where the prophets and patriarchs rest. The holy city of the Jewish nation was before his eyes. Foxie’s dream had come true. He saw what he had wanted to see since early childhood. He was on the slope of a hill with neatly arranged graves. He turned his face from the city of all cities and looked at both churches there. The first church was where Jesus had ascended to Heaven. Next to it on the left was another church where he had been captured and bound on the Mount of Olives. Foxie turned his sight back to the city. Straight in front of him was the Dome of the Rock’s golden cupola, illuminated by the sun, gold bathed in the rays of sun. Between the Dome and Dr. Fox was the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus had sweat blood. In the middle of it was an old Gothic chapel. When he turned his head a little to the left, he could see Bethlehem, David’s town, and the desert behind it. It is amazing how much history can be seen from a single spot. This was the cradle of three religions: Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. He kneeled down and thought about it. Jesus had done the same, too. He cried over the destruction of Jerusalem. Less than two generations after the crucifixion, the Roman army surrounded Jerusalem to suppress a Jewish rebellion. The great city was leveled to the ground and, according to Flavius Josephus, a Roman historian, there were crosses with crucified Jews erected around the town, cross after cross. The only remaining part of the temple was the Wailing Wall, the wall where all devout Jews pray and wail over their “bygone” glory.

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Here Lou began to think about the glory and destruction of Jerusalem, about its greatness and humiliation in the course of centuries. He pondered the present time, modern Israel, and the greatness of the nation that had survived thousands of years. He thought about Judas’s regret and the agony of his conscience when he realized he had betrayed an innocent man. It was his fault that Truth was crucified. Judas threw away the thirty pieces of silver and, under the burden of his guilt, hanged himself. These were Fox’s thoughts when he remembered Robert. He wondered if Robert thought about Judas, too, and what kind of thoughts were swarming in his head. Poor Robert, what he went through when he found himself in the place of his ancestors, but under totally different circumstances.

Chapter XXXXIII

S

ince his early childhood, Robert had had a desire to visit the “Holy Land.” When his dream finally came true, he found himself sitting in a jail with no chance of getting out. He was a man on the run, a spy who had escaped and was captured again, a man who had ungratefully betrayed his adopted homeland. “Look into the mirror. Aren’t you ashamed? Is this what your mother taught you? Robert, Robert, what have you gotten yourself into? Why did you do this? Such shame on your honest Jewish family!” Robert was thinking and shaking, not because of the cold, but because of distress, even shame. His breathing became faster and shallow. Near his right eye, a small vein pulsated and his face turned red, the color of a boiled crab. Suddenly he turned pale. They called for a doctor, who gave him a shot for dehydration and

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another to calm his nerves. He was left to relax for half an hour before they started to grill him with questions again. There were still so many unanswered questions. When they saw that the EKG did not show any changes, their interrogation became rougher, crueler. The secret police have their methods for stubborn inmates. They know how to use them when necessary, when the interrogated person does not want to answer the questions directly. Dr. Eichelmann was aware of those methods from his KGB training. When they told him to take off his clothes and sit on an iron table and then opened an iron drawer, Eichelmann turned pale and pleaded with them. He was willing to divulge everything. Four men threw themselves on him and each man took hold of a limb. They knocked him on his back, his genitalia fell into the drawer, and then they closed it shut. It was such excruciating pain that he lost consciousness. They poured water on him to bring him back. “Are you going to talk or not?” “Yes, I will. I’ll tell you everything. I won’t conceal anything,” said Robert with a moan. “Don’t play games with us. We want to know everything tonight. We don’t have time.” Dr. Eichelmann told them everything. He answered all their questions, whatever they asked. It went very smoothly. “See, you wised up. You could have avoided that. Now you have personal experience with our methods. When you get dressed, have this glass of wine and some food and get some rest.”

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After half an hour others came and asked endless questions again. Everything was put on record and the interrogation was over. After two hours they brought a typed document for his signature. He signed it without reading the contents. It was after midnight when they took him back to his cell. Robert lay on the bed but could not fall asleep. He felt disgraced, dishonored, and violated. He was ashamed of himself and of belonging to those satanic circles where he had been instructed to use the same methods that were earlier that day used on him. Robert could not close his eyes all night. He was shaking, not from cold but shame. He realized how low he had sunk, how deep into the mud. He had also pulled his subordinates with him. “What will they think about me? It would be awful to look into their eyes. I would be so ashamed.” All of a sudden, a wave of revulsion rolled over him, revulsion for everything Soviet, everything that reminded him of Communism. He could not bear his exhaustion anymore. His lids, heavy as lead, became glued shut. Totally exhausted, he finally fell asleep. He fell into a dreamless Nirvana. They woke him up at half past five in the morning. After a good bath they shaved him and gave him breakfast. He swallowed it quickly. He was thirsty and asked for more orange juice. Then he rested. Finally, after all the physical and mental tortures, he had some rest. He had never had this personal experience. He was a broken person, a physically

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and mentally broken man. He wanted to look into a mirror, but there was none. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to think. His meditation was interrupted by the same policemen that had taken him from from the King David Hotel. He jerked and a wave of anger overcame him. “Good morning, Dr. Eichelmann,” said the handsome man who had arrested him. “To you, too,” responded Robert. “Congratulations, you succeeded in getting what you wanted,” he added. “Duty is duty, you know that very well. We do what we have to. You will have to pack your things. We’re taking you to another place.” “I’ll be ready in half an hour,” he said and began packing. In fifteen minutes two more people came into the cell to check the contents of Robert’s luggage. They watched him as he packed his belongings into suitcases. He was finished in a short time. “I’ve done my packing,” he said in a quiet and humble way. “Is this all?” “Yes, it is. I am ready.” “Not quite,” commented the Israeli police officer dryly. Then he turned to his subordinates and gave them a command, “Do your duty.” The policemen put handcuffs on Robert’s wrists. “Don’t do it. I won’t escape,” said Robert with a very small voice.

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“That’s what you said after the bail was posted. Yet you tricked them and ran away,” said the handsome one. “Moreover, you financially ruined a deeply devout Jewish lady who took pity on you and posted the bail that was forfeited. She trusted you and wanted to help you.” Dr. Eichelmann bent his head and fell silent. “Let’s go,” said the officer. The Israeli security officers took the suitcases and, with Robert between them, left the place. The polite, handsome man followed them. In front of the exit they stopped; the officer signed the documents, and took the new ones that were waiting for him. He looked at them, put them back into the envelope, sealed it, and put it into his right inside pocket. They went out to the courtyard, loaded the luggage into the car’s trunk, and got into the back of the car with Robert between them. The officer sat next to the driver, and the car moved. “Since we still have some time,” said the handsome man, “we will do some sightseeing with you so that you will not have bad memories of Israel. We will drive along the streets of Jerusalem so that you, with your good Jewish background, can have a glimpse of our glorious past with its tribulations and our modern present-day country.” Robert sat quietly and listened. As a matter of fact, it only looked like he was listening while he was watching the city panorama. The handsome man looked at his watch and told the driver it was time to go to the airport. They drove through several streets and headed for the highway leading to Tel Aviv. After some time they turned towards the Tel Aviv

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airport and before long were there. They drove around it for a while until they arrived at the parking lot of American Transatlantic Airlines. Three other security officers were already waiting for them. The good-looking man got out of the car and walked directly to the three men. Everything was carried out without any special formalities, so that it would not be conspicuous. After a brief conversation, he came back. In a couple of minutes the airport administrator showed up. The goodlooking man got out of the car and joined the group of men again. He listened to their plans and was satisfied. “I would also like to speak with the pilot,” he said and returned to the car. The pilot approached them very inconspicuously. The men asked questions about security measures and how they would secure the anonymous transport of the arrested person. “And how about the flight attendants?” asked the goodlooking man. “They are all our people. The entire crew is with the FBI.” “Do you have a curtain there so that the passengers won’t see him, but you will be able to watch him at all times?” “It’s taken care of,” responded the captain of the plane. “One more question. Where do we officially turn him back over to you, so that it will be discreet?” “It will take place in the room near the entrance shortly before departure,” said the captain and informed everybody about the details of the procedure.

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“His luggage will be loaded into the cabin, so that it will be at your disposal at any time,” the handsome man ended the conversation. Then he announced to everybody, “All the arrangements have been made. Gentlemen, let’s get to work.”

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Chapter XXXXIV

T

he car with Eichelmann crept to the prearranged drop-off near the building. There, they put Robert into a wheelchair and covered his handcuffs with a coat. The wheelchair was taken into a room where the FBI representative and the head of Israeli security were waiting. They exchanged documents and signatures. The official act was over. The head of the Mossad turned to Dr. Eichelmann and said, “We both know that if an interrogation is stagnant, we have to use other methods to get the information. Those ways are often cruel, but they produce results. We have learned a lot from the Soviets, for example, the desk. You were trained to use those methods too. They were used on tens of thousands of poor souls. You were an investigator there and knew fully that your victims were innocent. Here, in Israel, you experienced

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on your own skin how these methods work. Even though you are not innocent, from the moment you showed willingness to cooperate and answer our questions, our behavior was tactful. “Now you know that we have methods to make even an experienced spy like you talk. As long as there is espionage, there has to be counter espionage. It is a dirty but necessary job. Those who get involved take the risk. I am sorry I met you under such circumstances. Shalom,” he said. The FBI man spoke next. Unlike the tough Mossad man, his speech was sophisticated and his voice soft and friendly. “I do not know how and where to start. It’s a shame that you got involved in such a matter, Dr. Eichelmann. As my colleague has mentioned, those who get involved in this kind of business take the risk that they will be uncovered and severely punished. You swore allegiance to your new homeland with a hidden agenda: You meant to undermine the foundations of the United States of America through espionage. We gave you everything and you abused our generosity. We had our suspicions. We knew that your brother Jack was not the head of the group of vipers. He did not want to testify against you, his own brother, but you were not ashamed to sacrifice your own brother and send him to prison for thirty years, to use him as a cover, and save your own skin. Is that moral? Is that what you call brotherly love? Of course not! A poor, naïve person lost $300,000 in forfeit bail because of you. Robert, excuse me, Dr. Eichelmann, I apologize for using your first name, but aren’t you ashamed? Don’t you have

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any remorse? Did you think that because of ‘your love for the KGB’ your own brother should suffer? I will tell you a secret. The head witness against you is your brother, your younger brother Jack. We have been following you for a long time. You have been very crafty. For your false ideas you have sacrificed everything, your family life, your siblings, parents, and friends. The Communist party was everything to you. Robert, don’t you have a conscience? Don’t you have moral principles? What about the Hippocratic Oath? You have betrayed the country that took you under its wings and gave you opportunities to grow and develop in every dimension, yet you wanted to undermine its foundations. There is nothing else I can say. Search your conscience for more. I would like to thank the State of Israel for help and extradition.” Robert was brought on board in a wheelchair ten minutes before the airplane door was closed. They took off his handcuffs but tied his left hand to the seat. Then the plane started to roll and was shortly airborne. Robert looked uninterested although he seemed to be immersed deep in thought. He had much to think about after he had heard that Jack was out of prison and that he would be the main witness in the trial against him, against his older brother. It was a huge shock for him. He could never have imagined that situation. It hit him like lighting out of a blue sky. He could not digest the news. He was aware of the years and years of prison ahead of him. But that was not all. He knew many people would be prosecuted: Izidor, Nina, and many others. It was a difficult matter to resolve.

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After about an hour and a half, they started to serve food and Robert was also served. In business class silver cutlery is used and suddenly the silver knife began to tempt him. It seemed to say, “Robert, don’t be a coward. I am the solution. You will help yourself and the others who are in this mess with you.” The flight attendant was just announcing that the plane was approaching London and was preparing to land, when Robert made up his mind. In a split second he took the knife and with all his force stabbed it into the upper part of his stomach. A stream of warm red blood spurted from the wound and Robert turned pale. The flight attendant informed the captain and he in turn informed the authorities at the nearest airport. The aircrew was instructed to get ready for landing. At the airport, an ambulance was waiting with full equipment. When the plane landed, a doctor tested Robert’s blood and immediately gave him a transfusion. The ambulance took him to a military hospital where he was immediately operated on, without the routine preparations. A human life was at stake. They treated the stabbed part of the stomach, sewed the wounds, and continued with blood transfusions. They monitored his vital functions to keep him stabilized and after about three hours the patient was in bed. Visits were strictly forbidden. He had been in grave danger but was saved by a team of doctors. The patient recovered very well and even put on some weight. After a week, Robert felt good enough to get out of bed.

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Even though visits were strictly forbidden, according to the New York Times, a mysterious woman dressed in black visited him a day before his transfer to the U.S.A. Robert was pleased and thanked her for the visit. Nobody knows who the person was or how she got there. Early on the day that Robert was leaving for the U.S.A., the head surgeon came to see him. He informed Robert that he would be released during the day. He shook Robert’s hand and wished him the best. Robert thanked him for his skill, which had saved his life. “You work fast and very well,” said Robert. “Maybe.” He walked away, but after a couple of steps he turned back and said in a commanding voice, “Get ready to leave this morning, at eleven.” “OK,” said Robert. He dressed very carefully and even polished his shoes, singing. They arrived at the airport early, so they had to wait more than half an hour before the U.S. military plane arrived. It landed a little way from the main entrance. When Robert walked up the steps, he stopped at the second to last step, looked around, then turned back as if he wanted to say goodbye to friends and loved ones. Before boarding the plane he stopped again, bit into a vial of cyanide, and was dead on the spot. He rolled down the steps all the way to the ground, to the hard cement where the military plane had landed. They were not going to bring him to the U.S.A. alive after all. The people stood numb. The pilot turned off the engines and walked down the steps with the crew. They all stood around Robert in grave silence.

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Police and FBI agents, employees, the airport administrator, the secret police, flight attendants, even the ambulance crew all stood around him, silently, respectfully. Neatly dressed, with polished shoes, Robert lay motionless, his eyes fixed on the distance, with the world bent over him. It looked like the last procession of a commander. He was dead and that was final. Two members of the crew brought a stretcher from the plane and put him on it with piety. They carried him up the steps and placed him in business class. We are all equal in death and hatred turns to love there. As a matter of fact, hatred is an extension of love. Love and hate mean the same: they are like communicating vessels. Indifference, on the other hand, is sometimes worse than hate. The news about the suicide of Dr. Robert Eichelmann, a Soviet secret agent, spread quickly. It was on the radio, TV news, and the front pages of newspapers. Before long, it was known all over the word. It was a sensation. Everything that had been concealed came to the surface. The vipers, killing treacherously under the cover of darkness, also played a role in the mass media performance, full of glory and hatred. In the eyes of those who Robert worked for, he was a glorious and brave warrior. In the eyes of those who were in charge of exposing persons undermining the foundations of American independence, democracy, and freedom, he was a poisonous viper. Dr. Robert Eichmann was a leader of the network. He did not want to testify against his subordinates. With

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his suicide he prevented the disclosure and destruction of the entire network. Jack did not have to testify against his brother. Robert did exactly what he had been instructed to do: he protected his subordinates. The struggle of light and darkness continues. The great French writer Leon Bloy, a Jewish convert, wrote, “Only the saints and their enemies make history. The rest is literature.” On Friday, at three o’clock in the afternoon, the bell tolled. It was not Sunday or a holiday. It was an ordinary day, like many before and many to come. And yet, it was a special day. People from all over were coming to a small chapel. All formally dressed. Dr. Lou walked with Dr. Stanley, the hospital administrator, and there were others, Dr. Nina Eichelmann, Dr. Johnson, Dr. Menkoff, Dr. Dina Rochlin, Dr. Miriam Kleinholz, Rabbi Glueck, and many other Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant faithful. The chapel was crowded. There was no place left to sit or even stand. After the second bell tolled, the mass began. It was silent, with no singing. This solemn silence was interrupted only by sobbing. The Holy Mass lasted half an hour. Father McCormick addressed the gathered with these words: “Dear brothers and sisters, our friend Robert is now before the throne of the Most High. Beneath the shell of fearlessness he hid a sensitive and tender soul. He went through a bitter metamorphosis of thinking. He passed through fire to find his identity, to find himself, and to find his God. There is but one God for all, Jew, Christian, Muslim, or other. Religion is the way to find God. For some, the way is steep, for others

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it is easy. Yet all ways and roads lead to the same Creator. Remember Dr. Eichelmann, who lost his way, not only in his prayers, but mainly in the second commandment, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ He walked the steep pathways, looking for God, but now he has arrived. He is before the Chief Justice.” “Amen,” Father said, and people began to leave the chapel slowly and with dignity. They left remembering Robert, recalling conversations between him and Jimmy, often aided by Miriam and witnessed by Lou, who was just a silent witness to that tragic story of the cruel twentieth century. The century in which the Lie was seated at the Table, but Truth was not invited and had to beg at the door.

The End