Read Online The Berlin Connection by Johannes Mario Simmel - Free Book Online

damaged."
    "Then what ought I to do. Doctor?"
    "You must stop drinking. Immediately. That is the most important thing."
    "Idon'tthmklcan."
    "You will with some help."
    "You mean ... in an institution?'*
    "In a clinic."
    "No. I won't go."
    "If you don't stop drinking the alcohol will kill you or—"

    "Or?"
    "—or destroy your brain," she said.
    I thought of the dead seagull which had disappeared, of the terrible fear I had experienced. I was silent.
    "Naturally you need specialists now. You have to get x-rays, cardiograms, blood and liver tests and so on." She touched her glasses, I could see she felt sorry for me. "One thing I can tell you with absolute certainty based on my own examination: If you are not going to change your life right away you will have only a short time to live. And during that time you will be utterly miserable."
    The telephone rang. The desk told me a Mrs. Gottesdie-ner was waiting to see me.
    "I don't know anyone by that name.**
    "The lady says she has an appointment."
    "Oh, yes." Now I remembered. A lady of that name had sent me letters since I had arrived in Hamburg. She insisted she had something to tell me, to show me. I had not answered the letters at first. Then I had referred her to Jorkos Productions. But she did not give up. Last night, the worse for drink, I had told her when she telephoned again I would see her after breakfast.
    "Please tell her I'm sorry but I am too busy to see her. Refer her to Jorkos Productions. They will help her there."
    I replaced the receiver and looked at Natasha. The whisky I had drunk had slowed down my reactions. Slowly I realized the position I was in.
    "But that's impossible. I have never had the slightest problems."
    "Of all poisons alcohol is the most insidious. Your body has withstood it for twenty years. Now it has deteriorated."
    "But I feel fine again."
    "You have been drinking, too. You are very ill and in acute danger, please believe me."
    "But I must make this movie!" I cried.

    "Mr. Jordan, did you have any exceptional excitement last night or this morning?"
    I stared at her and nodded.
    "Well, it caused this attack. If you are going to make this movie there will be excitement without letup. You told me you were very frightened of a heart attack. This was no heart attack. Not yet. But the next attack will be a heart attack. Most probably you will recover. Most people survive the first infarction. Not many survive the second."
    "And . .. and if I go to a clinic ... how long will it be before I am healthy again?"
    "You want to hear the truth?"
    "Naturally."
    "Nine months."
    '^ou could be wrong."
    "Unfortunately, no. Any third-year medical student would make the same diagnosis."
    The telephone rang.
    "This is the desk again, Mr. Jordan. Mrs. Gottesdiener asks if you could not see her for even ten minutes. She says everything depends on her talking with you."
    "Tell her to go away! Do you understand me? Tell her to leave me alone. And don't call me again!"
    14
    Any third-year medical student.
    That was the death sentence. Only Natasha Petrovna did not know that. She had examined me today. Tomorrow I was to be examined by the doctor employed by the movie insurance company. If every medical student could see what was wrong with me he would see it too. And would advise his insurance company not to insure me. My life was ruined.

    Staring at Natasha Petrovna my thoughts were running rampant. Today was the twenty-seventh of October. The appointment for the examination was for the twenty-ninth at nine o'clock. The insurance would then have been in effect—according to Kostasch's planning—for me, for the American actress Belinda King, for Henry Wallace and our director Thornton Seaton from midnight, the first of November. The fourth was to be the first day of shooting. We would have been covered by insurance against illness or death of one of the main actors or our director. We would have been.
    I suddenly seemed to hear little Jerome Wilson's voice,