Read Online I Confess by Johannes Mario Simmel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Johannes Mario Simmel
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For the life of the baby. I prayed for three-quarters of an hour. Then the doors opened and- they roUed Margaret out. She was unconscious and looked dead.
"How did it go?" I asked the doctor,
"It's too early to tell."
"And the baby?"
"Dead."
"And she,.."
"It's too early to teH," he repeated. "Come back in an hour," and he left me standing there. He knew it was my fault
I left. I found a bar that was open and drank whiskey. The bar was near the hospital. The bartender nodded, smiled. "Gotta wait?"
"Yes."
"They all have to wait," he said.
I said nothing. After a while he came back to me and without another word put a second whiskey in front of me. He did this several times. Then I went back to the hospital. The nurse outside Margaret's room said it was still too early to tell. I should come back in an hour.
The bartender nodded when he saw me. He put a mug of coffee in front of me. "Still waiting?"
"Yes."
"Drink it. They aU drink it when they have to go on waiting."
I drank the black coffee. It was bitter and very strong. Then I drank whiskey again. After a while another man came in. He was sweating and he ordered a beer. The bartender shook his head and gave him a double whiskey.
"You're kept busy here," I said.
"Not bad," he replied. "In the evening things ease off."
At last the hour was up and I went back to the hospital. It was a warm day, warm for March. The nurse said it would take a few minutes and I could wait in the hall.
I waited.
I had drunk a lot, but I didn't feel it. The whiskey had tasted like water. I prayed some more. Then the doctor came. He lighted a cigarette and looked at me inimically. "May I Ro in?"
"Yes."
"Were you able to save her?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"She will never have another chfld," he said and left me standing there. Now I hated him.
I went to Margaret. She was lying in a stark, light room and looked twenty years older. She was smiling her madonna smile which looked especially good in profile, and she said, "Don't be upset, darling."
I went to her and knelt down beside the bed and laid my head on her breast. "Forgive me," I whispered.
"I forgive you," she said quietly.
I looked up.
She was smiling.
10
Tve been reading this through and I see I have said nothing about the mood I was in during that first day in the hospital, about my thoughts and my attitude toward the possibility that I might have a tumor on the brain which would have to be operated. I imagine this can be explaifaed by the fact that as a result of all the visitors I had and the many facts I had to absorb, there simply hadn't been time, until evening, to come to grips with my mysterious illness. The first opportunity came after night had fallen. I had of course experienced moments of depression and a rising irritation in connection with my inability to say certain words, but until then what was actually going on around me had distracted me completely. Only as the examination progressed did I lose interest increasingly in external matters and begin to shut
myself up more and more in brooding thoughts of the future and my fate.
After Margaret's call, my headache was worse. The whiskey I had drunk with Joe probably had something to do with it. I rang because I wanted to ask the nurse for something to alleviate the pain but for some reason or other my ring, and the one that followed it, remained unanswered. I turned on the bedside lamp and got up to go out into the hall. It was the first time I had stood up, and I felt as if I were walking on clouds, as if all objects were far removed from me, as if they were faUing back before me, and the floor was in motion as on a ship in a high sea. I was dizzy, and when I finally reached the door, I clung to the knob. Another few steps and I would have fallen flat on my face. What was it? Only weakness? How sick was I really? What was wrong with me? When would they tell me? When would my doctors finally put in an appearance? For the first time I panicked. I broke out in
"How did it go?" I asked the doctor,
"It's too early to tell."
"And the baby?"
"Dead."
"And she,.."
"It's too early to teH," he repeated. "Come back in an hour," and he left me standing there. He knew it was my fault
I left. I found a bar that was open and drank whiskey. The bar was near the hospital. The bartender nodded, smiled. "Gotta wait?"
"Yes."
"They all have to wait," he said.
I said nothing. After a while he came back to me and without another word put a second whiskey in front of me. He did this several times. Then I went back to the hospital. The nurse outside Margaret's room said it was still too early to tell. I should come back in an hour.
The bartender nodded when he saw me. He put a mug of coffee in front of me. "Still waiting?"
"Yes."
"Drink it. They aU drink it when they have to go on waiting."
I drank the black coffee. It was bitter and very strong. Then I drank whiskey again. After a while another man came in. He was sweating and he ordered a beer. The bartender shook his head and gave him a double whiskey.
"You're kept busy here," I said.
"Not bad," he replied. "In the evening things ease off."
At last the hour was up and I went back to the hospital. It was a warm day, warm for March. The nurse said it would take a few minutes and I could wait in the hall.
I waited.
I had drunk a lot, but I didn't feel it. The whiskey had tasted like water. I prayed some more. Then the doctor came. He lighted a cigarette and looked at me inimically. "May I Ro in?"
"Yes."
"Were you able to save her?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"She will never have another chfld," he said and left me standing there. Now I hated him.
I went to Margaret. She was lying in a stark, light room and looked twenty years older. She was smiling her madonna smile which looked especially good in profile, and she said, "Don't be upset, darling."
I went to her and knelt down beside the bed and laid my head on her breast. "Forgive me," I whispered.
"I forgive you," she said quietly.
I looked up.
She was smiling.
10
Tve been reading this through and I see I have said nothing about the mood I was in during that first day in the hospital, about my thoughts and my attitude toward the possibility that I might have a tumor on the brain which would have to be operated. I imagine this can be explaifaed by the fact that as a result of all the visitors I had and the many facts I had to absorb, there simply hadn't been time, until evening, to come to grips with my mysterious illness. The first opportunity came after night had fallen. I had of course experienced moments of depression and a rising irritation in connection with my inability to say certain words, but until then what was actually going on around me had distracted me completely. Only as the examination progressed did I lose interest increasingly in external matters and begin to shut
myself up more and more in brooding thoughts of the future and my fate.
After Margaret's call, my headache was worse. The whiskey I had drunk with Joe probably had something to do with it. I rang because I wanted to ask the nurse for something to alleviate the pain but for some reason or other my ring, and the one that followed it, remained unanswered. I turned on the bedside lamp and got up to go out into the hall. It was the first time I had stood up, and I felt as if I were walking on clouds, as if all objects were far removed from me, as if they were faUing back before me, and the floor was in motion as on a ship in a high sea. I was dizzy, and when I finally reached the door, I clung to the knob. Another few steps and I would have fallen flat on my face. What was it? Only weakness? How sick was I really? What was wrong with me? When would they tell me? When would my doctors finally put in an appearance? For the first time I panicked. I broke out in
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