Goran Rosenberg - A Brief Stop On the Road From Auschwitz

This is yet another postwar period, it strikes me, and the memories of unimaginable destruction are still fresh, and its human aftereffects still profound, and the bishop of Strängnäs, Uddo Lechard Ullman, finds reason to say something in his inaugural speech about the impact of the age on the human mind. As I understand it, he wonders whether it is in fact the age that is mad. He doesn’t say so directly, and my understanding is based on a magazine account only, but according to an article in the February 1922 issue of Humanitet , Bishop Ullman is saying

that in the present age it may seem as if the whole human race were an immense hospital, in which all the hellish powers of destruction have conspired to imbue our race with misery. One glaringly conspicuous manifestation of the world’s current state of distress is the kind of suffering for which this magnificent nursing institution … is intended to be a place of refuge, or if possible salvation, or at least relief.

On April 26, 1960, you are taken by ambulance from Mörby general hospital to Sundby mental hospital, to be afforded salvation, or at least relief.

Your case notes for that day: “On waking exhibited motor disturbance and extreme anxiety, intermittently wandering in corridor. In conversation exhibits signs of classic depression. Feels generally useless, as if does not deserve to live. Persistence of serious suicidal thoughts.”

No more confusion of languages. For conditions like yours, modern mental health care has a growing arsenal of highly specific and unambiguous words at its disposal. Lergigan, for example, and Heminevrin, Truxal, Diminal Duplex, and Catran, and electric shock treatment.

The first electric shock is administered on May 4.

After the second electric shock, on May 6: “Appears calmer but will not admit he feels better.”

After the fourth electric shock, on May 13: “Thinks he is in a lighter mood and that the treatment is having the desired effect.”

After the fifth and final electric shock on May 17, a session with the chief physician at Sundby, Dr. Segnestam: “The patient lucid and controlled, happy and content, feels he is completely recovered.… What he wants is to be allowed home for May 28, as his son who is a scout [?] will be playing the violin, which the patient would like to see and hear.”

You express your gratitude to the Swedish healthcare system. “Happy and grateful.”

On May 21, you’re moved from the closed ward for disturbed patients to the open ward for calm patients. “Happy and grateful.”

On May 23, another session with Dr. Segnestam. “Patient’s behavior nicely calm and controlled. Happy and grateful that he has become so much better.”

May 27: “Allowed leave of absence to go home to Södertälje.”

May 30: “Has returned from leave of absence with no incidents reported.”

There I have it, in black and white, that you’re at the concert! You’re sitting on one of the tightly packed rows of chairs in the tall hall with yellow brick walls, no doubt with Mom and Lilian, too. The municipal music school in Södertälje holds its annual pupils’ concert on May 28, 1960, and the hall is full of relatives, and you have been granted leave of absence from the Swedish mental health service to hear me play Vivaldi’s Double Violin Concerto in A Minor.

Only, I have no idea why that memory fragment refuses to reveal itself.

I dig and dig, but I can’t see you.

I can see only your back, not your face.

After your leave of absence, more sessions with doctors, all recorded in exhaustive detail. The Swedish mental health service is investing time and effort in you. You’re also making an effort with the mental health service, maybe because someone seems to be listening at last. Listening is, after all, what the doctors of the mental health service are there to do. So you make an effort to tell them how worried you are about the new swastikas daubed all over the world, which make you feel insecure even though you know you have nothing to fear in Sweden. You also make an effort to tell them about the freezing sensation in your knees that “seems to come down from the spine,” and that it’s the same sensation as the one you had just before you were admitted to Ulvsunda, and this makes you wonder, and that some things have dropped out of your memory, and that on the way to Ulvsunda you were considering throwing yourself in front of an underground train before you decided to throw yourself in the lake, and that you spent your first days in the closed ward for the disturbed at Sundby hospital looking for a live electric cable and a radiator to grab hold of, and that now you don’t understand how you could have done so, and that the sleeping tablets sometimes make you itch and it’s hard to get to sleep at night.

But above all you tell them about the horizon that will not open up. About the intensified working pace at the big truck factory, and the time and motion studies, and the fatigue and the unhappiness. About the little town that’s turning its back on you. About the onward journey that’s still unfinished. About the necessity of moving on, if only over the bridge.

Case notes, May 31, 1960: “The patient says everything went well during his leave of absence and he was happy to be allowed home.”

Aerogram from Strängnäs, May 31, 1960:

Dearest Natek! As soon as you get this letter you must drink a toast of whatever you feel like and stop thinking of me as a sick person once and for all . The dreadful black nightmares are behind us now. I look wonderful now (tanned and fattened up) and the most important thing of all — I feel like I did in the old days, and simply can’t get enough of enjoying life. My last treatment was 1½ weeks ago and I am now in the convalescence ward, where I spend my time resting, walking in the lovely grounds, reading, and doing various sports. Most of all I enjoy reading, because I didn’t think I’d ever be able to read again. The chief physician — a wonderful person — is very pleased with me. When I was first here at the hospital he told me I would feel like a human being again in a few weeks, and that made me want it and I managed to believe it. When I spoke to him recently I told him how guilty I feel in front of him and the other doctors and nurses, because their advice to me had gone in one ear and out the other.… Now I find it hard to understand any of it. I told myself — you have everything a person could wish for, a wife to soothe your pain, children who love you and are so well behaved, who all worship you, and everyone worships you so much. A son who brings you nothing but joy, longing to talk to his father, a dear brother. No, you needn’t worry about a thing. Shrug it all off!!! … I won’t write any more about this nightmarish time, perhaps when we meet I’ll tell you.… I only feel very sorry for having given you such cause for concern. On May 28 Göran performed in the music school concert — for this the chief physician allowed me 3 days’ leave of absence. You can imagine what it was like when I got home. We had never had such a festival day. To say we were celebrating would be putting it mildly. Göran almost suffocated me and Lilian kissed and hugged me, which in her case does not happen every day. In that respect she’s a lot like Assa — hugs and kisses on the lips are very hard to get. Hala was astonished at my appearance — my tanned, healthy look. And the mood was just like old times. Göran was glad I could come to the performance. He’d practiced for this performance like never before and told me it wouldn’t be anything like as nice without Dad.… I’ll stay here at the hospital a few more days, and I’m sure they’ll let me go home for good next week.

Thanks so much for the birthday present, I’m very pleased with the tie and already wearing it.