John Irving - Until I Find You

“Maybe we should tell Jack a little bit about William’s schedule ?” Professor Ritter asked.

“Talk about meticulousness !” Dr. Horvath cried.

“Your father likes to know in advance what he’s doing every day,” Dr. von Rohr explained.

“Every hour !” Dr. Horvath shouted.

“Just tell him the schedule,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. “Maybe it will help.”

“Huber hier, ” Dr. Huber was saying into the phone by the door. “ Ich komme sofort. ” (“I’m coming right away.”) She came back to the table. “An emergency,” she told Jack, shaking his hand. “ Noch ein Notfall. ” (“Another emergency.”) Jack had stood up to shake her hand; all the others stood up, too.

The team and Jack, minus Dr. Huber, prepared to leave the conference room. (Dr. Huber had left in a flash.)

“Wake up, hot wax, ice water, breakfast—” Dr. Horvath was saying as they marched down the stairs. Jack realized that the recitation of his dad’s schedule had begun.

“Finger exercises in the exercise hall, immediately after breakfast,” Dr. Berger explained.

“Finger exercises?” Jack asked.

“What William calls playing the piano for the dance class, because he is blindfolded and plays only the pieces he has memorized,” Dr. von Rohr told him.

“Why is he blindfolded?” Jack asked.

“There are mirrors in the exercise hall,” Professor Ritter said. “Lots of mirrors. William always wears the blindfold there, or—sometimes, at night—he plays in the dark.”

“ Jogging, after the finger exercises—depending on the weather,” Dr. Horvath carried on. “Or sometimes a trip to town, with Hugo.”

“We haven’t really talked about Hugo,” Professor Ritter told the others.

“ Must we talk about him?” Dr. von Rohr asked. “Maybe not now ? I’m just asking.”

“Sometimes—I mean after the finger exercises—William needs more ice water, doesn’t he?” Dr. Berger asked.

“It seems to help,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said with resignation.

“Lunch—I mean after the jogging,” Dr. Horvath continued.

“Or after the Hugo business,” Dr. Berger said, shaking his head.

“Not now, Manfred!” Dr. von Rohr said.

“More hot wax, after lunch,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe noted. “More ice water, too. William often does this while he watches a movie.”

“One of yours, actually,” Dr. Berger told Jack. “A different Jack Burns film every afternoon.”

“And another one in the evening!” Dr. Horvath cried. “Always a movie before bed!”

“You’re jumping ahead, Klaus,” Dr. von Rohr said.

They entered the building with the exercise hall, which was outfitted like a dance studio; barres and mirrors ran the length of the interior walls. A piano, a C. Bechstein, shone a glossy black in the late-afternoon light—like the coat of a well-groomed animal.

“For the finger exercises, both the morning and the afternoon sessions,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said, pointing to the piano. “He plays again after the movie, in the afternoon. This time, not for dancers—it’s a yoga class. The music he plays is more atmospheric, softer—like background music, you might say. But he’s always blindfolded if there’s any daylight in the room.”

“The finger-cramping can be disturbing to the yoga class,” Dr. Berger interjected. “Less so to the dancers, even if William is in obvious pain.”

“He hates to have to stop playing,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said. “He pushes himself.”

“Ah, well …” Professor Ritter said. “After the yoga class, we have the ice water ready—and the hot wax, too, if he wants it.”

“And the ice water again, ” Dr. Berger stated; he was making sure that Jack had all the facts, in proper order.

“Calisthenics!” Dr. Horvath continued, waving his arms. “Especially if there’s been no jogging. Just some abdominal crunches, some lunges, some jumping !” (Dr. Horvath was demonstrating the lunges and the jumping, his big feet thudding on the hardwood floor of the exercise hall.)

“We have group therapy three times a week—the patients discuss dealing with their disorders. Your father’s German is quite good,” Professor Ritter told Jack. “And his concentration is improving.”

“Just so long as no one starts humming a tune,” Dr. Berger interjected. “William hates humming.”

“Another trigger?” Jack asked.

“Ah, well …” Professor Ritter said.

“We have a movie night, every other Wednesday—in this case, usually not a Jack Burns movie,” Dr. Berger stated. “Once a week, we have an evening of lotto, which William doesn’t like, but he loves the storytelling café—this is when we read stories out loud, or the patients do. And we have a night when our younger patients visit the gerontopsychiatric ward. William is very sympathetic to our patients who are growing old.”

“Some nights we bring the older patients to the exercise hall, where they like to hear William play the piano in the dark,” Dr. von Rohr said.

“I like it, too!” Dr. Horvath cried.

“We have patients with schizophrenic or schizo-affective manifestations,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe told Jack. “I mean those who are in a relatively stable remission phase, the ones who have sufficient ability to concentrate. Well, you’d be surprised—the schizophrenics like listening to your father play the piano in the dark, too.”

“And the piano-playing seems to soothe our patients who suffer from panic attacks,” Dr. Berger said.

“Except for those who suffer from panic attacks in the dark, ” Dr. von Rohr pointed out. (Jack saw that she was conscious of the light from the windows catching the silver streak in her hair.)

“Are there other patients in Kilchberg who have been committed by a family member—I mean for life ?” Jack asked.

“Ah, well …” Professor Ritter sighed.

“It’s highly unusual for a private patient to stay here for a number of years,” Dr. Berger said.

“We are expensive,” Dr. von Rohr cut in.

“But worth it!” Dr. Horvath bellowed. “And William loves it here!”

“I’m not concerned about the cost,” Jack said. “I was wondering about the long-term effect.”

“ Hospitalism, do you mean?” Dr. von Rohr asked in her just-asking way.

“What exactly is hospitalism?” Jack asked.

“The disease of being in a hospital—a condition in addition to your reason for being here, a second disease,” Dr. Berger stated, but in such a way that he didn’t seem to believe it—as if hospitalism were a speculative illness of the kind Dr. von Rohr was just asking about, an almost dreamy disease, which a fact man, like Dr. Berger, generally ruled out.

“There’s no medication for hospitalism,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said—as if the disease didn’t really exist for her, either.

“But William is happy here!” Dr. Horvath insisted.

“He’s happier in St. Peter,” Dr. von Rohr corrected Dr. Horvath. “ Die Kirche St. Peter—the church,” she explained to Jack. “Your father plays the organ there—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning, at eight o’clock.”

“Jack can hear him play tomorrow morning!” Dr. Horvath cried.

“That should be worth the trip—even all the way from Los Angeles,” Dr. Berger told Jack.

“One of us should go with Jack—he shouldn’t go with William alone,” Professor Ritter said.

“William never goes to St. Peter alone !” Dr. von Rohr exclaimed.