Joanna Kavenna - The Birth of Love

*

Herr Meyer kept giving me odious smiles, as if we were sharing a marvellous joke. ‘I demand a hearing, I demand a hearing,’ said one of them as I passed, while Meyer snorted as if this was a sublime quip and ushered me on. His absolute and abiding assumption was that these people were worthless, subhuman, simply because their reason had failed. Men such as Meyer perceive their asylums as private kingdoms, governed by their own brutal laws, and they treat the inmates like animals for the most part, as if madness has deprived them of all humanity. Despite all the reforms in our legislation this continues to be the orthodoxy in many such places. I sometimes suspect that were Herr Meyer deprived of his fiefdom, he would fall out of the realm of the ‘sane’ and be instantly confined himself. Indeed one must observe that it is a very debased civilisation, which allows Herr Meyer to be grand arbiter over such fragile human souls!

*

Water trickled down the walls, a steady drip, and I thought of those lunatics with this constant noise in their ears, and all the remorseless ways in which they were stripped of dignity and deprived of any hope of recovery. We entered an area in which the inmates were confined to cells, and everything was cast into shadow, the sounds indistinct, though no less miserable. Now Herr Meyer stopped at a cell, and, with a sardonic flourish, opened the door. A man was sitting in the corner, in chains. The cell was so dark, I could hardly distinguish his features. He seemed from what little I could discern to be blunt-featured and stocky, and he was sitting very quietly, staring into space. Herr Meyer rattled his keys, and said in his leering way, ‘Herr S, there’s someone to see you.’ He addressed the patient as if he had no claim to any form of kindness, and Herr S refused to respond. I wondered if he could not endure the nature of his confinement, and thereby refused to acknowledge his keeper. Or if his madness took him in the catatonic way, and made him mute. ‘Oh Herr S,’ said Meyer, in a taunting tone, and I said, ‘That is enough, I will speak to this man alone, thank you.’

‘He’s chained up and cannot trouble you,’ said Herr Meyer, unabashed and still presuming to be conspiratorial. Then he removed himself, and I turned to consider the man before me.

*

For the first few minutes Herr S did not look up. He seemed to be deep in thought and I hesitated to disturb him. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I perceived his hair had fallen out in clumps, and his skin was drawn tight, like that of a reptile. His hands were covered in scratches, and there was a livid bruise on his forehead, a swelling on his mouth; testifying — I imagined — to the rough treatment he had already received from Herr Meyer’s attendants.

*

After a time I said, ‘Herr S,’ again, and he lifted his head. Even then he stared into space, as if he did not see me.

*

‘Herr S, as it seems I must call you, my name is Robert von Lucius,’ I said. ‘From time to time I visit the occupants of this asylum, the better to understand their conditions. I do not believe that the mad are beyond redemption and must be sequestered and ruined. I believe that many of those described as mad have greater access than I to the most profound mysteries of the human spirit, if only I could understand them better. For this reason, I am regarded with suspicion by some of my contemporaries. I do not care for their good opinion, except where their censure prevents me from doing my work. I would like to talk to you, if that is acceptable.’ Once more he said nothing, and I was unsure if he had heard me or understood my words.

I said, ‘Is there anything you need?’

*

At that, his eyes fixed on me. I must confess that I was briefly unnerved by his gaze. It expressed such hopelessness, such a terrible absence of joy. It was horribly eloquent, though all it invoked was macabre and vile. There was a chaos to his limbs which dismayed me too. It was as if his bones had been broken and had mended strangely. Everything about his posture was ugly and awkward; everything about his gaze was desperate and beseeching. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came. He sat in this way for some time, opening and shutting his mouth, and then he grabbed his hair — I now saw one of the causes of his mottled baldness — and began pulling frantically at a clump. I was obliged to look away, feeling that he should be permitted to pass through this fit without being observed. For some time, I examined the dank wall, with its patterns of mould and grime, and when I turned towards Herr S again I saw he had slipped into his former stupor.

*

I said, ‘I would like to ask you how you came here, if I may. Herr Meyer told me you have been here for two weeks now.’ At the name of his keeper, Herr S experienced another spasm. His body convulsed, he gripped the chains and opened his mouth as if to howl. There was fear in his face, and urgent entreaty.

‘Is he here?’ he said, in a whisper.

‘No, he is not here. He will not return while I am with you,’ I said.

‘How long will you be here?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Please stay as long as you can,’ he said.

‘Are you afraid of Herr Meyer?’

‘I am very afraid,’ he said to me, still in this almost inaudible tone, so I had to lean forward to understand him.

‘Of what are you afraid?’

‘He will kill me. Perhaps he has already. The injuries I have sustained are in themselves life-threatening. I do not think I have much time left.’

‘What are the injuries you have sustained?’

‘I fear I must have internal bleeding of some fatal sort,’ he said. ‘They beat me very badly and though I was barely conscious by the end I believe they stamped on my chest. I felt something crack and puncture, and since then I have experienced acute abdominal pain and I fear haematemesis may develop.’

‘You are certain they beat you in this way?’ I said.

‘I am quite certain they beat me though as I said I was confused by the end and so perhaps there are omissions in my account.’

*

His speech surprised me. He was wretched indeed, but the rancid Herr Meyer had assessed him correctly in one matter; he was clearly a man of education and former rank. This further piqued my curiosity, and I said, ‘I should discuss this with Herr Meyer, demand an explanation.’

‘Oh please do not. Do not tell him I said anything,’ said Herr S. He really was in fear of his life. Even in his damaged state, even with his mind hanging in tatters, he wanted to live. This has always interested me about those we define as mad, this residual life urge most of them possess. They do not regard their lives as finished. If you were to offer them a pistol they would generally refuse the opportunity to take arms against their sea of troubles. Once more, this suggests to me that these confident distinctions we forge are fundamentally useless, and that if we are ever to advance we must pay more attention to the revelations of those we currently ignore. In this instance, Herr S was evidently afraid, and had no desire to end his suffering, or to have it ended by the ministrations of Herr Meyer.

I said, ‘I will say nothing to him, I solemnly swear.’

At that he became a little calmer.

*

‘I am told you arrived here two weeks ago,’ I said. He nodded faintly. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘I am not sure,’ he said. ‘Where are we now?’

‘We are in Vienna.’

‘Vienna? I think I know that city well. I am not sure. When they beat me I perhaps sustained an injury to the brain. Something is wrong with my memory.’

‘Do you think you might have been living in Vienna?’

‘I believe I was on a train. I left my home …’ He stopped, shaking his head.