Joanna Kavenna - The Birth of Love

You believe this Birgitta is alive?

Yes I think so. I do not know however. Her existence is not to me a fact, or not something you would perceive to be a fact. But I have a sense she is still in the world. And so is her son.

What do you mean?

The son she bore. The son she held up to the winter light and wept to see. The son who screamed and whose newborn cries were so piercing and wonderful. The son who was a tiny packed mass of life and energy, reddish purple and covered in gore, but the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The son she fed with her own body.

For ‘son’, in all instances, record progeny of the species. You are mentally ill, Prisoner. There is no progeny in this instance. This woman’s so-called pregnancy was nothing but a collective delusion. Your group should all have been in an Institution for the Improvement of the Reason.

I am sure without the evidence of the son this is a perfectly rational argument. But I have seen the son.

Correct ‘son’ as before. It is impossible for a woman whose womb has been harvested and closed to bear a progeny of the species. It simply cannot happen.

And yet it did.

You are gravely insulting the Protectors with these lies.

I am sorry you feel like that.

You must concede instantly that there was no progeny.

I am afraid I cannot. I held him in my own arms. I wiped gore from his eyes and mouth and I kissed him. I saw him. I wept to see him. His hair was richly perfumed with uterine blood. He was beautiful.

You are lying.

I am not. He was the most extraordinary thing I had ever seen. I long to hold him.

Prisoner 730004 will be taken back to her Protection Cell. There is no point continuing at this time. She needs the attention of a Corporeal Scientist.

I don’t want their drugs.

It is for your own protection, Prisoner 730004.

Professor Wilson, I have now returned to my desk, and can resume my account. The heat here is fetid, and works against the concentration. But naturally one can write a letter, even under such conditions. I believe I had described to you how I decided to return to the asylum, to seek further conversation with Professor Semmelweis. It was late afternoon by the time I arrived back at that foul place, and I rang the bell for some time without gaining a response. Finally when the door opened it was clear that my return displeased Herr Meyer. He met me in the anteroom, and there was none of his false friendliness. Rather he was intractable and surly, and claimed at first that Herr S could not see me.

‘It is simply not possible,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘He has suffered an unfortunate relapse.’

‘I would like to see him anyway, if you would be so kind,’ I said, briskly.

‘You do not understand. He is in no fit state to receive visitors. Your visit this morning induced his collapse.’ As if otherwise poor Professor Semmelweis was kept in pristine conditions, in sublime equanimity, and it was only my visit which might be blamed for any diminution in his general health …

‘Then I should like to try to help him, to revive his spirits a little.’

‘I do not think that is a good idea,’ said Herr Meyer.

‘I assure you, I have information about his state that must be conveyed to him, if you have any compassion.’

‘The man is not to be informed of anything. The man is to be restrained from harming himself and others, and to be treated as I see fit,’ said Herr Meyer. He was becoming quite agitated himself, his face glowing with something I feared was combative glee, for men such as Meyer are oppressed by various forces themselves, and if they have the opportunity they enjoy a chance to assert themselves.

‘The man is called Professor Semmelweis, by the way,’ I said. ‘He is an esteemed doctor and I suggest you show him more respect.’

‘I shall receive no instruction on how to conduct myself in my asylum.’

‘You should need none, had you any moral sense to guide you.’

*

Had one of my friends not been a benefactor of this ruinous place — a matter which has been the cause of many disagreements between us, on the occasions when I have mentioned the maltreatment which is quite ordinary in this asylum — I do believe this vicious man Meyer would have thrown me out. As it was, he really had little choice, and so, clicking his tongue in fury, and refusing to speak further to me, he conducted me along the corridor. This time, Professor Semmelweis was slumped in his chair, his chin against his chest. He was still in chains. He was wringing his hands as he had done earlier, and I now realised this must represent washing, and must refer to his former researches and to his yearning for a cleanliness which his vile surroundings denied him.

‘Herr Meyer, would you be so good as to provide this man with some hot water, and soap, and a towel,’ I said. Herr Meyer looked at me in disgust, as if no inmate of his could have any cause for such things, but I repeated my request in a sharper tone, and he retreated with a bad grace.

*

I stood there, still uncertain about how to proceed, as the poor man wrung his hands and gazed into space. Or perhaps he was fixed on a vision I could not apprehend, but he looked inert and unstimulated, and for a while I felt quite overwhelmed by his state and the hopelessness of his situation.

Then I said, ‘Herr S, I visited you this morning. I do not know if you remember me.’

There was no response, and so I stood there silently once more, watching him for a time. He seemed quite unaware of my presence. I wondered indeed if he had suffered the final Great Reversal, and would never return from his wolf-light existence again. I thought it might be the case, that he had passed to the other realm, and could hardly comprehend me at all, just as his motives and beliefs were now obscure to me. And indeed I was not sure if this was so dreadful a fate for a man as troubled as Professor Semmelweis, to lapse entirely from the world that perplexed him, though I pitied his wife and children who longed, no doubt, to see him cured.

*

I was thinking perhaps I should leave the man to his demolition of the self, and hope that he found some consolation along the journey, but then something interesting occurred. Herr Meyer returned with a bowl of water, and a piece of grimy soap and a towel that was almost too disgusting to handle, yet I was obliged to accept them, having nothing else to assist my cause. Expecting little from the gesture, yet moved to try nonetheless, I turned to Professor Semmelweis and said, ‘Sir, I thought perhaps you might like to wash your hands?’

*

At that, he looked up and regarded me with vague interest. The blankness, the emptiness of his expression, was replaced with something like recognition. He looked at the water, and then he took the soap. For a moment he paused. Then he placed his hands in the water. He shivered with relief. The effect upon him of the water was very palpable. He rubbed his hands vigorously with the soap and dipped them many times in the water.

‘You can leave us now,’ I said to Herr Meyer, and he departed with an angry scowl.

*

‘Sir, I think I understand your dreams of blood,’ I said.

‘I am afraid I do not know who you are,’ he said. He was still dipping his hands in the water, removing them to rub more soap upon them, dipping them again.

‘I came to visit you this morning. We discussed your dreams of blood and also your fears that you had committed a crime. Also you mentioned a woman with blue eyes whom you feared. Do you remember any of this?’

‘You came to visit?’

‘Yes.’ And I told him — once again — my name and the nature of my studies.