Uwe Tellkamp - The Tower

Richard went up to the boy and embraced him awkwardly. ‘Farewell, Hans. And all the best over there.’

Regine came with two suitcases. ‘Quick and painless …’

‘Yes, quick and painless, that’s always the best.’

‘Thank you for everything, Richard. And if things go on as they are, you’ll be following us …’

‘And today it’s all over,’ Richard said.

‘I just hope nothing else goes wrong. Have you got everything, Hansi?’

‘You’ll be seeing Jürgen again today —’

‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ Regine said. ‘The way things are! I was furious and then I couldn’t help crying … Tell me about the opera, how it was, what they played, what people said … The Pegasus medallions above Wallenstein and Iphigenie there are by Jürgen.’

‘Call us,’ Richard said.

‘I’ll write,’ Regine said.

Hans tapped his watch with his fingernail.

Richard raised his arms. The bodyguard frisked him. ‘I must ask you to get undressed, Herr Doktor.’

‘Are you going to go through this with everyone in the audience?’ Richard asked, astonished more than annoyed as he was examined in a room beside the cloakroom, first by a member of East German then of West German security. They even shone a torch in his mouth, looked through his hair and, despite his protests, inspected his intimate areas.

‘Do you think I’ve hidden a poison capsule up my backside. It’s monstrous the way I’m being treated here.’

The bodyguards were unimpressed. ‘Weren’t you briefed?’

‘Not about your methods.’

‘We have our orders. As a doctor you could come into contact with people under our protection. Be prepared for an inspection after this. Together with you, the two personal doctors will check out the sickbay, medicines and doctor’s bag. — That’s all right, you can get dressed now.’

For the premiere Richard had had to be at the Semper Opera two hours before the performance began. Furious at the undignified examination procedure, he tossed his coat onto the cloakroom counter. Like a criminal, he thought. And then they’re surprised when people run away … He thought of Regine and Anne, who must be on their way by now. If the road conditions were reasonable, they could be in Leipzig in an hour and a half.

‘If you want, you can look round the house for a while, Herr Doktor. You’ll get a walkie-talkie and we’ll call you when the advance convoy arrives.’ The bodyguard’s radio telephone rang. ‘Aha. Good. — That was it. You are asked to confirm by telephone that the appropriate hospital wards in the city are prepared. You’re asked to call back.’

‘By the General Secretary?’

The bodyguard scrutinized Richard’s expression. ‘By his personal physician, of course. Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll make the connection.’

‘Where can I phone from?’

‘Over there.’ The bodyguard pointed to the room next to the examination room. ‘Direct lines have been set up.’

‘Müller here.’

‘Hoffmann.’

‘Yes, I’m ready. How many more times am I going to be phoned this evening, dammit all,’ Richard’s boss growled.

‘Sorry but I’ve been instructed to check the connections.’

‘Hmm. OK then, they seem to be working. — And?’

Richard didn’t reply. He didn’t know what Müller was asking.

‘What does it look like, the Opera?’

‘Haven’t got round to looking at it yet.’

‘Hm. I expect a report from you tomorrow, Herr Hoffmann, if I have to provide background cover for my senior physician. Have you enough batteries for pacemakers with you?’

‘Haven’t got round to checking that yet.’ Richard had to laugh.

‘I’m just eating a piece of cherry cake, your wife’s recipe,’ Müller growled. ‘It’s very good, but I’d rather be at the opera. Well, enjoy yourself.’ He hung up.

Richard called the Internal Medicine Clinic, Reucker gave him a few tips as to what to do if there were strokes, or heart or asthma attacks. ‘But you’ll have been briefed, I assume, Herr Hoffmann? I mean if Traumatology’s taking over theatre duty …’

‘There are a few in-service training courses for first aid I’ve —’

‘— screwed on? Like your Christmas tree last year? Well, let’s just hope nothing happens.’

My God, Richard thought, are they crabby! Were they jealous of him because he was on duty at the gala performance? Great! He thumped the table, making the telephones jump up and down. He’d have liked to see the look on Reucker’s or Müller’s face if they’d had a torch shone up their backside!

Urology. Professor Leuser’s easy-going drawl boomed out of the receiver. ‘If they’ve got a kidney stone get ’em to jump off a chair; phimosis ain’t an emergency, and if their joystick’s itchy either it ain’t been washed or there’ll be some wild life crawling round on it. Not an emergency either, Herr Hoffmann. An’ if the piss comes out in sev’ral jets, I recommend op’nin’ their barn door. There’ll be a catheter there, I s’pose, my Gawd, what a palaver.’

Even the Gynaecological Clinic had been put on alert; they’d been told a woman in the retinue of the ex-Federal Chancellor was pregnant. Richard informed the bodyguard that the lines were operational and all the doctors on stand-by. He called the advance convoy in which were the East and West German personal physicians. The area round the cloakroom was now full of people gesticulating, telephoning, trying to look important. Richard went to the foyer. When he saw the red-carpeted stairs up to the dress circle he felt like dashing up two or three steps at a time, tugging for pure joy at the red cord they’d put on either side as a handrail, bursting out into a cry of jubilation, so overcome was he by the magnificence of the building that for a few precious minutes, perhaps only seconds (he could hear steps and the murmur of voices), was his own to enjoy. What he was familiar with was the ruined opera house that, with collapsed gable, burnt-out auditorium, walled-up doors and overgrown with trees, had for decades dominated the view of Theaterplatz. He stood on the stairs, open-mouthed, and looked round. Then he ran back down the stairs again to take in once more the splendid perspective of the staircase, ran up, stroked the marble pillars and with greedy looks devoured pictures, ornamentation that in the light of hundreds of lamps, effervescent as champagne, opened their eyes freshly washed and reborn. Here was this picture, this blue, there a scene with Knights of the Holy Grail, winged Madonnas and swans; bucolic landscapes in the lunettes; names of operas glittered in gold leaf, competing for his attention with busts of composers, dark and light rippled marble (much of it imitation, as Richard knew from the newspapers) gave him the feeling that he was at the centre of a dazzling, high-quality, at the same time dangerous force, of a fire, tamed by strong willpower, that was sending out tongues here and there, fanning the flames of the chandeliers, mirrors and polished ledges, shattering into a thousand beautiful shards on the windowpanes of the gallery. He had the feeling he was being borne up, charged to his very fingertips by this great, sun-like force; he rocked on his toes, laughed, turned this way and that like a spinning top, drinking in everything with his eyes, couldn’t feel his shoes any more. He felt like dancing — how he would have loved to execute a waltz with Anne there! He put the walkie-talkie in his pocket, looked round.

Arbogast was standing beyond the curve of the gallery; Richard sashayed along towards him. The Baron smiled, ‘It makes you young again, Herr Hoffmann, doesn’t it, when you see all this? Is it the first time you’ve been in here?’