Kathleen Spivack - Unspeakable Things

When the doorbell rang this time, he was quickly remaking the couch at the end of the room. He smoothed the silk cover, plumped up the pillows, and readjusted the Chinese screen that separated his sleeping quarters from his office. He moved Schatzie’s pillow farther away under the window and plumped that as well. “Come!” he said to the dog, patting the pillow. And Schatzie obediently waddled over to her bed, where she settled herself with a grateful groan. But not for long. The old dog struggled to her feet, jowls jiggling as she watched Felix’s departing figure, and followed him, smiling to herself, as he went to answer the door. It was his next patient.

Outside the front door, Maria stood, bundled to her ears, next to her mother. “Aaah!” cried Felix, as if in complete surprise. “And what do we have here, hmm?” He bent down toward the girl and scowled. “Why do you bother Uncle Felix, hmm? Have you been a bad girl again?”

Maria, who had been feeling alternately hot and cold, weak with fever, drew back. Felix looked up at Maria’s mother. “So?” he said.

“She is sick,” Maria’s mother replied. She clutched her neck, drawing her scarf more tightly around herself. “So we must come. I take the morning from my job. Herr Doktor, I implore you!” As Felix ushered them into the front hall, toward the little sofa and the coat stand, Maria’s mother fought back tears. “Aach, I am worried!” Maria, in a swirl of light and sound, hardly noticed this exchange.

“My dear lady,” said Felix skillfully. Maria’s mother pulled herself together. “And your husband?” demanded Felix, changing tone.

Maria’s mother shook her head. “David…,” she began, but did not finish. Both looked quickly toward Maria. But the child stood stiffly in her little coat and shawl about her head, pale and slightly swaying.

“It is secret, hmm?” Felix barked.

Maria’s mother nodded, her own pale face closed. “And now, of course, we have no money,” she added in a low voice.

“Calm yourself, my dearest Ilse,” Felix said in a low, commanding voice. He snapped his fingers, and Schatzie waddled forward. Almost absently, he gave her another sugar lump. “These are difficult times. We must be calm.” He bent down to unwrap the shawl from Maria’s head. “And with me”—he looked up at Maria’s mother—“you know it is never a question of money. How much do you need?” he asked in a low voice. Maria’s mother made a demurring gesture. “We shall see,” murmured Felix, “We shall see.” He straightened himself halfway. “And from David, there is nothing?” Maria’s mother shook her head. “ Ja. Secret,” muttered Felix, half to himself. “Secret, this David. Nothing.” Maria’s mother stiffened. “Now, now, dear lady,” Felix said authoritatively, “We must be calm. These are difficult times.”

He bent once again to Maria. “You see, bad girl, how you upset your mother!” he shouted into her ear. “You are a bad girl! And now Mutti is crying. Bad girl!”

“Calm yourself, Ilse,” he whispered again to Maria’s mother. He motioned to the couch outside his office door. “We must have self-control. Sit here with Schatzie. I take the child now.” Maria’s mother sank onto the sofa, exhaustion rimming her eyes.

Maria cast behind her a look of despair as Felix took her by the hand and led her into the office. Was she again to be alone with him? A terror seized her heart. “Mama!” she tried to whisper, but no words came out. Looking at her mother on the sofa, Maria realized that there was no help to be had there. Docilely, she allowed herself to be led. Felix closed the big oak door.

“Now,” he said, “you bad girl! First we look at your ears, hmm! And then we shall look at Mutter. And then, if you are good, I give you a candy.”

Maria looked at the photographs of the children that covered the walls from floor to ceiling. “Would you like to be in a photograph?” asked Felix. “Perhaps today we take a photograph. But only if you are good. Ja? ”

Felix suddenly fell to the ground in front of Maria, doubled into a fetal position. “Ow ow ow!” he yowled. “You see, bad girl, how you hurt Uncle Felix! My leg!”

Felix grimaced as he thrashed on the floor. Maria stood there, gravely watching him. She swayed with dizziness. “What have you done?” cried Felix. “You broke my leg!” Seeing that Maria did not respond, Felix sprang again as briskly to his feet.

“Come,” he said, “now we fix Uncle Felix’s leg.” Hobbling, he led the child to the examining table and lifted her on. “Bad girl, undress for Felix,” he demanded, pressing his bushy brows against her face. Maria was hot with fever, but she felt his still-hotter breath against her. She forgot entirely that her head hurt. Her head, her ears, both seemed bands of ice. Felix took off her clothes and surveyed her small, undernourished body. Maria felt the draft across her chest, but, alternately, warm air rose from the radiator in Felix’s room.

“Now,” breathed Felix. Once again, he raised the stethoscope to his ears and fastened its huge unwinking eye to Maria’s chest. He listened, concentrating, and Maria forced herself to leave her body and float up to the molded ceiling, where, she noticed, a huge stain like a map had emblazoned itself.

“Breathe,” commanded Felix sharply. Maria surveyed the happy children, all in white, like angels, who regarded her from Felix’s wall. “To my dear Uncle Felix,” she read in large graceful writing across the bottom corners. The other children looked out at her seriously, as if to give her courage. Maria listened for sounds of her mother outside, but the room was entirely silent.

Affixing a large beak to his head, Felix thrust this beak into Maria’s ears. She heard only the sound of his heavy breathing, and the sharp, cold metal hurt. Felix said nothing. After a while he withdrew the cold beak. “Say ‘Ahh,’ ” he commanded, thrusting a tongue depressor into her mouth. Maria gagged. “Bad girl. Say ‘Ahh,’ ” said Felix again. She smelled his shaving lotion.

“ ‘Aaah,’ ” she managed, terrified.

Felix held her wrist and seemed to count to himself. “Lie down,” he commanded. Maria lay down, her small, thin body shivering. She felt ashamed of her illness, ashamed of giving so much trouble. Felix said nothing. He pressed his large bushy head to her chest. He listened. Maria listened, too, but for what, she did not know. She smelled his oily hair. His hair tickled her. Once again, she left her body, floated on the ceiling near the water stain, the map. Felix held his breath.

“Now,” he said, almost to himself. “What have you done, bad girl?” He took Maria’s limp little hand and placed it near his own leg. “You see what you have done?” Maria felt a lump, a huge swelling on the front of Uncle Felix. “You see how it hurts?” he hissed. Maria felt such pity for him. Rocking back and forth, Felix pressed Maria’s hand against his lump. “Be still.” With his other hand, he held her so she couldn’t move, fixing her with a stare. She tried not to look at him.

Maria pictured her mother sitting in a shaft of white light outside the examining room, the dachshund at her feet. Maria hated her mother. She knew there would never be help for her there. She broke out into a sweat. Suddenly, tenderly, Felix was next to her. He held her hand, stroking her forehead. Maria felt obscurely grateful to him.

Felix moved away, and then as quickly he came toward her again, holding something fine between his fingers. Pinching her flesh, he injected something into her, withdrew the needle, and wiped her skin.

“Get dressed,” he said. “Mutti is waiting.” He adjusted her clothes, tenderness in his hands as he buttoned her sweater.