The Chosen Ones (6 page)

Conditions of Service
   She did not know what exactly she had hoped for as she took up her new post because her expectations had been more linked to the person of Doctor Jekelius than to the work, but nothing had prepared her for having to nurse such badly afflicted children. It was not that she was unused to caring for ill children or, of course, for physically and mentally debilitated old people. The patients they were responsible for here were, however, so severely disturbed by neurological and other malformations that they fell outside the normal range. Her training had taught her to deal with injuries and common illnesses, but little or nothing about how to nurse children who had no control whatsoever over their limbs, who any second might attack her with wildly flailing arms, hissing and spitting and biting, or children whose inner torment was so terrible that they screamed all the time, unending ululations without any apparent relationship to the cause of their pain, let alone how they could be made better or even soothed in any way other than the morphine-based medication that was routinely prescribed
in quantities that frightened her. She also felt that she was being constantly watched, which didn’t help at all. Every hesitation was recorded, every hint of her being ill at ease or put off by something interpreted as being unable to cope. Nurse Mayer especially seemed to see it as her duty to keep an eye on the new recruit. Even though she was formally Katschenka’s inferior, she had ways of showing that she disliked
how
she had been told to do something, or simply disliked being told anything at all, and indicated her displeasure by perhaps a raised eyebrow or a faint smile, before going about her tasks with studied slowness. Mayer was an old hand, as she put it, and like many of the other ex-psychiatric nurses, she handled the children in her charge as if they were insensate, pulling the screaming little bundles out of bed and carrying them under her arm like parcels, or perhaps more like small animals on their way to slaughter. Meanwhile, Cläre Kleinschmittger would hover in some doorway, her eyes flickering anxiously while her gaze stayed fixed on Anna’s every move. Their eyes never met and they never exchanged more than a few words, but Kleinschmittger seemed always to be surrounded by one or several colleagues such as Nurse Sikora, Erna Storch and Emilie Kragulj, and Katschenka saw them together more than once in a corridor or the corner of a ward, standing in tight little clusters, whispering together only to fall silent the moment she came past. Finally, her concern had become an incessant, deep-seated ache and, one afternoon, she knocked on the matron’s door and asked leave to take half an hour off work in order to speak with Doctor Jekelius. Doctor Jekelius is away on business, Matron Bertha replied curtly, and her tone suggested that it was an unheard-of impertinence even to mention his name. Sister Anna can of course talk to me if the matter is a practical one, or refer it to the personnel department. Anna Katschenka had by then realised that Doctor Jekelius’s role was not
only that of medical director of the Spiegelgrund institution but that he also acted as the right hand of Councillor Max Gundel, who was in charge of the new department of public health. It had been Gundel who drove the decision to merge the city’s many children’s homes and reform schools into one institution: Spiegelgrund was his creation. Jekelius had been charged with overseeing that all children ‘who required special treatment’ were taken to Spiegelgrund, a responsibility that led to much arduous travelling. When Jekelius was not on site, the administrative side of his work was handled by Doctor Margarethe Hübsch. Doctor Hübsch was a robustly built, middle-aged woman with severe features. She wore her blonde hair pulled back into a strict bun, dressed for work in two-piece suits with the NS-Frauenschaft pin ostentatiously placed on the lapel, and greeted people with the German
Heil
, as was the rule by then but which Anna Katschenka found awkward. Anna was of course used to working within a framework of discipline that meant employees knew what was expected of them and what the limitations of their rights were. She had always been content with the clarity of this. However, she had now joined an institution run on militaristic lines, as if the hospital had turned into barracks, and it made her feel ill at ease. She was unused to the way her superiors addressed the staff. Doctor Knöpfelmacher had been firm and decisive but often ready with a kind, encouraging smile. Doctor Hübsch, on the other hand, was either formal, bordering on brusque, or else given to ice-cold sarcasm. Katschenka felt insecure and, always, there was Nurse Kleinschmittger, lingering in a doorway, as if looking forward to when Katschenka would make some mistake or annoy one of the doctors. Anna lay awake night after night, arguing with herself. She couldn’t afford the risks entailed in resigning. For instance, returning to Lainz would be out of the question. There was just one way out, as
far as she could see. She told her mother one evening that she would be going out after supper to meet a friend, and set out to catch the 8 tram. That was the line she travelled on to work every morning but, this time, she stayed on board until the Alser Strasse stop and then walked briskly up the hill to Michelbeuern. It was only when she stood in front of the wide iron gate on Martinstrasse that it dawned on her quite the enormity of what she was about to do. It wasn’t just that she was being
pushy
(which was completely out of character, of course) but also that she clung to the belief that he would be able to put a stop to, or at least mitigate the effects of, the choice he had himself suggested that she should make when she had consulted him. The healer of souls needed no eyes. Would he be able to see that this particular post did not suit her? But she doesn’t get round to ringing the bell. Standing on the pavement opposite the gate, she is as incapable of stepping forward as of walking away. A few cars pass by. When the noise of the last one dies away she hears footsteps on the cobbled pavement. She turns. It is he. She recognises his light, vigorous gait immediately, despite the darkness. Suddenly terrified that he might catch sight of her, she slips into a gateway, the sound of footsteps grows fainter and when she dares to look he is gone. He must have turned the corner already. She runs the same way, well aware of what a pathetic figure she makes. The street in front of her is deserted. Did the ground open up and swallow him? And then she hears a car engine start. Just some fifty metres away, two powerful headlamps light up. The car glides out of the garage and, as it reaches the street, the light falls on a woman waiting on the pavement. The car stops near her, the window comes down and she bends forward to say something. It is Jekelius in the driver’s seat, Anna is certain of that. She has no idea who the woman is. Anyway, with a laugh, a small affected giggle, the woman gets into the car. They drive past
Anna but neither one pays any attention to her. As she walks back to the Alser Strasse tram stop, she doesn’t feel disappointed, only empty. Her mother doesn’t ask where she has been. She knows that her daughter doesn’t have any friends and especially not anyone whom she might like to visit at this time of night.

Mother and Daughter
   Only a few days later, she meets Mrs Althofer in the office in pavilion 1. Sophie’s mother wants to speak to Doctor Jekelius and, when she learns that he is away, asks to see Doctor Hübsch. Mrs Althofer is in many ways the spitting image of her dwarf child. The same reddish-blonde hair springing from the same perfect hairline. Their curving eyelids are similar, too, but the mother’s eyes look so heavy that she can’t lift them enough to see Anna Katschenka’s face.
A meeting was arranged for today at nine o’clock but it would appear that Doctor Hübsch has preferred to be unavailable
, she says as her gaze slides past Katschenka to follow the stair rail. Sister Katschenka says that this is not a matter she can deal with and suggests that the office staff could set up a new appointment. But Mrs Althofer insists that the agreed meeting should take place and eventually becomes very loud on her daughter’s behalf. Apparently Doctor Hübsch had personally assured her that her daughter would get well and now, what’s happened to that promise?
You’re keeping my little girl locked up day and night! You don’t give her anything to eat or drink! You treat her worse than a base animal!
Next, Anna Katschenka is baffled to find herself holding Mrs Althofer’s small, clenched fists in her hands. For a brief moment, the surprise they both feel at the prevented exchange of blows dampens the underlying fury and the two of them, the ward sister and the mother, stand on the stairs with their faces close together. Then a door slams a little further upstairs and a white-coated Doctor Gross bends over the railing to speak to them:

Doctor Hübsch is off sick today,

but if you wish, Mrs Althofer, you can speak with me …!

Later that day, Doctor Gross will enlighten Katschenka and her new colleagues about exactly what type of woman they are dealing with in Mrs Althofer and, particularly, what kind of
mother.
One of those who can’t make up her mind: will she or won’t she let go of her child? And because she is incapable of squaring her conscience, she continues to haunt the periphery of the institution where her child is being cared for, all the while complaining loudly about how appallingly the little girl is looked after and how unpleasant the staff are to her mother. Nothing but a charade, from beginning to end, Doctor Gross emphasises, because in her rational moments, Mrs Althofer knows that she can have her child back any time she so decides. Against medical advice, that goes without saying, but no matter. That right belongs to her in this situation, as it would to
all
mothers. The problem is that, in her heart of hearts, Mrs Althofer doesn’t
want
to. She is aware that if she ever were to hug Sophie’s shrunken, malformed body to her breast again, she would be at an utter loss as to how to handle this new burden. It is a fact that she doesn’t have the time to look after her child. She has to work. Food is hard to come by. Who would look after little Sophie while her mother carries out her office duties? As Mrs Althofer has repeatedly pointed out herself, she has a responsible post as the trusted secretary of a large legal firm. And Mrs Althofer’s own mother, who selflessly used to care for her granddaughter while her daughter was at work; well, the old lady has spent the last few weeks in hospital with an attack of gallstones. And Mr Althofer has been called up. So typical of how families live nowadays. There’s a war on, after all. Each and every one of us must be prepared to make sacrifices. We can only conclude that Mrs Althofer’s stubborn meanderings amount to nothing more
than her way of quieting a constantly nagging, very uneasy conscience. Because, by coming here and badgering members of staff and complaining, Mrs Althofer at least gives the
pretence
of doing something even though she knows deep down, as does everyone else, exactly what a repulsive and miserable condition this child is in, how depressingly feeble and
unworthy
it has become. Yes, Mrs Althofer knows full well but cannot bring herself to state it in so many words, Doctor Gross says. She would really be so endlessly grateful if we could only lift this burden off her shoulders but is unable to put
that
into words, as well; like all these mothers who keep accusing us of stealing their children.

Decursus Morbi
   In the evening, Sophie runs a high temperature. Anna Katschenka is not on duty at the time but one of the day nurses had made an entry in the case notes: before the onset of the fever, the girl had been very restless for several hours, first noted early that afternoon.
The child twists and turns, also emits short, almost inaudible shrieks.
The following morning, the perfect hairline is edged with a ribbon of small, shiny drops of sweat.
The child is febrile. Temp. 38.5.
During the months and years that follow, Anna Katschenka, as the ward sister, will be responsible for keeping case notes up to date. Back then, another hand is making entries in Sophie Althofer’s notes. The writing is stronger than Katschenka’s, with neat rows of sloping letters. The notes include something of the patient’s earlier history. She was
a much longed-for girl,
born to two apparently perfectly normal parents. Their only child. At birth, it was noted that the baby had shorter than normal limbs, with hands and feet especially reduced in size, and a protruding breastbone – one of the so-called pectus anomalies, the ‘pigeon chest’ or
pectus carinatum.
The misshapen thorax is associated with narrowing of the ribcage
and sharp-edged ribs that threaten to compress the internal organs. Various treatments were used at an early stage, beginning with a cradle designed to straighten the limbs. On the family doctor’s advice, Mrs Althofer gave the infant a nightly bath in rock-salt brine. All available nutritional supplements were purchased, including Vigantol oil, Bio Malt and cod liver oil. At the age of three and a half, the child suffered from severe headaches in connection with a cold, and later fell ill with a high fever and strong muscular pains. The tentative diagnosis was polio. The child’s mental development, which had been normal, became affected and she stopped speaking or in any other way communicating with others.