Blue Damask (2 page)

     Elsa did not need to look up to know Doctor Engel’s face had reddened with anger.  She had sat through many of his tirades against the military’s treatment of men who broke down under the stress of war, long after the shelling had stopped.   It was not only the British.

     She smoothed her hand over Sonnenby’s brow.  He had merely fainted.  Respiration and pulse were slightly elevated but were slowly returning to a resting level. The straightjacket most likely was making it hard for him to get enough air.

     Doctor Engel kept his temper.  “Solitary?”

     Marshall cleared his throat.  “Lord Sonnenby is suicidal.”

     “Well then.  That explains it.  Solitary confinement is the perfect treatment for melancholia.”

     Elsa saw that Marshall had not detected the doctor’s sarcasm.  She tried not to sound caustic as she asked, “Was he suicidal before the treatments began?”

     Marshall glanced at her briefly as if annoyed that he must answer her.  He looked at Engel when he spoke.  “No.  His first attempt was immediately after a session with Doctor Yealland.”

     “Doctor Yealland?”  Doctor Engel put a hand to his forehead.  “This is the man who straps patients to chairs and applies electric shocks to their bodies.”

     Marshall looked uncomfortable.  “I have also heard this.”

     Elsa looked at the face beneath her hand.  The features had relaxed and now Sonnenby looked younger.  The high cheekbones and fair skin must have belonged to his mother.  The dark hair and strong aquiline nose to his father.  She tugged at the straps to turn him over on his side.  The brass buckles were on the back.

     Marshall hauled her up from the carpet by her arm.  “No!” he shouted.  There was a noise in the hall and the door burst open.  The two orderlies looked first to Sonnenby.  When they saw their patient was inert, they looked to Marshall for instructions.  Doctor Engel stood with his arms crossed over his chest and raised an eyebrow.  Elsa rubbed her arm and glared at the Englishman.

     “You will not touch me without permission, Mr. Marshall,” she said to him.

     Marshall sniffed as he released her, “I have saved you from possible injury, madam.”

     “He is unresponsive and in a straightjacket. I am unlikely to be injured.”

     “He has feigned unconsciousness in the past to escape the restraints.  He could come alive very quickly. I assure you.”

     Doctor Engel came around the sofa and knelt at Sonnenby’s side.  “How long is he usually unconscious like this?”

     Marshall picked up the file from the floor where it had landed when he grabbed Elsa.  He straightened the papers before answering.  “He is reported to have instances of various stages of…catatonia,” he answered carefully.  “Difficult to say.”

      Doctor Engel lifted a hand and Marshall gave him the folder.  The doctor flipped through the pages looking for what he wanted.  He stopped.  “It says here he attacked three orderlies.  He put two in hospital.”

     “Yes,” Marshall gave Elsa a look.  “He was a decorated soldier. He knows how to kill. He is dangerous to himself and to others, hence the restraints.”

     There was silence in the room as the doctor read the file.  The two orderlies stepped forward to flank Marshall.  Elsa felt the first stirrings of interest in this patient as she watched the doctor’s expression while he read.  Doctor Engel seemed to be intrigued, and she recognized the rapid blinking of his eyes that meant he was processing the notes at great speed.  He only did that when there was a difficult challenge set before him.

     He snapped the file shut and looked up at Marshall.  “Nowhere does it say he has committed a violent act against a woman.  None of the nurses have been harmed.  Even the ones administering hypodermic medication.”

     Marshall frowned.  “What do you imply, doctor?”

     “I say that
Fraulein
Schluss is the perfect therapist for your patient.  She graduated at the top of her class and has spent three years during the war as a surgical nurse in a field hospital, deeply involved in the treatment of the war wounded.  In the three years since she has focused on the treatment of mental trauma in veterans.  Her dissertation will be presented at the College of Psychology at the University of Vienna.  I have worked closely with her for two years and can say with extreme confidence that due to the patient’s obvious conflicts with male authority, he must absolutely have a female therapist if he is to regain his stability to support British interests in the Levant.”  Doctor Engel stood up and handed the file back to Marshall.  “That is my medical opinion.  If you do not agree, then I will wish you a good day, sir.”  He nodded to the orderlies then looked pointedly at Lord Sonnenby’s body stretched out on the carpet.

     Marshall’s moustache twitched.  He looked long and hard at Sonnenby, then Doctor Engel, then finally Elsa. She stared back at him.  He represented everything she detested in a man: arrogance, entitlement, bigotry, and lack of imagination.  Doctor Engel had not discussed taking on this case with her before offering her services to this stranger which was very unlike him.  She looked at him and tried to catch his eye but he was also staring intently at Marshall.

     Marshall said slowly, “I must get Lord Sonnenby to Damascus as soon as possible.  His treatment must be done
en route
.”  He said these words to Engel as though he both hoped this would exclude Elsa and impress the doctor with the urgent nature of his mission.  “He must be able to control himself.  He must be able to communicate.”

     Doctor Engel looked at Elsa.  “She is available through June,” he said, though Elsa was not available at all.  She frowned a little at him, trying to figure out what he meant.  He dipped his head slowly, and repeated, “She is available from now through June, Mr. Marshall.”  Elsa would never argue with him in front of a guest.  She tried to form her expression into one of professional interest.

     Marshall looked at her now, too, though his expression was not masked at all.  He clearly had serious doubts.  Elsa deduced that he had already taken Lord Sonnenby to several psychologists both in Britain and on the Continent.   All must have rejected him.  Time was running out. He was desperate.  He could not delay the trip.  He would not tell the Foreign Office he had failed.  He was caught.

     He did not answer, but he turned to the two orderlies.  “Place Lord Sonnenby in the car.”  To Doctor Engel he said, “Have her at the train station Monday morning with travel kit for two months.”  He took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.  “Dress for warm weather.”  Under his breath she heard him murmur, “God help me.”

Elsa waited silently until the guests had departed.  When she heard Magda close the front door she turned to Doctor Engel.

     “Doctor.  You know very well I am currently preparing for the conference this summer.  I cannot take on a patient, let along travel.  How could you make promises for me?”

     Doctor Engel sat down on the sofa where the patient had been.  He tapped the thick file on his knee.  “There are conferences every quarter.  An opportunity like this one does not arrive at my front door every season.  This is better.”  He pressed a finger into the file.  “This opportunity will make your career, Elsa.”

     Her face must have betrayed her doubt, for he made himself comfortable as if the discussion would continue long into the afternoon.  She crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I have every credential necessary already, doctor.  I have prepared an intricate report on our work with the veterans.  I have discovered aspects of their care that are more effective than mere talk therapy.  I have made a career with this paper.”  She made a vague gesture toward her office in the next room.

     Doctor Engel gave her a pained expression.  “I have always admired your confidence, Elsa.  I have not told you everything I know about the meetings I have been attending.  You are aware of the impediments to your doctorate.  I am sure your dissertation is excellent, but sometimes excellence is not enough.”  He pressed his lips together.  “The rhetoric I must endure at these meetings makes me reach for the stomach powders when I return to the peace in this house.”

     Elsa relaxed her arms.  The doctor did often return late after these meetings dragging his feet.  She would hear him go to the infirmary and open the cabinet doors where the medicines were locked up.  She inhaled deeply, ready for a retort about sexism and psychology but he raised a hand to stop her.

    “I have skimmed the notes here in Sonnenby’s file.  This is an extraordinary opportunity.  I would not hesitate to take on Henry Sinclair and his problems except that as an older man I represent everything that troubles him.  Also, I cannot travel without breaking engagements I am professionally bound to honor.”

     Elsa felt her throat tighten.  “Are you saying that there is talk that I might be refused?”

     Doctor Engel gave her only a quick nod but his eyes were kind.  “They think you are too young to understand the complexities of the human mind, no matter your research.”

     Elsa snapped.  “Too young?  They think I am too
female
.”

     The doctor smiled.  “Yes.  If you were a homely hausfrau you might quickly find yourself with a doctorate and pushed firmly into treating hysteria among the menopausal.”

     She nodded absently, thinking.  She had already overcome much polite derision.  She was used to it.  But her paper this fall would deliver stunning insights into the minds of the wounded veterans and bring some light into areas of the psyche that cannot be examined in times of peace.

     Doctor Shultz interrupted her thoughts, “Elsa.”

     She looked at him.  “You are saying my work will not be accepted at the conference.”

     “I am not saying that.”  He didn’t have to.  His face said it for him.

     Elsa backed up slowly until she felt the seat of the upholstered chair behind her knees.  She sat carefully and folded her hands on her lap.  She felt her face grow very warm and made an effort to breathe regularly and evenly.  She slid her hand into the breast pocket of her suit and took out her handkerchief and hoped the slight catch in her throat was inaudible.

     It was not.  Doctor Engel leaned forward.  “Elsa.  What I see here in this file would create a sensation in Vienna.  This file contains the genesis of a career that could not be put down by even the most misogynist of professors.  There is an opportunity here that exists because you are female, not in spite of it.”

     She turned her head slowly and touched the handkerchief to her nose.  “
If
I am successful in treating Mr. Sinclair.”

     The doctor raised both eyebrows.  “Of course you will be successful.  He is not insane.”

     Elsa sniffed.  “You are so certain,
Herr
Doctor.  Perhaps you humor me.”  It occurred to her for the first time that Doctor Engel might be just like the other men.

     Engel leaned back against the sofa cushions.  “I can see you are upset.  Disappointed.  Disillusioned.  But the truth is necessary.  I do not humor you, as you say.  I have no time for that.”

     Elsa tried not to think about the conference, but there it was, always at the front of her mind.  It had dominated her focus for nine months.  She had attended last year as a member of the audience and a student.  She had imagined herself at the podium.  The applause for the speakers became applause for her.  The hand-shaking and pats on the backs of the new graduates became her accolades.  She had imagined it all.

     She imagined her own practice, by necessity first in the stark halls of the hospitals, but then later a comfortable clinic, and finally a warm office attached to her own house.  If she accepted this patient it would push her plans back an entire year.  But on the other hand, if her paper were rejected this fall, she would be finished.  There would be no plans.  She might be able to write another paper, but in the minds of the professors she would not be a brilliant new doctor emerging on the scene with acclaim but a struggling female interloper, trying again and again to get into the club.

     The doctor could read those thoughts on her face. “Elsa.  This is the time when you leave the comfort of academia and my fine parlor and grasp the difficulty of wrestling a human mind away from despair in the real world.  It is time.  Can you do it?”   He asked her softly.  “What an extraordinary paper that would be.”

     Elsa clenched her hands into fists.  She must not squeeze into her profession.  She must make a name for herself at the very start. “I can do it,
Herr
Doctor.  I can do anything.”

     He smiled.  “One of the benefits of travel is the amount of time spent waiting for trains and cars and boats.  You will have plenty of opportunities to write.  Talk to Mr. Sinclair.  Heal him if you can.  He is not insane,” he repeated, “but he is deeply troubled.  Even if you cannot help him understand himself, the study will be valuable.  Talk and then write.”

     “And Mr. Marshall?”

     “He is your facilitator.  How convenient.  He will handle the travel details and necessary living arrangements.  You will be able to devote all your time to the patient and to your notes.”

     “I think he will be more difficult than the patient.”