III –

You could possibly wait for me here, or, if you’re interested, there is a bakery on the corner of this street, called “Pyshka”, where you can spend some time waiting for me.”

I wasn’t in a hurry anyway, so I waited until the lunch break. When he closed a door behind his cabinet, I properly introduced myself and for the first time got to know his name – Arnold Semmelman. My new acquaintance was a short, clean-shaved man of pleasant look. His mobile mouth not only expressed many emotions but was speaking in a melodic baritone. He told me his story, which I found resonating with my own.

I think, if it was of God’s will, and I was born a couple of years earlier, I might have shared the same experience.

He was a retired lieutenant and considered himself a true Prussian, as when he heard I came from Cologne, he immediately replied: “And so I noticed; you folks from Rheinland have some softness, both in language and character. I personally like it, for talking with stubborn easterner about controversial mmm…topics (Here he waved, pointing across all the city, probably referring to the location we’re in) is nearly impossible”. As the dialog went on, I understood he came here around fifteen years ago after receiving an invitation from a friend, who for quite a while was bragging about the city’s remarkable location between sloping lands with forests and lazuli Sea.

“For a sick man like I am,” – he pointed to his left leg, which I noticed was limping, “the white gleam of salty water and the pointy green crags of mountains are the best medicine.”

His descriptions of Anapa throughout the prism of years held a warm, affectionate attitude. The only thing I found strange in this old man’s monologue was his extraordinary belief in superstitions. Every time he referred to the improved state of his leg, it seemed mandatory for him to spit three times over his left shoulder. And it was just one of many. In my head, the image of a man, educated and grown up in the finest Lutheran traditions of Prussian Kultur just simply did not fit with a whirlpool of superstitions and nerving wood knocking. However, as it wasn’t the matter of my main question, for now I decided to omit it.

“Herr Semmelmann,” – I spoke out, looking in my cup of coffee and making whirls from the last sip, “I wanted to ask you. No, I wanted to consult with you. Throughout the run of years, I think you as well now can be called “a local”. Maybe, you have any knowledge of a good doctor of common practice or, perhaps, could say a couple of words about Hospital N19? I am afraid, the situation we got ourselves in, I mean me, my wife and our daughter, is of the saddest outcomes.”

Taking my time and replying to all of Mr. Semmelmann’s questions, which, I should notice, were of a peculiar kind and especially related to the circumstances of our arrival, I told him our story fully. More precisely he wanted to know Anna’s overall symptoms and, most importantly (as he mentioned), when and under what conditions might she fell ill.