III – IV

The corridors of the building were familiar to me, and even though I felt a guilty conscience towards this nurse, in a matter of seconds she was already behind me. At this point, my nerves were at their lowest and I could not bear another hour or two of arguments, without even managing to reply anything reasonable nor hold my point strongly. When I entered the room, the screams and the hurried footsteps of orderlies bothered me no more. I should have felt terrible fear, for I shrieked in an instant I saw Anna.

Her whole body was crooked and joints were twisted in the opposite direction. She was lying on the back, reminding of a dead spider, with her eyes not moving an inch or even blinking from a sudden noise. White blankets did not reflect the skin under the beaming sun rays, for it seemed that the skin was even whiter. She was drooling, and a slim string of liquid went down her pale cheeks and formed a small, dark spot where the pillow met the face. The only way I could understand there was a glimpse of life in this body was a barely moving chest, heavily going up and down. I was stunned. For a second, I had an animal instinct to run away, for what I was looking at wasn’t my daughter. It was looking unholy.

I was close to collapsing into hysterics. By the time Dr. Zarubov ran into the room, I was already on my knees, praying to the Lord and sobbing, suffocating from my saliva and tears. I hugged Anna the way I could, while two doctors tried to raise me up. They were saying something and gave me water, mumbling between each other and running back and forth. Nurses were not leaving me around for four hours, even though they tried to walk me out into the corridor. My bargaining was devastating. I guess, this time of attendance served me well, for no matter how horrified Anna looked, the moving chest and thin golden hair were a silent answer to all my perplexing questions. I refused to move without my daughter and, when Dr. Zarubov saw I was broken, but stoic in my intentions, he asked for my polyglot and pointed: “Father”, “Daughter”, “Go”, “Distrust”, “Hospital”, “Seek”, “Bosha”.

Slightly nodded, I came to the bed and the doctor helped me lift her and cover in blankets. Another minute, and I’m running on the streets, catching the frightened eyes of the trespassers. Five minutes – and I’m knocking on Herr Semmelmann’s door. Half an hour, and he ran to search for a coachman to arrive at his doorstep, holding a folded piece of paper, advertising in a wide text: “EVIL EYE AND SPOILAGE”.

***

Phonograph diary, recorded by Arnold Semmelmann, 24 May, 6 a.m.

For the future and in case we might need it. In my cumbrous old fashion, I’m recording this, while a tired family is trying to fall asleep in my living room. I saw Arne had a travel diary of his own, but today’s night incident is too fresh in memories even for old me to recall without a shiver, last for a poor man.

After ammonia worked on Madam, who fainted the second she saw the monstrous condition of her daughter, a strong husband’s hand and an explicit speech helped her to focus.