Until I Find You

down, but nothing could stop the shivering. (Dr. Horvath was trying, rubbing William’s shoulders while attempting to pull a T-shirt over his shaking head—more or less at the same time.)

“You’re doing a very good job,” Jack’s father told Dr. von Rohr sincerely. He was too cold for sarcasm; his teeth were chattering again.

“Your body is not naked, William. It is gloriously covered with hymns of jubilation, and with the passion of an abiding love of God—but also an abiding loss,” Dr. von Rohr continued.

Dr. Horvath went on dressing Jack’s father as if William were a child. Jack could see that his dad had completely succumbed, not only to Dr. Horvath dressing him but to Dr. von Rohr’s litany—which William had doubtless delivered to her on more than one occasion.

“You are wearing your grief, William,” Dr. von Rohr went on, “and your broken heart is thankful—it just can’t keep you warm, not anymore. And the music—well, some of it is triumphant. Jubilant, you would say. But so much of it is sad, isn’t it, William? Sad like a dirge, sad like a lamentation, as I’ve heard you say repeatedly.”

“The repeatedly was sarcastic, Ruth,” Jack’s father said. “You were doing fine till then.”

Dr. von Rohr sighed again. “I’m just trying to get us to dinner on time, William. Forgive me if I’m giving Jack the abridged version.”

“I think I get it,” Jack told Dr. von Rohr. (He thought she’d done a good job, under the circumstances.) “I get the idea, Pop—I really do.”

“Pop? Was heisst ‘Pop’?” Dr. Horvath asked. (“What is ‘Pop’?”)

“Amerikanische Umgangssprache fur ‘Vater,’ ” Professor Ritter told him. (“American colloquial speech for ‘Father.’ ”)

“He doesn’t need to wear a tie, Klaus,” Dr. von Rohr said to Dr. Horvath, who was struggling to knot a necktie at William’s throat. “Jack’s not wearing a tie, and he looks fine.”

“But it’s the Kronenhalle!” Jack was certain Dr. Horvath was going to yell; however, Dr. Horvath put the tie away and was silent.

“There’s more to life than grieving and singing praise to God, William,” Dr. Berger intoned. “I mean, factually speaking.”

“I won’t use that word I used again, William,” Dr. von Rohr said carefully, “but allow me to say that you can’t go to the Kronenhalle wearing only your tattoos, because—as I know you know, William—they’re not socially acceptable.”

“Not socially acceptable,” Jack’s father repeated, smiling. Jack could see that being socially unacceptable pleased William Burns, and that Dr. von Rohr knew this about him.

“I want to say that I can see what good care you’re taking of my dad,” Jack told them all. “I want you to know that my sister and I appreciate it—and that my father appreciates it.” Everyone seemed embarrassed—except William, who looked irritated.

“You don’t need to make a speech, Jack. You’re not a Canadian anymore,” his dad told him. “We all can be socially acceptable, when we have to. Well, maybe not Hugo,” his father added, with that mischievous little smile Jack was getting used to. “Have you met Hugo yet, Jack?”

“Noch nicht,” Jack said. (“Not yet.”)

“But I suppose they’ve told you about the nature of the little excursions I take with Hugo, on occasion,” his father said, the mischief and the smile disappearing from his face, as if one word—not necessarily Hugo, but the wrong word—could instantly make him another person. “They’ve told you, haven’t they?” He wasn’t kidding.

“I know a little about it,” Jack answered him evasively. But his father had already turned to Professor Ritter and the others.

“Don’t you think a father and his son should have those awkward but necessary conversations about sex together?” William asked his doctors.

“Bitte, William—” Professor Ritter started to say.

“Isn’t that what any responsible father would do?” Jack’s dad went on. “Isn’t that my job? To talk about sex with my son—isn’t that my job? Why is that your job?”

“We thought that Jack should be informed about the Hugo business, William,” Dr. Berger said. “We didn’t know you would bring the matter up with him.”

“Factually speaking,” William said, calming down a little.

“We can talk about it later, Pop.”

“Perhaps over dinner,” his father said, smiling at Dr. von Rohr, who sighed.

“Speaking of which, you should be leaving!” Dr. Horvath cried. But when they started for the corridor—his father bowing to Dr. von Rohr, who preceded him—Dr. Horvath grabbed Jack by both shoulders, holding him back.

“Which of the triggers was it?” the doctor whispered in Jack’s ear; even Dr. Horvath’s whisper was loud. “Das Wort,” he whispered. (“The word.”) “What was it?”

“Skin,” Jack whispered. “It was the word skin.”

“Gott!” Dr. Horvath shouted. “That’s one of the worst ones—that one is unstoppable!”

“I’m glad some of the triggers are stoppable,” Jack told him. “Naked, for example. Dr. von Rohr seemed to stop that one.”

“Ja, naked’s not so bad,” Dr. Horvath said dismissively. “But you better not bring up the word skin at the Kronenhalle. And the mirrors!” he remembered, with a gasp. “Keep William away from the mirrors.”

“Is a mirror one of the unstoppable triggers?” Jack asked.

“A mirror is more than a trigger,” Dr. Horvath said gravely. “A mirror is das ganze Pulver!”

“What?” Jack asked him; he didn’t know the phrase.

“Das ganze Pulver!” Dr. Horvath cried. “All the ammunition!”

Their evening at the Kronenhalle began with William complimenting Dr. von Rohr on the silver streak in her tawny hair—how it had always impressed him that she must have been struck by lightning one morning on her way to work. By the time she met with her first patient, he imagined, she was acutely aware of that part of her head where the lightning bolt had hit her—mainly because the lightning had done such extensive damage to her roots that her hair had already died and turned gray.

“Is this actually a compliment, William?” Dr. von Rohr asked.

They had not yet been seated at their table, which was in a room with a frosted-glass wall. They’d entered the Kronenhalle from Ramistrasse. Dr. von Rohr, who was much taller than Jack’s father, purposely blocked any view he might have had of the mirror by the bar. They passed both the women’s and the men’s washrooms, which harbored more mirrors, but these mirrors were not within sight of the corridor they followed to their glassed-in room. (The mirror over the sideboard was in another part of the restaurant.)

William was looking all around, but he couldn’t see past Dr. von Rohr—he came up to her breasts—and Dr. Krauer-Poppe held his other arm. Jack followed them. His father was constantly turning his head and smiling at him. Jack could tell that his dad thought it was great fun to be escorted into a fancy restaurant like the Kronenhalle by two very good-looking women.

“If you weren’t so tall, Ruth,” William was saying to Dr. von Rohr, “I could get a look at the top of your head and see if that silver streak is dyed all the way down to your roots.”

“There’s just no end to your compliments, William,” she said, smiling down at him.

Jack’s dad patted the little purse Dr. Krauer-Poppe carried on her arm. “Got the sedatives, Anna-Elisabeth?” he asked.