Until I Find You

William saw that Dr. von Rohr was back. “To both of them!”

“Believe it or not, Hugo’s here with the car,” Dr. von Rohr announced. “He actually remembered.”

“You’re too hard on poor Hugo,” William said to Dr. von Rohr. “Wait till you meet him, Jack. He’s a Herman Castro kind of fellow.”

A heavyweight, in other words—Jack could tell at first glance, when he saw Hugo hulking over the black Mercedes. Hugo was shining the hood ornament with the sleeve of his white dress shirt. He was attired more in the manner of a waiter than of either a limo driver or a male nurse, which he was. But—even in a long-sleeved white dress shirt—Jack could see that Hugo had the sculpted bulk of a bodybuilder.

Whereas his older sister, Waltraut—the other Nurse Bleibel—was short and stout, Hugo was unambiguously huge. He had made himself huge. He’d developed those powerful shoulders, and his bulging upper arms; he’d worked to make his neck nearly as big around as William’s waist. And Hugo had shaved his head, unfortunately—though it was not unthinkable that this might have been an improvement. His face had the flat, blunt purposefulness of a shovel. The one gold earring, signifying nothing, drew your attention to the fact that the other ear was missing a lobe. (An encounter with a dog in a nightclub, Jack’s dad had told him on their trip into Zurich from Kilchberg.)

“But don’t feel sorry for Hugo,” his father had said. “The dog got the worst of it.” (Hugo had killed the dog for eating his earlobe, Dr. Horvath would later tell Jack.)

It was easy to see what Dr. von Rohr and Dr. Krauer-Poppe held against Hugo. He was not the sort of young man women of education and sophistication liked, nor was he a man most women would feel attracted to. Alas, Hugo had not only the appearance of a bodyguard; he had the personality of one as well.

At Kilchberg, those younger nurses—the ones who stood in line to shave Jack’s father—wouldn’t have given Hugo the time of day. The older women there—Hugo’s sister and the doctors included—probably bossed him around. Hugo was a thug; he knew no other way to behave. But at least Jack had met someone who could tell him where a good gym was in Zurich, and Jack saw in their first meeting that Hugo doted on William.

For a young man who consorted with prostitutes, Hugo, by his association with a handsome older gentleman like William Burns, had doubtless upped his standing in that community of ladies.

“Hugo!” Jack’s father hailed the big brute, like an old friend. “I want you to meet my son, Jack —den Schauspieler.” (“The actor,” William called his son—exactly as he’d introduced Jack to everyone on the number one-sixty-one bus.)

William had insisted that Jack and Dr. von Rohr ride with him from Kilchberg into Zurich on the bus. Jack’s dad was proud of his knowledge of the public-transportation system, and he wanted Jack to see how he usually rode to and from the city—on his shopping trips with Waltraut, and his other shopping trips with Hugo. (The black Mercedes was for nighttime travel only.)

Most of the passengers on the bus seemed to know Jack’s father, and to all of them William had said: “I want you to meet my son, Jack—den Schauspieler.”

“I’ve seen all your movies,” Hugo said, introducing himself to Jack. “William and I have watched them together. They never get old!” he cried, shaking (and shaking) Jack’s hand.

Jack saw the look that passed between Dr. von Rohr and Dr. Krauer-Poppe—as if old were a trigger, maybe, or in certain contexts perhaps could be. But not this time. Jack’s dad was smiling—possibly swaying on his feet more than he was bouncing on them. (Either old was not a trigger or the pill that Dr. Krauer-Poppe had given William was taking effect.)

“I’m not saying good-bye to you, Jack,” his father told him. William put his arms around Jack’s neck; his head fell on Jack’s chest as lightly as a baby’s.

“You don’t have to say good-bye to Jack, William,” Dr. von Rohr said. “Just say ‘bis morgen’ to him.” (“Just say ‘until tomorrow’ to him.”) “You’re seeing him in the morning.”

“Bis morgen, Pop.”

“Bis morgen,” his dad whispered. “I am already imagining that I’m tucking you into bed, dear boy, or maybe you’re tucking me in.”

“I’m afraid it’s time for Hugo to tuck you in, William,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe told him.

“Oh, what joy,” Jack’s father said, releasing his son.

Jack kissed his father on the mouth—a dry kiss, just brushing his dad’s lips with his own lips tightly closed— the way Heather had taught him. William kissed Jack the same way.

“I know what you’ve been up to, dear boy. I can tell you’ve been kissing your sister!”

Jack took a chance, but he felt it was the right time. After all, Hugo and the two doctors were with them—in case anything went wrong.

“I love you, Pop,” Jack told his father, heedless of whether or not love was a trigger. “I love every inch of your skin. I really mean it.”

Hugo looked as if he might punch Jack. Dr. von Rohr and Dr. Krauer-Poppe closely watched William. How was skin going to affect him? they all wondered. Were they in unstoppable territory, or— in this context—was skin suddenly acceptable?

“Say that again, Jack,” his dad said. “I dare you.”

“I love you and every inch of your skin,” Jack told him.

William Burns put his black-gloved hands on his heart and smiled at Hugo and the doctors, not looking at Jack. “He’s got balls, hasn’t he?” his father asked them.

“That’s not an area of my expertise,” Dr. von Rohr answered.

“I just do medication, William,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe said.

But Jack’s father was fine. He was holding his heart because he wanted to feel it beating. “I love you and every inch of your skin, dear boy! Please don’t forget to call your sister.”

Suddenly William seemed exhausted. Hugo helped him into the backseat of the Mercedes, where William Burns looked as small as a child on his way to his first day of school. The bodybuilder had to buckle the seat belt for him, and—before he got into the driver’s seat—Hugo came up to Jack and shook (and shook) his hand again. Jack thought that Hugo might pull his arm off.

“You’ve got balls as big as der Mond,” Hugo told Jack. (“You’ve got balls as big as the moon.”) Then Hugo got in the car and they drove away.

“Bis morgen!” Dr. Krauer-Poppe called after them.

“Now I’m taking a taxi home,” Dr. von Rohr said. “I live in another part of the city,” she explained to Jack.

There was a taxi stand in the vicinity of the Bellevueplatz, where Dr. Krauer-Poppe and Jack waited with Dr. von Rohr until she found an available taxi. The two women kissed each other on both cheeks and said good night.

“I assure you, Jack, I was never struck by lightning,” Dr. von Rohr said, when they shook hands. “Not on my head, anyway. I think your father has hit me with a lightning bolt, not on my head but in my heart.”

Jack walked with Dr. Krauer-Poppe over the Quaibrucke; they walked back to the Hotel zum Storchen together. “Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” he asked her.

“I live near your hotel,” she said, “but you’d never find your way back. The streets are small and go every which way.”

“Your children are how old?” he asked her. It was a beautiful night, with the lights from the city winking up at them from the Limmat.

“They are ten and twelve, both boys,” Dr. Krauer-Poppe told him. “If I ever had to say good-bye to them, the way your father had to say good-bye to you, I would kill myself. Or, if I were lucky, I would be in a place like the Sanatorium Kilchberg. I don’t mean as a doctor.”

“I understand,” Jack said to her.

“I love your father and every inch of his skin,” she said, smiling.

“Will he ever get better?” Jack asked her.

“He can be much worse than he was with you tonight. He was on his best behavior for you,” she told him. “But he will neither get worse nor get better. William is what he is.”