“And how are things at the General Hospital?” asked Kusevitsky.
Liebermann sighed. “Actually at present not very good. I’ve run into some difficulties.”
Once again, he was obliged to provide a summary of the events surrounding the death of the young Baron von Kortig.
“My dear fellow, I am so sorry,” said Kusevitsky. “If there’s anything I can do?”
Liebermann shook his head. “No, but thank you for your kind offer.”
He became aware that the conversation on the other side of the table had stopped. Asher Kusevitsky and Schnitzler had been listening.
“They won’t be happy,” said Asher bitterly, “until they’ve got us out of the theatres, out of the hospitals, and, in the end, out of Vienna altogether! That’s what they really want. They want a purge. They treat us like a plague…”
“Mmmm…” Schnitzler hummed, the note rising and falling. “Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.” He did not look sympathetic, like Gabriel, or angered, like Asher-merely curious. In fact, Liebermann thought he saw the author’s lips twisting to form a sardonic smile. “A story with definite potential,” Schnitzler added. “Yes, definite potential. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Liebermann, could you tell it again, starting from the very beginning.”
64
Herr Poppmeier was lying on a rest bed, his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. His youthful face had assumed an expression of perplexity. Liebermann, who was seated out of his patient’s view, was waiting for the salesman to resume speaking. The session had not been very productive. In fact, none of Herr Poppmeier’s sessions had been very productive. When asked to freely vocalize whatever came into his mind, without censorship or restraint, his chain of associations invariably led back to items included in the Prock and Hornbostel catalogue. In due course, Poppmeier said, “I had another dream last night. Do you want me to tell you about it?”
“Yes, of course,” said Liebermann, eager for something substantial to work on.
“It’s not the first time either. I’ve had it before.”
“A recurring dream…”
“Yes.” Poppmeier crossed his legs. “Do you have a cigarette?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’d love a cigarette right now.”
Interesting, thought Liebermann.
“Arabelle wants me to give up smoking,” Poppmeier continued. “She doesn’t like the smell of tobacco. I’ve tried, but it’s extremely difficult. I get so irritable, and then feel guilty afterward. I can be quite disagreeable.”
The salesman seemed unaware that he had strayed off the subject. Liebermann made a note: Delay- resistance?
“Herr Poppmeier,” said Liebermann, “you were going to tell me about your recurring dream?”
“Oh yes, so I was.” The salesman bit his lower lip. “It’s like this…” He drummed his fingers on the mattress. “I’m staying in a hotel, a very pleasant hotel with red carpets and gilt mirrors and busy waiters and miniature palm trees, a little like the Kaiser in Steyr, and-this is most peculiar, even embarrassing-I am a priest.” Poppmeier laughed nervously. “I am sitting in the foyer, listening to a string trio, when I am approached by the concierge and asked to give the last rites to a dying child.”
Mention of the last rites made Liebermann sit up.
“Go on…”
“I am escorted to a room that is full of my jewelry samples-rings, pendants, brooches. The rings are from the Prestige range and feature some very attractive stones imported from Bohemia. The pendants are heart-shaped, silver-with two opals set in a decoration of perpendicular silver bars. The brooches-”
“Herr Poppmeier,” Liebermann cut in. “Your dream?”
“Oh yes… There is a child in a bed, being cared for by a pretty nurse. For some reason, which I cannot justify, I refuse to perform the sacrament and leave.”
Poppmeier resumed chewing his lower lip.
“Is that it?”
“Yes. An absurd dream, but always remarkably vivid.”
“When did it first occur?”
“Difficult to say.”
“Do you think you’ve been having it for years? Months?”
“Not years, exactly-but for quite a long time.”
“A year, then?”
“About that, yes.”
Liebermann flicked through his notes and found the entry he was looking for: Frau Poppmeier: Gravida 3/Para II. Intrapartum death-1902 (early?).
Poppmeier’s wife had been pregnant twice before her current pregnancy and the second pregnancy had ended in the tragedy of a stillbirth. The timing was exact.
65
“Yes,” said Asher Kusevitsky, addressing Professor Priel. “Schnitzler had some interesting things to say about Lautenburg. The man’s a fool, just as I thought. I won’t be sending him any of my scripts in the future.”
The walls of Professor Priel’s parlor were covered in examples of modern art. They were mostly allegorical works, in which personifications of philosophy poetry, or music were rendered in a style that owed a considerable debt to Klimt. The figures, usually women, stared out full-face against a background of strong tonal contrasts. In addition, there were numerous contemporary portraits, some of which were quite disturbing. Sketches and watercolors of troubled individuals-emaciated, gaunt, their skin discolored, suggestive of putrescence. The models might have been recruited from a mortuary.
All the art that Professor Priel possessed had been made by impoverished young men who had benefited from a Rothenstein creative bursary. Although he wasn’t particularly fond of the portraits, he recognized that they were original and most probably indicative of a significant trend. He had not, however, purchased them as an investment. He had bought them to bolster the confidence of the young artists. They were always delighted to see their work hanging on his walls.
The only non-modern piece in Professor Priel’s collection was a plaster cast reproduction of Michelangelo’s Moses. It occupied a central position on the sideboard. Even though it was only a fraction of the size of the original, the copy was still powerfully evocative: Moses the lawgiver, seated like a Titan or a great warrior, his muscled arm resting on the commandment tablets, his long beard a wild tangle of writhing serpentine spirals.
A servant arrived with tea for the professor’s guests and a glass of magnetized water for the professor. A daily circuit of the Ringstrasse and a glass of magnetized water was-so he believed-the key to a long and healthy life.
“Gabriel,” Asher continued, “tell Professor Priel about Liebermann and the von Kortig business.” He then turned to face Priel. “Listen to this. It’s quite scandalous.”
Gabriel Kusevitsky repeated Liebermann’s story.
When he had finished, Professor Priel was silent, his head slowly shaking from side to side.
“It’s political, of course, and what worries me is where it could lead,” said Asher. He spoke quickly, making expressive gestures with his hands. “I mean to say, if Liebermann is dismissed-and they get away with it-who will be next? Where will it end? Lieutenant Gustl has already cost Schnitzler his rank in the reservists, and I don’t believe for one minute that it was because he broke the code of honor by writing it, as the authorities insist. It cost him his rank because he is a Jew. One can see where this is going. There are passages in The Dybbuk where I am critical of the church. If things continue like this, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if an official turns up and closes down
