The Memorist

Chapter 59

Tuesday, April 29^th-10:50 p.m.

Meer didn’t need to speak German to know that the hospital orderly was blocking Sebastian from going in and seeing his son. In the ensuing argument, Sebastian never raised his voice above a fierce whisper. Was that in deference to the other people on the floor or was he circling down deeper and deeper into silence the nearer he was to rage? No matter how close Sebastian moved toward the guard, the man remained even-tempered and even-toned. Several times the orderly referred to “Doktor Kutcher” and Meer surmised that Sebastian’s estranged wife had given the order to keep him out. Finally, Sebastian made a move as if to turn around and give up, and then suddenly lurched forward, successfully pulling open the door to his son’s room, leaping inside, disappearing from Meer’s sight.

The guard rushed in after him.

Through the glass panel, Meer watched Sebastian reach his son’s bed and bend down just seconds before the guard approached and put his hand surprisingly gently on Sebastian’s shoulder. He tried to shrug it off but the orderly held tight and using his other hand, spun Sebastian around. Meer stepped away as Sebastian emerged from the door, his shoulders rounded in defeat.

“How is he?” Meer asked as they walked toward the elevator.

“Physically? He’s holding his own, which in this case is a positive sign. Thank God. But as you could tell, it seems that I am no longer allowed in to see him. I have been in the process of trying to get an injunction-I think that’s the right word-so Rebecca can’t prevent me from bringing specialists to see Nicolas but it seems she got one first. Now I need her permission to see Nicolas. Me. His father.”

“Didn’t she call to tell you he was sick, didn’t she expect you’d want to see him?”

“No, she didn’t call me, the nurse did. I don’t know what Rebecca expected. The orderly said that she left instructions I’m not to be let in unless she’s here.”

“Maybe if you called her she’d change her mind.”

For a second there was some hope in his eyes, and he asked her to wait while he returned to the nurses’ station.

Meer sat down in a green leatherette chair, thinking about how many thousands of pained and worried mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, children and relatives and friends had sat there since the early twentieth century when the hospital was first built. And then she remembered what Sebastian had told her about the experiments performed within these walls during the war.

“The nurse called her and she lowered herself to talk to me instead of going through other people. She says she’s had it with the ‘voodoo’ I’m trying out on him and doesn’t trust me to see him anymore if she’s not there,” Sebastian said. He sat down next to her and slumped in the chair. “Bringing you here over the weekend was the breaking point, it seems. And now that he’s sick, she doesn’t want anyone to impede his recovery. But he’s lost inside, and he can’t fight the pneumonia if he’s not here. Why can’t she understand that?”

Meer put her hand on his arm, and even through his jacket she could feel how tense his body was. “I don’t know the laws here but in America, getting an injunction without just cause is almost impossible. Sex offenders are about the only people who can be stopped from seeing their children. You should call your lawyer.”

He looked at his watch. “Would you mind if I called now? I don’t want to wait till I get home and it’s even later.”

“No, it’s fine, of course, go ahead.”

She walked down to the other end of the hall where there were windows that overlooked the woods where they had walked on Sunday. In the dark there was very little to see but pale moonlight shimming on the pond. Leaning her forehead on the cool glass, she shut her eyes and thought about what a long strange night it had been. A long, strange and sad night.

“There’s nothing he can do about it tonight,” Sebastian said when he returned. “Or even this week. Fighting her injunction will take time. The possibility of filing the papers and being heard in less than two weeks seems to be nonexistent.”

“I’m sorry,” Meer said.

He glanced back at his son’s room where the orderly stood guard. “Give me one more second and then we’ll drive back.”

Meer noticed that this time Sebastian didn’t exhibit any animosity or anger in his body language. The guard wasn’t completely relaxed as he listened, but he did tilt his head to the side as if he was commiserating. Finally Sebastian reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen and a card, wrote something down and held it out. The guard stared down at it but then took the card and moved to the right, clearing the door and allowing Sebastian a sight line into the room. For a full minute he stood there, immobile, staring at his son through a wire-reinforced glass panel.

As they headed back down the hall toward the elevator again, Meer was aware of how labored Sebastian’s step had become.

“What did you give the guard?”

“My phone number. And a promise to reward him for calling and keeping me informed. Every time I leave here I feel as if I’m abandoning my son to that black forlorn space in his head where he’s living. If it is even living.”

“Certainly Rebecca hasn’t tried to blame you for Nicolas’s state, has she?”

“No. But you believe, even though it’s foolish, that you are a man and that you are strong and that you should be able to protect your child from everything. From every thing. And when you don’t, when you can’t, you feel like a failure, consumed with only one thought-there must be something I can do.”