The Orchids (20 page)

“I'm on my way, Doctor. I live in the medical compound, the same as you.”

“I haven't seen you there.”

“That may be,” the prisoner said. “You may not have noticed me.” He smiled. “I suppose all the prisoners look alike to you, but believe me, to the prisoners each of you looks different.”

Langhof stared at the vermin suspiciously. “What do you do in the medical compound?”

“Anything I'm told to, same as you,” Ginzburg said, and followed his reply with a small smile.

“Get that smile off your face,” Langhof said loudly.

The smile disappeared instantly. “Sorry, sir. A hazard of my profession.”

“Profession? What profession?”

“Before I came here, I was a comic,” Ginzburg said. “Nothing big, you understand. You would not have heard of me. Strictly small time. Smoke-filled clubs where the patrons chat constantly during the performance and sometimes throw cocktail olives at the performers.”

“And you haven't lost your sense of humor, is that it?” Langhof said sternly.

“Not entirely.”

“Well, then, I would suggest that you keep it to yourself,” Langhof warned.

“I suppose I should,” Ginzburg said, “but I never learned how to act appropriately. I snicker at all the wrong times. Funerals. Weddings. During the High Holy Days. It was always embarrassing for my family.”

“There are people here who will teach you proper behavior,” Langhof said.

“I know. Have you ever heard of the swing?”

“Yes. You were tortured?”

Ginzburg laughed. “Everyone is tortured.”

“But not on the swing. Why you?”

Ginzburg grinned. “They were jealous of my good looks, I suppose.”

Langhof did not smile. “And I imagine that you laughed all the way through it.”

Ginzburg shook his head. “No. I cried. Screamed, really. I begged. I pissed my pants. I called my mother foul names. It was quite a show.”

“Always the performer.”

“A ham, I'm afraid.”

“The clown in hell,” Langhof said contemptuously.

“No, not that.”

“What, then?”

Ginzburg shrugged. “Who can answer such a question? But I'll tell you this. I have learned to read a face perfectly. It comes from years of scanning audiences through all that cigar and cigarette smoke. I can tell the man who's cheating on his wife. He's always glancing over his shoulder. And I can spot all the virgins in the room. The girls always look happy; the boys always look miserable.”

Langhof waved his hand. “Nonsense,” he said. He began to walk away.

Ginzburg stepped up beside him. “I've noticed your face,” he said.

“You've noticed nothing,” Langhof said irritably.

“Oh, yes, I have. The moment I saw it was you with the pistol, I knew it would be all right.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that.”

“I'm quite sure. I saw you the first day you came to the Camp. What was it, two years ago? Three? Anyway, I saw you.”

“Where?”

“You were in the dissecting room with Kessler and Ludtz. Kessler told us to bring a few stiffs over to the table. They were all piled up in the corner. Pregnant women. Anyway, I saw your face.” He paused a moment, looking at Langhof. “You were trying not to scream.”

Langhof halted and turned toward Ginzburg. “Shut up!”

“I didn't mean to insult you,” Ginzburg said quickly. “I'm not that much of a fool, no matter what my father used to think. Besides, I know a dangerous man when I see one.”

“That's your first mistake,” Langhof said. “I'm not the least bit dangerous.”

“Really? When was the first time you injected chloroform directly into someone's heart?”

“That's none of your affair,” Langhof said angrily.

“No, it isn't. That's not my point. But you do remember the day, don't you? You probably remember the exact time.”

“Have you not performed work, such as it is, in the medical compound as well?” Langhof asked sarcastically.

“We are hardly in the same position, Doctor,” Ginzburg replied. “Besides, I did not mean to taunt you.”

“Go to your quarters,” Langhof said. “Go in front of me.

Ginzburg did not move. “I haven't killed anyone, there's the difference.”

“Congratulations,” Langhof said bitterly.

“When the New Order triumphs, I'll just be a nameless casualty. One of those insufferable weaklings who permitted himself to be destroyed without the slightest resistance. I'll be held up as the perfect proof of why I should have been annihilated.”

“I wouldn't worry about that,” Langhof said, “because the New Order will not triumph.”

Ginzburg smiled. “Yes, it will. Do you know why? Because it's too much work to oppose it. It requires too much thinking.”

“The New Order is doomed,” Langhof said. “The work is being done on the eastern front, and thinking has very little to do with it. You'll be hearing the cannons in a matter of weeks.”

“This time you may be right,” Ginzburg said lightly, “but history goes on.”

“You seem awfully serene about it.”

Ginzburg winked. “Serene? No. But free. Free because I'm crazy. Except I'm not really crazy. I'm a fraud.”

“I'm not in the mood for a confession,” Langhof said.

“That's your religious tradition, not mine,” Ginzburg said. “But let me continue. Where was I? Oh yes, this business of my being a fraud. I'm a fraud because this joking, this humor, it's all a pose. That's why I know that the next time, or the next, they'll win.” He laughed. “The prisoners think they know the world; the ones who think at all, I should say.”

“But you're the philosopher, I suppose,” Langhof said.

“I look at the prisoners' faces, and all I see are blank spaces,” Ginzburg said. He leaned forward. “Do you know how dangerous that is, Doctor?” he whispered. Then he chuckled.

“But you see through everyone, is that it?”

“I keep my eyes open. Not everyone does,” Ginzbnrg said with a laugh.

“A smart fellow like you, a wise guy,” Langhof said mockingly, “it's a wonder they got you here.”

“The wheel of fate,” Ginzburg said with a shrug of the shoulders. “How about you, what's your story?”

“That's not your business,” Langhof said.

Ginzburg smiled. “Everyone will have to explain it someday,” he said.

“But not tonight,” Langhof said coldly.

“Perhaps when we hear the cannons, then.”

“Get away from me,” Langhof said.

Ginzburg remained in place. “I've seen your face, Doctor.”

“Get to your quarters, now,” Langhof said loudly.

Ginzburg smiled and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a slight bow. “Gentlemen may deposit gratuities in my hand; ladies may use a little pouch behind my fly.”

Langhof stood and watched Ginzburg trot toward the medical compound. At the steps, under the light, he did a quick soft shoe, kicking up a spray of powdery snow.

D
R
. L
UDTZ
is lying on his back, sweating in the steamy cottage, but adamant in his refusal to open the shutters for ventilation.

“Decent of you to call upon me,” he says as I enter.

“Feeling better, I hope?”

“I'm afraid not,” Dr. Ludtz replies. His breathing is labored, and his voice comes to me through a slight, gurgling wheeze. “The fever has not broken yet,” he says. “As a matter of fact, it is getting worse.”

“Do you want an ice compress?”

“I tried that. It gave me a chill. I can't bear chills, Dr. Langhof.”

Completely bald, his face flushed and puffy, Dr. Ludtz looks like an ancient baby.

“But an ice compress might help, Doctor,” I tell him.

Dr. Ludtz shakes his head vigorously. “No, no. Thank you, but I can't bear chills.”

In the heat of the Republic, he has lost his endurance for cold. He is now a creature of the tropics, one for whom the slightest breeze is frigid.

“I suppose you're making preparations for El Presidente?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“I saw the tent. Very nice.”

I nod. “Don Camillo commented on it. I told him it was your idea.”

“And he seemed pleased?” Dr. Ludtz asks anxiously.

“Very pleased. He commented upon the appropriateness of the gesture.”

“Very good,” Dr. Ludtz says. “Very good of you to mention me to him.”

“I'm sure El Presidente will be pleased, as well.”

“He might think it vulgar, do you suppose?” Dr. Ludtz asks worriedly.

“I'm sure not, Dr. Ludtz. Don't trouble yourself about it. Have you been able to sleep?”

“Only a little,” Dr. Ludtz says. “Snatches. No more than an hour at a time.”

In the Camp, he sometimes slept well, sometimes fitfully, depending on the progress of his research. During the freezing experiments he slept well, but during the tetanus studies he was ill at ease.

“I brought a bottle of brandy for you,” I tell him. I lift the bottle toward him. “It's the last of our supply. I'll have to order more soon.”

“Then save it … please, Dr. Langhof … save it,” Dr. Ludtz stammers, the wheezing becoming suddenly more intense. “El Presidente … what if … he might want brandy?”

“There'll be other things for El Presidente. This is for us.” I take two small brandy snifters from a bag, place them on the table, and pour the brandy. As it pours from the mouth of the bottle it sounds like someone breathing through a wound in the throat.

I hand Dr. Ludtz the glass and raise my own next to his, clinking them together lightly. “To your health, Dr. Ludtz. To a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Ludtz says. With difficulty he brings the rim of the glass to his lips and drinks. A small brown stream runs down one side of his mouth and off his chin. “Look at this,” Dr. Ludtz says, embarrassed. “Spilled it … oh, ridiculous”

I wipe his chin and shirt collar with my handkerchief. “Difficult to drink lying down,” I tell him.

“Yes, yes … that's it … difficult.”

I take the glass and begin to pour another for him.

“No, no … with great thanks … enough.”

“The fever should break tonight, Doctor,” I tell him. “By morning the worst should be over.” In the Camp, I once helped Dr. Ludtz string a line of aspirin in the air. Those with a certain temperature were allowed to lick it once; those with a slightly higher fever were allowed to lick it twice; those with an even higher fever were sent to another ward and given phenol.

“It is …” Dr. Ludtz begins, then breaks off and coughs slightly into his fist. “It is worse.”

“Well, that always happens before it gets better. You know that, Dr. Ludtz.”

Dr. Ludtz nods very slightly, his eyes closing as he does so.

“Is there anything I can get for you?”

“The rebels … are they …”

“Nowhere near us, Dr. Ludtz. Really, you shouldn't even bother with such matters. The Federales have the situation well in hand.”

Dr. Ludtz is not convinced.

I smile. “Do you really think El Presidente would permit such a ridiculous rabble to overthrow him?”

“It has happened … other places.”

“But not here, I assure you. Never here.”

As the enemy troops approached the Camp, I remember him scurrying back and forth, hurling stacks of paper into a large ashcan. It was raining and there was no gasoline to keep the fire burning, so the papers began to smolder rather than to burn. Dr. Ludtz became frantic, scooping up huge armfuls of medical files and ripping at them furiously as he squatted in the mud, sobbing with terror, the visor of his cap singed and smoking.

“I hope … you're right,” Dr. Ludtz says. He seems to need all his strength to breathe, gulping the air down as if it has turned liquid.

“You need to rest, Doctor,” I tell him. “Tomorrow morning you may wake up completely relieved.

“Friday … El Presidente,” Dr. Ludtz says.

“Yes. But don't worry. He'll understand if you're ill.”

“El Presidente …” Dr. Ludtz breathes.

I get up quickly. “Please now, Doctor, you can't expect to improve if you don't relax. Get some rest. Sleep well. And perhaps you'll be quite fit by the time El Presidente arrives.”

Dr. Ludtz lifts his fingers from his chest. “Thank you … good of you … I …”

“No more, Doctor,” I insist. “Sleep, that's what you need. Build up your strength. I'll be by to see you sometime tomorrow.”

I ease myself toward him and squeeze his hand softly. “Good night, Dr. Ludtz.”

“Yes … good night … thank you.”

On that last day in the Camp, he had almost lost control of himself. Coming back from the pit, I heard him whimpering through the billowing smoke, through the heavy rumble of the enemy guns a few kilometers away. He sat, bespattered with mud, one sleeve of his uniform torn and drooping down toward his elbow, exposing a bloody arm. By then he had ceased ripping at the papers, but had deposited a pile of them in front of him, taking one sheet from the top, tearing it into slivers, then shoving the slivers into his mouth, where he chewed slowly, like a cow eating daisies. I could hear some of the prisoners battering against the doors of the empty supply houses. I ran over to Ludtz and shouted his name. But he did not look up. So I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, dragging him with me out of the Camp — I think now, as a souvenir.

Part V