go now,” he said to her. “It is getting late and I must go.”
“Herbert, I am so frightened,” burst out Adeline.
“You are right,” he said to her sadly. “You would have been happier with my brother.”
“Don’t leave me,” Adeline pleaded.
“But my darling, I’ll be back tomorrow. You know that,” he said in a soft, coaxing voice, as if to a child: the child she had become.
“I am nothing,” he thought, and a great weight fell onto his heart.
Chapter 5
THE GOOD DOKTOR
A drum roll, a tympani, a clanging together of garbage can lids heralded the start of a new day. Dr. Felix sat in his office on New York’s Upper East Side. He surveyed the loving photographs inscribed to him that beamed down from the walls. Beside him, his little dachshund, Schatzie, sat soberly, her jowls grizzling and quivering as she waited for her master to feed her just one more lump of sugar before the day actually began. “Hush,
mein Liebchen,
” said Felix, reproving the dog, and at the same time stroking the folds of her flesh, so silky, furred with a fringe of black and white hairs. Schatzie licked his hand.
Felix surveyed the crumpled papers he held, papers taken from under Herbert’s mattress, reading and rereading them. “Knight to a2,” he read. “Pawn 3 to d5.” He threw the papers down in frustration. “Aach!” Chess moves! That was all they were! Herbert planning out chess moves, playing against himself, as always. And for that, Felix had risked discovery. He was fed up. And yet, what if this was code? “Hmmm, Schatzie. What do you think?” The dog nuzzled Felix’s hand with a spongy, plush nose.
Every day for the past week, Felix had sat in his office, waiting for the children. And each day, in mounting frustration, he read and reread the papers he had salvaged from Herbert’s cot, trying to find the secrets that lay within the careful handwriting. But it was to no avail. Felix sighed to himself and put the papers back in the little upper drawer of the desk, locking it firmly and putting the key in his pocket again. He offered the dog another sugar lump, and Schatzie, groaning slightly, struggled to her feet and wagged her stump of a tail.
In the examining room and in the entryway that led to it, photographs of children looked down at Felix and his current patients. Their sweet little faces and unblinking dark eyes stared out at the world. “For my beloved Uncle Felix.” “To Felix with all my love,” “Dear Felix, how will I ever forget you?” The words were written again and again over the bottom of the photographs, usually in elegant upward loops, sometimes with a trailing line beneath the sentiments. The handwriting on the pictures was like flowers, decorating the elaborate costumes of the children, the white dresses, the silken curls, the little boys in suits, sailor or otherwise, the girls in white lace dresses with intricate sleeves and wide sashes. All stared soulfully out of the silver frames that guarded them, watching Felix at work every day as he cared for children, the children of America. “The children of America,” thought Felix. But they were in truth very like the children of Europe, for they were, most of them, the same children. Only less elegant, less graceful, less courteous. For these were the children of Europeans in America, those who had managed to survive. And a sorry lot they were.
Felix scratched his bushy head, where the gray hairs sprouted like Struwwelpeter’s. He consulted his watch yet again, taking it out of the pocket where it lay and screwing his monocle to his eye in order to regard it better. He had the impression time stopped here in New York. The apartment was silent, the floors creaked on their own, and pipes hissed. But Felix was lonely. If it were not for Schatzie, he realized, he would have given up long ago. He tried not to think of Marthe, and of what had befallen her. It was his own fault. His father had warned him not to marry a
“Herbert, I am so frightened,” burst out Adeline.
“You are right,” he said to her sadly. “You would have been happier with my brother.”
“Don’t leave me,” Adeline pleaded.
“But my darling, I’ll be back tomorrow. You know that,” he said in a soft, coaxing voice, as if to a child: the child she had become.
“I am nothing,” he thought, and a great weight fell onto his heart.
Chapter 5
THE GOOD DOKTOR
A drum roll, a tympani, a clanging together of garbage can lids heralded the start of a new day. Dr. Felix sat in his office on New York’s Upper East Side. He surveyed the loving photographs inscribed to him that beamed down from the walls. Beside him, his little dachshund, Schatzie, sat soberly, her jowls grizzling and quivering as she waited for her master to feed her just one more lump of sugar before the day actually began. “Hush,
mein Liebchen,
” said Felix, reproving the dog, and at the same time stroking the folds of her flesh, so silky, furred with a fringe of black and white hairs. Schatzie licked his hand.
Felix surveyed the crumpled papers he held, papers taken from under Herbert’s mattress, reading and rereading them. “Knight to a2,” he read. “Pawn 3 to d5.” He threw the papers down in frustration. “Aach!” Chess moves! That was all they were! Herbert planning out chess moves, playing against himself, as always. And for that, Felix had risked discovery. He was fed up. And yet, what if this was code? “Hmmm, Schatzie. What do you think?” The dog nuzzled Felix’s hand with a spongy, plush nose.
Every day for the past week, Felix had sat in his office, waiting for the children. And each day, in mounting frustration, he read and reread the papers he had salvaged from Herbert’s cot, trying to find the secrets that lay within the careful handwriting. But it was to no avail. Felix sighed to himself and put the papers back in the little upper drawer of the desk, locking it firmly and putting the key in his pocket again. He offered the dog another sugar lump, and Schatzie, groaning slightly, struggled to her feet and wagged her stump of a tail.
In the examining room and in the entryway that led to it, photographs of children looked down at Felix and his current patients. Their sweet little faces and unblinking dark eyes stared out at the world. “For my beloved Uncle Felix.” “To Felix with all my love,” “Dear Felix, how will I ever forget you?” The words were written again and again over the bottom of the photographs, usually in elegant upward loops, sometimes with a trailing line beneath the sentiments. The handwriting on the pictures was like flowers, decorating the elaborate costumes of the children, the white dresses, the silken curls, the little boys in suits, sailor or otherwise, the girls in white lace dresses with intricate sleeves and wide sashes. All stared soulfully out of the silver frames that guarded them, watching Felix at work every day as he cared for children, the children of America. “The children of America,” thought Felix. But they were in truth very like the children of Europe, for they were, most of them, the same children. Only less elegant, less graceful, less courteous. For these were the children of Europeans in America, those who had managed to survive. And a sorry lot they were.
Felix scratched his bushy head, where the gray hairs sprouted like Struwwelpeter’s. He consulted his watch yet again, taking it out of the pocket where it lay and screwing his monocle to his eye in order to regard it better. He had the impression time stopped here in New York. The apartment was silent, the floors creaked on their own, and pipes hissed. But Felix was lonely. If it were not for Schatzie, he realized, he would have given up long ago. He tried not to think of Marthe, and of what had befallen her. It was his own fault. His father had warned him not to marry a
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