Vienna Secrets by Frank Tallis

in mine, there’s a good chap.” The young man drifted out of consciousness, and when he came to again, he said, “They’re not going to keep me in here for very much longer, are they?” A note of anxiety had crept into his voice.
    “No,” said Liebermann.
    “Good. What did you say your name was?”
    “Liebermann.”
    “Ah yes… Liebermann.” Von Kortig’s breath was suddenly labored. “Look, there’s nothing wrong, is there?”
    “Wrong?”
    “Well, to be honest, I’m not feeling too good.”
    “You need rest, that’s all. Close your eyes. Get some sleep.”
    “That’s not a bad idea. I am feeling awfully tired.”
    Von Kortig’s eyelids slowly closed.
    Liebermann, moved by the terrible irony of their exchange, looked away. Through a gap in the screen he could see the entrance to the anteroom. Nurse Heuber appeared—and behind her stood a priest. Liebermann got up quietly and walked to the other end of the ward.
    “I trust I am not too late, Herr Doctor,” said the priest, a man not very much older than Liebermann. “Nurse Heuber did her best.” He turned to face the nurse and smiled.
    “Thank you for coming. But…” Liebermann grimaced. “I am not altogether sure that your ministrations will be in the patient’s best interests.”
    “Oh? Why do you say that?” The question was not interrogative, merely curious.
    “He is ignorant of his condition. He is not suffering, and because of the brain disease, the morphine, or both, he is under the impression that he will be discharged shortly… and he is looking forward to spending the summer in a hunting lodge with friends.”
    The priest glanced at the nurse, and then at the aspirant.
    “I understood that the young baron is close to death.”
    “He is,” said Liebermann. “That is my point: he is very close to death, but is also blissfully unaware of his predicament. He will pass away within the hour—within minutes, perhaps. I fear that conducting the last rites will rouse him from his dreams. Such a rude awakening might cause him considerable distress.”
    “You would have him die… in ignorance?”
    “No. I would have him die happy rather than fearful.”
    “I have no intention of frightening him. I only wish to offer him the consolation—the balm—of his own religion.”
    The priest had pronounced “his own” with sufficient emphasis to make his point.
    “With the greatest respect, I am a doctor. And I must decide what is correct in that capacity alone—and no other. My single concern is for my patient’s welfare. It was not my intention to question your religious authority, the sanctity of your beliefs, or your good intentions.”
    “But that is exactly what you are doing, Herr Doctor. Baron von Kortig is a Catholic. I am a priest. In the same way that you have obligations, so have I! Do you really expect me to let the baron die in a state of sin? Please… you have already said that we have little time. Please, Herr Doctor, would you stand aside?”
    “I am sorry, but I can’t let you go through. I have been charged with certain responsibilities and I must honor them.” The priest moved forward, and Liebermann stretched his arm across the doorway. “I’m sorry.”
    The priest looked from the nurse to the aspirant.
    “Please, you must help me. We cannot let this godless—” He stopped himself from using the word “Jew” and began again. “Please, I beg you. The fate of a man’s soul is at stake.”
    Edlinger stood up.
    “Father Benedikt has a point, Herr Doctor. What I mean to say is, if the baron were lucid, able to know his own mind, he might actually want absolution. Who are we, as medical men, to deny him a religious sacrament?”
    “It was not my impression that the baron led a very spiritual existence.”
    “All the more reason to let me through!” said the priest angrily.
    “Nurse Heuber,” said Liebermann calmly, “could you please go and make sure that Baron von Kortig is comfortable?”
    He