The Visitor at the Zoo

VIII

WHEN the young man woke up, he was in a narrow bed in a white-tiled room. Wires that came out of the bed were stuck to his head, arms and legs with sticky elastic bands. He plucked at them irritably, but they would not come off.

He looked around. There was a doorway, open, but no window. In the corner, behind a single wall that half concealed it, was a W.C. In the other corner was a flimsy plastic chair and a reading light, but nothing to read.

The young man tried to get up, pulling at the wires, and discovered they had silvery joints that would break apart. He got out of bed, trailing the wires.

After a moment a stout woman in nurse’s uniform came in, and clucked her tongue at him. “Up, are you? Who told you you could?”

“I want to use the W.C.,” he told her plaintively.

“Well, go ahead, then back into bed with you. Herr Doktor Holderlein hasn’t seen you yet.” To his mild surprise, she stood with hands folded in front of her and watched while he used the toilet. Then she pushed him back and made him lie down, while she snicked the silvery joints of the wires together again, all around the bed. “Lie still,” she told him. “No more nonsense. Here is the bell - ring if you want anything.”

She showed him a plastic knob on the end of a flex cord, and went away, “Am I sick?” he called after her, but she did not come back.

The young man tried once more to pull off the elastic bands, then gave it up. His last memories were confused. He could remember falling into the net, and being held down while he struggled. Then a feeling of being carried, a glimpse of many legs walking. … Then nothing, until he found himself in a whitewalled tiny room with bars instead of a door. His clothes were gone, and he was wearing gray pajamas. No one had come in answer to his calling, until he began to bang on the bars with a steel pot he found in the room, and then a man came and squirted water on him from a spray-gun. So he did not bang any more, but sat and shivered.

He remembered falling asleep and waking up at least twice in that room. Once he had been fed. Then two men had come to fetch him, and they had given him his own clothes again, and coffee to drink, which he liked. Then they had taken him down a long corridor into a crowded room, and told him to wait. At the end of the room, behind a high counter, was a man in red robes, with a red floppy hat. The young man knew from his watching of television that this man was a judge, and that he was going to be sentenced …

Now, here he was in still another place. Time passed. The young man was growing hungry, but did not dare ring the bell. At last an orderly came in with a cart, and he was allowed to sit up and eat. It was almost like the Zoo. Then the orderly came back for his plate, and hooked him up to the wires again; and for a long time nothing else happened.

The young man was bewildered. Why was he here? What had the judge and that other man been whispering about, down at the end of the room, and why had the judge looked so annoyed when he glanced his way?

This place was better than the jail, it would not do to complain -but if he was not sick, then why was he here?

Bells tinkled outside. Every now and then people passed his doorway, walking rapidly, with soft soles that swished and squeaked on the tile floor.

Then the nurse came in again. “You are in luck,” she told him. “Herr Doktor Holderlein says you may see Herr Doktor Boehmer today.” She yanked his wires apart briskly, then helped him up. “Come, don’t keep the doctor waiting!”

SHE took his elbow and led him down the hall, where messages in colored letters rippled silently along the walls, to an office where a man with a bushy mustache sat behind a desk. On the desk was a card that said Hr. Dr. Boehmer.

The doctor gave the young man a long measuring look, and unscrewed a thick old-fashioned tacrograph slowly. “Sit down, please.” He began writing on a pad. “Now then. Can you tell me your name?”

The young man hesitated only a moment. If he said Fritz, he knew very well they would send him back to the Zoo. “Martin Naumchik, Herr Doktor, he said.

“Occupation?”

“Journalist.”

The doctor nodded slowly, writing. “And your address?”

“Gastnerstrasse.”

“And the number?”

The young man tried to remember, but could not.

Doktor Boehmer pursed his heavy lips. “You seem a little confused. How long is it since you were in your apartment in Gastnerstrasse?”

The young man shifted uncomfortably. “I think, three-or, no, four days.”

“You really don’t remember.” Doktor Boehmer wrote something slowly, in his thick black handwriting, across the ruled pad. The young man watched him with apprehension.

“Well then, perhaps you can tell me the date?”

“June 10th, Herr Doktor … or perhaps the 11th.”

Boehmer’s bushy eyebrows went up a trifle. “Very good. And who is the president of the High Council, can you tell me that?”

“Herr Professor Onderdonck … is that right?”

“No, not quite right. He was president last year.” Bohmer wrote something else slowly on the pad. “Well now.” He folded his heavy arms across the pad, holding the big black tacrograph as if it were a cigar. “Tell me, do you remember being in the department store?”

“Oh, yes, Herr Doktor.”

“And hiding upstairs, and coming down during the day?”

“Yes, Herr Doktor.”

“And why did you do that?” The young man hesitated, opening and closing his mouth several times.

“You can tell me, Herr Naumchik. Go ahead. Why did you do it?”

The young man said helplessly, “Because I had nowhere else to go, Herr Doktor.”

Boehmer slowly unfolded his arms and made another mark on the pad. He reached without looking and touched a bell-push at the corner of his desk. “I see. Well then, Herr Naumchik, tomorrow at the same time, is it agreed?”

“Yes, Herr Doktor.” The nurse entered and stood holding the door open. The young man rose docilely and went out.

“Doctor says you can sleep without the wires tonight,” said the nurse briskly as they entered his room again. Breathing heavily through her nose, she stood close to him and began peeling off the elastic bands. “Don’t squirm,” she said.

“It hurts.”

“Nonsense, this takes only a moment. There.” She wadded up the bands, wrapped the wires around them and turned to leave. “Lie down now, rest.”

“But nurse, why do I have to be here? Am I sick?” the young man asked.

She turned and stared at him briefly. “Of course, you are sick. But you are getting much better. Now rest.” She waddled out.

AFTER a long time there was supper, and then pills to swallow. When he woke up, it was morning again.

“Good news!” cried the nurse, entering to plump up his pillows. “You have a visitor today!”

“I have?” the young man asked. His heart began to beat faster. He could not imagine who it could be. Someone from the Zoo?

“A young lady,” said the nurse archly.

“What’s her name? I don’t know any young lady.”

“All in good time. Eat your breakfast now, then comes the barber to shave you, and next you will see your friend.”

She left. The young man rubbed at the furry growth on his cheeks and chin. Shaving he knew, but not how it was done. It would be good to be shaved.

After breakfast the barber came in, a short, dark man in a white coat, who plugged a buzzing machine into the wall and applied it, with a bored expression, to the young man’s whiskers. At first it pulled and hurt him, then it was better, and at last the hair was all gone. His skin stopped itching and felt delightfully smooth to the touch.

He waited impatiently. An orderly came and gave him a comb, and he combed his hair in the mirror, several ways, until he thought it was correct.

Then he still had to wait. At last the nurse came in again, looked at him critically, and said, “Very good! Follow me!”

She took him to a little room with windows, rather bare and clean, with upholstered chairs and magazines in a rack. In the room stood a woman in a blue dress. There was a man in a white coat a little behind her. Glancing from one to the other, the young man recognized Herr Doktor Boehmer almost at once, but it was only when the woman stepped forward that he knew her. She was the woman in the store-the one who had slapped him.

“Oh, my poor Martin, what has happened to you?” she wailed, putting out her arms.

The young man stepped back nervously. “They say I am sick,” he muttered, watching her closely.

“You identify our young friend, then, Frau Schorr?” asked the doctor amiably.

“He doesn’t remember me,” she said in a tight voice. “But it’s Martin, of course it’s Martin.”

“And you are his-”

The woman bit her lip. “His sister. Will they let me take him away, Herr Doktor, do you think?”

“That depends on many things, Frau Schorr,” said the doctor severely. Come into my office when you are finished, and let us discuss it in detail.

“Yes, in a moment,” she said, turning back to the young man. “Martin, you would like to go with me?”

He hesitated. It was true that she did not seem so excitable as before, but who knew when the mood might not take her again?

“To get away from this place?” she asked.

The young man made up his mind. “Yes, please, I would like it.”

She smiled at him and turned to the doctor. “Very good, Herr Doktor, now I am at your service. Until very soon, Martin …” They both went out. In a few moments the nurse came to lead him back to his cubicle.

Then, although the young man waited expectantly, nothing happened except lunch. After the meal was cleared away he waited again, growing indignant, but hours went by and still no one came.

The orderly brought his dinner. He began to feel frightened. Suppose something had gone wrong, and the woman was never coming back at all?

The nurse would not answer his questions, but kept repeating stupid things like, “Wait and see. Don’t be so impatient. Why are you in such a hurry?” She gave him pills to take, and insisted on hooking him up to the wires again. Then he woke up, and again it was morning.

“Good news!” cried the nurse cheerily, entering the room. “They are going to release you today!”

“THEY are?” the young man asked eagerly. He tried to clamber out of bed, but was brought up short. “Devil take them!” he shouted, tearing at the wires. “Nurse, get me my clothes!”

“Temper, temper!” she said, raising her hands in mock dismay. “Can’t you wait even till after breakfast? Such impatience!” She disconnected the wires at the joints and tucked them neatly away. “Nothing was ever done in a hurry,” she went on. “There, go, wash yourself. All in good time.” She bustled out.

The young man cleaned himself and combed his hair again. It was hard to sit still. Breakfast came and he ate Some of it, thinking, “Now she is almost here.”

But more hours passed in the same endless way as before. What could have gone wrong? He stood in the doorway and waited for the nurse; at last she came.

He held out his hand. “Nurse, when are they going to let me out?”

“Soon, soon,” she said, slipping past him. “Go and comb your hair-don’t worry. It won’t be long.”

“But you said that this morning!” the young man shouted after her. It was no use. She was gone.

When he had been sitting for a long time, staring blankly at the floor, an orderly came in. “Your hair is a fright,” he said. The orderly himself had carefully waved hair, gleaming with oil. “Here, use my comb,” he said.

“When are they going to let me go?”

“I don’t know. Soon,” the orderly said indifferently, and went away.

Lunch time came. Now the young man realized that it was all a cruel joke. He lay down on the bed, leaving his dishes untouched.

There was a clatter at the door. The orderly entered, pushing a metal rack on which some clothes were hung. Watching incredulously, the young man recognized the trousers and surcoat he had been wearing before; the coat was ripped up the side, and the sleeve was grimy with some sticky, odorous mass.

“Put them on,” said the orderly. “Orders.” He went away again The young man dressed himself awkwardly. His heart was beating very fast, and he has trouble deciding which way some of the things went on. At last it was done, and he combed his hair carefully all over again.

Then he waited. Footstep came and went hurriedly in the corridor; white-jacketed figure passed and repassed. A bell jangled, and a boy in a purple rob went by carrying a candle in glass bowl, followed by a man in black robes, head down, mumbling something to himself. The bell dwindled in the distance.

A burst of laughter sounds from somewhere not far away “Well, you know what I would have told him!” a hearty male voice exclaimed. Then two voice began speaking together, in lower tones, and the young man could not make out any more of the words.

Footsteps approached the door again. In walked a woman.

AT FIRST he did not recognize her as Frau Schorr. She was more formally dressed than the day before, in a puffed skirt and overdress under which the shape of her body could hardly be made out. She looked pale and nervous and did not meet his eyes.

“Martin, they promised they would release you at nine-thirty this morning,” she said at once, “and here it is almost-”

“Madame Schorr,” the orderly interrupted, putting his head in at the door, “they are blinking for you to come down to the office at once.”

“Oh, my God!” said the woman and, turning around, she walked out again.

The young man waited. At last Frau Schorr entered, walking rapidly. This time she looked flushed and energetic. “Come, quickly, she said, taking his arm, before they change their minds.”

“I can go?” he asked.

“Yes, it is all arranged. Hurry!”

She led him down the white hall, past the blinking colored letters on the wall. There were potted plants at every intersection of corridors - always the same plant, with shiny saw-toothed leaves.

They got into a rapid elevator of the kind the young man had seen in the store. It opened for them, clicked shut and with a dizzy swoop they were hurtling downward; then another swoop in the reverse direction, a click, and they were standing on the gray tile floor of a large lobby, with enormous windows of clear glass through which the young man could see the central tower of the Flugbahn, glittering in the sunlight against a sky of pure blue.

“Hurry!” said the woman, lead him to another elevator. This one was the spiral kind. They dropped through a glass tube, past dark walls at first, then, startlingly, into the daylight.

What had happened to the building? The young man craned his neck, saw the titanic slab of masonry receding above his head. They had emerged from the bottom of the hospital, which was supported high in the air on concrete legs. Around them bright green lawns and flowering shrubs were visible. Only one other building could be seen in the middle distance, and that was a single, carelessly carved block of pink stone, without windows or visible entrances. Beyond, the rooftops of a few buildings showed over the treetops.

The elevator went underground without pausing, and a moment later they were in the white, flat light of a subterranean tunnel. As they left the elevator, an oval car drifted up on two fat wheels. It stopped, and the transparent top swung open. There was no driver The young man hung back, but Frau Schorr urged him in. They sat down on the deep cushions; the top hesitated, then slowly dropped and latched with a click. The woman leaned forward. “Take us to the Fiedler platz exit, please.”

After a pause, a mechanical voice spoke from the grille facing them. “That will be two marks ten, please.” The woman fumbled in her purse, found a piece of paper money and put it into a slot beside the grille. “Thank you,” said the voice; coins clattered into a metal cup. The woman picked them out carefully and put them away as the car glided into motion.

They did not seem to be moving fast, but the young man felt himself pressed back into the cushions, and the white lights of the tunnel whisked by at a dizzying rate.

Other cars were visible far ahead and behind. Now the tunnel forked, the left-hand branch turning downward, the righthand one up. Their car whirled to the left without losing speed. At a second fork, they turned right, rising again.

The car glided to a stop beside an elevator, identical to the one they had taken from the hospital. The top swung back.

A little dizzy from so much rapid motion, the young man followed the woman into the elevator. As the car rose in the tube, another car with two men and a child in it whirled down past them in the counter-spiral. It made the young man feel ill to watch them, and he shut his eyes.

NOW they were aboveground once more. The street was full of cool blue shadow, but over their heads the sun was still warm on the facades. Taking his arm again, the woman led him across the empty pavement to one of the entrances, over which the young man read the number “109” in silver letters.

In the lobby, she paused, one gloved hand going to her mouth. “You have your key?” she asked.

“Key?” The young man explored his pockets, brought up the key on the gold ring. “Is this it?”

She took it with relief. “Yes, I’m quite sure. Come.”

They entered another elevator, an ordinary straight-up one this time, and the woman spoke to the grille, “Three.”

They emerged into a narrow hallway carpeted in beige and green. Frau Schorr led the way directly to a door numbered 3C, opened it with the key.

Inside, they found themselves in greenish dimness.

The room was small, with a narrow bed, a table with some coffee things, a typewriter on a desk. There was no dust, but the air had a stale, bottled-up smell.

The woman crossed to the windows and threw back the green draperies, letting in the sunlight. She touched a button on the control panel over the bed, and at once fresh air began to whisper into the room.

“Well, here you are then!” said the woman happily. “Your own little room again …” She paused. “But you don’t remember this, either?”

The young man was looking around. He had never seen the room before, and did not much care for it. “Isn’t there any television?” he asked.

The woman studied him for a moment, then went to the control panel again, touched another button. A picture on the wall opened and folded back, revealing a TV screen, which instantly bloomed into life. A man’s smiling face loomed toward them, gigantic, all-swallowing, while laughter roared from the wall. Then the sound died, the open-mouthed face shrank and disappeared as the woman touched the controls again.

The halves of the picture jerked, flapped, slid together.

“What’s the matter?” asked the woman.

“I didn’t know it was going to do that,” said the young man, quivering.

She looked at him thoughtfully. I see. She put the tips of her gloved fingers to her lips. “Martin, you know this is your own room. It doesn’t remind you at all? I thought perhaps when you saw it—no. I think it’s better that you don’t stay here, Martin, Come, help me.”

She crossed briskly to the opposite wall, slid back a panel, took out two pieces of luggage. She laid them open on the bed, then crossed the room again, pulled a drawer out of the wall, scooped up a pile of clothing. “Here, take these.” She dumped the clothing into his arms. “You put everything on the bed, I’ll pack.”

“But where are we going?” he asked, carrying his burden obediently across the room.

“To my apartment,” she said. She picked up the clothes, straightened them neatly, began to pack them into the larger of the two suitcases. “Go, get more.”

THE YOUNG man went back, found another drawer under the first. There were nothing but socks in this one. He brought dutifully over to the bed.

“And if Frau Biefleder doesn’t like it, let her choke!” said the woman, punching shirts down into the open suitcase with brisk, angry motions.

Understanding nothing, the young man did as he was told. All the clothing, including two sets of overgarments, went into the larger suitcase. The other case, which was very flat and narrow, was filled with papers from the desk. Frau Schorr took both suitcases, and the young man carried the typewriter in its case. They went down again in the elevator, across the street, down the other elevator, and got into a cab exactly like the one that had brought them.

This time they emerged into a more populous street. Carrying their suitcases, they crossed the open area past a group of strolling girls, a tall boy on a unicycle, a flower vendor.

There were shops on either side, with interesting things displayed in their windows, but Frau Schorr would not let him linger. They turned the first corner to the left, entered a building faced with blue stone. In the lobby sat a little white-haired old lady with a face full of wrinkles. “Good afternoon, Frau Beifelder,” said Frau Schorr stiffly. The old woman did not reply, but stared after them with tiny, redrimmed eyes.

“It’s good for her to be shocked a little, after all,” muttered Frau Schorr as they crowded into the elevator. She looked distressed. The young man would have liked to comfort her, but did not understand what was the matter, so he said nothing.

Upstairs, the hall was tiny, with only two red-enameled doors. “Well, here we are at last!” said the woman brightly, opening the first of these.

Inside was a sunny and comfortable-looking room, with bright colors in the upholstery and rugs. As they entered, a tawny cat leaped down from the window seat and came toward them, pale blue eyes staring from a masked face.

The young man looked at it in surprise. He had never seen a housecat before, except in pictures-only the big ones in the Zoo, and those from a distance.

“Is it fierce?” he asked.

“Maggie?” said the woman, looking puzzled. “Whatever do you mean?” She stooped to pick up the cat, which was staring at the young man with its back arched, making a low wailing noise. When she lifted it, it hung limply from her hand for a moment like a furpiece, then writhed once and leaped to the floor.

The wailing sound grew louder. The fur along the cat’s back was ruffled.

“Oh, dear!” said the woman. “Maggie, don’t you remember Martin?” She turned to him in bewilderment. She is upset. “Sit down, dear, everything is going to be all right. Take off your surcoat and rest a little. You shall have some coffee and sandwiches in a moment.” The cat was advancing, stiff-legged; she pushed it away with her foot. With an angry screech, it retreated to the windowseat again and tucked itself together into a ball. Its blue eyes grew narrow, but whenever the young man moved they widened and its mouth opened in a sharp-toothed smile.

“I can’t imagine what is the matter with her,” said Frau Schorr from the next room. A cupboard door banged shut; a pot clattered. “She is such an affectionate creature, and she always liked you, Martin.”

Wanting to examine a picture on the opposite wall, the young man took one or two steps toward it, watching the cat out of the corner of his eye.

The animal stared back at him and made a faint hissing noise, but did not move. Emboldened, the young man crossed the room and looked at the picture closely, but still could not decide what it represented.

APALLED, he turned away, just as something squat and dirty-white waddled into view from the hall doorway. It looked up at him out of tiny red eyes and made a wheezing sound. Spittle hung from the loose lips of its enormously wide mouth, and two discolored fangs stuck up from the lower jaw. It stared at the young man in astonishment for a moment, then the gray-white hair on its shoulders rose stiffly and it made a menacing noise. The young man raised a hand. The animal began to bark, dancing about in the doorway, its eyes bulging insanely to show the yellowish, bloodshot whites.

The young man backed away as far as he could go.

“Churchill!” called the woman from the kitchen. The dog turned its head toward her voice, but went on barking. “Churchill!” she called again, and in a moment came hurriedly into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Shame!” she said, glancing at the young man. “Churchill, what is the matter with you?” The barking continued.

“Now then!” said the woman, slapping the infuriated animal on the snout with her palm. The dog hiccoughed, shook its head and stared up at her with a surprised expression. It barked once more. The woman slapped it again, more gently. “No, Churchill - shame! This is Martin, don’t you remember? He has forgotten you, she said apologetically over her shoulder. Go on now, back to your rug, Churchill. Bad dog, go on!” She herded the dog through the doorway. It moved stiffly backward, then turned reluctantly and disappeared, wheezing and snuffing. A final bark sounded from the next room.

“Oh, dear,” said the woman.

“I’m so sorry, Martin. Excuse me a moment-the coffee.” She went back into the kitchen, and the young man, slightly unnerved, began trotting back and forth beside the low bookshelves, looking at the titles of the books.

At the far corner of the room he came upon a tiny cage suspended from a polished brass stand. There was a beige cloth cover on the cage. Curious, he plucked up the edge of the cloth and peered inside. In the dimness, a tiny bird with green and violet feathers was perched on a miniature trapeze. One pin-sized golden eye blinked at him; the creature said, “Weep?”

The young man closed the cover again. It is just like the Zoo, he thought.

The woman returned, looking flustered, with a tray in her hands. On the tray were sandwiches and coffee. She set it down on the table in front of the sofa. “Now come, eat, Martin, you must be hungry.” She made him sit on the sofa, and while he dutifully ate the sandwiches and drank the good coffee, she sat opposite him in the upholstered chair, hands clasped in her lap, smiling faintly as she watched him eat. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion. A few strands of dark hair had escaped from her coiffure and hung over her forehead.

“Yes, eat, that is good,” she said. “Would you like some music, Martin?” The young man nodded, with his mouth full. The woman rose, went to a machine in the corner and punched several buttons. After a moment the machine began to emit music, something slow and soothing, played by an orchestra with many violins. The young man listened with pleasure, waving his sandwich.

The woman sighed, then smiled. “No. You don’t remember, do you?” she asked.

“Remember what?”

“The music. We used often to dial it … never mind.” She crossed to the machine again and touched it; the music stopped. “But it’s really true, then, that you don’t remember anything?”

“I think I do,” said the young man, lying cautiously. “You are my sister-”

“No!” said the woman vehemently. “That’s not true at all. You don’t remember.” Her mouth was compressed and her eyes were closed.

“But then why did you tell the doctor that you were my sister?” the young man demanded, bewildered.

“Because I had to be a member of your family, or they would not have let me sign you out.”

The young man swallowed, thinking this over. He laid his sandwich down. But if you are not my sister-”

“Yes?”

“Then what are you?”

The woman’s face colored, and she glanced away. “Never mind, Martin … just a friend. We are just friends. Hand me those cigarettes, won’t you, Martin?”

He followed her glance; there was nothing on the low table beside him but an ashtray and an enameled box. He lifted the lid: Correct, there were cigarettes inside.

She took one, lit it with a tiny rose-quartz lighter, tilted her head back to puff out a long streamer of smoke. With her left hand she was absently setting the black pieces in their places.

“Don’t you want one?” she asked.

The young man looked dubiously at the white cylinders. He had never tried to smoke a cigarette, but doubtless it was one of the things he should learn.

He put one gingerly between his lips, took it out again and looked at it, then replaced it and touched the other end with the lighter. He sucked cautiously; the cigarette glowed. Cool, bittertasting smoke ran into his mouth. Before he realized what he was doing, he breathed some of it into his lungs, where it felt astonishingly good. He took another pull at the cigarette. He realized with grateful delight that the smoke was somehow soothing one of the urgent discomforts he had been feeling all this time, ever since he had left the Zoo.

“How good that is!” he said, staring at the burning cylinder.

The woman’s eyes filled with tears. She leaned forward and put put her cheek against his. Her arms went around him convulsively.

“Oh, darling, had you forgotten that too?” she said weeping.