House Call

Pete Philipps —

After a day of slashing rain, icy gusts swept in from the north, turning the rain to fast-falling snow that rapidly blanketed the patchwork of fields between the barn and the river. In the gathering dusk, the view from the small unglazed window brought memories flooding back of family skiing holidays and his boyhood dream of a berth on Germany’s Olympic team.

Moments later the squeaking of the trap door brought the present rushing back.

“Guten Abend, Herr Blumenfeld,” said Mrs. Maier as her head appeared in the opening. “What miserable weather.”

It was now six weeks since the Maiers had found him sleeping in the grove of trees behind their house, starving and confused. In one hand she held the kettle of hot water he had asked for; in the other, the familiar black cauldron with his supper.

“As good as can be expected,” he replied, his eyes wandering to the kettle of water. “Any new developments? She unwound her scarf and shook the snow from her woolen hat.

“I’ve brought you a surprise,” she said. “Something different for a change.”

“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”

She shook her head. “I am so proud of my husband.” Her thin lips parted into a smile. “To think that he still can hunt.”

“I can hardly wait,” Blumenfeld said.

Mrs. Maier seated herself on the milking stool and asked him how he felt.pments?” She sighed.

“I no longer know what to believe. My husband says everything we hear and read is false.” For a moment they sat in silence. Then, “One thing I can report is that rations of certain foods are being further reduced.”

“I’m afraid that —”

“We will manage. You needn’t worry.”

“How can I ever repay you?” The question had begun to ring insincere to him. “And at such risk.”

“You know it makes me uncomfortable when you say such things, Herr Blumenfeld.” She folded her hands in her lap. “We try to be good Christians, only doing what is decent and human.” She took a quick look around.

“Have you been sleeping any better?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to try a sleeping pill?”

He shook his head. “As I’ve said, I’m afraid it would make me—”

“I understand your concern.”

“I may have better luck tonight, provided this weather keeps the RAF home.”

“Isn’t it ironic how we sometimes don’t know what to wish for.”

Blumenfeld stifled a groan. Frau Maier got up. “You seem to be in pain,” she said. “I can see it on your face.”

“It’s nothing. Believe me.”

“Perhaps we should call our doctor.”

“Just a touch of lumbago,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“I know what it’s like to have a bad back.” She braced the small of her back with both hands. “A doctor could give you something to lessen the pain.”

“No, no. It’s too big a risk.”

“You needn’t be afraid. Our Doktor Klammer can be trusted. We have known him for many years.” She turned to leave. “I will speak to my husband.”

Blumenfeld reached for her hand. “Please don’t go just yet. You so remind me of my wife.”

Mrs. Maier spun around. “Your wife?” Her open mouth revealed several missing teeth. “I had no idea you are married.”

“Oh, yes.” “Why is she not with you?” He lowered his voice. “She passes for a gentile and refuses to go into hiding. She is posing as our landlady’s sister.”

Mrs. Maier sat down again. “How brave,” she said. “I will pray for your wife. May I ask her name?”

“Bianca.”

Mrs. Maier furrowed her brow. “But I am old,” she said. “How can I possibly remind you of your wife?”

“Because you both are defiant and courageous.”

“As I told you, my husband and I are only doing what is human.” She toyed with one end of her scarf. “Are there any children?”

“Fortunately, no.”

“I understand,” she said. “We very much wanted children. Now…” She gazed at the rafters. “Now I thank God we couldn’t.” She paused. “Where is your wife?”

“I prefer not to say.”

Mrs. Maier nodded. “You are quite right. Better my husband and I don’t know.” She rose and rewound the scarf around her neck. “Now I will go and tell my husband you need a doctor.”

At the sound of the outer door closing, he pulled down his pants and applied a hot compress to the boil on his inner thigh. Supper could wait. Hot or cold, it didn’t matter. Everything tasted the same. When the water became tepid, he lifted the lid of the iron pot and ate every morsel of Mrs. Maier’s rabbit stew. Then he lit the half-smoked cigarette he had saved.

The night was frigid and too dark to see out. Strong gusts lashed the side of the barn and rattled the rafters. No lights burned in the main house. He lay down on the straw palette, pulled the heavy horse blanket up to his chin, and fell asleep. How long he could not be sure when he was awakened by the sound of approaching aircraft. Shortly he heard the muffled sound of distant explosions. He pulled himself up to the window but saw only darkness. A few hours from now the Americans would follow the RAF.

At the first hint of dawn, he examined the swelling on his groin. Just then the trap door opened, and Mr. Maier’s head appeared. Blumenfeld tugged at his pants. “Thank God it’s you and not your wife.”

Mr. Maier approached the palette and pursed his lip. “My dear Blumenfeld,” he said. “I’m afraid my wife is right. We should let our doctor look at you.”

Blumenfeld tightened the cord around his pants. He said, “It will heal all by itself.” Then he said, “I hope you bring some good news.”

“You shouldn’t wait any longer. It looks infected. I assure you that Doktor Klammer is a fine man, a man from the old school.”

Racked by a sudden stab of pain, Blumenfeld remained silent.

“I understand your fear, but you need looking after.” Mr. Maier pulled the milking stool closer to the cot and sat down. “My father survived the last war a hero, winner of the Iron Cross, only to die from an abscess like yours.”

“I’m afraid that all is lost anyway.”

“You mustn’t think like that. Trust in the Lord to see you through. You also must think about your brave wife.”

“So, you know,” Blumenfeld said.

“Yes, my wife told me all about it. She is a daring woman, your wife.”

“What can you tell me about last night’s raid?”

“Essen again was the target. I’m told the destruction was devastating.”

Blumenfeld paused. Then he said, “The news your wife brought yesterday is not encouraging.”

“This war won’t last much longer. Sooner or later—”

“That’s what people said in fifteen, when the stalemate in the trenches was just beginning.”

Mr. Maier studied his maimed hand. “Surely you are too young to remember the last war,” he said. He picked up Blumenfeld’s oil lamp and peered inside. “This requires a refill.” He paused. Then, “Do you pray, if I may ask?”

He shook his head. “I have seen too many relatives and friends dragged from their homes to a certain death to believe in a loving and merciful God.”

Mr. Maier got up and walked to the tiny window. “Despite everything,” he said, “my wife and I have not lost faith. We pray every day that this madness will end soon.”

Blumenfeld remained silent. After a moment Mr. Maier continued, “I will pray for both you and your wife.”

“You are most kind and—”

Mr. Maier put a finger to his mouth. “Let’s get back to your…your condition. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with the stem of an unlit pipe. “Believe me. Doktor Klammer is a decent human being, a small man with a big heart.” He used his pipe to indicate that the doctor only came up to his shoulder.

“Please do not take any further risks for my sake.”

“It’s no use arguing. I will call Doktor Klammer right away.” He started for the ladder. “Now try to get some rest.”

He had no idea how long he had been sleeping when an unfamiliar man’s voice woke him.

“I am Doctor Klammer,” he heard the voice say. “I am here to examine you.”

He opened one eye. Mr. Maier was holding the lantern over him. Next to him stood a short, bald man with horn-rimmed glasses and a stethoscope hanging from his neck.

“Show me where it hurts,” the doctor said. Blumenfeld clutched the blanket and tried to pull it over his head. “Mr. Maier says it is your groin.”

Blumenfeld turned his face to the wall.

“Please don’t be afraid,” said the doctor. “Can you lower your pants, or do you need help?”

Blumenfeld lay motionless and remained silent.

“Very well, then,” the doctor said and gently pulled Blumenfeld’s pants below the knees. “I see. Mr. Maier was right to summon me.”

Blumenfeld’s whole body began to shake.

“You have nothing to fear,” the doctor said and methodically began to polish his glasses. “As far as I am concerned, you are just another patient. I give you my word that your secret will remain a secret.”

“What will you do?” Blumenfeld asked in a quivering voice.

“I promise that you will not feel any pain. Just a little pinch from the hypodermic needle. Then I will make a small incision to drain the pus. I will give you further instructions later. In a few days you will have forgotten all about it.”

Blumenfeld propped himself on one elbow. “I am most grateful to you, Herr Doktor,” he said, “but I’m sure you understand that—”

The doctor put a finger to his lips and took one of Blumenfeld’s hands in his. “How can I possibly charge someone I’ve never laid eyes on?”

Blumenfeld started to say something, but the doctor motioned him to lie still. “Mr. Maier was right to call me,” he said. “Time is of the essence.” He picked up his bag. “We will go ahead and get everything ready. I will meet you in the kitchen in five minutes.” Then he disappeared down the ladder, followed by Mr. Maier.

Blumenfeld shouldered himself upright against the wall. The effort made him dizzy. Should he take the doctor at his word? He recalled what Mrs. Maier had said about food rations. Had he become a burden? Had the Maiers decided they would be better off without an extra mouth to feed?

He considered making a run for it—until he remembered the river. He had never learned to swim; either way he would freeze to death. He hesitated a moment or two longer. Then he draped the blanket around his shoulders and began to work his way down the ladder. His heart felt like a sledgehammer. Half-way down he stopped and looked up as though he had forgotten something. After what seemed like a long time, his feet touched the ground.

At first the heavy door would not budge. The second try took all his remaining strength. It was no longer snowing, and the wind was down to a gentle breeze from the south. Somewhere in the distance a dog began to bark, followed soon by others. A lantern had been set outside the kitchen door. He filled his lungs with the pine-scented air and looked up. For the first time in weeks a few stars were clearly visible. He took one look back, then closed the barn door and took the first step into the ankle-deep snow.