The Dark Frontier A. Decker (i like reading TXT) 📖

It was not the first time Ellen had noticed how his English suffered when he felt uncomfortable. Now in the oblique backlight of the window behind his desk she saw a dense white – almost silver – in the hair around his temples; it had never struck her before. She wondered if it had appeared overnight with the worries he shared with the professor. Or was it just a trick of the light?

Professor Abegg sat beside the desk nodding in agreement with a discreet smile on his lips. The weakness of the smile was somehow accentuated by the half-hearted growth on his chin. Ellen speculated on how these two ever managed to cope with a patient – were they suddenly invested with self-confidence when they found themselves in a position of advantage, she asked herself. Then he spoke:

“You see, Mrs Goss, we are knowing your husband since too short a time, but we are becoming a picture which confuses us.”

Dr Zellweger was sharp enough to see the blank expression written on Ellen’s face and came to his colleague’s rescue. “What Professor Abegg tries to say is that your husband has not been with us under observation since long enough to make a diagnosis.”

“He’s not here now, is he?” she asked. Perhaps it was the panic in her eyes that made Dr Zellweger flinch slightly when she interrupted his train of thought. Or was it a self-consciousness as he struggled to get his English back into shape, Ellen wondered.

“I’m sorry to say he’s not. No. But I am confident we will find him very soon, especially now where we are having the police on our side.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow. Whose side are you talking about?” Ellen asked. His choice of words quietly enraged her. “I certainly don’t feel they’re on my side.”

“You must understand, Mrs Goss, that your husband is very labile and could be a danger.”

“What do you mean a danger? You admit yourself that you don’t even know what’s wrong with him.”

The look which Dr Zellweger exchanged with his professor had a conspiratorial quality. It suggested to Ellen that they knew more than they were letting on.

“That is precisely the point,” he said, finally getting to grips with his English. “We cannot be sure about anything, and for this reason we are having to be very cautious.”

Ellen watched him get up from his seat and walk over to the window, his hands deep in the pockets of his white coat. He seemed anxiously pensive, as if looking for inspiration or help, which he knew he could not expect from Professor Abegg. Ellen was unable to let go of the feeling that he knew of her relationship with Marthe. The impression was reinforced when he turned round and resumed the conversation with a faster and more frenetic turn of speech that suggested to Ellen he was trying to cover something up. Or suppress an unpleasant truth.

“It’s really a fascinating case,” he continued. “We cannot be sure, but something which Professor Abegg and I agree, we are both thinking that your husband is showing features of a schizoaffective psychosis.”

“Psychosis?” Ellen sensed her mouth hang open in disbelief.

“Thought disorder. Delusions. Auditory hallucinations. And his behaviour generally would appear to suggest this,” he insisted. “It is possible that this condition has been induced by drug abuse.”

“Oh no, not that again. Please Dr Zellweger, there’s no way Frank would have anything to do with drugs. I’ve been through all this with the police. Is this what you mean when you say they’re on our side?”

All of a sudden, Ellen was beginning to appreciate why Marthe was having difficulty with her husband. And she could see in turn that he was becoming impatient with her – as far as his sense of correctness would allow it.

“It is possible that he is acting through what he sees as failures in his life.” It was Professor Abegg who took the reins now, but Ellen had the feeling he just wanted to have something to say, and she sensed an irritation in Dr Zellweger’s eyes at the interruption. “People who take drugs are often having a very poor self-esteem,” the professor insisted.

Perhaps Dr Zellweger agreed with the sentiment. But Ellen could see he was not impressed by the way it was put across.

“Mrs Goss, we are not concerned about the moral or the legal aspects of the case. We are concerned about the health issues – both for your husband and for you,” he added ominously as he fiddled with his bow tie again and searched for his next line. “After what he said in the clinic, he appears to feel great resentment for his mother.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ellen chipped in, and earned a withering schoolmasterly gaze for the interruption. He knew that story. They had spoken of relations with her mother-in-law at length.

“And he is almost certainly rejecting outside help. He probably sees this as interference or pressure. It is interesting that he never mentioned your name. But we have discussed this once before. You see, we cannot be sure whether he also rejects you in his psychosis. It is very unpredictable. And there is no way to know how he will behave when he sees you.”

“Dr Zellweger, I don’t think you can possibly imagine how tired I am. My husband has been missing for goodness knows how long now. I’ve been told by the police that he’s a drug-dealing criminal. Now you’re telling me he’s a dangerous psychotic. And slowly I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve even got a husband. So even if I believed a word of what you’re trying to tell me, I don’t actually care anymore. It doesn’t mean anything to me any longer. I’m just tired. So I hope you won’t think me rude and callous when I say that all I’d like right now is to go home.”

Ellen’s outburst left an awkward silence in its wake that seemed to last forever. The pensive concern on Dr