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

going to be easy,” she continued. “I asked myself if it was simply the artist in him. Or was it the man? Was it this that marked him out as the true artist and me the failed one, since I had no such wish to play the kind of games he wanted me to play?”

This confessional turn had Frank shifting his gaze uncomfortably out of the window through the white scaffold of the birch trees. The light was already beginning to fade, and the background gloom accentuated their white lines.

“It wasn’t just the games. She was a nice enough girl.”

Frank looked across at Anna. Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke these words, but he could not read any meaning into their tremor. Her eyes remained firmly concealed beneath her hair. The words were spoken for her. Not for Frank.

“‘You have to push the boundaries,’ he always says. “It’s his way to prove that he’s alive. I suppose that’s why he always invites so many people home. Many of them are not even friends. He doesn’t even like most of them. They pretend to adore him, but much of the time they just make fun of him. And I think that’s why he does it. It makes him feel better than them. So that’s okay. But when Esther moved in to live with us – to share our bed, our kitchen, our entire life together – that was very difficult. It feels almost like a prison sometimes. So I often take the little blue train out into the country and the hills where I grew up. Such happy days. Playing in the woods, making fires and grilling our cervelat in the flames. I still love the climb up to the ruins of the Landskron Castle. Such freedom up there. Standing at the top. The breeze on my face. And that clear view sweeping over the city to the Vosges Mountains in Alsace and the Black Forest in Germany. These are borders I can understand. Frontiers I can cross. Not boundaries to push. Why does he need that?”

Anna’s question hung in the air like a dead fly caught in the faintest of webs. In the awkward silence that followed, Frank’s attention was attracted by loud whispers in the background. He turned his head. Anna was still immersed in her contemplation. Beyond her, in the far corner of the room stood three white coats, deep in conversation. As they spoke, they cast occasional glances in his direction – until suddenly one of the coats became particularly agitated, turned and walked over towards him.

But Frank was not the point of interest. The coat stopped at Anna. And the other two came running over.

Anna looked up through the dark fronds of her hair. Frank caught the mumbling of voices between them. He saw what looked like smoke rising from Anna’s chair. And the commotion of white coats as they fanned the smoke and reached out to lend Anna support as she rose from her chair, chuckling. One of the white coats surreptitiously retrieved the cigarette lighter from the chair as they went.

“Tomorrow, Fredy, I will bring my writing with me and we can share our thoughts,” she said before turning to leave on the arms of the white coat.

“Frank,” he said, correcting her. But she was already out of earshot. He could now see the scorched patch on the chair where she had been sitting, and watched her shuffle slowly out of sight, before turning his mind to the notepad on his lap. The weekend in Cornwall. The breeze. The near-silent susurrus that whispered in off the sea. And Ellen’s sweet expression, which seemed more distant now than it had ever been.

Es war doch immer so. He looked at the page in his notepad. Where did that come from? What does it even mean, he asked himself.

Afternoon turned to early evening. And from somewhere in a remote corner of this large room, a light switch was flicked, accentuating the darkness outside. Anna was right. Standing out from this darkness, the white birch trees resembled ever more the bars of a cage.

***

No sooner had Professor Abegg left the room than Ellen heard a clamour of excited voices in the corridor outside. The professor’s voice was clearly audible above all the others. His anger was palpable. But almost as abruptly as the clamour had begun, it suddenly died back into a prolonged muffle of whispers. Then silence. And without warning the door instantly swung open again. The alarm in Professor Abegg’s face lent his beaky appearance the look of a startled bird. Standing timorously in the doorway behind him was another white-coated figure.

“Mrs Goss.” The professor abruptly stopped at her name. He had to catch his breath. There was a hint of panic in his eyes. But he remained outwardly calm. “I would like you to meet my assistant, Dr Zellweger.”

The sheepish man in the doorway behind him took a step closer to Ellen. She was struck by the firmness of his handshake – it completely contradicted her impression of him. Although he was quite tall and must have been some ten years younger than Professor Abegg, his timid manner made him appear rather frail and lined. Was this the price he paid for taking up psychiatry? Or did it have something to do with the news he bore?

“Dr Zellweger admitted your husband,” Professor Abegg said, “and he is more familiar with your husband’s case than anybody.”

Dr Zellweger smiled nervously, but said nothing. His mouth hovered half open in hesitation. Ellen had the impression that he was struggling with the English. Or perhaps he is simply intimidated by the professor, she was thinking, when suddenly he spoke:

“Unfortunately, Mrs Goss, we are in a slightly embarrassing situation.”

“Please just tell me what’s going on.”

Ellen was surprised by her own composure. She really wanted to scream. Her irritation at the caginess of these psychiatrists had already pushed her patience way beyond endurance. Dr Zellweger cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid your