He didn’t seem to want to talk, or even to look about him. Lanny waited until they were alone, and then started the kind of mental cure which he had seen his mother practice on the broken and burned Marcel Detaze. "You’re in France, Freddi, and now everything is going to be all right."
The poor fellow’s voice behaved as if it was difficult for him to frame sounds into words. "You should have sent me poison!" That was all he could think of.
"We’re going to take you to a good hospital and have you fixed up in no time." A cheerful "spiel," practiced for several days.
Freddi held up his trembling claws; they waved in the air, seemingly of their own independent will. "They broke them with an iron bar," he whispered; "one by one."
"Rahel is coming, Freddi. She will be here in a few hours."
"No, no, no!" They were the loudest sounds he could make. "She must not see me." He kept that up for some time, as long as his strength lasted. He was not fit to see anybody. He wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. "Some powders!" he kept whispering.
Lanny saw that the sick man was weakening himself by trying to argue, so he said, all right. He had already called for a doctor, and when the man came he whispered the story. Here on the border they knew a great deal about the Nazis, and the doctor needed no details. He gave a sleeping powder which quieted the patient for a while. The doctor wanted to examine him, but Lanny said no, he would wait until the patient’s wife had arrived to take charge. Lanny didn’t reveal that he had in mind to get an ambulance and take the victim to Paris; he could see that here was a case that called for a lot of work and he wanted it done by people whom he knew and trusted. He was sure that Rahel would agree with this.
XII
A moment not soon to be forgotten when the two travelers arrived, and Freddi’s wife came running into the hotel suite, an agony of suspense in her whole aspect; her face, gestures, voice. "He’s here? He’s alive? He’s ill? Oh, God, where is he?"
"In the next room," replied Lanny. "He’s asleep, and we’d better not disturb him."
"How is he?"
"He needs to be gone over by a good surgeon and patched up; but we can have it done. Keep yourself together, and don’t let him see that you’re afraid or shocked."
She had to set her eyes upon him right away; she had to steal into the room, and make it real to herself that after so many long months he was actually here, in France, not Germany. Lanny warned her: "Be quiet, don’t lose your nerve." He went with her, and Jerry on the other side, for fear she might faint. And she nearly did so; she stood for a long while, breathing hard, staring at that grayhaired, elderly man, who, a little more than a year ago, had been young, beautiful and happy. They felt her shuddering, and when she started to sob, they led her out and softly closed the door.
To Lanny it was like living over something a second time, as happens in a dream. "Listen, Rahel," he said: "You have to do just what my mother did with Marcel. You have to make him want to live again. You have to give him hope and courage. You must never let him see the least trace of fear or suffering on your face. You must be calm and assured, and just keep telling him that you love him, and that he is going to get well."
"Does he know what you say to him?"
"I think he only half realizes where he is; and perhaps it’s better so. Don’t force anything on him. Just whisper love, and tell him he is needed, and must live for your sake and the child’s."
The young wife sat there with her whole soul in her eyes. She had always been a serious, intellectual woman, but having her share of vigor and blooming. Now she was pale and thin; she had forgotten to eat most of the time; she had dined on grief and supped on fear. It was clear that she wanted only one thing in the world, to take this adored man and devote her life to nursing him and restoring him to health. She wouldn’t rebel against her fate, as Beauty Budd, the worldling, had done; she wouldn’t have to beat and drive herself to the role of Sister of Mercy. Nor would she have herself painted in that role, and exhibit herself to smart crowds; no, she would just go wherever Freddi went, try to find out what Freddi needed and give it to him, with that consecrated love which the saints feel for the Godhead.
Lanny told her what he had in mind. They would take him in an ambulance, to Paris, quickly but carefully, so as not to jar him. Rahel could ride with him, and talk to him, feed him doses of courage and hope, even more necessary than physical food. Jerry and Lanny would follow, each in his own car; Jerry would stay in Paris for a while, to help her in whatever way he could. Lanny would instruct the surgeon to do everything needed, and would pay the bill. He told Jerry to go and get some sleep—his aspect showed that he needed it, for he had driven five or six hundred miles with only a few minutes' respite at intervals.
XIII
Lanny had food and wine and milk brought to the room, and persuaded Rahel to take some; she would need her strength. She should give Freddi whatever he would take—he probably had had no decent food for more than a year. Preparing her for her long ordeal, he told more of the story of Marcel, the miracle which had been wrought by love and unfailing devotion. Lanny talked as if he were Parsifal Dingle; incidentally he said: "Parsifal will come to Paris and help you, if you wish." Rahel sat weeping softly. With half her mind she took in Lanny’s words, while the other half was with the broken body and soul in the next room.
Presently they heard him moaning. She dried her eyes hastily, and said. "I can never thank you. I will do my best to save Freddi so that he can thank you."
She stole into the other room, and Lanny sat alone for a long while. Tears began to steal down his cheeks, and he leaned his arms upon the table in front of him. It was a reaction from the strain he had been under for more than a year. Tears because he hadn’t been able to accomplish more; because what he had done might be too late. Tears not only for his wrecked and tormented friend, not only for that unhappy family, but for all the Jews of Europe, and for their tormentors, just as much to be pitied. Tears for the unhappy people of Germany, who were being lured into such a deadly trap, and would pay for it with frightful sufferings. Tears for this unhappy continent on which he had been born and had lived most of his life. He had traveled here and there over its surface, and everywhere had seen men diligently plowing the soil and sowing dragon’s teeth—from which, as in the old legend, armed men would some day spring. He had raised his feeble voice, warning and pleading; he had sacrificed time and money and happiness, but all in vain. He wept, despairing, as another man of gentleness and mercy had wept, in another time of oppression and misery, crying:
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate."