For two days he lay in the hospital, unresponsive, stiff, but with eyes almost continually open.
The results of the usual diagnostic tests were only alarming in that they failed to turn up indications for any specific condition. His blood values were normal, his urine unexceptional, his temperature within the standard range. There were no stools. His undernourishment was hardly sufficient cause for his behavior, and an initial suspicion of chronic alcohol poisoning was rejected.
The sisters and doctors kept talking to him, asking him questions, but he remained silent.
Magda visited him every day, he seemed to see through her. He ignored his mother as well.
He took no notice of me.
He was fed intravenously.
On the morning of the third day, a big medical round. A phalanx of a dozen doctors, from the chief internist to the junior trainee, bunched round Zündel’s bed.
You do the honors! said the chief surgeon to Dr. Hunkeler. Dr. Hunkeler described the case a little ponderously but confidently enough. Among other things, he observed that the patient was incapable of speech, though his hearing seemed to be intact. Hereupon the chief surgeon interrupted: What do you mean, “seems to be intact”? Is it intact or isn’t it? – Hunkeler scratched his throat. Zündel looked at him and said amiably: Hi there, Rölfli!
The whole group jumped, whether it was the unexpected return of Zündel’s gift of speech, or whether they all knew that Hunkeler’s given name was indeed Rolf.
Dr. Hunkeler, quite discombobulated, asked stammeringly: Do you know me then?
And into the profound silence, Zündel said: Sure, you’re Rölfli. You always used to wet your pants!
Ward sister Gertrud, standing near the back, wasn’t able to get her handkerchief out in time, and whinnied loudly.
A second later the whole group was rocking with mirth.
The next day Zündel was transferred to a psychiatric clinic.
PSYCHIATRIST: So you’re Herr Zündel, then?
ZÜNDEL: To order.
PSYCHIATRIST: What is to order?
ZÜNDEL: Just so.
PSYCHIATRIST: Herr Zündel, we’re here to help you.
ZÜNDEL: Yourself.
PSYCHIATRIST: You want to heal yourself?
ZÜNDEL: Heel, yourself.
PSYCHIATRIST: Let’s show a little patience, eh, Herr Zündel.
ZÜNDEL: Fidelity is better.
PSYCHIATRIST: Do you hear voices, Herr Zündel?
ZÜNDEL: Fidelity is better.
PSYCHIATRIST: Better than what?
ZÜNDEL: Knickerbocker.
PSYCHIATRIST: Do you hear voices, Herr Zündel? Is someone speaking to you whom you can’t see?
ZÜNDEL: I can see him!
PSYCHIATRIST: Whom do you see?
ZÜNDEL: Third at the back.
PSYCHIATRIST: Can you try and explain that to me.
ZÜNDEL: Barefoot. Desert humility.
PSYCHIATRIST: Herr Zündel, when is your birthday?
ZÜNDEL: Just now. Wrinkled.
PSYCHIATRIST: Who or what is wrinkled?
ZÜNDEL: Not recorded.
PSYCHIATRIST: Hmm, I see.
ZÜNDEL: Yes, going down.
PSYCHIATRIST: Hmm.
ZÜNDEL: Hunchbacked.
PSYCHIATRIST: Really?
ZÜNDEL: Satiated.
PSYCHIATRIST: Is that right?
ZÜNDEL: Upper homeland.
PSYCHIATRIST: Just carry on talking!
ZÜNDEL: Ssh!
PSYCHIATRIST: Do you hear anything?
ZÜNDEL: Ssh!
Dr. Läderach suggested schizophrenia.
Dr. Hasler thought a depressive stupor.
They agreed to keep the patient under observation.