Chapter 14

Bern, August, Monday—Present Time

As I walked through the main entrance of the University of Bern, my mind raced through someone else’s memories of rushing up and down the stairs off the main hallway. My plan was to go straight to the archives that morning to search for possible names matching what I had to work with: “Mark” and “C.T.” The woman at the information desk directed me next door, to Hochschulstrasse 6. After a short walk, I was quickly settled at a computer and was given instructions on how to search records by first or last name and years of attendance. My explanation of working on a dissertation about the medical students of Professor Kocher was enough to satisfy the assistant.

I twisted the ring on my finger as I waited for the search engine to produce results. Twenty Marks popped up on my screen. Most names sounded Jewish, a few German. I was further able to click on each Mark’s name and verify which program they were enrolled in and when. I knew Kocher wrote the book in 1907 and died before 1917, so that narrowed things a bit. Only eleven were enrolled as medical students at that time. I did a quick search for history on Kocher as well, to check on any possible class list under his name.

However, I wasn’t sure what to do next. I had no phone numbers, no addresses, nothing to go on except for the fact that they all went to the medical school. I did have one more piece of information for each of the Marks. The archives registered the names of the town and country each student came from. I needed to clear my head, so I left the building, walked along the sunny street, and planned how to proceed next. I stopped and looked at my piece of paper. Eleven towns; it looked like some Ukrainian, some German, and some Russian. Two of the Marks came from Odessa, where I was from.

Meaningful coincidences… Was I meant to find this Mark? Was he from Odessa? Should I only look at Marks from Odessa? If he came from Ukraine, why did he write a poem for the woman in German? I didn’t remember from Odessa’s history anyone ever wanting to learn German. The city was built by the French and preferred to affiliate with the French. The woman in my dream also spoke German. Maybe I shouldn’t look for a coincidence in this case. I walked back to the hotel, hungry, hot, and puzzled. I decided to try some computer searches for the rest of the day. I was sure something helpful would turn up.

The clerk stopped me. “You have a message here. You’re Maya Radelis, Room 204, right?” She handed me a small folded note.

“That’s strange. I wasn’t expecting messages. Thanks,” I said. I opened the note. It was from Pauline.

Maya, call me. Trying to reach you all last night. Pauline.

“Will you be checking out today?” the receptionist asked.

It occurred to me then that I had no way to pay for the room after today. “Did any mail come for me?”

After looking through a stack on the reception desk, she shook her head.

“Give me a moment, all right?” I walked away and called my friend. I’d have to beg for more money, just for tonight. I could only prolong my stay for so long. I was due back to Paris for my flight to New York by Thursday.

“Finally, you call me? Where were you? You lost your phone?” Pauline sounded less than pleased.

“I’m so sorry. I was at the University of Bern archives and turned my phone off. It was super quiet in there. I didn’t mean to blow you off.”

“Not a problem. I just was worried about you. Do you have money yet?”

“No, not yet.” I sighed.

“This is ridiculous! Do you have a pen? I’m going to call a good friend of mine. She has a hotel in an old castle about two hours away from Bern. She will send her driver to pick you up. You’ll like her, she’s very nice. Has a handsome brother, too.”

“Wait, slow down. I can’t leave Bern, and I don’t want to go to a castle.” I hesitated. I hated begging. “Can you please loan me some more money? For another night in a hotel here in Bern? I’ll pay you back when I get back to Paris.”

“Sure. That’s no problem. So does it mean you are finding something about your woman? ‘C.T.’?”

“Not much. But I feel her here almost everywhere I go. And I got some names from the archives at the university that I can follow up on. I just want to stay another day. I’m sure I’m close.”

“Fine, but you are not staying at that cheap hotel. I know this really old place, you’ll like it. It has very good food. I stayed there once. I’ll text you the address.”

My new hotel was a three-story brick house tucked away on a quiet street near a park full of linden and oak trees. A small wooden sign that said “Wildflower” and a door knocker decorated its front door. Two large window boxes full of red geraniums sat on each of the windowsills. Two robins landed on the flower boxes as I was getting ready to knock. One was awfully familiar.

“Made it all the way from Paris, did you?” I asked, setting my suitcase down.

The robin chirped.

“If we’re going to be friends,” I said, “I should probably give you a name. Are you a boy or a girl?”

The robin turned its head and chirped.

“That doesn’t help me. How about…”

I didn’t get a chance to announce the bird’s name, as I heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and the robin and its friend flew away. The sound of several locks slowly clicking was followed by some generous tugging of the heavy door, and then it finally opened to reveal a short and bony older man with a set of large keys in his hands.

“Well, come on in.” He ushered me and stepped aside without offering to help with my luggage.

I hesitantly walked into the small hallway. “Hello. My name is Maya Radelis. I have a room reserved for two nights?”

“Yes, yes. Sign here.” He closed the door and pointed to a large register book on a narrow hallway table. A fountain pen sat in a stand next to the book.

I set my suitcase down and sighed, looking around for other guests. The house clearly had many guest rooms, as it looked large on the outside, but the hallway we stood in was dark and quiet at the moment.

“Leave your things. I will give you a tour.” He spoke very good English, but his German accent was quite obvious in the way his “r’s” were just off-putting enough to my ears. The man moved quickly, and I ran behind him, our footsteps echoing in the empty rooms.

“My name is Radner, Franz Radner. Dining room, sitting room, the study.” He opened a creaky door into a small study. “Don’t touch anything in here; these are all antiques.” He gave me a sharp look.

I shook my head and tried to remain patient as we walked down a narrow hallway with an uneven floor. He continued the tour. “The bar—you can come here later to have a drink. Dinner is served at half past seven, breakfast is at half past eight. Your room is Number 5, up the stairs—here is your key.” He handed me a large metal key. “You must lock your door. Any questions?”

My mind went blank, staring at the ancient key as I tried to think of questions. “No, thank you,” I said, thinking it was best to go check on the state of my room.

He offered no help with my suitcase. I dragged it up the stairs, the wheels bumping against the wooden steps. The landing upstairs was slanted, and I nearly tripped on the two small steps someone thought to place by the entrance to the hallway. The ceiling lowered toward the end, and I almost had to bend my head not to hit it. Why exactly did Pauline like it here? What was this place in the past, anyway?

The door to my room was cracked slightly open. It was surprisingly lovely, with white lace curtains on the window and a large window seat that held a tray with books and an electric kettle with a teacup and cookies next to it. A large bed with a flower-patterned duvet stood in the middle with a glass-covered nightstand next to it. A newly remodeled bathroom with luxury toiletries was attached to the room. I shivered, wondering if I could possibly convince my strange host to turn the heat on. I looked at my watch: It was only six o’clock. Too early for me to go out, with no money whatsoever.

I was about to go speak to Franz about the heat when I noticed a bit of the old wallpaper in the corner of the window frame. I sat on the windowsill and leaned in for a closer look when my world shifted. The tray with the books and the tea kettle was gone. So was the large bed with the flower duvet, replaced by a narrow bed with a thin white blanket and a small white nightstand. A man sat at the desk, writing. The man looked remarkably like…

Lenin? The head of the Russian Revolution?

I bolted out of the room. A loud moan followed me out of the hallway, making the hair on my arms stand up. I ran to the landing, tripping on the uneven floor, and then even quicker downstairs. I found the narrow hallway behind the stairs Franz had showed me earlier and rushed to the bar, where a light was beaming through.

The bar was full of cigar smoke, making it difficult to see two men sitting there in large armchairs. It was Franz and a drinking partner, a tall middle-aged man with a face that would have been handsome except for a very large bold head, reminding me rather of a pumpkin. The pumpkin nodded to me, as if he was not surprised to see me at all.

“It… was… cold… in my room,” I said, trying to stop my chattering teeth.

“Ah, the heater never works right in those rooms upstairs, does it, Franz?” The man got up and went behind the bar area. “It’s been known to spook people up there, as well, when it gets cold,” he mentioned casually. “A drink for you, maybe?”

“A whisky,” I said. “What do you mean ‘spook people’?”

“A real whisky drinker, look at that!” He brought me a glass of amber liquid and shook my hand. “I’m Jacob. My house is next door.”

“Don’t listen to his ghost stories. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Franz said.

“Thank you so much.” I took a large gulp, my hand still shaking.

“Fine, no ghost stories, but you should make it warmer upstairs for your guest,” Jacob said.

“It will go out again as soon as I fix it. I’ll get you an extra set of blankets after supper, how is that?”

“How old is this house?” I asked. The alcohol was doing its job to calm me, but my mind was furiously trying to figure out the paranormal upstairs.

“Oh, it’s well over a hundred years old. I only bought it ten years ago and have been trying to fix the damn place ever since,” Franz said gruffly.

“Don’t mind him,” said Jacob. “He doesn’t appreciate old houses; don’t know why he bought this one to begin with. It used to belong to my family, and we never had a problem with it until he got his hands on it. I don’t think the house likes him.”

“Nonsense!” Franz puffed angrily on his cigar.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I never had trouble heating the rooms upstairs.” Joseph bent closer to me. “You know, this used to be a doctor’s practice a century ago.”

I set my glass of whisky on my lap. “What kind of doctor was it?”

“Hmm… I believe he was a general type of doctor, for any kind of illness. What do you call that in America?”

“A general practitioner?”

“Yes, that’s it. Broken bones, babies, gout, bad heart, that sort of thing. We inherited the house from my wife’s family. The doctor was her great-uncle. Here, have some more. You look like you could use it,” Joseph said.

“It’s been a difficult day.” I took another large sip of my drink. “Did this doctor ever have patients stay here, as in a hospital?”

“He did, actually,” Joseph said. “Some wealthier patients who didn’t wish to be taken to the large university hospital and preferred private care.”

“Did anyone…” I paused. “Did anyone famous ever stay here?” My heart thumped.

“Well, the rumor is”—Joseph took a sip of his drink—“that one time the wife of Lenin stayed here for a week. You know who Lenin is? The man who was in charge of the Russian Revolution?”

“Of course,” I said, gripping my chair arms.

“So what is it making your day bad? A young boy? Money trouble? Work?” Franz asked.

“Franz, don’t pry. Young girls like their secrets.” Jacob wagged a finger at him.

“No, it’s quite all right.” I was in control of my body again. “It’s been many things, really: men, work, money, all of it. Just all got to me today. Did anyone ever die in this house?”

“I’m sure many people did. The doctor began his practice during the influenza epidemic. And then there was tuberculosis and cholera and a host of other things they couldn’t make right back then.”

I shivered, thinking of the moan I’d heard upstairs.

“But don’t worry. No matter what he tells you, the house is not haunted,” Franz said. “We have yet to see any ghosts. He only sees them when he’s been into his drink.”

Jacob laughed. “That’s true. The spirits do show up more around the holidays. But no worries, girl. You’re safe here. You’ll sleep soundly. Everyone does. Especially after you’ve had some of his roasted lamb and potatoes for supper. Nothing like a full belly to get you to sleep well.”

I rather doubted I’d sleep at all after what I had seen and heard upstairs. But the drink was helping, and my body was relaxing well.

“Well, let’s have a toast to you having some luck tomorrow.” Jacob raised his glass.

“Yes, I could use some luck, for sure.” I smiled and took another sip.

After dinner, I had no choice but to go back upstairs. I walked up slowly, the flashlight on my phone turned on, listening for any noises. But it was quiet now. And my room was much warmer. Joseph was right; after I burrowed myself in the blankets, I slept great. Maybe it was the drinks or maybe it was the best lamb dinner I’d ever had. Or maybe it was because I knew David’s phone number was still tucked into the pocket of my jeans.