Chapter 5
Wolf was a complex individual. To me, he was by turns tolerant, then needy, and yet warm when I least expected it. For instance, he could not have been more sympathetic when he learned from me about my amnesia. I continued to help feed him and take him to the bathroom when the urge called. I guided him down the halls, introduced him to the other patients, and listened to his many discourses on art, architecture, and history. The man was well read. It was nearly three weeks after his sessions started with Dr. Forster that he began to make progress. He could see the outlines of shapes.
It was then that he first began to talk about the Jews. He despised them. “Jews identify themselves by blood,” Wolf said. “The blood of the mother. They are a race. If they were a religion, blood would not matter. The other great religions—Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, and Hindu . . . all of them—do not use blood to define themselves. Jews are a racial virus. They infest every society they enter. No matter which country they abide in, their loyalty is to their tribe—their race—and they suck the blood out of every country that hosts them.”
This was news to me, and I had no way of knowing if he was correct.
When it came to memory, Wolf’s was phenomenal. He read hundreds of books, or so he said. He remembered every significant date in German history, every battle Germany fought, and which generals were in command. Wolf quoted Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. He could sing the librettos from Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung. And he had the ability to contort his voice and mimic all sorts of realistic sounds.
November 11, 1918
News raced throughout the hospital: The Chaplain announced that the Great War was over. Germany signed an armistice agreement with the Allies to go into effect at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Acknowledging defeat, our army agreed to withdraw behind our own borders.
Although the outcome was bitter, most of us were elated that the fighting ended, including me.
Not Wolf. Wolf’s gains of three weeks reversed. The news of the armistice plunged him back into total darkness.
“We have surrendered? That’s impossible!” Wolf cried out, raising his index finger to the ceiling. “We’re not defeated. Foreign troops never entered German soil. The war was still ours to win,” he insisted. “We have been stabbed in the back!”
I tried to mollify him. “Wolf, it’s good the war is over. Too many have died. Now is the time to save lives.”
Wolf was inconsolable. He would not stop his tirade. “It was the Jewish press and Jewish moneylenders that sunk us.”
*
The next day I reported to Dr. Forster that Wolf’s blindness returned moments after learning about the armistice.
“What else did he say?”
“He said that Germany would emerge from this temporary defeat as the greatest nation on earth.”
“Friedrich, does he really believe what he says?”
“With all his heart.”
The doctor’s eyes crinkled with delight. He clapped his hands. “You have given me the tool I need to help him see again.”
That night, Dr. Forster summoned Wolf for a special session.
*
The following morning, I rushed to Dr. Forster’s office filled with excitement. “It’s amazing! When Wolf returned from your last treatment he could see! Not only could he see, but he had a different air about him.”
Forster leaned forward eagerly. “Tell me how he has changed.”
“Besides seeing everything clearly, he was more formal. More reverent. More focused. What did you do to him to change him so?”
Dr. Forster beamed. “None of my usual techniques worked on him. Unlike others I treat here, he was no shirker. He was anxious to get back to the front.”
“Wolf told you that the first day he was here. So did I . . . we both wanted to go back to the front!”
“I didn’t believe Wolf at first.” Dr. Forster plucked a cigarette from his silver case and tapped it before striking a match. He drew in deeply before he spoke again. “The doctors in the field knew that his comrades were also gassed. Those men not only recovered but returned to their positions in the trenches. When Wolf continued to act out and claim to still be blind, he was diagnosed as a hysteric. That’s why he was sent here. His condition is mental, not organic.”
“But he started to see shapes. He was getting better.”
“Yes. And when you told me he turned blind again upon hearing of Germany’s defeat, I knew I had the answer to unlock what was still holding him back. So last night, I summoned him on the pretense of needing to perform another eye examination. The moment he sat down, I drew the blinds and lit two candles.”
“To what end?”
“To hypnotize him.”
“Did he know what you were doing?”
Dr. Forster shook his head. “Not in the least. When he was under hypnosis, I blew out the candles and sat back. Then I told him it would take a miracle for his blindness to be reversed and that miracles are far and few between. When they do occur, it is because God wants them to happen.”
“What did he say to that?”
“Not a word,” answered Dr. Forster. “Then I grew firmer. I told him that only a person with Herculean willpower could see again. I challenged him. I suggested he was the anointed one, and that if he had the inner strength to open his eyes and see again, he would be the one to save Germany.”
I could picture Wolf sitting there, while Forster spun his web of suggestions.
Dr. Forster grew animated. “All this was said in pitch blackness. Then I relit both candles. I took Wolf’s hands in mine and squeezed them. ‘If you trust yourself to the divine plan God has in store for you,’ I said, ‘open your eyes.’ I waited a few strokes. ‘Do you see the flickering flame?’”
At that moment Dr. Forster stood and took my hands in his, just as he had taken Wolf’s the previous evening.
“At first Wolf said, ‘I cannot see the flame.’ Then he began to change. His breathing grew shallow. He said, ‘I see a kind of white, round glow.’ I raised my voice louder; I squeezed his hands harder. Like this.” Forster put tremendous pressure on my hands. “Then I said, ‘That is not good enough. Only when you have absolute faith in yourself will you stop being blind.’” Spent from re-experiencing the ordeal, Forster dropped my hands and fell back.
“Then what happened?”
Sweat rimmed the edge of his scalp and his upper lip. He took out an embroidered handkerchief and swiped away the perspiration before continuing. “He cried out that he could see my face, and even the signet ring on my finger. I told him that he had been cured.” Forster collapsed into his chair. “I tell you, Friedrich, this is my crowning achievement as a doctor.”
*
Upon my return to the ward, I found an exultant Wolf. “Friedrichshen, it is so good to see you, really see you, and to know that you will never be faceless to me again. I can never forget your kindnesses. When no one else heeded my cries for help, you were at my side, day after day. Ours is a bond that will last forever.”
“I am happy for you, Wolf.”
*
I stopped in Forster’s office the following day. “What’s next, Dr. Forster?”
“What do you mean?”
“For me? Wolf? The rest of the men? The war is over. What’s to become of us?”
“Everyone here is still in the army. Treatments will continue. The ones that don’t improve will be sent to a sanitarium.”
“Wolf is cured. What about him?”
“I need to observe him for a few days to make certain he doesn’t relapse. Then he will be released back to his regiment.”
“And me?”
“You, Friedrich, are not cured.”
“I feel fine. My wounds have healed. You’ve given me a name. Find a regiment for me to join.”
“It’s not that simple.” Dr. Forster lit another cigarette. His head twitched as he sat straighter. Something bothered him. “You have the name of a dead man. You cannot take his place in the army. You need your own identity.”
My right leg started to bob up and down. “You gave me his name. You said I could go about my life with it. Are you taking that back?” I squeezed my leg to stop the bouncing.
“I have an academic appointment at Charité Hospital. I will write orders for you to return there so we can continue your treatment.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” I rose to leave. “I will not return to Charité, but I am prepared to make a deal with you.”
“Sit down! Friedrich, you are in no position to make a deal.”
“Hear me out.” I leaned over his desk. “You gave me the identity of a man because you said I needed one to function once the war ended. You said you never reported his suicide, that his papers were still valid. Because of you, I can go out into the world as Friedrich Richard. But now, you don’t want to let me go until you succeed in restoring my memory. Isn’t that the truth? So here is the deal: you will let me go to Berlin as Friedrich Richard. In return, I will schedule regular appointments with you for treatment.”
Forster frowned. I could see that he didn’t like it . . . but I gave him no choice.
*
Wolf’s sight remained with him. He had a few more sessions with Dr. Forster, as did I, and on November 19, 1918, we were both discharged.
“Where are they sending you?” I asked.
“Back to my regiment in Munich.”
I turned playful. “Have you come up with a plan to make Germany great again?”
Wolf answered in earnest. “I don’t see how to accomplish that now, but one day I will have a plan.” He took my hand. “I will always have a place for you, Friedrichshen. Until then, what will you do?”
“I’ll look up my former nurse in Berlin. She’s the only other person I know. I think she had an interest in me. I hope she still does.” He knew all about Anna from our late night talks. “I’ll try to get a job in Berlin.”
“The leftists are in revolt there. They call themselves Spartacists. Whatever you do, be careful, Friedrich. There will come a day when I will need you.”
We embraced as two brothers who were about to go in opposite directions. While there was something odd about the man, I knew that we had forged a unique bond from adversity.
“One last thing.” A wave of embarrassment washed over me. “In all the time we’ve been together, I never heard your proper name. I only know you as Wolf.”
He wrapped his hands around both my shoulders. “It’s Adolf . . . which is a variation of Adalwolf. It means ‘splendid wolf.’”
“Adolf what?”
“Adolf Hitler.”