CHAPTER 27
Brussels, 1955
An endless parade of adults in white coats filed through the hospital hallway. A little girl, no stranger to the scene, was waiting patiently on a long red bench outside the doctor’s office. Despite the pain, she swung her legs to the beat of a nursery rhyme that her mother had taught her the night before.
A nurse approached, her hands clasped behind her back. The girl had always admired her red hair, cut in a boyish style.
“Right or left?” she asked with a heavy Dutch accent.
The child got a kick out of this ritual. She had cracked the code a long time ago, and even though there was no longer any element of surprise, winning a mint lollipop was an exciting prospect.
“Right,” the girl said softly, pretending to guess.
The nurse made a pouty face that quickly became a huge smile. She brandished the candy in her right fist.
“Thanks, Hanne,” the child exclaimed, hamming it up as she took the lollipop.
The woman gently stroked the little girl’s cheek. “Your daddy should be here soon,” she said.
The little girl didn’t reply. She was focused on unwrapping her treat. The nurse and the child sat quietly, oblivious to the pediatric ward and the rest of the world around them. Time stood still, giving them this singular moment of peace.
A squeaky hospital bed pushed by an orderly jolted them from their trance. Duty called. The nurse stood up, smoothed her white coat, and directed the new arrival to his room.
A short time later, a stylish man appeared. In the eyes of the little girl, he was the tallest and most handsome person in the world. The black patch over his left eye, along with the Russian accent, commanded respect and added to his seemingly serious demeanor. But the little girl knew that a kindhearted soul was behind that formidable façade.
Waving his black hat, he held out his arms.
“Come, my sweet pea. The doctor wants to see you.”
The little girl got down from the bench and walked stiffly toward her father. When she finally reached him, she tackled him with a bear hug. He tried to hide the tears welling in his eyes, but she knew they were there.
Only her father was present for these consultations. Her mother could no longer cope with her daughter’s worsening condition and the painful exams she was subjected to.
Andreï Kourilyenko would never forget the moment the doctor revealed the diagnosis. “Your daughter has amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. ALS for short. It’s a degenerative autoimmune disease, and it’s very rare in children. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t need to hear the prognosis from the doctor to know there was no hope for his daughter. His days during the war as a political commissar in charge of scientific research had given him a solid enough medical background to understand. On a diplomatic assignment in the West, he had joined the secret society Consortium. Andreï had traded a life full of fear and distrust for a comfortable existence with his wife and daughter. The Russian, hardened by years of Stalinism, could have lived in total bliss. But any prospects for that bliss were swept away by his little girl’s illness, followed by his wife’s depression. The fatal diagnosis destroyed everything. Not even Andreï himself knew how he had mustered the strength to bear the unbearable reality.
“How much time?” he had asked.
The doctor removed his glasses and rubbed his face, as if to avoid eye contact.
“Your daughter’s life expectancy is a matter of months, two years at the most.”
Andreï felt his throat tense up.
“Is she going to suffer?”
“This form of sclerosis causes numerous muscular and respiratory complications. But I cannot predict exactly how it will manifest for your daughter.”
“You didn’t answer the question,” Andreï insisted.
“It doesn’t look good.”
Six months had passed since the doctor’s devastating news. Denial hadn’t changed a thing. The unstoppable illness continued to advance. First came constipation, followed by excruciating joint pain, which led to weakened motor function. And yet she never complained. She made every effort to stay cheerful and downplay her symptoms. It broke Andreï’s heart. There was no reward for her bravery. Signs of muscular atrophy were intensifying, mostly in her lower body. She could still walk, but for how much longer? Soon she wouldn’t even be able to breathe.
The exam dragged on, as usual. While the doctor jotted his findings on his clipboard, Andreï stroked the little girl’s hair and whispered words of encouragement. Lies.
“Don’t worry, Elena, everything will be all right.”
Another six months, and now Elena was bedridden. Her lungs were failing. She was pretending to sleep, because her father didn’t cry as much when he thought she was resting peacefully. But she opened her eyes a bit when she heard someone talking to him.
He was wearing a beige raincoat buttoned all the way to the neck. A wide-brimmed gray hat hid his features. His voice, however, sounded stern. Her father, who always enjoyed talking with people, was strangely quiet. He even seemed to be afraid of the stranger.
“How have you been holding up since our last encounter?” Despite the seemingly sympathetic words, the man sounded indifferent.
“Why are you asking, Bleiberg?” her father said. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I was just being polite. There’s no need to take offense.”
He walked around the room, examining the furniture, as if he were conducting an inspection. He stopped at the foot of the bed, put on a pair of glasses, and picked up her chart. He scanned it.
“Stop wasting time with this charade. You never do anything without a reason. What do you want?”
“Oh, me? Nothing. Wouldn’t you expect a courtesy visit in a dire situation such as this, especially since I have the resources to cure your daughter?”
Elena almost cried out. She wanted so badly to be healed, to say good riddance to her aching body and the aloof doctors with cold hands who treated her like she was a thing, not a person. She still hoped for some life-saving treatment. And here it was, in the unexpected form of a strange visitor saddled with an ugly German accent.
“How?” stammered her father.
“Oh, come on! You know very well,” said this man named Bleiberg. “A simple injection, and the big bad illness will be nothing more than a memory.”
The man made a fist and blew into it. Then he revealed his empty palm, as if he had performed a magic feat.
“So, there it is,” her father replied, shaking his head. “You’ve accomplished miracles, but at what price? Your secret experiments for the SS send shivers up my spine. Assuming I do accept your offer, what would you expect in return? You’re not the kind to hand out gifts.”
“You’ve kept your keen soviet insight,” Bleiberg said. “I’m not asking for much, compared with what I’m offering. Of course, I can’t guarantee success for the treatment. But a thirty percent chance is better than zero, right?”
The two men stared at each other. The stranger’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to her father’s anxiety. Bleiberg pointed at her.
“If she survives my treatment, I want her,” he announced.
Elena watched her father put his hands over his face. “Never! I can’t let you take my daughter and turn her into a guinea pig.”
“Surprising. You’re prepared to watch your only child suffer an agonizing death out of respect for what moral code? One only you understand?”
“Real doctors are taking care of her here. Nobody is pretending to be God.”
“And what good is that doing her? What results are these real doctors achieving? Pity, compassion, and even this illusion that you call love won’t save your daughter. Take time to think over my offer. Weigh the good against the bad. I’ll come back tomorrow for your final decision. Have a good night, Commissar.”
Bleiberg adjusted his hat and held out a hand to Andreï. He didn’t take it.
How could her father so quickly refuse an offer she had been praying for? How could he deny her this chance to live? The realization kindled a feeling deep inside her. A feeling that would never leave her. It was hatred.
Elena opened her eyes wide. The man glanced at her while her father wasn’t looking. Elena gave him an almost imperceptible nod. He smiled and left the room like a puff of air.
Andreï remained silent for several minutes. He looked at his daughter, who had closed her eyes again. Just thinking about her in this man’s clutches revolted him.
The next day, Professor Viktor Bleiberg showed up bright and early.
Elena survived the injection and soon enjoyed a full recovery.
She saw her father only one more time.
The day she killed him.