The Berlin Connection Read Online Free PDF Page B

bird gone.
    "But..." I was very shaken. I smiled crookedly. "Delirium tremens, after all?"
    She looked at me without speaking. The fist. For seconds I felt it again.
    "I swear to you, the gull was there. The rain must have washed it away."
    "Probably."
    My hands closed tightly around Shirley's cross. The little cross suddenly seemed to be all the protection and support I had left in the world.
    10
    Dr. Petrovna's finger described a circle in front of my eyes and she told me to follow it. I sat on my bed again. "Watch the tip of my finger, please, Mr. Jordan."
    Her finger had moved sideways and I was hard put to see it. My pupils felt as if they were impaled on rough little sticks. My spirits rose again after having a few more gulps of whisky. Natasha permitted me to drink. The rain flooded the windowpanes, the storm rattled them. I was happy to be examined by such an understanding human being.
    "Do you take stimulants, Mr. Jordan?"
    "No."
    "Drugs?"
    "No."
    "Never?"
    "No. Only whisky." The finger circled.
    "Watch the tip of-my finger, Mr. Jordan."

    "That has something to do with my head, hasn't it? Am I crazy?"
    The finger circled.
    "Doctor!"
    "Yes, Mr. Jordan."
    "I asked you something."
    "Your nerves seem to be on edge. I'm sure you are very excited about your movie." This woman was terrific! How she cakned me down! How she questioned me to distract me!
    "When was the last time you stood in front of a camera?"
    "Twenty years ago. Nineteen thirty-nine. Can you imagine? I had to wait twenty years. And now .. ."
    She took a httle flashlight and shone it in my eyes. Her face was very close. Natasha's breath was as pure and clean as fresh milk.
    "You drink a lot, don't you?"
    "No one has ever seen me drink."
    "That is something else again. How long have you been drinking?"
    "For quite a long time."
    "How long?"
    "Well..."
    "You must tell me the truth if I am to make a diagnosis."
    "For twenty years."
    "And how much daily?"
    "That depends. Just lately ..."
    "More than one bottle?"
    "No."
    "Much less than one bottle?"
    "Not . . . much less." Rather more would have been true. I said proudly: "But I never had any problems. I could work and sleep and I could always eat."
    "Do you drink in the morning too?"
    "You know..."

    "I'm asking you as your doctor."
    "Yes. I guess all day, a little. But secretly, no one has any idea."
    "You must have a drink, mustn't you?"
    "Yes. Well, you see if I don't I am very nervous. Jumpy. Unsure. I'm always afraid—"
    "What are you afraid of?"
    "Well, it probably sounds ridiculous ... but I am talking to a doctor. Anyway, I just can't seem to take care of my business unless I have had a drink. It just gets too much for me; do you understand me? And just lately I have had more worries and excitement. Why are you looking at me like that? Don't you beheve me?"
    "I believe every word. But perhaps it is the other way around."
    "The other way around?"
    "You say you can't take care of your business unless you have a drink. Today you are nervous and agitated without whisky."
    "Yes."
    "Perhaps that is not the result of years of drinking but the cause. Perhaps you were always an overly sensitive and nervous man and that is why you began to drink twenty years ago. It happens. Especially among artists. Possibly you would never have become an actor without this instability." This impressed me very much and I looked at her admiringly. Natasha pushed her glasses into place. "When were you bom?"
    "January eleventh, 1922." She was so sympathetic. I respected her knowledge. A sudden urge for communication overcame me. Naturally, it was also the whisky. "My parents were actors, you know. They traveled all over the country. They played everything. Shakespeare and slapstick comedy. Operettas and schmaltz and Abie's Irish Rose ..."
    "Please lie back. Relax." She felt my glands, looked at my throat, my arms, and I babbled on.

    "Apropos acting . . . they never gave me a chance to show what I could do! This last movie I played