The Last Days of My Mother Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mother exclaimed, fired up by her lifesaver. “What a wonderful man.”
    â€œI thought he’d take you to the hotel. If you’d rather come back in the morning then . . .”
    â€œGar nicht ,” Mother answered. “I never get jetlagged. I would appreciate a little schnapps or a glass of white wine.”
    â€œOf course!” HelgaMam didn’t skip a beat. “My office is across the field. If you’d care to walk with me I’ll tell you a bit about our work here. Then we’ll drop in on Dr. Fred and see if he can’t get us a drink.”
    â€œ Ein wunderbares Traum, glaubst du nicht, mein Schatz? ” Mother asked, refusing to acknowledge that I didn’t understand her theater German. “I was just saying to my son that this is like coming to Versailles.”
    â€œI’m pleased to hear it, Mrs. Briem. Many of our guests prefer to stay at Lowland while others like being in the city. That’s just the way it goes. You’ll be staying in a hotel in Amsterdam, right?”
    â€œTo begin with,” I said. “We’re going to look for an apartment.”
    â€œYou can see that not all mothers are as lucky as I am. He’s doing this all for me, my Super Trooper.”
    The director grinned and we walked across the grass. She told us about the old cottages that were the servants’ quarters before Libertas took over the estate and converted them into patient housing.
    â€œWe have six people staying with us now. Two from my country, then we’ve got Americans and Italians. We were twelve all in all until yesterday; counting myself, Ramji, the doctor, and the two German girls we have volunteering this summer, but our good, old Gombrowich departed last night.”
    â€œWhat?” Mother looked up absentmindedly. “Where did he go?”
    â€œI think you’re tired, Mother.” I gave the director an apologetic look and turned back. “I think we should go to the hotel now and come back tomorrow.”
    â€œNot on my account. Is there really so much to do?”
    â€œNot today really,” HelgaMam said. “My office is over there and you’re welcome anytime. If I’m not in you can call the number on my card, which I’ll give you after you’ve met with the doctor.”
    â€œAch, let’s get this over with,” Mother said. “You may think I’m a complete invalid like Emma Gulla, I mean she practically had to marry a doctor. But to tell the truth I can’t really feel this so-called cancer in my leg. And definitely not after a little schnapps.”
    â€œWell, then we should go see the doctor.”
    She led us back to the mansion, up the stairs and into the doctor’s quarters. The doctor sat behind a blue desk on the second floor and beamed at us when we entered. He was older and grayer than in the photo on the website, but easily recognizable nonetheless. He had an aura about him of times gone by that was hard to define. His clothes were strangely tailored, the waistband of his pants sat high on his gut, held in place with suspenders, and he wore an unbuttoned, powder blue doctor’s coat.
    â€œWelcome, welcome,” he said, offering his hand. He suddenly stopped midair and stared intently at me. “What have we here?” he said and pointed to the mole on my temple. “Well, I’ll be damned! Black Beauty. What a strange place for him. How wonderful!”
    â€œWho’s Black Beauty?” I asked, puzzled by the doctor’s behavior.
    â€œ Afrandarius erpexoplexis , aka Black Beauty—because of the color—all the way from the vast Pacific. Yes, my friend, that mole you’ve got there is in fact a fungus, and not from Europe at all, no, it’s quite remarkable. Very rare here and almost never seen on the face. May I ask how long you’ve had it?”
    I told him that it appeared during my college graduation trip to Hawaii, where we’d