The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,143

his head while rushing out of the door. I did not think I had seen him before, though there was something familiar about him.

‘I was sent for,’ he said defensively, as if afraid his presence would be questioned.

‘Come in, sir, come in,’ said Inge, straightening and stepping back, her hand sliding from my leg in a kind of caress. ‘Your patient awaits.’

The doctor entered, holding a small black bag very much like my own tool kit before him in the manner of a shield. ‘How do you do, sir,’ he said with a somewhat convulsive bow in my direction.

‘Not too well, I’m afraid,’ I replied, indicating my foot.

‘This is Herr Gray, Doctor,’ Inge said.

He repeated his bow. ‘I am Dr Immelman.’

‘A Jew,’ Inge added in a stage whisper, as if this fact were significant.

‘A convert,’ the doctor was quick to amend, as if this, too, were significant, indicative of superior, if not occult, knowledge.

‘It is your medical rather than your religious practices that concern me,’ I told him with an attempt at levity that appeared to fall flat.

‘We may be a bit out of the way here in Märchen, off the beaten track so to speak,’ he said as he approached the bed with that same tentative air, ‘but I think you’ll find my skills more than adequate.’

‘I have no doubt of it, Herr Doctor,’ I assured him. ‘It was merely a joke – a poor one.’

‘Ah,’ he said, nodding sagaciously. ‘A joke. Of course.’

The concept seemed foreign to him.

‘Well, Dr Immelman,’ Inge broke in, ‘will you need my assistance? Is there anything I can get for you?’

By now Immelman had reached the bed. He settled his black bag upon the edge of the mattress and adjusted his spectacles as he looked me over. His bloodless face and pale, high forehead were slick with sweat; he almost seemed to be melting, as if made of wax or ice. ‘That boot will have to be cut away,’ he said. ‘I will need hot water and bandages, Frau Hubner. And a bottle of schnapps for the patient, to dull the pain.’

‘I’ll have them sent up at once,’ she replied. ‘I’ll leave you in the doctor’s capable hands for now, Herr Gray. Later I will bring some food and sit with you awhile. Come, Hesta,’ she added, and the dog rose from the floor and followed her out of the room.

Dr Immelman pulled up a chair and sat down near the foot of the bed, facing me but keeping his gaze fixed on my boot. ‘You will let me know if there is any pain,’ he directed, reaching out with long, slender fingers, like those of a pianist.

I swore as he began to manipulate my ankle; his touch was gentle enough, but even so the pain was severe. He drew back at once.

‘Is it broken?’ I asked him.

He withdrew a handkerchief from within his black coat and mopped his perspiring face, then tucked it back inside. Now his gaze did meet my own, but only, as it were, glancingly. ‘I cannot say for certain without removing the boot. It seems likely, however.’

I swore again.

‘How were you injured, Herr Gray?’ Immelman asked. ‘I was told only that my services were required.’

‘I climbed the clock tower, and my foot became lodged in the train along which the automatons move.’

Now his gaze returned to my own, and this time it did not waver. ‘Why would you do such a foolish thing?’

I shrugged but did not look away. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’ I didn’t want to say anything more concerning the automatons, not only because of Corinna’s apparent desire that I should keep quiet about their resemblance to the people of Märchen, but because I was convinced that I had seen the good doctor – or, rather, his wooden counterpart – among them. Yes, I remembered the sight of him quite clearly; he had preceded Adolpheus in the parade, that black bag of his held before him in the same fashion he had held it just moments ago, before setting it down on the bed. The recollection made it impossible to view the man with equanimity; despite his timidity, there was something uncanny, almost sinister, it seemed to me, about his presence now, and I experienced once again, more intensely than I had in the taproom, a sense of – how to describe it? – misalignment, as if I no longer fitted properly into the world, or as if the world had undergone