It was the best moment of my entire life.”
She looked at Mari outside in the garden. She remembered her words. And again she looked at the man standing in front of her.
Veronika took off her sweater and moved closer to Eduard. If she was going to do something, let it be now. Mari would put up with the cold out there for a long time, and only then would she come back in.
He stepped back. The question in his eyes was this: When was she going to play the piano again? When would she play a new piece of music to fill his soul with the same color, pain, suffering, and joy of those insane composers who had leapt the generations with their work?
The woman outside told me to masturbate and to find out how far I can go. Can I really go farther than I’ve ever been before?
She took his hand and tried to pull him toward the sofa, but Eduard politely declined. He preferred to remain standing where he was, beside the piano, waiting patiently for her to play again.
Veronika was disconcerted at first and then realized that she had nothing to lose. She was dead; what was the point of continuing to feed the fears or preconceptions that had always limited her life? She took off her blouse, her trousers, her bra, her panties, and stood before him naked.
Eduard laughed. She didn’t know why, she merely noted that he had laughed. Delicately she took his hand and placed it on her genitals; his hand remained there, immobile. Veronika gave up the idea and removed his hand.
Something was exciting her far more than any physical contact with this man: the fact that she could do whatever she wanted, that there were no limits. Apart from the woman outside, who might come back in at any moment, nobody else would be awake.
Her blood began to race, and the cold—which she had felt when she took off her clothes—was fading. Veronika and Eduard were both standing up, face to face, she naked, he fully clothed. Veronika slid her own hand down to her genitals and started to masturbate; she had done it before, either alone or with certain partners, but never in a situation like this, where the man showed no apparent interest in what was happening.
And this was exciting, very exciting. Standing up, legs apart, Veronika was touching her genitals, her breasts, her hair, surrendering herself as she had never done before, not because she wanted to see Eduard leave his distant world, but because this was something she had never experienced before.
She started talking, saying unthinkable things, things that her parents, her friends, her ancestors would have considered absolute filth. Her first orgasm came, and she bit her lips so as not to cry out with pleasure.
Eduard was looking at her. There was a different light in his eyes, as if he understood, even if it was only the energy, heat, sweat, and smell that her body gave off Veronika was still not satisfied. She knelt down and started masturbating again.
She wanted to die of orgasmic pleasure, thinking about and realizing everything that had always been forbidden to her: she begged him to touch her, to force her, to use her in any way he wanted. She wished Zedka were there too, because a woman knows how to touch another woman’s body better than any man, because she already knows all its secrets.
On her knees before Eduard, who remained standing, she felt possessed, touched, and she used coarse words to describe what she wanted him to do to her. Another orgasm came, stronger than ever, as if everything around her were about to explode. She remembered the heart attack she had had that morning, but what did that matter, she would die in one great explosion of pleasure. She was tempted to touch Eduard— he was there before her—but she did not want to risk spoiling the moment. She was going far, very far, just as Mari had said.
She imagined herself both queen and slave, dominatrix and victim. In her imagination she was making love with men of all skin colors— white, black, yellow—with homosexuals and beggars. She was anyone’s, and anyone could do anything to her. She had one, two, three orgasms, one after another. She imagined everything she had never imagined before, and she gave herself to all that was most base and most pure. At last, unable to contain herself any longer, she cried out with pleasure, with the pain of all those orgasms, all those men and women who had entered and left her body through the doors of her mind.
She lay down on the ground and stayed there, drenched in sweat, her soul full of peace. She had concealed her hidden desires even from herself, unable to say why, but she needed no answer. It was enough that she had done what she had done. She had surrendered herself.
Gradually the universe returned to its proper place and Veronika stood up. Eduard had not moved in all that time, but there seemed to be something different about him: There was a tenderness in his eyes, a very human tenderness.
It was so good that I can see love in everything, even in the eyes of a schizophrenic.
She was beginning to put her clothes back on when she felt a third presence in the room.
Mari was there. Veronika didn’t know when she had come in or what she had heard or seen, but even so she felt no shame or fear. She merely looked at her distantly, as one does at someone who has come too close.
“I did as you suggested,” she said. “And I went a long, long way.”
Mari said nothing; she had just been reliving certain vital moments of her past life, and she was feeling slightly uneasy. Perhaps it was time to return to the world, to face up to things out there, to say that everyone could be a member of a great Fraternity, even if they had never been in a mental hospital.
Like this young girl, for example, whose only reason for being in Villete was because she had made an attempt on her own life. She had never known panic, depression, mystical visions, psychoses—the limits to which the mind can take us. Although she had known many men, she had never experienced the most hidden part of her own desires, and the result was that half of her life had been unknown to her. If only everyone could know and live with their inner craziness. Would the world be a worse place for it? No, people would be fairer and happier.
“Why did I never do that before?”
“He wants you to play more music,” said Mari, looking at Eduard. “I think he deserves it.”
“I will, but answer my question first: Why did I never do that before? If I’m free, if I can think whatever I choose to think, why have I always avoided imagining forbidden situations?”
“Forbidden? Listen, I was a lawyer, and I know the law.
I was also a Catholic, and I used to know whole sections of the Bible by heart. What do you mean by ‘forbidden’?”
Mari went over to her and helped her on with her sweater.
“Look me in the eye, and never forget what I’m about to tell you. There are only two prohibitions, one according to man’s law, the other according to God’s. Never force a sexual relationship on anyone, because that is considered to be rape. And never have sexual relations with children, because that is the worst of all sins. Apart from that, you’re free. There’s always someone who wants exactly what you want.”
Mari didn’t have the patience to teach important things to someone who was about to die. With a smile, she said good night and left the room.
Eduard didn’t move; he was waiting for the music. Veronika needed to reward him for the immense pleasure he had given her, merely by staying with her and witnessing her insanity without horror or repulsion. She sat down at the piano and started to play again.
Her soul was light, and not even the fear of death tormented her now. She had experienced what she had always kept hidden from herself. She had experienced the pleasures of virgin and prostitute, of slave and queen, albeit more slave than queen.
That night, as if by a miracle, all the songs she had known returned to her memory, and she played in order to give Eduard as much pleasure as she herself had experienced.
When he turned on the light, Dr. Igor was surprised to see the young woman sitting in the waiting room outside his office.
“It’s still very early. And I’m completely booked all day.”
“I know it’s early,” she said. “And the day hasn’t yet begun. I just need to talk for a while, only a short while. I need your help.”
She had dark shadows under her eyes and her hair was dull, the typical symptoms of someone who has spent the whole night awake.
Dr. Igor decided to show her into his room.
He asked her to sit down while he turned on the light and opened the curtains. It would be dawn in less than an hour, and then he would be able to save on electricity; the shareholders were very tough on expenses, however insignificant.
He glanced rapidly through his diary: Zedka had had her last insulin shock and had reacted positively, that is, she had managed to survive that inhuman treatment. It’s just as well, in this particular case, that Dr. Igor had demanded that the hospital council sign a declaration taking full responsibility for the consequences.
He started reading some reports. Two or three patients had behaved aggressively during the night. Among them, according to the nurses’ report, was Eduard. He had gone back to his ward at about four in the morning and had refused to take his sleeping tablets. Dr. Igor would have to act. However liberal Villete might be inside, it was necessary to preserve its image as a harsh, conservative institution.
“I’ve got something very important to ask you,” said Veronika.
But Dr. Igor ignored her. Picking up his stethoscope, he began to listen to her heart and lungs. He tested her reflexes and examined the back of her retina with a small flashlight. He saw that there were now almost no signs of Vitriol poisoning.
He immediately went to the phone and asked the nurse to bring in some medication with a complicated name.
“It seems you didn’t have your injection last night,” he said.
“But I’m feeling much better.”
“I just have to look at your face: dark shadows under the eyes, tiredness, the lack of immediate reflexes. If you want to make the most of the little time left to you, please do as I say.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here. I want to make the most of that little time, but in my own way. How much time have I actually got?”
Dr. Igor peered at her over the top of his glasses.
“You can tell me,” she said. “I’m not afraid or indifferent or anything. I want to live, but I know that’s not enough, and I’m resigned to my fate.”
“What is it you want, then?”
The nurse came in with the injection. Dr. Igor nodded and the nurse gently rolled up the sleeve of Veronika’s sweater.
“How much time have I got left?” said Veronika again, while the nurse gave her the injection.
“Twenty-four hours, perhaps less.”
She looked down and bit her lip but managed to maintain her composure.
“I want to ask two favors. First, that you give me some medication, an injection or whatever, so that I can stay awake and enjoy every moment that remains of my life. I’m very tired, but I don’t want to sleep. I’ve got a lot to do, things that I always postponed for some future date, in the days when I thought life would last forever. Things I’d lost interest in, when I started to believe that life wasn’t worth living.”
“And what’s the second favor?”
“I want to leave here so that I can die outside. I need to visit Ljubljana castle. It’s always been there, and I’ve never even had the curiosity to go and see it at close range. I need to talk to the woman who sells chestnuts in winter and flowers in the spring. We passed each other so often, and I never once asked her how she was. And I want to go out without a jacket and walk in the snow, I want to find out what extreme cold feels like, I, who was always so well wrapped up, so afraid of catching a cold.
“In short, Dr. Igor, I want to feel the rain on my face, to smile at any man I feel attracted to, to accept all the coffees men might buy for me. I want to kiss my mother, tell her I love her, weep in her lap, unashamed of showing my feelings, because they were always there even though I hid them.
“I might go into a church and look at those images that never meant anything to me and see if they say something to me now. It an interesting man invites me out to a club, I’ll accept, and I’ll dance all night until I drop. Then I’ll go to bed with him, but not the way I used to go to bed with other men, trying to stay in control, pretending things I didn’t feel. I want to give myself to one man, to the city, to life and, finally, to death.”
When Veronika had finished speaking, there was a heavy silence. Doctor and patient looked each other in the eye, absorbed, perhaps distracted by all the many possibilities that a mere twenty-four hours could offer.
“I’m going to give you some stimulants, but I don’t recommend you take them,” Dr. Igor said at last. “They’ll keep you awake, but they’ll also take away the peace you need in order to experience everything you want to experience.