2
The doctor is opening and closing his mouth like a carp. It took a few seconds for words to come out. The doctor was shouting. Why is he shouting? He’s kinda screaming at the small woman. And then, the uniforms got mixed up, a blue one. A police that I didn’t know. He rebuked the doctor. From what did I actually know that that’s a doctor? He’s wearing a white overall. Can also be a baker. But he has a metal lamp and a “listening thing” in his pocket. What should a baker do with this listening thing, listen to bread? Now that’s definitely a doctor. And now, the doctor’s pointing towards my head and roaring. I fumble with my legs under the sheets. They’re dry. Doesn’t feel all pissed and bloody. Where the hell am I?
I lay on my back. The ceiling is yellow. I turn to the side: big, dark windows. Other side: white plastic curtains. Hospital, I would say. That also fits the doctor. And yeah, the small woman is also wearing a overall with a writing block in her hand. And which hospital? Maybe the charity? Nah, not a single idea. I’m probably not in Berlin. Maybe I could ask, but no one’s paying attention on me. Because, the police doesn’t like it, when the doctor’s shouting at him, so he shouts louder back, but then the doctor gets even louder – and then, you’re starting to get interested in who’s right. Clearly the doctor and not the police, and I’m so exhausted and also somehow happy and tired, cushioned by happiness and slept again, without saying a single word. The happiness, I learned later, is called valium. They gave me quite a big dose.
When I woke up again, it turned bright. The sun is in the big widow. My footpads were being scratched. Aha, another doctor, a different one this time, and he also has a nurse. No police. Only that the scratching of my footpads is not so comfortable. Why is he doing that?
“He’s awake.” The nurse said. Not so emotional.
“Ah, aha.” The doctor looked at me. “How are you feeling?”
I wanted to say something. But the only thing that came out was: “Pfff.”
“How are you doing? Do you know what your name is?”
“Pfff-fah?”
What kind of a question is that? Do they think I’ve turned insane? I look at the doctor, and he returns the sight, and then he goes above me and puts a lamp in my face. Is this interrogation? Should I say my name or something? Is it the torture hospital here? And when can he stop trying to keep my eyes open, or at least do something to show that he’s interested in my answer? But I didn’t say anything. Because, when I was still thinking about if I should say Maik Klingenberg or just Maik or Klinge or Attila the King of the Huns – my father always says that, when he’s only had bad news for the whole day, then, he drinks a bunch a beer and addresses himself on telephone as Attila the King of the Huns – I mean, as I’m still thinking if I should say something in this situation, the doctor said something like “four here” and “three there”, and I fell asleep again.