VII

The actual Christmas celebrations went off normally. Something like a sigh of relief went through my uncle’s family now that other families were to be seen gathered around Christmas trees, other families had also to sing and eat spekulatius. But the relief lasted only for the duration of the Christmas season. As early as mid-January my cousin Lucie was afflicted by a strange malady: at the sight of the Christmas trees lying around on streets and garbage piles, she would burst into hysterical sobbing. This was followed by a regular attack of madness, which the family tried to pass off as a nervous breakdown. When a friend with whom she was having afternoon coffee smilingly offered her some spekulatius, she knocked the plate out of her hand. It is true, of course, that my cousin is what is known as a temperamental woman; so she knocked the plate out of her friend’s hand, walked over to the Christmas tree, ripped it from its stand, and trampled on the glass baubles, artificial mushrooms, candles, and stars, a continuous howl issuing from her lips. The assembled ladies fled, including the hostess, and Lucie was left to rampage while they waited in the hall for the doctor, listening perforce to china being smashed inside the room. I find it difficult, but I must report here that Lucie was taken away in a straitjacket.

Although repeated hypnotic treatments arrested the malady, the actual cure progressed very slowly. Above all, the release from the evening ceremony, on which the doctor insisted, seemed to have a noticeably beneficial effect; after only a few days she began to thrive. After only ten days the doctor could risk at least mentioning spekulatius, but she obstinately refused to eat any. The doctor hit on the brilliant idea of feeding her pickles, offering her salads and hearty meat dishes. That was really poor Lucie’s salvation. She laughed again, and she began to spice the endless therapeutic conversations with her doctor by adding ironic comments.

Although the gap caused by Lucie’s absence from the evening ceremony was painful for my aunt, it was explained by a circumstance that can be accepted as a valid excuse for all women—pregnancy.

But Lucie had created what is called a precedent: she had proved that, although our aunt suffered when someone was absent, she did not start screaming right away, and my cousin Johannes and his brother-in-law Karl now tried to break out of the strict discipline by pleading illness or business commitments, or offering other more or less transparent reasons. But here my uncle was surprisingly adamant: with relentless severity he stipulated that only in exceptional cases could doctors’ certificates be submitted and the briefest of dispensations applied for. My aunt immediately noticed any additional gap and would break into quiet but persistent weeping, giving rise to the most ominous concern.

After a month, Lucie returned and expressed her willingness to rejoin the daily ritual, but her doctor has insisted that a jar of pickles and a plate of hearty sandwiches be kept in readiness for her, her spekulatius trauma having proved to be incurable. Thus for a while all disciplinary problems were resolved by my uncle, who on this point turned out to be surprisingly adamant.