curiosity. I suppose she hadn’t been prepared for such an answer.
It wasn’t my idea to visit Stella in the hospital. Georg Bisanz suggested it to me at the end of the day’s classes. He knew the visiting hours; he’d been to the hospital several times to see his grandmother, who, he said, had to learn to walk for the second time and was waiting for her hair to grow again.
We set off, four of us, and when the nurse discovered that we wanted to visit our teacher she smiled and told us the floor and the room number. “You know your way around here,” she said to Georg. Stella was in a room by herself. We went in quietly and slowly approached her bed. The others let me go first; an observer might have thought they were trying to hide behind me. As we came in, Stella turned her head. At first she didn’t seem to know who we were. No pleasure or surprise or even confusion showed on her face, she just stared and stared, and only when I went right up to her and took her hand, which was lying on the covers, did she raise her eyes and look at me in amazement. I thought she whispered my name. Georg Bisanz was the first of us to pull himself together. He felt a need to say something, and looking down at Stella he said, “Dear Ms. Petersen,” and then fell silent—as if he had just jumped the first hurdle. Then, after a moment, hewent on. “We heard about your accident, dear Ms. Petersen, and we’ve come to give you our good wishes. And we knew you like candied fruits, so we’ve brought you some of your favorite nibbles”—that was what he said, “favorite nibbles”—“instead of flowers. They’re from all of us.”
Stella didn’t react to what he said, not even with her familiar understanding smile. Little Hans Hansen, who wore short pants and striped socks even in winter, thought it was up to him to say something as well, and very solemnly offered to help her if she needed anything. Stella had only to say what he could do for her, said Hans, “just a word, Ms. Petersen, and it will all be done.” Stella didn’t react to this offer either; she lay there looking abstracted, deep in thought, and I sensed that even I wouldn’t be able to get through to her, at least not as long as the others were present. I wanted to be alone with her more and more urgently, more and more strongly.
I don’t know what made Georg Bisanz think of singing something, her favorite song, the one she had taught us, “The Miller of Dee.” But anyway, Georg started singing and we all joined in, suddenly finding ourselves back in the classroom with Stella standingin front of us, cheerfully conducting, encouraging us to try our voices out. We sang in loud and probably fervent tones. It was the only song we knew in English; she had sung it to us herself several times. Per Fabricius had liked her voice so much he had wanted her to sing us other songs, including modern hits, he thought “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” would be a good one. While we were singing we looked at her, hoping to see some kind of response, but her face gave nothing away, and I was trying to get used to her inaccessibility when something happened that cheered me. Tears appeared on your face, Stella. She didn’t move her lips, she didn’t raise her hand, but tears suddenly appeared from her eyes. They came when we reached the bit where the self-satisfied miller says, “I care for nobody, no, not I / If nobody cares for me.”
Perhaps because he had heard our singing, the young doctor who had met us when Stella was checked in entered the room. He nodded briefly to us and bent over Stella, put two fingers on her throat, and then said to us, “I’ll ask you young gentlemen to let my patient rest. Rest is what she needs.” That was all, he said no more, although I think some of us may have hoped he would. We moved away, and as the door openedwe had a brief glimpse of Georg Bisanz saying hello to his grandmother and talking to her for a moment, cheerfully and
It wasn’t my idea to visit Stella in the hospital. Georg Bisanz suggested it to me at the end of the day’s classes. He knew the visiting hours; he’d been to the hospital several times to see his grandmother, who, he said, had to learn to walk for the second time and was waiting for her hair to grow again.
We set off, four of us, and when the nurse discovered that we wanted to visit our teacher she smiled and told us the floor and the room number. “You know your way around here,” she said to Georg. Stella was in a room by herself. We went in quietly and slowly approached her bed. The others let me go first; an observer might have thought they were trying to hide behind me. As we came in, Stella turned her head. At first she didn’t seem to know who we were. No pleasure or surprise or even confusion showed on her face, she just stared and stared, and only when I went right up to her and took her hand, which was lying on the covers, did she raise her eyes and look at me in amazement. I thought she whispered my name. Georg Bisanz was the first of us to pull himself together. He felt a need to say something, and looking down at Stella he said, “Dear Ms. Petersen,” and then fell silent—as if he had just jumped the first hurdle. Then, after a moment, hewent on. “We heard about your accident, dear Ms. Petersen, and we’ve come to give you our good wishes. And we knew you like candied fruits, so we’ve brought you some of your favorite nibbles”—that was what he said, “favorite nibbles”—“instead of flowers. They’re from all of us.”
Stella didn’t react to what he said, not even with her familiar understanding smile. Little Hans Hansen, who wore short pants and striped socks even in winter, thought it was up to him to say something as well, and very solemnly offered to help her if she needed anything. Stella had only to say what he could do for her, said Hans, “just a word, Ms. Petersen, and it will all be done.” Stella didn’t react to this offer either; she lay there looking abstracted, deep in thought, and I sensed that even I wouldn’t be able to get through to her, at least not as long as the others were present. I wanted to be alone with her more and more urgently, more and more strongly.
I don’t know what made Georg Bisanz think of singing something, her favorite song, the one she had taught us, “The Miller of Dee.” But anyway, Georg started singing and we all joined in, suddenly finding ourselves back in the classroom with Stella standingin front of us, cheerfully conducting, encouraging us to try our voices out. We sang in loud and probably fervent tones. It was the only song we knew in English; she had sung it to us herself several times. Per Fabricius had liked her voice so much he had wanted her to sing us other songs, including modern hits, he thought “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” would be a good one. While we were singing we looked at her, hoping to see some kind of response, but her face gave nothing away, and I was trying to get used to her inaccessibility when something happened that cheered me. Tears appeared on your face, Stella. She didn’t move her lips, she didn’t raise her hand, but tears suddenly appeared from her eyes. They came when we reached the bit where the self-satisfied miller says, “I care for nobody, no, not I / If nobody cares for me.”
Perhaps because he had heard our singing, the young doctor who had met us when Stella was checked in entered the room. He nodded briefly to us and bent over Stella, put two fingers on her throat, and then said to us, “I’ll ask you young gentlemen to let my patient rest. Rest is what she needs.” That was all, he said no more, although I think some of us may have hoped he would. We moved away, and as the door openedwe had a brief glimpse of Georg Bisanz saying hello to his grandmother and talking to her for a moment, cheerfully and
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