Who was Erde?

On the 24th of November, 196-, there walked into my consultation room a young married lady, Frau X. She was twenty-two, had dark brown hair and wore dark spectacles. Her problem was that she dared not be together with other people; she could not go to a party, not lift a glass. In some way she was irritating, aggressive and narrowminded. I usually never did this, but two times I postponed a consultation with her. She saw me at the top of my might and influence in my elegant office; what if she could see me today, a poor refugee in poverty and exile? If only I myself could then have foreseen. I tried to save her marriage, but impossible. Her husband was rather unintelligent, had been selling cars the last two years. Before that he had been a truckdriver.

It began to go better. I discovered when she took off her spectacles that she was very beautiful. A Bali face. She liked to read and was then studying to be a nurse in hospital. I got very attracted to her but felt I could never, as her confessor, take the first step.

Then came the fatal day, third of February in the following year. (May I now interject that her mother had committed suicide, put herself on fire, and her grandma and great grandma were suffering also from depressions, a massive inherited disposition for generations.) Suddenly she burst into weeping without any warning. I was so touched by this "child's" helpless crying, and take into consideration my deep sympathy for her, so I caressed her hair on top of her head. Usually with patients I would only offer my handkerchief, but this was too much for me. Then she had her head fall against me and bit me very mild (!) on my hand, smiling and asking if I always did so with patients. This seemed to prove that she did it more consciously than I had thought.

She has never been able to tell why she started weeping. I was sitting in a chair, but then went beside her on the sofa. And there we were for eleven hours, without drinking, eating, going to the toilet, only she and I. She repeated again and again, "Take me, take me." But I would not. This was a poor creature in distress, a situation which must not be exploited. She said it was so hot (that it was) and took off her blouse, was in brassiere. She begged me to take it off, and reluctantly I bared her bosom. I did not feel much sexual desire with this, more a feeling, indescribable, of tenderness, protection. For how defenseless she was in that position.

I gave her hugs and, partly as a kind of modesty, covered her bosom with my jacket. I have never been wild for bosoms and never liked to kiss or suck the nipples. I am not a baby and not a voluptuous pig. When I am looking at a girl I am first looking after: (1) her face (2) face again (3) her posterior (4) her legs, etc., etc. But as with everything else, her bosom was perfect as few are. To be quite naked is usually not a good thing. She was one of the very few apart from in the Far East who looked beautiful like that. Had not her mind, hélas, been so devilish, how cruel of fate, I would at least have had sexual intercourse with her two to three times daily, so attractive she was.

Of course I caressed her bosom, but with deep respect and tenderness. At three in the night I sent her home. She said that it was odd she did not really feel anything and mentioned how she had once been fascinated by a young man and when she saw him next day wondered what she had seen in him.

Next two days we could not meet, but long telephone talks. Her odd, somewhat hoarse and hard voice. Saturday we were in cinema and saw Gone With the Wind. When I saw it in 1958 it had been a bad omen; it should prove to be an even worse this time. But who thought so then?

Afterward, at home in my flat, she put her beautiful little head on my shoulder. She was there all the night. I undressed her. She was lying on her belly. What a magnificent posterior she had! Again there was the usual problem, that my sex organ became atonic for ununderstandable reasons after being led up to her. It did not pain me after some time, and the foreskin went, in contrast to ever before, easily back even very soon. After some time my sex organ, if not introduced into her, became really stiff and hard as a sword (forgive this description, but it has importance to my story). In fact, more than three months would go by before it was in order, but it had convinced me that, as I had always thought, it was total lack of training, different practices (self-satisfaction two to three times in twenty-four hours, so it is astonishing that I so soon got it up again at all). But she took it rather patiently, it did not mean so much to her then.

Ten days later came the first of many crises. She had told her husband's aunt about her intention to separate from him. The aunt had much influence on her, but in spite of this I managed to convince her to do as she wanted. Her father, whom I met for the first time, agreed with me. She left her husband and stayed at her father's flat until we left for Greece.

My birthday was on the second of April, a seldom happy day. She was extremely nervous at the thought of seeing all those people, but I promised to support her in every way. We met at the cinema and I had to nearly carry her home. But once there all went well and she was a perfect hostess. We were very much in love.

As birthday presents she gave me (now I think that we are all smiling) a pair of Bermuda shorts and T-shirt! It was, to be just, very expensive, eighteen dollars or so. But as most men I prefer something personal, in my case, books. Whether the gift is expensive or not does not matter, as long as it is a little original or interesting. I do not remember how I succeeded in hiding my disappointment, but I did, and also to hide before the others what I, the lover of books, beautiful things of art, etc. etc., had got. Tasteless, American, Bermuda shorts, striped. I must laugh. Extremely funny. By the way, I had much use of them, especially the shirt.

After the guests had gone it seemed to have been the most beautiful day of my life. So much contact and understanding. For love we rolled embracing down from the sofa and around on the carpet.

The next days we could not meet and, against all normal expectation, after such a happy evening where she had forgotten her nervousness, she was rather cold and strange. That same week her husband called me, asking for Doctor Conningsfield, not knowing my treacherous role in regard to him, wanting advice about his wife. I talked to him forty minutes and how glad I was afterwards. He was kind but naive, with nothing in his head but cars. Obviously he didn't understand Erde at all. He had been so unhappy. Later I learned he was already having sexual intercourse with another lady and later, when we went off to Greece, began living with her.

At that time we went with friends on one of the historical trips I liked so much. Erde was extremely unkind to all of us. I felt so ashamed, even though the others said it did not matter. That something was really wrong with her was obvious. During the trip she suddenly wept, no motivation, and later told me that in contrast to before she did not feel anything religious in the cathedral we visited. I read to her about the symptoms of the periodic depression; she agreed that hers were exactly the same. She decided we would leave our country and she would not go to that examination. She decided also that everything about me was wrong and became much more occupied by my "unnatural" behavior than anything else.

Never in my life have I been treated so wickedly. Never before had I tolerated it. Her future was looking very bad. We could no more doubt that she had inherited her mother's mental disease. She would not go to a doctor, we could not go out or do anything, and if we visited museums, etc., she was only occupied with my "behavior." Apart from the fact that — forgive me — I am not a common man, there was of course nothing very special with my behavior.

All this then was only in her mind. Because of her treatment of me I really got clumsy as I never am, so I could not take her to many of the things, art museums, etc., she had never seen. Of course, I protested against many of her silly ideas, but as she forgot herself and her own problems and concentrated on me, it was temporarily not the worst.

Since she would not go to a doctor, I pretended that I had a periodic depression and went to a very old one who I knew was a kind fool. I did not use my real name. But he gave me the tablets. We tried first with some green ones (Chlorpromazyl). She fell asleep fully dressed on my sofa, awakened at three in the night, looked with horror and fright on me, and disgust, and jumped out of our flat and down to the nearby lake. So I realized it was not the green ones she needed!

Two days later and she would still drown herself or go back to her husband. This was the day before we should leave for Greece, so everything was in confusion. But after all that, the next day, in a first class compartment, I left with her for München. Such a beautiful morning and night. I was awakened by hearing her groaning. I consoled her. In this way we became closer to each other.

In München we visited Dachau, horrible. One night we stayed together in a very expensive hotel. Sexual intercourse, both satisfied though not the real way, rather by petting, etc. Afterward, quite unmotivated (she has never been able to say why she did it), she said again and again: "How ugly you are!" Very encouraging.

From München to Belgrade. A night there, again deep happiness, darling, dear, etc. Then off for Athens where she was rather unkind again. For the next three weeks it was so.

I had discovered in München that she kept a diary to "confess" to, not a good sign. I read it in the night when she was asleep. Normally such behavior is, of course, not correct, but here it was necessary and gave me much important information. She wrote, for instance, in Athens, that something like a dark cloud would come over her spirits, that she could not resist it, it was like a wet cloth, and trying to resist she got angry. This was a very good description of a periodic depression. She took her Tofranil tablets every day (the strongest anti-depressant means which exist), but they had really no effect up to one month from the start.

We went to Crete. For ununderstandable reasons my secretary had not sent money; we had to cable to Erde's father. In that way she had paid toward the trip 140 dollars more than I, of which she constantly reminded me. It was horrible on Crete until the money came in a cable. She wrote in her diary about "this little, common, unimportant man" (me). This hit. We went out in the evening. I could not of course tell her I had read this (though I have reason to believe she knew I had looked into her diary at least once, in Athens), but from then on when she criticized me, in spite of my patience, I refuted her arguments point after point. She laughed wickedly and said she would not accompany me and left. I let her go. After one half hour I got nervous and went to our hotel and found her there. Very calmly and strongly I scolded her and asked if she realized what a task this was. She burst into tears. After scolding her some more I put her to bed, consoling and forgiving her. She had a good sleep and wrote in her diary, "Then Flaminio came home and how angry he was and how he scolded and how much I deserved it and I respect him much more."

Like a mother with a child, I, who normally sleep such a good sleep, now was always awakening. When she had one of her horrible nightmares I would awaken automatically, like a chronometer. Thus one morning, without reasons, she awakened and was weeping for one hour constantly. It was such a pity for her father and sisters, that they could not make it through life without her help, etc. Of course nonsense. I had her in my arms the whole time and kissed her tears away. She wrote that I had been most consoling and patient.

Then we went to Rhodes. The first day in Rhodes City was very bad; for no reason she suddenly tore me in my left arm. I have never seen anything so ugly. It became quite black, a spot on my left upper arm in size like a Penguin Pocketbook. It pained of course. I got extremely angry and in spite of her fierce resistance I pulled her down on her belly, in a hurry took up her nightgown and gave her one (1) blow with my hand on her bare buttocks. Extremely seldom and only after much provocation have I ever beaten her and I have always regretted it except this once. Later she showed me her posterior where one could see my hand and fingers and said I had enjoyed it. I swore I had not, and this was true. She never more reproached me for it.

The next night was quite the opposite. She was very kind and we both had satisfaction. I had, what also is correct, told her that statistically most sexual intercourse is not done in the so-called "normal" way but by kinds of petting. She had, though not a pig, a rather indelicate inclination. So much I loved her that I did it, you know, the mouth, you know where. Fortunately she only seldom wished this.

We had now rented a house in Lindos, some distance from Rhodes City. On the 5th we moved in and the next weeks were the happiest in our life together. On the 8th she stopped the diary. Neither of us was interested in mixing with the local hippies. I had 230 books with me and we both read much. The day started at six thirty in the morning: I down to make breakfast, then bath, then she was sewing, etc., while I read languages. At approximately ten thirty I went for water, we went to the grocer, then dinner, then rest, then down again to the beach, then supper at five thirty. At approximately seven thirty we read aloud to each other. She had not much education. I taught her much, reading philosophy, psychology, history and French together with her. About eight thirty to bed.

And so we were not always unhappy. In fact, there were so many days of beautiful peace, no worries, studies from morning to evening, my life's dearest occupation, beautiful landscape, etc. And we had, apart from when she was ill, never the quarrelling which most people have — who should do this and who that. No nightmares more, no diary.

On the 20th of June, a very warm day, we were at noon going to rest. I went over to her bed — and suddenly both of us wanted to have sexual intercourse. For the first time in my life that part of me did what it is supposed to do. "Es gelang, es gelang, so war es doch richtig was ich gesagt hatte," I mumbled. I, who was usually so eloquent, was extremely quiet, the whole day looked so tenderly at her, found that it was something so private that we had together, so intimate, that she had something of me in her. A week later we did not succeed, but in the middle of July it was even better. (On account of the risk of pregnancy there was this interval of a fortnight or so.)

Then we met a typical American couple, Sue and Jim Winters. She was thirty-three, he twenty-five, but rather mature. She had been married twice before, now married eight months, he living in America, she in Madrid. Now for the first time they were together. It lasted one month. She was as people imagine an American woman. They were quarrelling from morning to night. After one month he, according to her, tried to murder her, police scandal in the village, etc. Then one month thinking how to dissolve the marriage, and then he disappeared. To Jim our marriage was ideal (he thought we were married, typical American prejudice); here was order, harmony, etc.

But all this brought turbulence in our life and it became obvious that the tablets had had a good but not total effect. Never quarrelling, however. Only she had no interest, she could not understand why, in sexual intercourse, so this stopped in August. I took it with philosophical stoicism. This must not be the crucial point, I said. Then Jim and I once talked about taking cats in their tails and from that time Erde had the lunatic idea that I was a "Himmler" to cats.

So out of defiance and bitterness one could get cruel (no, not anything bad). September was with many clouds over us. October was horrible. Then Jim disappeared. We had often seen a young man at the beach of the type you can find many of in Greece, Italy, Turkey, India, etc. Adonises with very little education. Basilleus was his name (he should have been called Bacillus!). So many young western women are attracted by them because their hair is black. Well, modern Greeks have nothing to do with Ancient Greece. It is an Oriental mixture with all the Muslim vices. He began coming in our house. One morning she told me she had kissed him. He offered not to come more. I realized it was not his fault. So, using psychology, I let him still come, but told him her history. In that way I got him neutralized.

The beginning of November I had to leave for home to arrange our crumbled finances. The week started very badly when Erde threatened to let everything finish in anarchy. Two evenings before I left she burst into tears. It was sad that she should be glad that I was to leave, she told me. I then also burst into tears, and so that day and the next and the morning I left everything was in order. She took leave of me at the bus. I have never seen somebody wave with the hand such a long time.

The six weeks I was away I was deeply in love with her. I went to France and England, losing one hundred and fifty dollars in vain speculation there. Her first two letters were rather cold, but the last one, before I left for Greece, was one of the most beautiful I have ever received. Why was I so naive? Basilleus had given his word of honour, she had been so tender, and I consider jealousy a low human disposition.

Well, taking six suitcases filled with books, many other things, gifts, etc., I arrived in Athens. I called her on the telephone; she was astonishingly cold, but I thought it might be due to the distance. She told me not to come before everything was in order. I cabled I would come at once and left by steamer, arriving in Lindos the day before Christmas. Basilleus was at the bus stop. He was so odd, as if he had something to hide. As I, mad with love, was going to embrace her, Erde received me with eyes shining with hate. "Now better let the curtain go up!" she said.

Then she told me that she hated me because I had told her she was ill and there had never been anything wrong. Nightmares, to be awakened in the middle of the night with her asking me to remove an imagined thing, were caused only by her "nervousness." The same with the depressions, the weeping without reasons. And I owed her money, should pay her back for her stay, pay for her brother to visit, pay for her return, etc., in total, 900 dollars! I myself had lost on transport, etc., 500 dollars. Otherwise she would go to the police.

She had had sexual intercourse with Basilleus, who quite unashamed came into the house — we even went to that rascal's birthday party pretending everything was in order. Her brother came, behaving worse than a Texan. Again and again I telephoned my mother to send money (my own this time), so I could come home. This lunatic girl could any moment go to the police and say we had had cameras with us that we sold.

But at last I escaped — without paying her the unreasonable amount. She came home in March and had me sign a bill of exchange which I was clever enough to sign wrong, and told her this from India. The last time I wrote to her was shortly before coming to Villefranche.

Now, then, what was the truth behind this story? Was I a cruel rascal, a doctor who cynically exploited his patient because she was a young girl? Did I try to dominate her by saying she was ill? Did there not come anything positive of it? Did I cheat her out of much money? Most likely the truth is that she had unfortunately inherited this illness from her mother. She did not really love me, but instinctively used and abused me to get out of her marriage. Of course I did not exploit her. I gave her all my sympathy. The positive: I learned that I am rather easy to cope with "at close quarters." As for the money, no, I did not cheat her, but I would not pay her as if she had been a prostitute! As for her illness, she was really ill, but it is typical for the lunatic to pretend that he or she is normal.

Erde was FATE.