Cures in Marienbad
“This is boiling hot!”, Sebastian screeches as he dips his big toe in the free-standing copper bath.
“Ach nein”, reacts Fräulein Bienenstich. She plunges her giant thermometer in the water and checks again. “Fifty-two degrees ist perfect”, she flashes Sebastian an almost toothless grin.
“Ok then but steady on”, he replies and enters the hot dark water carefully, an inch at a time, precariously holding Fräulein’s hand.
“Twenty-five minutes and then schluss”, she points at the clock hanging on the wall. “Will come back”. She waves and walks out of the room. She slams the door behind her.
“You better”, he mumbles and sinks back into the slightly smelly and brownish water.
He had only read about this treatment over breakfast this morning, so of course, the receptionist told him it was fully booked for the next few days, but he had made such a fuss that they couldn’t refuse.
After just a minute or so, he can already feel his tense muscles relaxing. The carbonated bath sits proudly in the middle of the luxurious 19th century Royal Cabin which was King Edward VII’s treatment room. Fräulein Bienenstich had added peat extract, which according to the brochure; “helps to relieve muscle overload and is effective for pain in the joints, spine and muscles. Due to its rich content of active organic substances, it heals eczema, acne and other inflammatory skin conditions”.
…
He had arrived last night in dreary Marienbad, about 2 hours from Prague. It was the beginning of December and it seemed as if everybody had gone into hiding. The streets were deserted and the restaurants were empty. In the city center he could still spot the odd tourist but as soon as he got closer to the station, everybody had disappeared. On the train west, he found himself all alone in the carriage. He left at 4pm but it could have been the midst of the night. Hardly any lights were to be seen outside. It was raining hard with streaming rain obscuring most of his view outside. He closed his thick winter coat and twirled his mohair shawl around his neck to make sure his mouth was covered.
Last year Sebastian visited the impressive baths in Budapest. The famous Szechenyi Spa Baths were housed in a beautiful Neo-baroque palace. The design of the spa baths by Győző Czigler, who had also built the Szechenyi Furdo palace in May 1909, had impressed Sebastian. Hungary was the country of baths for many centuries: starting with the Roman settlers who built the first spa baths, through the 16th century when Turkish occupiers built many of the now famous exotic looking Turkish baths. Sebastian was fascinated by the floating chess boards at the edge of the steaming pools. A tanned, slender looking man with a heavy moustache pointed at one of the floating chess boards and they had started a game. “My name is Jevgeni”, he said and shook Sebastian’s hand.
“Pleasure, mine is Sebastian”. After about fifteen minutes, it became clear that Sebastian didn’t stand a chance against the man. “Such a marvelous place”, Sebastian said, hoping to distract Jevgeni from his intense concentration. “Not bad, not bad”, he replied without looking. “But you know, if you really want authentic, you should head out to Marienbad. This place is just for tourists”.
“Oh really?”. Sebastian replied slightly disappointed.
…
The train station at Marienbad is totally deserted and he seems to be the only passenger to have left the train here. He was promised a chauffeur driven limousine that would pick him up at the station. Rain is pouring down, and he is determined not to venture into what seems a dark and hazy warren of small streets and alleys. He takes out his mobile and decides to call the hotel. It will make him feel so much better to tell somebody off, especially in this grim weather.
“Mister Sebastian?”, a man shouts from the window of a small bright green car that appears out of nowhere.
…
“Welcome to the Royal Baths Hotel”, a short young girl says from behind an impressive mahogany counter. “So sorry about this weather, but it’s always like this in Marienbad at this time of the year”
“Lovely”, Sebastian mumbles, “just what I need” and wipes the rain from his brow.
The hotel is an illustrious example of Belle Epoque architecture. Famous philosophers, composers and royalties have stayed at this magnificent hotel. Healthy and balanced menus from Czechia and international cuisines are promised in the glossy brochures. A large assortment of signature dishes along with any specific requests according to your nutritional plan – low-calorie, low-sodium, lactose-free, gluten-free, diabetic, vegetarian, vegan, seafood diet and many other diet menus were also available. The entrance reminds him of the hall at the Opera Garnier in Paris.
Sebastian had suffered from poor health ever since he was a child. Respiratory diseases and now at a later age cardiovascular problems, have become part of his daily burden. He also suffers from narcolepsy, a chronic neurological disorder that affects the brain's ability to control sleep-wake cycles. His doctors had recommended yearly retreats to a spa where they specialize in hot-humid jet inhalations, dry nebulization, tube-tympanic insufflations and hot, tepid, cold and ice baths.
...
Apart from a noisy Russian speaking family, he is the only guest in the dining room. It is designed like a lush green winter garden with vaulted glass ceilings including a dense forest of oversized Strelitzias and huge palm trees in big colorful ceramic planters. The potted citrus tree collection was supposed to date back at least 100 years.
He orders the ‘Svíčková na smetaně’, the national Czech dish, typically prepared for special occasions. The dish consists of a quality cut of beef, or beef sirloin, slow-roasted and served with vegetable puree. He also orders a bottle of Pálava, a white wine made from a Czech grape variety that was created as a cross between Müller Thurgau and Gewürztraminer.
He remembers getting tipsy on this wine last year with Jevgeni when they had decided to have dinner after their chess game to ‘celebrate’ Sebastian’s defeat. After their third bottle, Sebastian had told Jevgeni about his lung condition and his severe narcolepsy. As head of service at the lung clinic at the Uszoki Hospital, Jevgeni could relate to Sebastian’s story.
…
“Twenty minutes enough!”, Fräulein Bienenstich yells as she abruptly opens the door of the therapy room.
Sebastian rolls his eyes.
“Doctor waiting for you next door for inhalation therapy now”, she points to the door like a bouncer eager to get rid of the last partygoer.
“Well good riddance”, Sebastian mumbles and puts on his luxuriously soft bathrobe.
He nods to Fraulein and takes a left. The corridor leading to the doctor’s room is covered with handmade colourful tiles with intricate scenes of peacocks and pomegranates.
He knocks and waits.
“Posadit se”, somebody shouts. Sebastian takes a seat.
He settles into the wooden design chair. Some old Czech magazines and newspapers are spread on the side table. An old copy of the Frankfurter Allgemeine is hidden under the magazines. He leaves through the first pages and notices a headline which he quickly translates; ‘Dr. Prof. Emrt. Jevgeny Olboda on the run after investigation of several deaths at famous hospital in Budapest’. His jaw drops.
...
When called, Sebastian steps into a tiny room.
“Well, hello there Sebastian!”, a familiar voice greets him.
He looks at the doctor’s badge on his white coat‘ Prof. Dr. J. Olboda’.
“Ah so you finally made it here”, he grins and twists his heavy moustache. “Please close the door behind you. We have so many things to catch up on.”
Sebastian sighs and coughs.
(all copyright E. Sohl - Illustration: Nirina- Editor: C. Hommez)
