“I’m pleased to hear it, Mrs. Briem. Many of our guests prefer to stay at Lowland while others like being in the city. That’s just the way it goes. You’ll be staying in a hotel in Amsterdam, right?”
“To begin with,” I said. “We’re going to look for an apartment.”
“You can see that not all mothers are as lucky as I am. He’s doing this all for me, my Super Trooper.”
The director grinned and we walked across the grass. She told us about the old cottages that were the servants’ quarters before Libertas took over the estate and converted them into patient housing.
“We have six people staying with us now. Two from my country, then we’ve got Americans and Italians. We were twelve all in all until yesterday; counting myself, Ramji, the doctor, and the two German girls we have volunteering this summer, but our good, old Gombrowich departed last night.”
“What?” Mother looked up absentmindedly. “Where did he go?”
“I think you’re tired, Mother.” I gave the director an apologetic look and turned back. “I think we should go to the hotel now and come back tomorrow.”
“Not on my account. Is there really so much to do?”
“Not today really,” HelgaMam said. “My office is over there and you’re welcome anytime. If I’m not in you can call the number on my card, which I’ll give you after you’ve met with the doctor.”
“Ach, let’s get this over with,” Mother said. “You may think I’m a complete invalid like Emma Gulla, I mean she practically had to marry a doctor. But to tell the truth I can’t really feel this so-called cancer in my leg. And definitely not after a little schnapps.”
“Well, then we should go see the doctor.”
She led us back to the mansion, up the stairs and into the doctor’s quarters. The doctor sat behind a blue desk on the second floor and beamed at us when we entered. He was older and grayer than in the photo on the website, but easily recognizable nonetheless. He had an aura about him of times gone by that was hard to define. His clothes were strangely tailored, the waistband of his pants sat high on his gut, held in place with suspenders, and he wore an unbuttoned, powder blue doctor’s coat.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, offering his hand. He suddenly stopped midair and stared intently at me. “What have we here?” he said and pointed to the mole on my temple. “Well, I’ll be damned! Black Beauty. What a strange place for him. How wonderful!”
“Who’s Black Beauty?” I asked, puzzled by the doctor’s behavior.
“Afrandarius erpexoplexis, aka Black Beauty—because of the color—all the way from the vast Pacific. Yes, my friend, that mole you’ve got there is in fact a fungus, and not from Europe at all, no, it’s quite remarkable. Very rare here and almost never seen on the face. May I ask how long you’ve had it?”
I told him that it appeared during my college graduation trip to Hawaii, where we’d gone hiking and I’d ended up with this lasting souvenir on my face. I’d stared at this thing in the mirror for the past seventeen years and often tried to lance it, but never managed to remove it completely. I had to admit that it had never occurred to me to discover what it was.
“An old and loyal friend deserves a name, you can call it Black Beauty until you find another one. Truth be told, I would like to have a shot at it. I’m sure I could remove it with a bit of anesthesia and a jab. Afrandarius erpexoplexis! I have a considerable fungi collection. You won’t have to worry about it—I won’t kill it.”
“My mole?”
“Sure. That’s a real treasure,” he said and tapped it lightly with his forefinger. “And it will take pride of place in my collection. Right next to Ferflexus atarticus and Norgonakis felenferosis. These are the great royal houses of fungi.”
Mother cleared her throat.
“Ah, yes, well . . . Welcome to Lowland, it’s always nice to have new people.”
“I suppose that’s the way it works?” she said. “Aren’t people constantly kicking the bucket?”
“Oh, yes, death comes to us all. But it’s life that matters, milady. Life. You should enjoy it, Mrs. Briem, and have help to ease your passing if all else fails.”
“Anything but having my leg chopped off.”
“That won’t be necessary. But we are bound by the law. I cannot go beyond what my oath allows when it comes to foreigners. We sometimes send them to Switzerland, where they can offer assisted suicide to everyone. But we shall see. We should be merciful to the dying and offer remedies to those who still have hope.”
“That’s what Trooper tells me,” Mother said, still a bit wary in the presence of the doctor. “And he also tells me that I shouldn’t take offense if someone hands me a joint. But I can tell you straight away, doctor, that I do NOT do drugs.”
“Well, cannabis seems to help most cancer patients, Mrs. Briem.” The doctor chose his words with care. “And though it’s fair to say that it does nobody good to smoke too much, I do find the reluctance in Europe to acknowledge the medical benefits of the Sativa remarkable. Ukrain on the other hand—well, I suggest that we start treatment as soon as possible, first thing Monday at the latest.”
“Treatment? What do you mean?” We had discussed the Ukrain treatment numerous times back home, yet Mother still seemed clueless. “I didn’t come to the Netherlands to become a patient.”
“Of course not, you came to have fun, your son and I discussed this over the phone. But we cannot ignore that you do have a very serious disease to deal with. Ukrain does wonders in the fight against cancer. And as strange as the fear of the Cannabis sativa is, it is even stranger how much adversity my good friend Nowicky has had to contend with trying to market his remedy.”
“Nowicky?”
“One of the great minds of our time. And my Swedish colleagues . . . I should think they had other things to worry about at the Academy. Ukrain on the other hand . . . Hmm.”
“Trooper, tell the doctor I don’t want any injections,” Mother said in Icelandic.
“We’ve been through all this. You’ll have more time, maybe a year.”
“I refuse to be injected,” she repeated in English.
“You are an intelligent woman, Mrs. Briem,” the doctor said, “my glasses do not deceive me. The principle behind all our work here at Lowland is that life is more important than death. Nobody is forced to do something he or she does not want to do, but in your case . . . well it would be folly not to try the treatment. The cancer has not yet spread!”
“Trooper?”
“The doctor knows what he’s talking about.”
“Yes, but . . . injections. I just hate getting shots,” she said in Icelandic and then switched to German: “Ich dachte wir wollen einen Schnapps bekommen?”
“That is the reason we came, Fred,” the director said and smiled to the doctor. “The rest can wait until after the weekend.”
“Yes, but not a day longer! I shall join you in the lounge for a toast and then we’ll call it a day. Next week you can meet Helena and Steven. They’ll invite you to Warmoesstraat and get you what you need. What do you think of the name of their shop: Pleasure Fountain? I think it is very smart, most fitting.”
“Is that a brothel?” Mother asked making the doctor shake his head with laughter. He went on to explain that the Pleasure Fountain was Helena’s herbal remedy shop.
“She’ll fix you up with something to make you feel better,” he said. “But now I want to make a toast to your