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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 |
conclusion
Summer 1945
It’s over. Can you believe it? Can I return to work as a regular doctor? Except that I don’t have a place yet. In the last year of the war, the pediatric clinic was destroyed by a bomb. Sister Viktorine Zak, one of my closest associates perished. Her death upset me considerably. She was a researcher of unparalleled dedication, who maintained that it was crucial to observe the children down to their very toes. She was also the only female safe from Hamburger’s lascivious advances. Despite his cynicism and contempt for women, he recognized her competence.
Hamburger retired in 1944. The man was already seventy and exhausted by city life. He moved to Vöcklabruck to manage the children’s ward at the hospital. I do not think of him with hostility. He had been my mentor and my stealthy guardian.
You may find it amusing and a little pompous, but the Allies declared Austria as “the first victim of Nazi aggression” and promised to treat it as a liberated country. It all depends on how you define “liberated.” Austria was divided among the Brits, Soviets, Americans and French. I see Red Army officers with their families strolling through the center of Vienna, sprawling on the benches in the Schönbrunn Palace gardens, feeling quite at home. Russian spoken everywhere! Well, I assume it’s Russian. A very odd-sounding language. It’s quickly becoming a permanent element of the linguistic symphony.
For the most part, our communist guests behave in a civil manner. They received strict orders not to engage in barbaric acts against Austrian civilians. I do sometimes notice how local girls tense up when ogled by Red Army soldiers. We all have heard accounts of atrocities they committed in Berlin. Thankfully, the ones I’ve met keep their violent impulses under control.
Because I had never joined the Nazi Party, I was among the first doctors to be exonerated and reinstated to practicing medicine. Hopefully, in a few months I will be authorized to lecture at the University. Additional income would be much welcome since, it appears, I am going to be a father once again. Yes, Hanna is pregnant with our fourth child.
I do have a bone to pick with Georg Frankl. If I ever chance to see him face to face, I will surely punch him. The scoundrel took my research and shared it with Kanner, his benefactor. In 1943, Kanner published an essay “Autistic Disturbances of Affective Contact,” essentially taking credit for my work. My name is not mentioned anywhere.
I published an essay of my own in 1944 but, because mine came out a year after Kanner’s, I cannot claim the title of pioneer. Of course, it doesn’t help that my essay is in German, while English seems to be the international academic language. Asperger is just an obscure Austrian doctor, and Kanner is a star of international significance. Everything that comes out of the United States is illuminated and lauded, especially when it has a Jewish name attached to it. I should not be surprised. Jews always look out for each other. Can one blame them for it?
Frankl was the one who reached out to me in late May, expressing great joy over the fact that communication between our countries has been restored and we could continue collaborating, just as in the good old days. He actually invited me to visit him in Baltimore. He is eager to show off his new house and his new facility. I hope he has a good dentist, because I will surely loosen a few teeth in that brazen, smiling mouth of his.
You realize these are empty threats? I’ve never punched anyone in my life, not even as a boy. And I cannot stay angry at Frankl and Kanner for too long. If my work had to be stolen, I’m glad it was by them. Now that the war is over, we’ll be the Three Musketeers of autism research once again. There is no time or place for pettiness. We, survivors of the old world, have a mission to complete in the new world.
We are convinced, then, that autistic people have their place in the organism of the social community. They fulfill their role well, perhaps better than anyone else could, and we are talking of people who as children had the greatest difficulties and caused untold worries to their caregivers.
* * *
Vienna, 1965
I still have the same pair of glasses. My prescription has not changed in twenty-five years.
I have been chair of pediatrics at the Vienna hospital for three years. My contact with patients is minimal. I spend most of my days lecturing and supervising interns. We recruited a young epidemiology researcher by the name Elena Schroeder hailing from the newly founded University of Trent in Italy. She is of Austrian heritage and wants to master the language of her parents.
We met at the hospital cafeteria. Her attire was in line with her specialty: rubber gloves, white coat and a mask. Blonde tresses peeked from under her starched cap. The young lady looked ready for a plague outbreak.
“I couldn’t convince my husband to come,” she said in her labored German. “He simply wasn’t interested. It’s hard to convince him to do something he’s not interested in. He also doesn’t like change. Slightest deviations from the routine make him fall to pieces.”
“I’ve met a few people like that.”
“It was a good time for me to come to Vienna. Gerardo is writing his dissertation. I worry he will starve without me. It’s no exaggeration. He’s not good at taking care of basic things. The man has the entire galaxy catalogued in his brain, yet you cannot trust him to slice bread. He’ll chop his fingers off! Last month he set the kitchen on fire.”
“Then it’s better that you are here.”
“I’m still getting used to the Austrian diet. Too much pork and starch. How do locals not develop vitamin deficiency? I count on you to tell me what’s edible here.”
“Schnitzel is a safe bet,” I said, “as far as hospital food goes.”
In a weary gesture, the young epidemiologist swept the cloth mask off her face. As expected, she was stunning, the stuff of poster girls: sculpted cheekbones, cornflower eyes set the perfect distance from each other. A human form of edelweiss! I noticed a patch of red skin above her upper lip, like irritation from the allergies. At a closer look, I realized it was a miniscule scar. Little Leina! And her husband must have been Gerhard, my little astronomer, who could babble for hours about stars and planets. Yes, his surname was Schroeder. It made total sense that the two should get married; I had a hand in making that match. Good for them!
I was not sure if Leina knew what had happened to her parents. The entire Mezger family died in the bombing. Leina was the only one left.
“Any word from Friederich?” I asked.
“Federico has no use for other humans. He lives among algorithms. Have you ever seen a giant programmable calculator? Federico helped create one under Roberto Olivetti’s direction. In a few decades you won’t need human brains. Machines will be doing all the thinking for you. Nobody will care if you have poor memory or lack of attention.”
Imagine that: machines, the new master race! Synthetic intellect would equate all humans, Aryans and Jews.
“Sister Geovanna thinks it’s the devil’s work,” Leina added.
“Who’s Sister Geovanna?”
“Our old nanny. We still call her Jana in private. She fell in love with monastery life and took her vows. She doesn’t like the idea of artificial souls making decisions for people. This is how wars begin. She herself had been under the devil’s charm.”
So, Jana did not talk the medical student out of priesthood but instead became a nun herself. It was not shocking that she would choose that path, having survived the regimes of Stalin and Hitler. I remember the adolescent girl with braids prancing around her Austrian employer’s living-room, cheering the Führer. Perhaps, the monastery was the only place she felt she could hide from her embarrassment.
I had so many more questions for Leina, but I hesitated to ask them. It would be impossible to do without bringing up the events of the past of which she had almost no recollection. She looked so content forking her schnitzel. I had no right to interrupt her meal with my confessions. She was here to polish her German and learn about infectious disease containment. We spent the next hour talking about vaccination and sanitation in public establishments, comparing safety protocols in Italy to those in Austria.
Prior to snapping a fresh pair of rubber gloves on, Leina shook my hand. “I must return to work,” she said. “I’d like to sit on one of your lectures, Dr. Asperger.”
“You’re welcome to see me any time, Dr. Schroeder. My office and my library are always open to you.”
* * *
Did I tell you about my personal library? It contains close to ten thousand books. In addition to medical encyclopedias, you will find poetry anthologies and religious tomes. My colleagues will attest that I often quote poets and theologians. As I reflect on the events that took place thirty years earlier, one quote comes to mind, a quote by a certain 18th-century Anglican minister who had started his journey as a slave trader:
I hope it will always be a subject of humiliating reflection to me, that I was once an active instrument in a business at which my heart now shudders.
— John Newton
Copyright © 2025 by Marina J. Neary