Dr Fischer of Geneva

or The Bomb Party

By Graham Greene (1980)

This is purely fan-made fiction

This is from Anna-Luise's point of view just after the accident.

Anna-Luise

It all went too fast, the young boy lying on the ground, the speed I was skiing in, and the young boy I had to avoid him, left or right? Left. And then pain.

Ever so slowly the pain is disappearing, it is slowly ebbing away, as if I am lying on a beach with the sand too hot and uncomfortable, and the water is slowly taking me away, wave after wave, deep into the dark abyss. Away from everything I know.

The white sweater that I am wearing is slowly turning into the loveliest shade of red, red like the red band around the shoulder of my wool sweater, my Christmas present from my Alfred. Alfred?

Two sandwiches on a table. One ham and one cheese sandwich, a cup of coffee for me, and a mug of beer for him. A glove, covering the plastic which substituted a hand.

A face already now showing the signs of old age, a safe smell of chocolate.

A man who would not leave me nor ignore me and most of all would cherish me. Alfred Jones. Who had lost his hand in the Great fire of London. Alfred. My lover, my father, my child and my mother: My family. How my chest ache for him, knowing that once again he will lose his wife to death. For I know too clearly that this tree was my murderer, that not only my sweater but also the snow around me is slowly turning red, stealing my lifeblood away from me.

The world is disappearing and the ringing in my ears that before was so intense, is too slowly fading away into soft music, not unlike the violin music mother would listen to when I was younger.

'It's my wife you bloody fool.'

Mother, the woman I sometimes see in the mirror, the woman who haunts my memories. Mommy, who taught me how to ski, taught me just how to move my hips to keep my balance, the proud yet melancholy smile on your face when I finally managed to ski for the very first time on my own.

Mother, screaming hysterically about father, painting a disturbing image in my head of him pleasuring himself with my mother's body, punishing her for a crime she had not done, or perhaps he was punishing her, not for his assumption of her infidelity, but rather for sharing a passion for music with others, the world of symphonies and concertos that he himself could not comprehend.

Mother, slowly wilting away like a flower finally realizing that winter has come, not fighting her destiny, merely wilting away leaving me alone in a cold winter where father himself was the biting frost.

'Is she dead?'

Father, whose heart never recovered from the prick to his heart that Mr Steiner inflicted on him, the little prick that slowly sucked the warmth out of him, until only the hate, malice, contempt and despise was left.

Father, whom I hate everything about, I hated him, despised him so much and yet I still loved him. Nonetheless, until the last breath I take I have yet to forgive him for his sins. For all the pain and humiliation he has put others through, and through them, how he has humiliated me. How people would utter 'the Fischer…' as if they whispered the abominable name of the Devil. How they will look at me with horrified recognition in their eyes, yet always with a spark of hunger. A fragment of greed will show in their eyes as they whisper 'Doctor Fischer of the Dinners…'

'Doctor Fischer says he's too busy to talk to you now…'

But not you my love, no not once did that wretched greed ever show up in your eyes. Not once have you looked at me with greedy eyes filled with twisted plots as to how to get the money my father has accumulated through the years.

Alfred, in your eyes I saw that you had experienced far worse than the simple loss of a limb. You had experienced loss just like I had; the loss of a loved one. I considered you an equal, someone whom I could converse with easily.

My love, I must admit that I not only saw you as a lover, to some extent I also saw you as a father figure. The father, that I had never had the joy of having.

Ooh, my world is coming to an end just like we joked that it might end.

Oh, the irony that I should die before you. I only hope that you once again will proceed and live to find happiness once again.

…Mommy, are you coming to take me away…?

'Died?'

'Yes.'

This was my first ever attempt at fanfiction. I hope it was satisfactory :)