What Doctor Gottlieb Saw Read Free

after Oskar’s accident, didn’t you?”
    Klaus glared at him. After a pause just long enough to conjure a plausible excuse, he said, “My battery malfunctioned. I got a shock. It made me sick.”
    â€œAh. I thought it might have been a reaction to seeing Oskar buried alive. I’m glad to know I was mistaken.”
    Von Westarp’s successful methods carried a price. Kammler wasn’t born a stuttering imbecile; the Twins weren’t born mute; Klaus hadn’t always suffered from claustrophobia.
    â€œIt was—“ Klaus cleared his throat. “—my battery.”
    â€œTerrible way to go,” said Gottlieb. “All that stone and soil.” He shuddered. “How long can you hold your breath? It’s what, about two minutes now?”
    This was central to Klaus and Oskar’s training.
    â€œI suppose. Why?”
    â€œWell, I worked through the arithmetic, you see. Morbid curiosity, I suppose. Do you know how far Oskar might have fallen, assuming he lasted that long? I was astonished. It’s miles, actually.” Gottlieb paged through his journal. “I have the figure here, somewhere.”
    â€œI couldn’t care less,” said Klaus. His voice echoed.
    Gottlieb stopped. “Apologies. I get carried away at times.” He pretended to make another note. Then, as casually as he could manage: “Have you spoken with Gretel recently? I think she worries about you.”
    Rapidly: “We’re not close.”
    â€œToo bad. It’s touching, her concern.”
    â€œShe’s my little sister,” he said.
    â€œYes. Silly to think she’s capable of protecting you.”
    Klaus went rigid. He covered it well, owing to years of physical conditioning, but Gottlieb saw the discoloration of his knuckles as he squeezed the armrests.
    What do you know about your sister? You suspect she isn’t well. Even if you won’t admit it to yourself.
    Gottlieb said, “I’d like to watch something with you.”
    He turned off the lights, then started the projector. It cast flickering images across the ridges and whorls of horsehair plaster in the wall.
    Klaus plucked at the bandages on his finger stumps. “We’ve already discussed this.”
    The black and white film depicted a recent training session. Chiaroscuro Klaus waved a ghostly arm through solid granite. The test went as intended, until he lost his concentration and started thrashing like a caged animal. His face contorted with wild cries for help. The scene ended as medics arrived with a bone saw.
    The film reel flapped on its spindle, fanning the scent of warm acetate through the office. Gottlieb hit the lights.
    â€œHow do you feel when you see this, Klaus?”
    â€œI said we’ve already discussed this.”
    â€œDo you feel differently after the accident yesterday?”
    â€œWhy would I?” His fingers worried at frayed gauze.
    â€œI understand that you won the toss. So it would have been you who made the first attempt, if your battery hadn’t failed. That doesn’t evoke any particular feelings?”
    â€œWhy? It was Oskar’s mistake.” Klaus said, with halfhearted bravado, “He died from of a weakness of will.”
    â€œBut you wouldn’t have made the same mistake.”
    â€œOf course not. I saw the danger immediately.”
    â€œYet you didn’t warn Oskar.”
    â€œWhy would I?” Klaus slammed the door on his way out.
    Clearly, he hadn’t seen the danger. He hadn’t internalized the lesson from the previous accident. And that oversight had almost left him buried alive: a claustrophobe’s nightmare. But Klaus would never again take things for granted. He now understood, in a visceral way, the importance of mental discipline.
    *   *   *
    â€¦line integral of the electric field is thus proportional to the time derivative of the magnetic flux. Note, however, the sign