3: Meeting Mattias Chrs
—Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany, November 2016—
Mike was sweating nervously, struggling against the need to jump up and down. The town was beautiful; the historical center of Freiburg im Breisgau took his breath away. In the morning, Marta and he had taken a walk around the medieval cathedral, which had miraculously survived the destruction of World War Two. He was fascinated by the small water canals that wove through the Old Town. He almost stepped into one by the Bertoldsbrunnen crossing.
However, Mike wasn’t here to admire the sights. They’d talked a lot with Marta about how to do this. She was terrified, and he didn’t blame her. She didn’t want to be there in case Matěj reacted badly.
Mike was supposed to intercept Matěj in front of the hospital. He’d called early the same day and got information on the clinic’s working hours. Just to be sure, he came forty-five minutes earlier, and was ready to wait for one more hour. If he didn’t succeed today, he’d try again on Monday. He hoped he’d recognize the man from the pictures Marta showed him.
The search had been almost ridiculously easy. Simon had said the last place where police traced Matěj was Munich. The Embassy in Munich had records of Matěj consenting to his documents being translated to German and procuring an apostille for his diploma four years ago. If Matěj stayed in Germany he wouldn’t have been able to change his legal name completely. So, they googled.
It took many hours over several days, but finally, they found Matěj’s Germanized name at a clinic’s home page. Dr. Mattias Chrs, Die Klinik für Orthopädie und Unfallchirurgie, University Medical Center in Freiburg am Breisgau. There was a picture—a boring portrait of the passport variety, a bleak face among other bleak faces of the clinic’s employees. Marta gasped when she saw it.
Mike called, pretending to be a pharmaceutical salesman, and the nurse or secretary told him that Dr. Mattias Chrs was usually busy with patients and very hard to reach, and if it was urgent, could he please leave a message and his phone number? Mike hung up. Matěj still worked there—it was the last piece of information they’d needed.
Mike expected more…obstacles. He’d been ready to play private eye, spy, whatever. Instead, he was supposed to…what…negotiate? Harass Matěj until he agreed to meet with Marta?
At five in the afternoon, there were many people exiting Die Klinik für Orthopädie und Unfallchirurgie. Mike’s gaze swept over face after face. Maybe Matěj was sick? Or was he on vacation? In October? Not likely. Mike was worried that Dr. Mattias Chrs would pass him unrecognized. Or work overtime until some unreasonable hour.
He needn’t have worried.
The sun had already set, but the street was sufficiently illuminated. A tired-looking, thirtyish man in a long dark-gray parka exited the hospital’s main entrance at 17:24, close behind a throng of middle-aged women. He paused, giving Mike enough time to recognize the stubbly face, the light-blue eyes, and even the small empty holes in his ears where wooden gauges used to be. The man rooted in his leather messenger bag, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, and continued slowly down the street.
Mike took off after him. Dr. Mattias Chrs walked slowly, seemingly exhausted, the cigarette smoke wafting around him. He left the University Hospital campus and headed down Breisacher Strasse toward the Old Town. Wet leaves from the ancient chestnut trees whispered under their feet on the sidewalk.
Mike gathered his courage. How to begin? He’d imagined this moment many times. It was his instinct to be direct. But what if he scared the man away?
“Dr. Chrs?”
The man stopped abruptly and turned. “Ja?”
Mike managed not to run into him.
“Hello,” Mike waved awkwardly. The man, and it was Matěj, eyed him up and down in apparent confusion.
“Wie kan ich dir helfen?” he asked.
“No. I don’t speak German, sorry,” Mike answered. “My name is Mike. I came here from Prague. I’m a friend of Marta’s.”
The effect of his words was so physical, Mike immediately felt bad.
The man in front of him stepped back, and the cigarette fell from his fingers into a shallow puddle at his feet. He reached out with his hand as if feeling for something to lean on, but only encountered air. He stumbled backward once more. When he seemed to find his balance, his feet firmly on the sidewalk, he stared at Mike for an uncomfortable minute, his face a mixture of surprise and raw fear.
“Explain, please,” he said, his accent strong, his voice so hoarse the passing cars almost drowned it. Then his eyes widened. “Has something happened to her?” he blurted out loudly.
“No! No, nothing like that. Will you walk with me? We could grab a coffee somewhere?” Mike suggested.
“Um, yeah,” Matěj nodded, fumbling for something in his pocket. He pulled the cigarette pack out once more. “Do you mind?” he asked, lifting his wide-eyed gaze to Mike.
“No problem,” Mike said. “I should apologize. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Matěj snorted out a harsh laugh. “Uncomfortable is not the word I’d choose. Could you please…tell me why you’re here?”
Mike cleared his throat. Here goes. “Marta and me…we work together at the language school. She’s a good friend. She asked me to help her find you a couple of months back. Once we heard back from the Embassy in Munich, it was easy—”
“But why?”
“She’s missed you.”
Mike hadn’t even noticed the low concrete wall along to the sidewalk until Matěj sat on it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and took a deep drag from his cigarette. He was silent, so Mike continued.
“She was worried you’d be angry, or wouldn’t want to see her. We understand if you’d rather be left alone—”
At that, Matěj lifted his head and stared at Mike, looking perplexed.
“Angry?” he asked.
“Well, she doesn’t know why you’ve never contacted her again…” Mike attempted. He heard himself talking, afraid he wasn’t making much sense.
The man stared forward, smoking, his fingers trembling. Then a tear gathered in the corner of his eye, spilled over, and ran downward into the groove between his cheek and nose. Matěj didn’t make any move to wipe his eyes. He didn’t seem to be aware of the wetness tracing down his face. Instead, he continued smoking with purpose, the cigarette disappearing as if he were eating a chocolate bar.
Mike couldn’t help but notice the man was incredibly beautiful. Even tired and…rough, the man’s face, defined hands, his square shoulders and lean figure created an awe-inspiring picture. Those blue eyes told stories—intriguing, epic, tragic ones. Every line, every blemish, and the purplish circles under those eyes only added depth, another layer of paint on the brilliant artwork of nature and life. He was easily one of the most attractive men Mike had ever seen—the kind of man who intimidated him, who made him back off with his hands in an apologetic gesture. Because the baggage behind that kind of beauty was more than Mike was ever willing to struggle with. And he could just see why someone like Simon fell for this man—for the same reasons Mike would have avoided him.
“She wants to see me?” Matěj asked after a long while, his voice a shaky whisper.
“Yeah.” Mike nodded, the excitement welling up again. They were going to make it! “She’s at the Hotel am Rathaus, it’s ten minutes that way.” Mike pointed toward the end of the street.
Matěj nodded. “I know where it is.” The tears flowing freely now, he lit a third cigarette.
Mike waited patiently, watching Matěj exhale, and said, “Do you want to go there, now?”
Matěj’s face pinched, the corners of his mouth turned down, drawing deep wrinkles into his skinny cheeks. He nodded again, breathing out a strangled sob. He rubbed his palm over his face, encountering the wetness, then he grabbed the edge of his sleeve and wiped at his eyes. He seemed to be holding onto his composure with all his might.
“Finish your cigarette,” Mike said and laid a hand on Matěj’s shoulder. He watched the man smoke and cry for a few minutes, feeling a surge of happiness amid the sorrow.
He was going to fix this.
The happiness only intensified when he entered the hotel lobby with Matěj on his heels. Marta jumped up from the sofa, rushing toward them. She bypassed Mike and threw herself into her brother’s arms not waiting for him to say a word. After a second of hesitation, he hugged her back.
***
Despite his sore feet and the chilly, darkening evening, Mike took another walk. It didn’t feel right to stay at the hotel room with the reunited siblings. After more than three years, they must have plenty to talk about.
He bought a sub in the joint by the old-looking gate with a green tower on top. He didn’t have the energy to discover local food. The streets were busy, and the humidity in the air crept under his jacket. In the end, he dived into a pub close to the hotel and ordered a lager. He messaged with Lukas while he drank, and the minutes passed faster.
When he came back, it was already eight. He knocked, and it was Matěj who called, “Come in!”
Mike found Marta on the generic two-seater sofa in the tiny twin room, her brother sat on the edge of a bed, facing her. Marta’s face was tear stained, but she smiled at Mike.
“I can wait in the lobby…” Mike suggested.
“No! No. Let’s all go out,” Matěj said. He turned to Marta, his movements nervous and jerky. “Beer?”
“I could definitely use a beer, yeah.”
“You must be hungry, too,” Mike added. “I’ve had a sandwich. But I could eat something warmer.” He grinned, clueless as to how to lighten up the heavy atmosphere in the room.
“Beer and food and city lights,” Marta said, pushing herself up from the low sofa, and Mike exhaled with relief. His friend was tough.
Matěj took his parka and messenger bag, which Mike knew held his cigarettes. But he didn’t light one when they exited the hotel. Instead, he threw an arm around his sister’s shoulders.
***
Late that night, after they’d said goodbye to Matěj, agreeing to meet for lunch the next day, Marta and Mike lay in their beds, the lamp on the bedside table separating them, casting a warm yellow light onto the plush off-white carpet.
“He saw it happen,” Marta whispered.
“Yeah. I thought so.”
“He said, he told Dad to do it. That he used to think he wanted him to die already, but he didn’t believe for a second Dad would actually kill himself. So when Matěj found us, Dad was waving the gun around, threatening he’d shoot himself if we left… Matěj told him to do it. And Dad did.”
“Jesus, Marta,” Mike exhaled heavily. He couldn’t imagine. Marta’s father shot himself through the mouth. According to what Lukas said, there had been blood, bone splinters, and tissue all over the kitchen.
Marta’s voice was quiet but calm. “The only thing I regret is that we didn’t find him earlier. I could have spared my brother so much pain.”
“He thought you’d blame him?”
“Probably. He didn’t say so. I think he blames himself enough for all of us.”
“I’m really sorry,” Mike mumbled, not sure what else there was to say.
“You think he’d want to come back to Prague?”
“No idea,” Mike answered honestly. He loved Prague. It was the best city he’d ever visited, no contest. It was beautiful, vivid; the ancient history and modern art intertwined, all the pubs, breweries, jazz clubs, and cafés, the amazing people from all over the world… Prague was the best. Tourists or no tourists.
But career-wise, it wouldn’t be a smart choice for Matěj. Mike knew from Lukas how the situation in the healthcare system was—young doctors working gruesome hours for significantly less than in Western Europe. And then he remembered Matěj’s face when Mike told him in the afternoon that his sister had missed him. He’d come back. “Maybe. I think he might.”