Can you play with madness?

When Alma stopped talking, it was as if the sea had ceased to roar. As if the dogs no longer barked. As if the rain no longer pattered on the worn cobblestones. When she was silent, it was as if we all held our breath too. As if we were waiting for the redeeming moment when she would say something. Anything, really. Even a curse word would do. But she did not speak. Not anymore.

And that was two years ago. I can still vividly remember when Mads burst into our house. He was waving his arms, breathing heavily, tripped over the threshold. 'She, she doesn't say anything anymore,' he gasped. 'Nothing at all. Alma just sits on the couch and stares into space. As if she is in a trance, if she is an alien.'

We immediately realized the seriousness of the problem. When someone kept talking, it was Alma. But in a fun, lively way. She always had something to say. About the neighborhood, about her work (she was a kindergarten teacher), about her children (they had three kids), about her sporting achievements (she played soccer in her free time). And her chatter was contagious. Before you knew it, you were engaged in an animated and interesting conversation.

She had briefly considered entering politics. Precisely because she was so involved, so engaged, so curious about many things. And she liked to have a strong opinion. But fortunately, Mads and the other neighbors had managed to talk her out of this silly idea.

The moment Mads told us about Alma's strange and weird condition, we instantly went with him to his house. And there she sat. Still, motionless, somber. She appears to be Alma. But only from the outside. Everything about her had changed.

The mischievous glint in her eyes, the playful smile around her mouth, the warm blush on her cheeks. She now resembled a woman who had just been told that both her sons had been gruesomely killed on the battlefield. But her children were playing outside. They were spraying each other with water pistols.

First, the family doctor was called in. A tall woman in her fifties. With a firm gaze, short white-gray hair, and long front teeth. She could not make sense of it. She tried to make contact (what Mads had also been trying for hours) but she also got no response from Alma. The doctor might as well have been talking to a chair.

The doctor's initial conclusion was that Alma was in shock. Had she experienced something terrible recently? Had recent events triggered her mind so that had it brought up a past trauma?

When her condition remained unchanged after a week, she was taken to the hospital. There she underwent extensive examinations. But physically she was fine. Her blood values were good, her organs were functioning properly, no signs of any illness. Alma was a healthy woman. The only thing missing was speech.

So, she moved back from her hospital room to the rented house. Meanwhile keeping her jaws tightly closed. And there she sat from morning till night on the couch. Sometimes she drank coffee. From time to time she ate a sandwich. She did not crave anything. Not her husband, not her children, not her position in the football team.

To assist Mads, we – as committed members neighborhood - organized an emergency meeting. We could not just idly sit and observe as one of our own slowly but surely turned into a houseplant? It might be that the doctors and specialists could not find anything, that did not mean we should just watch helplessly.

The backdoor neighbor came up with the idea of comparing her condition to someone who had chronic hiccups. What did you do with that? Right! You had to scare the victim the hell out of her.

The first thing we tried was to spray her – out of te blue - with ice cold water by using a water pistol. She did not bat an eyelid. The water dripped from her face, her shoulders. She wiped a few drops from her forehead. Then she stared into space again.

The second thought was to turn the music of Iron Maiden up to the highest level. The windows rattled, the cups clinked, the children shrieked. But Alma remained seated and yawned boredly.

After six months, the situation worsened. Where she had previously gotten out of bed in the morning, washed herself, and put on her clothes, Alma now stayed in bed. Even so, Mads' pleas did not help. When he begged her to get up, she simply turned away from him.

The support of caregivers was called in. They had to help her eat, go to the toilet, and prevent her from getting bedsores. In rare occasions it helped. It felt they were dealing with a dead body.

One day Mads received a phone call. It was a doctor from Bosnia and Herzegovina. An elderly man. He had experienced the Balkan war in all its ferocity. He was stationed in Sarajevo at the time. After the war, he had treated numerous wounded soldiers and civilians. Due to these intense circumstances, the doctor had become an expert in treating traumas. Especially those injuries that were accompanied by shock and extreme confusion.

When the doctor from former Yugoslavia visited Alma, we felt a glimmer of hope. Could a miracle happen? Would there be someone who understood Alma's condition and could free her from her slumber? Could the enthusiastic and cheerful woman return?

We all agreed on that. There had to be a cause for this behavior. It couldn't just happen that a person would stop talking from one day to the next? We sympathized with this idea. Mads did not. He believed his wife had a temporary setback, a short-term mishap.

The Bosnian doctor took his time. On the first day, he did nothing but observe her. He noted what he saw in a leather notebook. He repeated this on the second day. The man sat next to her bed. He drank coffee (and fruit schnapps in the evening). Occasionally we cast curious glances inside. Except for the scratching of a pen on paper, we heard nothing. No questions, no answers.

On the fifth day, the doctor made an herbal mixture in the kitchen. He threw various exotic herbs into a pot of boiling water. And a frozen paw. From a fox? A cat? A dog? That's when Mads received a phone call from the hospital. The experts had checked out the specialist. He turned out to be a well-known con artist.

When the fraudster has left, everyone is at their wit's end. The family, the friends, the neighbors, the experts, the doctors. The strange thing, however, is that Mads never gi up hope. Where others are constantly talking, reasoning, analyzing, orating, babbling, he is sitting quietly but determinedly on a stool.

When I ask him about his stoic attitude, he answers curtly: 'It will be alright.' This frame of mind is increasingly frightening to family and friends. Does Mads realize how serious the situation is? Does he want to face Alma's condition? As fellow sufferers, we feel that we have two problems. The silent Alma. The quiet Mads.

That is the status today. Outside, the sun shines softly and brightly on the gray sidewalk tiles. Inside we sit together. The family, the friends. We feel that decisions must be taken. This cannot go on longer. Alma should be placed outside the house. It is better for Mads himself and even much better for the children.

While we sit together, and the tension rises – who dares to ask Mads the critical question? – Alma's youngest daughter plays outside. She draws with chalk on the sidewalk tiles.

I feel the perspiration running down my armpits. Will we finally achieve something today? In the meantime, Mads calmly drinks chocolate milk from a carton. We let our tea go cold.

There is a loud cry from outside. Everyone looks up startled. A sister of Mads knocks over a vase of tulips. She also sees it happen. Alma walks across the path to the sidewalk. Her daughter runs towards her, dances around her. The delighted kid grabs her mother’s fine hand and pulls her towards the drawing.

Alma kneels down next to her daughter. She is given sidewalk chalks in her hand. We stand in the front yard to actually witness the scene. Is it true what we are viewing? Mads stands there as if he always expected this. The youngest daughter and her mother draw suns, clouds, houses, dolls, cars, hearts. And sing at the top of their lungs. “If you're happy and you know it.” Even the birds are silent and watch the touching spectacle attentively.