Lifeforce (18 page)

Fallada and Geijerstam began to speak at once. Fallada said: “Pardon me.”

Geijerstam said: “You do not understand. Every man is capable of every kind of desire. Have you ever read my account of the first vampire case I encountered?”

“The young painter?”

“Yes. In fact, he was not a painter but a sculptor. His name was Torsten Vetterlund. Well, he was a man of very powerful physique and his natural inclinations were sadistic — not very much so, but slightly. This girl, Nina von Gerstein, succeeded in turning him into a neurotic masochist. You understand why?”

Carlsen nodded. Fallada said with surprise: “You do?”

Carlsen said: “She couldn’t suck energy from a sadist.”

“Quite. The sadist wants to absorb, not to be absorbed. So she had to change his sexual orientation. And she did this by satisfying all his desires — all his sadistic fantasies — until he had become dependent on her. Finally, he was her slave, and then she could begin to steal his energy.”

Fallada asked: “How did you cure him?”

“Ah, that was interesting. I noticed immediately that there was something contradictory about his symptoms. After this girl left him, he became an exhibitionist, exposing himself to women in the street. That was clearly masochism — he was enjoying the self-humiliation. But he also told me he had developed the desire to undress children and bite them. That was obviously sadism. Of course, many sadists have an element of masochism, and vice versa. But I became convinced that he was trying to overcome his masochism by developing his sadism. He told me about his sexual fantasies before he met Nina; they were all mildly sadistic. He told me about a prostitute he used to visit — a girl who allowed him to tie her up before they had intercourse. And the solution became obvious. I had to encourage him to develop the sadistic tendency again. He began going back to the prostitute. Then he met an assistant in a shoe shop who liked to be whipped before she made love. He married her, and they lived perfectly happily.”

“And the vampirism stopped?”

“Yes, it stopped. I cannot claim any credit for the cure. He had already started to cure himself before he came to see me.”

Carlsen smiled wryly. “By the same logic, I should try to turn myself into a masochist.”

Geijerstam snapped his fingers; he said with sudden excitement: “No, but you have reminded me of something. Something I had forgotten for a long time.” He stared out over the water, frowning, as they waited for him to go on. Suddenly, he stood up. “I want to introduce you to one of my tenants.”

Fallada said: “I didn’t know you had any.”

“Come.” He began to stride away up the hill. Fallada glanced at Carlsen and shrugged. They followed him up a path that ran beside the stream. Geijerstam said over his shoulder: “You remember I told you about the Well of Saint Eric? There is an old Lett woman — she lives in my cottage. She has second sight.”

The path became steep, and the thick carpet of pine needles made it treacherous. The trees were so close together that hardly any sunlight was able to penetrate. After five minutes, Carlsen and Fallada were breathing heavily. Geijerstam, hurrying in front, seemed unaffected. He turned to wait for them. “I am glad I thought of bringing you to see her. She is a remarkable woman. She used to live near Skarvsjo, but the villagers were afraid of her. Her appearance is a little —” The rest of his words were drowned by the noisy barking of a dog. An enormous animal with fur the colour of yellow clay bounded towards them. When Geijerstam held out his hand, it sniffed him, then trotted beside him as he walked on.

Geijerstam paused on the edge of a clearing. The ground was strewn with granite boulders. A small wooden cottage stood on the far side. The stream ran past it, cascading over a waterfall. Geijerstam called: ” Labrďt, mate.” There was no reply. He said to Carlsen: “Why don’t you look at the well, while I see if she is awake?” He pointed up the hill, to a small granite erection. “That is the Well of Saint Eric. If you have arthritis, gout or leprosy, you should bathe in it.”

They climbed the steps to the well, the dog running ahead. The kiosk was built of slabs or roughly hewn granite on which the lichen looked like green velvet. The water flowed from under an immense slab that lay across the entrance. Carlsen knelt on this and looked inside. The water was perfectly clear, but so deep that it was impossible to see the bottom. He was reminded for a moment of the port glass of the Hermes ; at the same time, with hallucinatory clarity, he seemed to see the hulk of the derelict, as if reflected in the depths of the water. The illusion lasted only for a moment. He put his hand into the water; it was freezing cold, and after a moment, it made his bones ache.

He stood up, leaning on the wall. Fallada said: “Are you all right?”

Carlsen smiled. “Oh, yes. I think perhaps I am going mad. But otherwise I’m all right.”

The Count appeared at the bottom of the slope. Beside him stood a woman dressed in brown. As they moved closer, Carlsen saw that she had no nose and that one eye was larger than the other. Yet the effect was not repellent. Her cheeks were as red as apples.

Geijerstam said: “This is Moa.” He spoke to her in Lettish, introducing Fallada and Carlsen. She smiled and dropped them a curtsy. Then she gestured for them to enter the house. It struck Carlsen that in spite of her deformity, she produced an impression of youth and sweetness.

The room was large and curiously bare; it was heated by a big iron stove in the centre. A coarse woven mat covered the floor. The only items of furniture were a low bed, a table, a cupboard and an old-fashioned spinning wheel. Carlsen was intrigued by a flight of steps that ran up the wall to a railed platform; it appeared to lead nowhere.

She spoke to them in Lettish, pointing to the floor. Geijerstam said: “She is apologising for the lack of chairs and explaining that she always sits on the floor. It is a kind of… mystical discipline.”

She gestured to the cushions near the wall. Carlsen and Fallada sat down. She leaned over Carlsen, looked into his face and placed a hand on his forehead. Geijerstam translated her words: “She wants to know if you are ill.”

“Tell her I don’t know. That’s what I’d like to know.”

She opened the cupboard and took out a length of string. One end was wound around a spindle; the other end was weighted with a wooden bead, about an inch in diameter. Geijerstam said: “She is going to test you with a pendulum.”

“What does it do?”

“You could say it is a kind of lambda meter. It measures your field.”

Fallada said: “For some odd reason, it works. We used to have an old servant who could do it.”

“What is she doing now?”

“Measuring the correct length for a man — about two feet.” The old woman was carefully measuring the string against a meter rule, unwinding it from the spindle. She spoke to Carlsen. Geijerstam said: “She wants you to lie down on the floor.”

Carlsen stretched himself out on his back, looking up at her as she stood over him. The pendulum, held out at arm’s length, began to swing backwards and forwards. After a few moments, it began to swing with a circular motion. From the movements of her lips, he could see that she was counting. About a minute later, the pendulum returned to a backward and forward motion. She smiled and spoke to Geijerstam. He said: “She says there is nothing wrong with you. Your health field is exceptionally strong.”

“Good. What is she going to do now?”

The old woman was lengthening the string.

“More tests.”

Again she held the pendulum over him. This time he could sense Geijerstam’s tension. He watched curiously as the motion of the pendulum changed from its normal back-and-forward oscillations into a circular swing. Her lips moved, counting. She said something in a low voice to Geijerstam. When the pendulum returned to its oscillations, she lowered it onto the floor, shaking her head. She stood looking down at Carlsen, frowning thoughtfully, Geijerstam said: “All right, you can sit up.”

“What did all that mean?”

Geijerstam spoke to the old woman in Lettish; her reply lasted for several minutes. Carlsen tried hard to follow; he had picked up a few words of Lettish when training in Riga. Now he recognised the word ” bistams,” meaning dangerous, and the noun ” briesmas” — danger. Geijerstam said: ” Ne sieviete?” and she shrugged and said: ” Varbut.” She picked up the pendulum, still speaking, and held it out over him as he sat, leaning against the wall. After a few moments, it began its circular motion. She moved across to Fallada and held it over his stomach. This time it continued to oscillate back and forth. She shrugged: ” Loti atvainojos.” She tossed the pendulum onto the bed.

Carlsen said: “What is she sorry about?”

Geijerstam said: “It is puzzling, but not entirely unexpected. While Torsten Vetterlund was in the power of Nina, the pendulum registered him as a woman. I have told her this, but she is pointing out that the same length — about sixty-three centimetres — can also mean danger.”

He said: “You mean that’s the reaction she’s getting from me?”

“Yes.”

He felt his stomach sink with disappointment and depression. At once he realised he was feeling sick and exhausted. In a few seconds, it had become so acute that he was afraid he was going to vomit. His forehead was prickling with sweat. As he groped his way to his feet, the dog began to growl. It was backing away, blocking the doorway, its fur bristling.

Geijerstam said: “What are you doing?”

“I feel sick. I think I need a breath of fresh air.”

“No!” Geijerstam said it so sharply that Carlsen stared with surprise. Geijerstam placed a hand on his wrist. “Don’t you understand what is happening? Look at the dog. The vampire is back, isn’t she? Close your eyes. Can’t you feel that she is here?”

Carlsen closed his eyes, but he seemed unable to think or record his impressions. It was like acute delirium. “I think I’m going to faint.” He tried to move to the door again; the dog crouched and growled, showing its fangs.

Geijerstam and Fallada were on either side of him; he realised that he was swaying. Geijerstam said: “We must do one more test — a crucial one. Come and lie down over here.” They led Carlsen across the room. He had a sense of will-lessness, as if all his strength had been drained. He lay flat on his back, but immediately felt so sick that he had to turn over onto his stomach. The matting felt rough against his forehead and smelt dusty. He closed his eyes again and seemed to drift into a twilight world, a kind of black mist. At once he understood what was happening. She was there, but she was not concerned with him. She was communicating with the derelict, which still floated in the black emptiness. Now he could also sense wave after wave of ravenous hunger emanating from the wreck. The men in the spaceships had gone, and the aliens felt cheated. They were angry that they were still there; they could not understand what had gone wrong. She was finding it hard to make them understand, because she was in another world; she was conscious, they were asleep. Their agony lashed her like whips. Like an induction coil, Carlsen was recording her torment.

Through the mist he heard Geijerstam say: “Please turn over for a moment.” With an effort, he opened his eyes and twisted onto his back. He was only half in the room, and the black clouds drifted between himself and the others. He could see that the old woman had mounted the flight of steps against the wall, and that the pendulum was now dangling over his chest. It began to swing is a wide circle. He felt beads of sweat running from his armpits down his sides.

Geijerstam’s voice said finally: “You can get up now.” With a painful effort, he propped himself up on his elbows. The dog began to bark frantically. He leaned back against the wood of the stairs, afraid to close his eyes in case he was again drawn back into the world of hunger and, pain. He became aware that the old woman was standing over him, holding something out. She said in halting Swedish: “Here, take this and smell it.”

From the smell he realised that it was garlic. He shook his head. “I can’t.”

Geijerstam said: “Please try to do as she says.”

He accepted it and held it against his face. It felt as if someone were holding a pillow over his nostrils. It smelt of decay and death. He began to cough and choke, the tears running down his cheeks. Panic rose in him, a fear of choking to death. Then, quite abruptly, the sickness vanished. It was as if a door had closed, shutting out a nerve-wracking sound. He realised the dog had stopped barking.

Fallada laid a hand on his shoulder. “How do you feel now?” He felt grateful for the genuine conern in his voice.

“Much better. Could I go outside now?” The desire for fresh air was like thirst.

They took his arms and helped him through the door. He sat down on the wooden bench, his back resting against the wall. The sunlight was warm on his closed eyelids. He could hear birds and the wind in the branches. He felt someone grasp his wrists. It was the old woman. She was sitting on a low stool, facing him, her face wrinkled, as if concentrating. Then she looked into his eyes and spoke in Lettish. Geijerstam translated: “She says: do not give way to fear. Your chief enemy is fear. A vampire cannot destroy you unless you give your consent.”

Carlsen managed to smile. “I know that.”

She spoke again. Geijerstam said: “She says: vampires are unlucky.”

“I know that too.”

The old woman pressed his wrists, looking into his eyes. This time, she spoke in Swedish. “Remember that if she is inside you, you are also inside her.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

She smiled and stood up. She said something to Geijerstam in her own language, then went into the cottage. She came out almost immediately and placed something in his hand. It was a small brass ring, with a piece of string attached to it.

“She says you should tie it to your right arm to protect you from evil. It is a Lett witch charm.”

Carlsen said: ” Loti pateicos.” She smiled and curtsied.

Geijerstam said: “Do you feel well enough to walk back to the house?”

“Yes. I feel better now.”

Geijerstam bowed to the old woman; she took his hand and kissed it. As they turned back at the edge of the clearing, she was standing with one hand on the dog’s head.