The Anatomist's Dream (13 page)

‘Kapellmeister Corti,' said the Rabbi, brushing another slurp of wine from his lips. ‘I wonder sometimes if you should not be the rabbi instead of me.'

‘And leave you to play the bells? Are you mad?' Corti sounded angry, snatching the goblet from Ridente's hands, placing it to Philbert's lips. ‘You'd have the roof down in seconds, and half the congregation on their knees praying for mercy.'

Ridente laughed and the Kapellmeister shook his head, started slapping Philbert lightly around the face until, with a crash of the wooden door echoing behind him and a gust of cold air before, Kwert came sweeping down the cluttered walkway towards them, his long grey cloak lifting with every step to reveal the flash of his red habit which, striking as it was, was not so arresting as the intimidating glint in his eye.

‘What are you doing to the boy?' he demanded, Corti and Ridente exchanging glances, Corti being the first to answer.

‘His eyes are open, but he appears to be unconscious, Signore. I am Corti, the musician here. Do you know the lad? He
'
s taken rather a bump on his head, I'm afraid. You should be prepared for the worst before you come closer.'

‘A bump?' Kwert said loudly, and then again a little quieter. ‘A bump. . . oh, I see. Oh no. Not at all. That is always there.'

There was a further exchange of glances then, followed by a conversation of shrugs between Corti and the Rabbi, the conclusion being an unspoken,
Well
,
there you
are then
.
One of Maulwerf's crew
.
We should have
guessed he wasn't going to be quite normal
.

Rabbi Ridente took back the wine and took a long swig just as Kwert drew up beside them, towering above them where the two were sat on the step.

‘Signore?' Corti was polite, but carried on holding Philbert's head between solicitous hands.

‘Kwert,' said Kwert gazing down on Philbert.

‘Signore Kwert,' Corti continued. ‘If this is the . . . er . . . usual shape of his head, it is possible my bells have precipitated his little fit. They can set a bowl of water vibrating, and I have seen a melon explode . . . so.'

‘Very messy,' Ridente commented, ‘and at Sukkah it was too, I believe, took a couple of bottles of peach brandy with it as it went. Very tragic,' he added sadly, shaking his head.

Corti shot the Rabbi a look from beneath pursed eyebrows but continued.

‘Even so, Signore Kwert, despite the boy's head being what it is, it might be wise to get a medical opinion on the matter and, as it happens, there
'
s a certain doctor resident here at the moment, a Dottore Ullendorf. He
'
s been here several weeks, taking craniometry readings from each member of our ­community. I believe he's trying to establish if we differ from the original inhabitants of the area . . .
Signore?'

But Kwert was no longer looking at his informant, was gazing off above Corti's head.

‘But surely not,' Kwert was murmuring. ‘Doctor Ullendorf is here? I can't believe it.'

A small moan from the patient brought his eyes back to the matter in hand and Kwert sat down, gently taking Philbert from Corti, folding him into a sitting position that made Philbert's breathing easier, brought him halfway back to conscious thought. Two strange faces grew from the mist in front of Philbert's eyes: one humorous and darkly hairy, the other fine and round but squashed as if in a vice, hands growing straight from his elbows, and he could make out a third, and with it the familiar yellow grimace of Kwert.

‘Philbert,' Kwert's voice was soft and reassuring. ‘You were almost trampled in the crush. How glad I am you are still with us.'

With the reassurance of Kwert's voice Philbert relaxed, the odd faces rolling away, leaving in their place the majestic mound of Frau Fettleheim's behind looming above him, the flowers of her dress billowing over his field of vision like a field of poppies.

‘Frau Fett . . . Frau Fett . . .' he couldn't get the words out properly. They stuck to his lips, refusing to unfurl their tails.

‘Frau Fettleheim is fine,' Kwert comforted. ‘And I'm glad to report that the casualties are few. She's back on her cart and on her way home. And now you, Little Maus, are going to see a doctor. Doctor Ullendorf no less, if these gentlemen will see fit to take us to him?'

‘He's staying just across the square,' said the foreshortened Corti.

Another loud crash of the door heralded the reappearance of Maulwerf, rubbing his hands together from the cold as he approached down the splinter-strewn gangway.

‘Everything is sorted,' he told them. ‘The aggravating Frau Volstrecken and her family, the boy-child of whom appears to have suffered greatly by having his marble-flicking finger crushed in the mêlée, have agreed to be privately entertained in compensation. Several other survivors have seized the oppor­tunity too, so our Little Lita and the Lovelorn Calf will appear at the Volstrecken residence tomorrow afternoon, accompanied by Yours Truly, with his usual impeccable table manners. I assume you will accompany us, Ridente?'

‘My dear Maulwerf,' boomed the Rabbi, ‘but of course! We have much catching up to do.'

Corti interrupted. ‘We really should get this boy to the doctor. He's green as a copper-stain.'

Corti was right, Philbert didn't feel well at all. He was fading in and away as if he were seeing everything through a pool of water. He heard words but couldn't understand them; he saw faces but wasn't rightly sure who they belonged to, his eyes ­slipping around in their sockets so that only the whites were showing, a sight so alarming that Kwert and Maulwerf wasted no more time. They picked Philbert up, Corti slinging his short-armed coat over him to keep him warm, and together they made their way through the broken-chaired synagogue, the trendle-lights left to self-extinguish in the gloom, going out through the big wooden doors that stretched like trees to the apex of the synagogue, and began to jog across the cold night of the square, a slight mizzle freezing over them as it fell. Corti kept rubbing Philbert's hands as if to coax his own warmth into the child's skin, the Rabbi leading the way to the doctor's house, and soon banging loudly on its door.

After a short silence a light appeared and they could hear a woman's voice.

‘
Momento
,
bitte
.
Ich
komme
.
Pazienza
!'

The woman carried on grumbling down what must have been a very long passageway, judging by the length of time it took her to reach the door.

‘Frau Brenstoffen, it is Ridente!' the Rabbi shouted, still ­hammering heartily upon the wood, Frau Brenstoffen's reply being not so brief.

‘Ach, Rabbi this, Rabbi that, always something; get me this, get me that. It's a wonder my legs aren't worn to stumps . . .'

The door was opened finally by a fractious little woman whose grey hair whispered thinly over her head.

‘Frau Brenstoffen,' said Ridente, ‘but you're looking as ­beautiful as ever.'

The little Frau spat, but seemed placated by the compliment.

‘Is your good lodger at home?' the Rabbi continued. ‘It's urgent we see him.'

‘Well, Rabbi, I don't know. He's always locked away in his rooms, so busy. But for you, I will go and see.'

Another long shuffle down the corridor was forestalled by a door opening and a head emerging from a darkened room.

‘Rabbi!' the disembodied head said, alerted by the banging on the door. ‘What a pleasant surprise, and I hope you have the Kapellmeister with you. I have the results of our latest experiments. Come in, come on in!'

‘Ah
Dottore
!' the Rabbi shouted back at him. ‘I'm afraid we're here tonight on business. We've a boy who . . . bring him in, Maulwerf . . . here he is. We had a slight accident during the service.'

Philbert was brought through the door and down the ­corridor, Kwert and Maulwerf's shoulders banging against the narrowness of its walls, but once they reached the doctor's room they found him already pulling books and papers from a large table at its centre, motioning them to deposit Philbert on its now empty expanse. The moment Kwert released his burden he grabbed the Doctor's hand and began to shake it, bowing deeply.

‘So you are Doctor Ullendorf!' Kwert exclaimed with ­enthusiasm. ‘What a pleasure, sir, what a pleasure! I
'
ve long admired your work, but never hoped I might actually get to meet you. It is an honour.'

‘I am Ullendorf,' said the doctor, his free hand going automatically to brush away the frizz of dark curls that grew like seaweed from his unhatted head, his eyes, nevertheless, fixed upon the boy who'd been dumped upon his table. Kwert was visibly overcome.

‘I can't tell you how delighted I am to meet you, sir. My name is Kwert, and the boy here is Philbert. His head has always been like this, a taupe, I understand, and as a craniometrist you must know how unusual that is. In the phrenologist's vocabulary he is quite simply unique, or at least as unique as we're ever likely to see in our lifetimes. What an absolute pleasure!'

Ullendorf freed his hand from Kwert's, surveying Kwert with interest, his hair still bobbing as if in a high wind.

‘So you must be the ones travelling with Maulwerf's Fair of Wonders,' Ullendorf replied. ‘And a taupe, you say. And born with it? Yes, I've heard of such things, and what an interesting case.'

He took up a magnifying glass then and a single great eye loomed towards Philbert where he'd been deposited on the table like a piece of fish, still vaguely conscious, eyes back to frontward, seeing all and hearing all but far away, as if he were nothing more than an owl swooping by them, in and out of that stall Hermann had told him was all that made up a man's life. Corti interrupted.

‘We think, Dottore, that he may have collapsed due to the carillon. I was holding sustained notes on two bells to give a single assonance which, as you know, during our experiments, can cause deep vibrations in objects of kindred spirit. In this case I suspect the fluids inside the lad's head must have begun to move in resonance with the tone, that his brain is somehow being affected by the internal movement of the cerebral . . .'

‘Yes, yes, Corti,' the doctor said. ‘You have made a most excellent pupil and learned well, and it is possibly as you say, but I must look closer . . .'

He leaned forward, examining Philbert's taupe with his ­fingers, pushing at it gently, searching the skin for whatever structures lay beneath.

‘Sometimes such things are like a nestful of vipers,' he ­pontificated as he palped. ‘Release the plug and whoosh! They're out quick as a belch and no one can put them back. Other times – just a moment – Corti, hand me my auscultator,' and Corti did, picking out one instrument from the many that lay on a small trolley to the left of the table on which Philbert lay. ‘Other times. . .' Ullendorf went on, but did not finish, as he took up the hollow wooden tube Corti had given him, moving it slowly and methodically over the surface of Philbert's taupe, his face creased in concentration.

Everyone else moved away to give the doctor room, Corti to light lamps, Ridente and Maulwerf drawn to the wine-filled pewter jug that was stood on a small ledge beside a book-­cluttered desk, Kwert hovering behind the doctor's back, studying his every move.

‘Yes . . .' murmured Ullendorf, his ear to his instrument, head cocked to one side in concentration, eyes half-closed as he ­listened hard. ‘Yes, I believe I can hear something, something inside . . .'

Philbert heard the collective cessation of breath at this ­dramatic statement, although it appeared to him that he was
n'
t lying on the table at all but was instead tethered to the ceiling looking down, his mind creating the illusion so successfully that he could feel the cobwebs collected in the eaves wafting against his face, saw a couple of discarded fly-wings glinting in the light of the doctor's lamps – as if he were Harlekin watching one of his plays unfold before him on his stage.

‘Can you hear me? Philbert, did you say? Are you awake?' Ullendorf went on with his examination. ‘It's curious that his eyes are open,' he commented, scribbling a short note in his journal before carrying on with his examination, and indeed Philbert's eyes were now back to normal, responsive to Ullendorf's finger, tracking it as he moved it from side to side.

‘Don't be afraid,' he said then to Philbert's prostrate form. ‘I am Doctor Ullendorf, and to your left is Corti, and your friends are also here. I'm just taking a look at your most interesting head. You must be rather proud of it. How lucky some people are! Now then,' he handed his auscultator back to Corti, who replaced it on its surgical tray, Ullendorf turning, addressing himself formally first to Kwert and then Maulwerf.

‘I believe we need to do a small operation to release the pressure. It's dangerous for the brain to have so much weight pressing upon it. It will be no worse than chiselling a chink into a wall to let in a little light.'

Maulwerf looked dubious.

‘I'm not sure, Doctor. I'm certain you're very skilled at what you do, but what if his skull collapses once you stick a needle into it? What if it goes off like a punctured balloon?'

Ullendorf smiled. ‘My dear Mr Maulwerf, I assure you that could never happen. The taupe grows directly on top of the skull, and may even be depressing the bone beneath. This is my calling, my area of study. The boy could not be in better hands.'

Maulwerf raised his eyebrows, but Kwert nodded his head gravely. He'd known of this Ullendorf for many years, read every scrap of his work he could lay hands on, and believed in those Ullendorf hands as they examined Philbert's head.