Iain Pears - Stone's Fall

'How do you know that?'

'Ah,' Marangoni smiled, touching his nose. 'There is little secret here, as you will discover.'

'You would consider him insane?'

'Cort, or the spectral Venetian?'

'Both.'

'If the Venetian exists at all, then both, naturally. Thinking yourself immortal is not unusual, of course, and persuading yourself that you are someone else is common enough. I have encountered Napoleon on many occasions, as well as princes and children of popes, all snatched away at infancy. Persuading yourself you are a city is most odd. I have never encountered such a thing. I rather hope he does exist. I would love to meet him.'

'And Cort?'

'A hypersensitive young man, in my opinion. He is picking up the unhealthiness of the city, but instead of responding in a rational manner, he embodies it in his fantasies. This Venetian is the degenerate city which killed his mother and it exerts an unhealthy fascination for him. He should leave immediately. I have told him this, but he refuses to listen. He says it would be cowardly, that he has a job to do here. But it will cost him his sanity, if he is not careful. Especially if he continues to keep his wife with him.'

Marangoni was no gentleman. It was bad enough, surely, for a doctor to discuss a man who was a patient in such terms, but to cast aspersions on Mrs Cort as well I found deeply offensive. I think he saw the look on my face.

'Oh, you chivalrous English,' he said, with a very faint air of contempt. 'Very well, I should not have said that. But Mrs Cort I find to be—'

'That is no doubt because you do not appreciate refinement and character in women,' I said, 'being used only to Italians.'

Still the wretched man did not take offence. 'That may be so; certainly they are very different in manner. Though not so different in nature. You have met the lady? I think you must have.'

'I found her charming.'

'So she is. So she is. Well, I stand corrected. You no doubt know her better than I, a mere Italian, ever could.'

I found his conversation somewhat alarming. I am used now to capitalists such as myself being detested for their pitiless fixity of purpose, their ruthlessness at the exploitation of others. Perhaps we are so, but I must say that I have never encountered a capitalist half as pitiless as one of those doctors of the mind. Should they ever be allowed to put their ideas into practice, they would be fearsome. The conviction that their method makes them unchallengeable, that their conclusions are always correct, leads them to lay claim to a remarkable authority over others. Capitalists want the money of their customers, the bodies of the workers. Psychiatrists want their souls.

Fortunately Marangoni was tiring of the subject as well as I, and out of politeness turned to questioning me about my trip. 'You have met some people already, I believe. It was Mr Longman who mentioned you to me.'

'A few,' I said. 'And I am about to move to new accommodation, in the palazzo of the Marchesa d'Arpagno.'

'Oh ho!' he said with a smile. 'Then you must be a special person. She is fussy in her choice. What did you say or do to win her over?'

'It's my aura, apparently. Or the size of my wallet.'

Marangoni laughed. 'Oh, yes. I'd forgotten. The Marchesa is a seer.'

I looked at him.

'Really, she is. The spirits positively queue up to chat to her. It must be like bedlam in her sitting room sometimes. She has the Gift. The Eye. That certain spiritual something which means she is – totally crazy.'

'Another one? You alarm me.'

'Oh, she's harmless enough. Remarkably so. Naturally, I scented a customer when I first came across her. But I was disappointed. You will note that apart from a few matter-of-fact comments, she is entirely normal.'

'And that means . . .'

'Clearly she is insane. It is only a matter of time before the madness bursts forth and becomes more explicit. At the moment, though, she is quite normal in her behaviour. Apart from the spirits, of course. You will, I imagine, be summoned to take part in a séance at some stage. Everyone is. But you won't have any excuse for not attending. So you'll have to go. Do you believe in spirits? Ghosts? Auras? Things that go bump in the night or under the table?'

'I don't think so,' I said.

'A shame. But she won't mind. If you express your doubts, all she does is smile at you in a pitying manner. Blind fools, who do not see the obvious even when it is in front of their very eyes. It is your loss, not hers, if you cut yourself off from the pleasures of the astral planes and the higher wisdom they offer.'

'A bit like alienists, then,' I said with some relief.

'Exactly like alienists,' he agreed jovially. 'What is more, the Marchesa doesn't talk like some charlatan. This is what makes her so fascinating. Her madness is entirely logical and reasonable. So much so, that she is very convincing. Mrs Cort seems to have fallen under her spell, for example. I use the word spell metaphorically, you understand.'

'Do you believe all women are insane? You must know some who are not so?'

Marangoni considered the question, then shook his head. 'Taking all things as equal, no. All women are insane at one level or another. It is merely a question of when – or if – the insanity will manifest itself.'

'So if I come across a woman who is entirely normal and balanced . . .'

'Then she merely has not yet manifested the signs of madness. The longer she remains in a state of apparent normality, the more violent is the underlying insanity. I have wards full of them. Clearly, some women hide the symptoms all their lives, and the insanity never rises to the surface. But it is always latent.'

'So being sane is a proof of insanity? In women, I mean?'

'I fear so, alas. But I am not dogmatic on the subject, unlike some of my colleagues. Tell me,' he continued, abruptly changing the subject, 'is money still your main occupation in life?'

'Why do you say that?'

He shrugged. 'It was always obvious that you were never going to be one of the poor of this world,' he replied with a smile. 'You were always too watchful. If I said calculating you would take it as an insult, which I do not intend. So let us say too aware, and too intelligent.'

'Yes. Let us say that then. I do have some financial interests.'

'Which you are not pursuing here?'

'No.'

'I see.' He smiled again, which I found annoying. There is something acutely irritating about men whose expressions depict a sort of omniscience, who pretend to be able to read the minds of others. 'I never thought of you as a man for holidays.'

'It is time to think again then. Although you are right, in general. My inactivity does weigh on me a little.'

'But you are staying here.'

I nodded. 'Perhaps there are other things to do in Venice than look at buildings.'

'Such as?'

I shrugged. I was beginning to find him irritating. 'Build them?'

'I see you are not minded to say more,' he said after he had considered my face for a few moments. 'You leave me to work it out for myself.'

'Precisely.'

'Very well. Give me a week, and a few meals together, and we will see. If I guess your purpose, you buy me a meal. If I fail, I buy you one.'

'Agreed,' I said with a faint smile. 'And if you will excuse me, I must see to my packing. The Marchesa expects me by six.'

'Willingly. I must go as well. I have a new patient who was brought in this morning.'

'Interesting?'

He sighed. 'Not in the slightest.'

Until I made that response to Marangoni about building, I had not thought at all seriously about the vague ideas that had passed through my mind. It was only because of this chance conversation that it became a fixed purpose; a small project that might give me occupation, and end the purposeless wandering that I was beginning to find disturbing.