Jean-Christophe Grangé - The Empire Of The Wolves

Translated from the French by Ian Monk

"Red."

Anna Heymes was feeling increasingly ill at ease. The experiment was danger free, but the idea that someone could read her mind at that very moment deeply disturbed her.

"Blue."

She was lying on a stainless-steel table, in the middle of a shadowy room, her head inside the central opening of a white circular machine. Just above her face was a mirror, fixed at an angle, with small squares being projected onto it. All she had to do was announce what color they were.

"Yellow."

A drip was slowly pouring into her left arm. Dr. Eric Ackermann had briefly explained to her that it was labeled water, allowing blood flow to be located in her brain.

Other colors appeared. Green. Orange. Pink… then the mirror went dark.

Anna remained still, her arms by her sides. as though in a coffin. A few yards to her left, she could make out the vague, aquatic glassiness of the cabin where Eric Ackermann was sitting beside her husband, Laurent. She pictured the two men staring at the observation screens, observing the activity of her neurons. She felt spied on, pillaged, as though defiled in her closest intimacy.

Ackermann's voice echoed in the transmitter fitted in her ear: "That's fine, Anna. Now the squares are going to start shifting around. You just have to describe the movements. Just use one word at a time: right, left, up, down. ."

The geometric shapes immediately started moving, forming a brightly colored mosaic, as vibrant and fluid as a school of tiny fish. Into the mike attached to her transmitter she said, "Right."

Then the squares rose to the top of the frame.

"Up."

The exercise went on for a few minutes. She spoke slowly, monotonously, feeling more and more drowsy, the heat from the mirror adding to her torpor. She was about to drift off to sleep.

"Perfect," Ackermann said. "This time, I'm going to present you with a story told in a variety of different ways. Listen to each one carefully.”

“And what am I supposed to say?"

"Nothing. Just listen."

A few seconds later, a female voice echoed in her receiver. It was speaking in a foreign language, with an Asian tonality.

A short silence followed. Then the story started again in French. But the syntax was all wrong. The verbs were all in the infinitive, the articles did not agree, the liaisons were incorrect…

Anna tried to decipher this pidgin, but then another version started up. This time, nonsense words cropped up in the tale… What did it all mean? Suddenly, silence filled her ears, making the cylinder feel even darker.

After a time, the doctor said: "Next test. When you hear the name of a country, give me its capital."

Anna was about to agree, but the first name was already ringing in her ears: " Sweden." Without thinking, she replied: " Stockholm.”

“ Venezuela."

" Caracas."

" New Zealand."

" Auckland -no, Wellington."

" Senegal."

" Dakar."

The capitals came to mind easily. Her answers were automatic, and she was pleased with the result. So her memory had not been completely lost. What could Ackermann and Laurent see on the screens? Which zones were being activated in her brain?

"Last test," the neurologist announced. "Some faces are going to appear. You must name them as quickly as you can."

She had read somewhere that a simple sign-a word, a gesture, a visual detail-could trigger a phobia. It was what psychiatrists called an anxiety signal. Signal was the right word. In her case, the very word face was enough to make her uneasy. She immediately felt she was suffocating. Her stomach became heavy, her limbs stiffened, and a burning lump filled her throat…

A black-and-white portrait of a woman appeared in the mirror. Blond curls, sultry lips, beauty spot above her mouth. Easy.

"Marilyn Monroe."

An engraving replaced the photograph. Dark look, square jaws, wavy hair.

"Beethoven."

A round face, as smooth as cellophane, with two slanting eyes. "Mao Tsetung."

Anna was surprised that she could recognize them so easily. Others followed: Michael Jackson, the Mona Lisa, Albert Einstein… It felt as though she were looking at the bright projections of a magic lantern. She replied unhesitatingly. Her uneasiness was receding.

Then suddenly, a portrait brought her to a halt. A man aged about forty, but with still-youthful looks and prominent eyes. His fair hair and eyebrows added to his look of an indecisive teenager.

A sensation of fear went through her, like an electric shock. Pain pressed down on her chest. The face looked familiar, but she could put no name to it. It evoked no precise memories. Her head was a dark tunnel. Where had she seen this man before? Was he an actor? A singer? An old acquaintance? The picture was replaced by a long face, topped with round glasses. Her mouth dry, she answered, "John Lennon."

Che Guevara then appeared, but Anna said, "Eric, wait…"

The show went on. A self-portrait of Van Gogh glittered with its sharp colors. Anna gripped the microphone. "Eric, please!"

The image froze. Anna felt the colors and heat refract on to her skin. After a pause, Ackermann asked, "What?"

"Who was the person I didn't recognize?"

No reply. The differently colored eyes of David Bowie glimmered on the angled glass. She sat up and spoke more loudly. "Eric. I asked you a question. Who was it?"

The mirror went black. In a second, her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. She saw her livid, bony reflection in the titled rectangle. A death's-head.

The doctor finally replied. "It was Laurent, Anna. Laurent Heymes. Your husband."

"So how long have you been having these lapses of memory?"

Anna did not reply. It was almost noon. She had been having tests all morning: X-rays, scans, the MRI and, finally, those tests in the circular machine… She felt empty, worn out, lost. And this office made her feel no better. It was a narrow, windowless room, too brightly lit, with stacks of files everywhere, in the metal cabinets, on the floor. The pictures on the wall depicted open brains, shaved scalps with dotted lines, as though ready to be cut up. That was all she needed…

Eric Ackermann repeated: "How long, Anna?"

"For over a month."

"Be more precise. You can remember the first time, I suppose?" Of course she could remember. How could she ever forget?

"It was on February fourth. In the morning. I was coming out of the bathroom and I bumped into Laurent in the corridor. He was on his way out to the office. He smiled at me. I jumped. I didn't know who he was.”

“Not at all?"

"Not at that moment. Then everything came back together again in my mind."

"Can you describe exactly what you felt at that moment?"

She shrugged in hesitation under her black-and-bronze shawl. "It was a weird, fleeting sensation. Like something I had already experienced. But it only lasted a moment." She clicked her fingers. "Then everything went back to normal."

"What did you think at the time?"

"I put it down to tiredness."

Ackermann jotted down something on the pad in front of him. "Did you tell Laurent about it that morning?"

"No. I didn't think it was serious."

"When did the second lapse happen?"

"The following week. It happened again several times."