James Jenkins - The Valancourt Book of World Horror Stories. Volume 1

Next evening. Dr. Lohrman sits by Elvira Wallin’s bed. Silent. Thoughtful. Andersson found her in the kitchen this morning. And she can’t remember anything. She scratches her thighs. Begs for massage. And laudanum. They bargain.

‘You get massage if you talk.’

‘Massage first.’

‘Oh, no. I know what you’re up to. Now tell me what you were doing in the kitchen.’

‘I really don’t know what I was doing in the kitchen.’ She imitates Signe’s dialect. Teases him. Dr. Lohrman realizes how much he dislikes her. ‘What would I be doing there? Among the servants?’

‘Maybe you were hungry?’

‘Not really. I eat in the daytime. I don’t have to run around stealing things from the cupboard at night. Can I have massage now?’

Dr. Lohrman takes off his frock coat. Finds the machine. He’s growing more and more doubtful that the machine is of any use. He hardly dares to look at Elvira Wallin during the treatment. Her reactions are getting stronger and stronger. Rhythmic spasms in her thighs and back. Shortness of breath. The girl blushes and moans. Presses herself against the apparatus. But maybe it’s just that the nearer the tension comes to the surface, the more powerfully it reacts to one’s efforts to get rid of it.

Elvira Wallin bites her blanket when the paroxysm comes. All grows quiet. Far off a piano is heard. Fru Wallin is teaching little Margareta to play. Preferably when her sister is being most noisy. Dr. Lohrman wipes his sweat from the machine. Slackens the spring. Dries his forehead and adjusts his cravat. And begins to ask again.

‘Your mother says that she’s found you in the kitchen several times. And in the servants’ passage. You never go another way? Out in the rest of the residence? To the parlor or dining room or the other children’s rooms. How come?’

‘I really don’t know. Sorry, doctor.’

‘And the backstairs? What do you do there?’

‘What would I be doing there?’

‘I know you go there.’

‘I dreamed about them before. We’ve talked about that.’ Elvira Wallin rolls her eyes. ‘Before I got the laudanum. And massage.’

Dr. Lohrman feels a kind of joy. Finally. He knows that the cheeky little ragdoll is lying. He looks at her. Without blushing. How she lies on the covers. In just her undergarments. The corset barely laced. Barefoot. Dirty feet. Dr. Lohrman can taste victory. His intellect over the sickness’s lies. He studies Elvira Wallin’s slender ankles. Sees one of those awful sores that run around her left leg. She is delicate, all over. Her throat and wrists. Looks at her straight, almost white hair. She’s going to be a real beauty once he’s freed her. A cool, ethereal beauty. He thinks about details. Mannerisms he has learned by heart. The little things in her way of moving. Of talking. The way she tilts her head to the side when she doesn’t understand a question. Her mother does the same thing.

He plays out his triumph. ‘Signe saw you on the staircase. Last night. You went down the stairs. And went back up again after about an hour. What were you doing in the cellar so long?’

Elvira looks at the ceiling. Her eyes tear up. Slowly. The tears run down her cheeks. She is completely quiet. The doctor smiles. A friendly smile, he hopes. He’s broken through the wall. Reached a turning point in the therapy.

‘I wish so badly that I could explain,’ she says finally. ‘I wish so badly.’ Then she cries. Inconsolably. And Dr. Aaron Lohrman sits at her side. He’s brought down his prey. But he doesn’t know what to do with it. He can only sit there. Perplexed and speechless.

Elvira Wallin cries for a long time. Quietly. Without screaming or kicking up a fuss. She shudders sometimes. Shakes as if she’s freezing. But never tries to dry her tears. They run down over her temples and drip on the pillow under her neck.

She thinks that she would like so much to tell the truth. If she only knew anything about it. Understood anything herself. She wants to make the doctor happy. Make mother happy. And she wants to sleep, she realizes finally. Just sleep. She asks for laudanum. With a feeble voice. The doctor gives her a weak dose. Far too weak. She wants to scream at him not to be such a stingy Jew. But he looks so stern.

Finally Elvira Wallin sinks into a light sleep. Dr. Lohrman stands up. Puts on his frock coat and goes out into the parlor. Fru Wallin is just taking leave of three of her many girlfriends. A Kruse and a Sparre and a Something-hjelm. All equally elegant. Sophisticated and officious. Dr. Lohrman waits off to the side a little. He wonders about these women. How they seem to do nothing but visit each other. Drink coffee. Gossip and debate. Do needlework. Shouldn’t such sensible people have better things to do than run around visit­ing one another all day?

The ladies go. Fru Wallin has Dr. Lohrman report as if he were an ensign. He’s reached a breakthrough. We must discuss it. She walks slowly in a circle around the parlor. Straightens a tablecloth. Looks at the portrait of Major Wallin. Asks him to wait with Elvira while she talks with Andersson.

Dr. Lohrman sits for a long while watching Elvira Wallin sleep. He thinks about the next step. About his insights and what he should do with them. He has almost dozed off when Fru Wallin comes in the room. With her hair brushed out and wrapped in a large smoking jacket that must have belonged to the major. She looks like an adventuress. An explorer in some distant land. She should have one of those helmets the English wear in the tropics. And a carbine.

‘Would you like anything to eat, Doctor?’

‘Andersson fixed me a bit of ham and bread, thank you.’

Fru Wallin sits. Looks at her daughter. She looks sad.

‘She goes down the stairs,’ he says finally. ‘In real life.’

Fru Wallin says nothing.

‘Yes. She doesn’t have a sweetheart,’ he goes on. ‘And I’m sure that she doesn’t subconsciously want to run away from her family.’

‘What do you think it’s all about, Doctor?’

‘She could be haunted by some kind of spirit.’

Fru Wallin laughs. Almost scornfully. ‘Do you believe in such things?’

‘Let us say that I find many things difficult to explain scientifically.’

‘And you still want to cure my daughter with modern medicine?’

‘The power of suggestion is strong.’

‘Elvira hardly believes in God.’

‘Honestly spoken, Fru Wallin. Does anyone believe more than hardly and out of respect these days?’

‘I think it’s funny that so many abandon God, but go to fortune tellers instead.’

‘Undeniably. Séances are also said to be very popular, I’ve heard.’

Fru Wallin is silent a moment. Straightens her daughter’s blanket. Stares at a point on the wall over the bed. She’s making up her mind about something. ‘I frequented séances when I was younger. And prayer meetings. And elf dances. The Guards’ daughters danced in Stora Skuggan. You didn’t think that about me?’

‘I don’t know how to answer that.’

‘It was a fun time. Innocent. But some games become very serious with time. There are some things we should have left alone. You mustn’t wake something up if you can’t get it back to sleep again.’

Dr. Lohrman holds his breath. Fru Wallin is having a therapeutic conversation with him. Completely of her own accord.

‘When Oskar died, Anna Lessander took me to a séance. Of the worst sort. The medium. That devil was some kind of ventriloquist. He pretended to be Oskar. And it was all wrong. He said the wrong things. Things that Oskar never would have said. You know how Oskar was, for God’s sake. He was always happy and high-­spirited. A boisterous man. He could see the funny side to anything. Even being crushed by falling timber. He would never moan like a ghost in Hamlet . I was furious.’