Абрахам Меррит - Burn, Witch, Burn!

the table with the book still in my hand. She said, "That's for the doll I am making of you. Take it up and

see how cleverly it is done." And she pointed to something made of wire on the table. I reached out to

pick it up and then suddenly I saw that it was a skeleton. It was little, like a child's skeleton and all at

once the face of Mr. Peters flashed in my mind and I screamed in a moment of perfectly crazy panic and

threw out my hands. The book flew out of my hand and dropped on the little wire skeleton and there was

a sharp twang and the skeleton seemed to jump. I recovered myself immediately and I saw that the end

of the wire had come loose and had cut the binding of the book and was still stuck in it. For a moment

Madame was dreadfully angry. She caught my arm and squeezed it so it hurt and her eyes were furious

and she said in the strangest voice, "Why did you do that? Answer me. Why?" And she actually shook

me. I don't blame her now, although then she really did frighten me, because she must have thought I did

it deliberately. Then she saw how I was trembling and her eyes and voice became gentle and she said,

"Something is troubling you, my dear. Tell me and perhaps I can help you." She made me lie down upon

a divan and sat beside me and stroked my hair and forehead and though I never discuss our cases to

others I found myself pouring out the whole story of the Peters case. She asked who was the man who

had brought him to the hospital and I said Dr. Lowell called him Ricori and I supposed he was the

notorious gangster. Her hands made me feel quiet and nice and sleepy and I told her about Dr. Lowell

and how great a doctor he is and how terrible I am in love in secret with Dr. B-. I'm sorry I told her

about the case. Never have I done such a thing. But I was so shaken and once I had begun I seemed to

have to tell her everything. Everything in my mind was so distorted that once when I had lifted my head to

look at her I actually thought she was gloating. That shows how little I was like myself! After I had

finished she told me to lie there and sleep and she would waken me when I wished. So I said I must go at

four. I went right to sleep and woke up feeling rested and fine. When I went out the little skeleton and

book were still on the table, and I said I was so sorry about the book. She said, "Better the book than

your hand, my dear. The wire might have snapped loose while you were handling it and given you a nasty

cut." She wants me to bring down my nurse's dress so she can make a little one like it for the new doll.

Nov. 14. I wish I'd never gone to Madame Mandilip's. I wouldn't have had my foot scalded. But that's

not the real reason I'm sorry. I couldn't put it in words if I tried. But I do wish I hadn't. I took the nurse's

costume down to her this afternoon. She made a little model of it very quickly. She was gay and sang me

some of the most haunting little songs. I couldn't understand the words. She laughed when I asked her

what the language was and said, "The language of the people who peeped at you from the pictures of the

book, my dear." That was a strange thing to say. How did she know I thought there were people hidden

in the pictures? I do wish I'd never gone there. She brewed some tea and poured cups for us. And then

just as she was handing me mine her elbow struck the teapot and overturned it and the scalding tea

poured right down over my right foot. It pained atrociously. She took off the shoe and stripped off the

stocking and spread salve of some sort over the scald. She said it would take out the pain and heal it

immediately. It did stop the pain, and when I came home I could hardly believe my eyes. Job wouldn't

believe it had really been scalded. Madame Mandilip was terribly distressed about it. At least she

seemed to be. I wonder why she didn't go to the door with me as usual. She didn't. She stayed in the

room. The white girl, Laschna, was close to the door when I went out into the store. She looked at the

bandage on my foot and I told her it had been scalded but Madame had dressed it. She didn't even say

she was sorry. As I went out I looked at her and said a bit angrily, "Goodbye." Her eyes filled with tears

and she looked at me in the strangest way and shook her head and said "Au 'voir!" I looked at her again

as I shut the door and the tears were rolling down her cheeks. I wonder-why? (I wish I had never gone

to Madame Mandilip!!!!)

Nov. 15. Foot all healed. I haven't the slightest desire to return to Madame Mandilip's. I shall never go

there again. I wish I could destroy that doll she gave me for Di. But it would break the child's heart.

Nov. 20. Still no desire to see her. I find I'm forgetting all about her. The only time I think of her is when I

see Di's doll. I'm glad! So glad I want to dance and sing. I'll never see her again.

But dear God how I wish I never had seen her! And still I don't know why.

This was the last reference to Madame Mandilip in Nurse Walters' diary. She died on the morning of

November 25.

Braile had been watching me closely. I met his questioning gaze, and tried to conceal the perturbation

which the diary had aroused. I said:

"I never knew Walters had so imaginative a mind."

He flushed and asked angrily: "You think she was fictionizing?"

"Not fictionizing, exactly. Observing a series of ordinary occurrences through the glamour of an active

imagination would be a better way of putting it."

He said, incredulously, "You don't realize that what she has written is an authentic, even though

unconscious, description of an amazing piece of hypnotism?"

"The possibility did occur to me," I answered tartly. "But I find no actual evidence to support it. I do

perceive, however, that Walters was not so well balanced as I had supposed her. I do find evidence that

she was surprisingly emotional; that in at least one of her visits to this Madame Mandilip she was plainly

overwrought and in an extreme state of nervous instability. I refer to her most indiscreet discussion of the

Peters case, after she had been warned by me, you will remember, to say nothing of it to anyone

whatsoever."

"I remember it so well," he said, "that when I came to that part of the diary I had no further doubt of the

hypnotism. Nevertheless, go on."

"In considering two possible causes for any action, it is desirable to accept the more reasonable," I said,

dryly. "Consider the actual facts, Braile. Walters lays stress upon the odd conduct and warnings of the

girl. She admits the girl is a neurotic. Well, the conduct she describes is exactly what we would expect

from a neurotic. Walters is attracted by the dolls and goes in to price them, as anyone would. She is

acting under no compulsion. She meets a woman whose physical characteristics stimulate her

imagination-and arouse her emotionalism. She confides in her. This woman, evidently also of the

emotional type, likes her and makes her a present of a doll. The woman is an artist; she sees in Walters a

desirable model. She asks her to pose-still no compulsion and a natural request-and Walters does pose

for her. The woman has her technique, like all artists, and part of it is to make skeletons for the

framework of her dolls. A natural and intelligent procedure. The sight of the skeleton suggests death to

Walters, and the suggestion of death brings up the image of Peters which has been powerfully impressed

upon her imagination. She becomes momentarily hysterical-again evidence of her overwrought