Frankenstein Unbound (18 page)

“Cease to quote your Miltonic scriptures at me! You dare say thus, fiend, and yet you threaten the life of my fiancée?”

To this the monster had nothing to say, but stood silent. They remained as they were; in some fashion they were communing, and I could sense from my vantage point the necessity that linked them. Perhaps the monster could never be dominated, yet Frankenstein, being human, could not resist the attempt.

“You remonstrate with me, you thing of evil, when your hands are still wet with the blood of my brother William. I know you brought about his death, whatever the court said on that score.”

Then the monster spoke in his desolate voice. “You must abide by the verdict of the court, for you perforce come within human jurisdiction. They have no such claim on me, being without humanity. I say only this—that perplexed and troubled at my bad success, as was the Tempter, I struck at you through William. He to me was a limb of you, even as I am.”

“And that filthy deed you put onto another.”

At this, the monster gave a laugh like a whipped bloodhound. “I ripped the locket from his sanguined throat and tucked it into the pocket of the maid where she slept. If she was hanged for that, so much for man’s legal institutions!”

“For that piece of devilry you will be well repaid, never fear!”

The creature growled. Again they ran out of words. Victor remained in the shattered door. The nameless one waited outside, its outline blurred by the slow ascent of steam from its clothes. Lizards could not have been more still than the creature until it spoke again, this time with a note of pleading in its voice.

“Let me enter into the tower, my Creator, and let me see you bring life to the mate I know you have prepared, manlike but different sex, so lovely fair. And then—since you cannot find it in your heart to love me—we will go our separate ways, for ever and ever, never to meet more. You shall go where you will. I will dwell in the frigid lands with my bride, and no man shall ever set eyes on us again!”

Again silence.

Finally, Frankenstein said, “Very well, so shall it be, since it cannot be otherwise. I will give life to the female. Then you must go and nevermore afflict my eyesight.”

The great creature fell on its knees in the snow. I saw it reach out its hand towards Frankenstein’s boots.

“Master, I will feel only gratitude, that I swear! The thoughts that torment me I will forget. I am your slave. How I wish that but once before you banish me we might converse together on fragrant subjects! What a world you might open up to me... yet all we ever speak of together is guilt and death, I know not why. The grave is never far from my meditations, Master, and when the boy died in my clutch—oh, you cannot understand, it was as Adam said, a sight of terror, foul and ugly to behold, horrid to think, how horrible to feel! Speak to me once in loving tongues of better things.”

“Do not fawn! Get up! Stand away! You must come with me into the tower to accomplish this foul work, since Yet is slain—I need your aid stoking the boilers to keep the electricity at full voltage. Enter and be silent.”

Moaning, the creature rose, saying impulsively, “When I found you just now, I feared you were killed also, Master.”

“Confound you, I was not killed but drugged. Maybe it would have been better for me otherwise! That interfering Bodenland was to blame. If you encounter him, fiend, you may exercise your fiendishness on him without restraint!” They were now moving inside. I followed to the door and heard the creature’s rebuke by way of reply.

“The breaking of necks is no pleasure for me. I have my religious beliefs, unlike you inventors rare, unmindful of your Maker, though His spirit taught you! Besides, Bodenland expressed some gratitude to me—the only man ever to do so!”

“What religious system could ever light a light within your skull!” said Frankenstein contemptuously, leading the way upstairs, where a shaft of light indicated an open door into the machine room. They climbed through, and the door closed behind them.

For a while I stood by the shattered doorway, wondering what to do. Plenty of timber lay about the building. Maybe I could stack it up and set the place alight, so that they—and that terrible female they were now conspiring to bring to life—would perish in the flames, together with all Frankenstein’s instruments and notes. But how could I get a fire going fast enough to catch them? For they would escape before the fire took hold.

The steam engine began to work faster overhead. Protected by the noise, which surely signified the most hideously active stoking the world had ever seen, I began to search about, even daring to light a flambeau, which was all this ground floor seemed to warrant in the way of illumination.

Plenty of wood and timber lay about, as well as skins of wine and various provisions. To one side stood the phaeton. Beyond that was a stable, with the horse standing there indifferently, uncaring what passed before its eyes as long as it had food. Pushing its head out of the way, I thrust the flambeau into its stall, to see if there might be kerosene or paraffin stored there, or at least a good stack of hay.

An even more welcome sight met my eyes.

There stood my automobile, the Felder, unharmed, almost unscratched!

Amazed, I went into the stable, closing the lower door behind me. The stable was located in the square building adjoining the base of the tower. I saw there was a large door here leading straight outside. My vehicle had been pushed through it.

One of the car doors hung open. I extinguished my torch and climbed in, switching on one of the overhead lights. Everything was in disorder, but I could not see that anything had been taken.

I found a sheet of paper, a certificate which formally handed the vehicle over to the Frankenstein family. It was signed by the Genevan chief of police. So Elizabeth had been careful to acquire the car as some compensation for her fiancé’s supposed murder! But what had Victor made of it? He must have towed it here for further investigation. Had he understood it for what it was? Would that explain why he asked me so few questions, took my unlikely presence and knowledge so much for granted? How precious would this car be to him? What new developments in science would he be able to deduce from the features of my automobile and its contents?

Checking the firearms, I found the swivel gun was intact; a Browning .380 automatic was also present, together with its box of shells. I flung the sporting pistol I had looted onto the back seat, relieved to think I would never have to defend myself with it.

It occurred to me that, only a generation before mine, automobiles had been fueled by gasoline. Gasoline would have been ideal for a sudden blaze; the sealed nuclear drive was useless in that respect.

Having the car gave me other ideas. A fire would always be an easy thing from which a superhuman creature like the monster could escape. A hail of bullets was quite another matter.

Working as quietly as I could, pausing every now and again to listen, I opened the outer gate wide. This entailed shoveling away a considerable drift of snow. Then I attempted to push the vehicle into the open.

I got my shoulder to it and heaved. It would not budge.

After some exertion, I decided the track was too rutted for me to have a hope. Since I would have to start the engine some time in any case, it might be best to do so now, cloaked by the noise of the steam engine thudding somewhere overhead.

Praise be for the twenty-first century! The Felder started immediately, and I watched the revs climbing on the rev-counter until I began to roll forward into the open. What a feeling of power to be back at the wheel again!

Once I was outside, I left the engine running and ran back to close the gate. Then I maneuvered the auto among the trees, until I set it—according to my estimation—in the perfect position, some way from the main gates of the tower, but having them in view even in the present dismal light. Then I raised the blister, and focused the swivel gun.

All I had to do was squeeze the button when someone emerged from the tower. It was the best solution. The extraordinary conversation between Victor and his monster had convinced me of the latter’s supreme dangerousness: given its malevolence, its lying and eloquent tongue was probably as big a threat as its turn of speed.

Time passed. The hours slid slowly down the great entropy slope of the universe.

The snow ceased. A slender moon appeared.

My laboring minutes were occupied with fantasies of the most horrific kind. While the monster stoked, was Victor finding time to perform a facial operation on the female? Or was he... Enough of that. I would have given a good deal to have the stalwart Lord Byron by me, armed with the handgun.

Although visibility improved with moonlight, I was not happy at the improvement. The car might now be noticed from the entrance to the tower, whereas I had set it in shadow. Although it might seem that the advantage was heavily enough with me, ensconced behind a swivel gun, still there was that memory of improved musculature, of fantastic jumps and fast runs, of irascibility coupled with power. Just suppose that creature eluded my first stream of bullets and got to me before I could kill it...

Chilly though I was, the supposition chilled me more. I jumped out of the car and began to collect fallen pine branches with which to camouflage the vehicle.

While I was some meters away from it, the ruined door of the tower was flung wide and the monster emerged.

A fleeting recollection, as the dying are supposed to relive past episodes: recollection of my old sane ordered life now lost by two centuries, of my dear wife, my valued friends, even some of my esteemed enemies, and of my little grandchildren. I recalled how sane and healthy they were, and I contrasted them with the fiends with whom I had to deal in 1816!

Dropping the branches, I started what I feared would be a hopeless run back to the Felder. Foolishly, I had not even brought the automatic with me.

I reached the automobile. I scrambled in.

Only then did I turn to see what was happening, and how near my pursuer was.

Great flat-topped sheets of cloud were moving out of the frigid lands, intermittently obscuring the moon. The scene by the tower was rendered in untrustworthy washes of light.

Frankenstein’s monster stood outside the shattered door. He was not looking at me at all. He stared back into the dark from which he had emerged. I thought that one of his hands was extended. He took a pace back to the door.

There was a hesitancy in his manner which was entirely strange. Someone took his hand. A figure emerged from the doorway, a figure almost as gigantic as he. It staggered, and he caught its elbow. They stood together, heads almost touching.

He made her walk to and fro. I saw their breath on the frosty air. He was supporting her, an arm about her enormous waist. Her lumbering footsteps kicked up small flurries of snow.

She was weak from postoperative shock, and had to lean against the wall. Her face was turned upwards towards the night sky. Her mouth opened.

He left her, moving with that terrible needless alacrity back into the tower. From my hiding place, I strained to see her more clearly. Moonlight washed over her features, making of her eyes a perfect blank. It no longer looked like Justine. Another life occupied it.

The monster returned, bearing a goblet. He forced her to drink despite her protests. She drank, and he flung the glass down, standing back from her to see what she did.

She came uncertainly forward, step by step, feeling for her balance. She stood, arms extended but bent, and slowly moved her head from side to side. She turned with an automatic movement and began to walk, swaying from side to side at first, but gradually gaining a more regular rhythm.

He dashed about her, solicitous but irascible. At one stage, he joined her, pacing with her, beating time with one hand. Then he stood aside again, still conducting, urging her to move faster. She went to lean against the wall—he made a vehement negative gesture—she staggered forward again.

He began to run about in front of her, to turn, to perform grotesque dance movements that were not without some grace. She came to him hesitantly, and he took both her hands in his. Hesitantly, they began to trip from side to side, facing each other, he always encouraging her, like two lunatic children in a dance.

She had to rest. He supported her, staring up at the tower. She was holding her side and explaining something.

With a human gesture, he cupped his mouth with one hand and called upwards into the night.

“Frankenstein!”

As that great hollow voice sounded, dogs began barking in a nearby village, and were answered more distantly by wolves up in the hills.

No reply came from the tower.

After a rest, the pair began to dance again. Then he released her and ran about, as slowly as he could. She followed ponderously. Once she fell over, sprawling in the snow. He was upon her instantly, lifting her up with tender clumsy care, holding her scarred head against his cheek.

He urged her to run again. He cantered behind the tower. She followed. She was cautious at first, but her movements were coordinating rapidly. She found she could wave her arms as she ran. He stood back to watch in admiration, hands on tattered knees.

A strange mooing noise broke from them, which roused the dogs again. She was laughing!

Now she gestured to him to follow her. She set off round the tower, with him in playful pursuit. They were as sportive as a pair of shire horses. When she reappeared, her bald head gleaming dully, her arms were extended and she was making the mooing noise again. To keep her moving, he pretended to be unable to catch her.

As he ran, his hair streamed behind that helmet-skull like a plume.

Her actions were less clumsy now, her movements faster. She stopped suddenly. He clasped her about the waist, she pushed him away with a gesture that would have felled a man. There she stood, moving her arms, her wrists, her hands, like a Balinese dancer at practice. She was grotesquely dressed in what I took to be nothing more than the two sheets that had covered her on the bench, clumsily knotted about her vast frame; perhaps because of that, there was something poignant in those androgynous movements parodying grace.