"Remember, we have no basis for comparison. We have no idea what may happen to the human mind and the human memory
over the course of centuries. The mind may very well
collapse under the weight of experience, might burn up as if it were an overloaded electrical circuit. In order to remain
sane, the mind may have to bury memories after a time, in
order to make room for new ones.
It's
possible, Helmuth,
it's
possible. As I say, we really have no basis for
comparison."
Schlacht took a moment to consider this. "Suggestions?"
"I have one," Weyrauch said. "Hypnotic regression."
Schlacht narrowed his eyes at his cousin's husband.
"Explain."
"There is a theory which says that all memories are retained somewhere in the mind. We believe that we have
forgotten things, but in reality the memories are all still
there, buried under other subsequent experiences. Through hypnosis we can strip away the overlaying memories and work downward into previous memories."
Schlacht nodded. "Can you do this with Kaldy?"
"I can try," Weyrauch said. "I have had some small
experience with hypnosis when I was studying Fr...when I was
in medical school." He thought it best not to mention the
Jewish founder of psychoanalysis. "But for hypnosis to work,
the absolute cooperation of the subject is necessary, and I doubt that Herr Kaldy will be fully cooperative."
Schlacht turned to Kaldy and asked, "Have you been listening to what we've been saying?"
"Of course I have," Kaldy replied softly.
"Good. Then listen to this as well. The German Race is at this very moment establishing an empire which will endure for the next thousand years, even as our First Reich endured
for a thousand years. You are being given the opportunity to
make a contribution to that great endeavor."
"I fear I am unworthy of such an honor," Kaldy said softly, smiling at Schlacht. His voice was soft and even, but his sarcasm was far from subtle.
"But an honor you have nevertheless," Schlacht went on. "Dr. Weyrauch believes that he can discover your origins through hypnosis." He leaned his face close to Kaldy and
said meaningfully, "And you
will
cooperate with him fully. Is
that understood?"
"Perfectly," Kaldy replied with disinterest.
"And make no mistake about this, Gypsy: anything which lives can die, even you. If you do not cooperate with us, we will not only kill your friend. We will discover how to kill
you, and then we shall do it. Your only alternative to
cooperation is death, slow death, death accompanied by great pain
."
A peal of deafening laughter burst from Kaldy's lips and Schlacht jumped back instinctively, startled by the sudden animation of the hitherto placid Gypsy. "Death and great pain! Oh, my goodness! Well, then, I shall certainly offer my services to you unconditionally!" And Kaldy laughed on and on, his rising laughter seeming rapidly to approach hysteria.
"Return them to their cells," Schlacht barked at the guards, and Kaldy and Blasko were pushed from the room. Schlacht turned to the others. "His response is born of fear, no doubt, a good sign. If he can be frightened, he can be hurt, and if he can be hurt, he can be controlled.
Gottfried, you will begin your experiment with him as soon
as he calms down."
"Tomorrow morning, I think," Weyrauch said.
"What?"
"Tomorrow morning," he repeated. "Tonight is the full
moon."
"Oh," Schlacht muttered. "Oh. Well, then, tomorrow, of
course..."
As Kaldy was pushed, pulled, dragged and kicked down to
the dungeon of the
Ragoczy
Palace
, his laughter began to subside, though he retained a look of amusement for a long
while afterwards. He offered no resistance to the guards as
they wrapped the heavy chains around him and tied the sprigs
of wolfsbane to the links, but he continued to smile and utter an occasional quiet laugh long after they had left him
alone in his cell to await the moon.
Great pain and death if I do not cooperate
, he thought, shaking his head with amusement.
Great pain and death
. "How
frightening you must believe yourself to be, Colonel Schlacht," he whispered aloud. "How you must impress yourself with your power to terrify and destroy."
Kaldy looked down at the chains and the wolfsbane.
Men are so proud of their ability to kill, he thought sadly,
so proud of that ability of which I am so ashamed.
And yet, as he sat silently and awaited the change, he
knew that he would do whatever the Germans told him to do. But he would cooperate with his captors for the sake of his
friend Blasko, to spare his friend punishment, not to protect himself from the wrath of the S.S. He was neither
frightened nor impressed by Colonel Schlacht's threats of
pain and death.
For Janos Kaldy had suffered more pain than any human
being who had ever lived.
And, though even he himself could not delineate the parameters of his life, he had been desperately trying to
die for three thousand years.
Und sie schweigen, weil die Scheidewände
weggenommen sind aus ihrem Sinn,
und die Stunde, da man sie verstände,
heben an und gehen hin.
Â
(They are silent because the divisions
are broken down in the brain,
and the hours when they can be understood
come and go.)
-Rilke
"Can you hear my voice, Kaldy?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yes."
"Who am I?"
"
You are Weyrauch, the physician."
"Yes, good. Now listen to me carefully, Kaldy."
"Yes."
"We are going to travel backward in time, back into your
past. You will remember everything exactly as it happened. It will seem as if everything is happening once again, and
you will describe it all to me exactly as it happens to you. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. We are travelling backward now. The years are
reversing themselves. Your memory is drifting back through
time."
A pause. "The years will cease their backward motion
when you reach an incident which is of importance to you. Do
you understand?"
"Yes."
Another pause. "Have you reached an important incident in
your memory?"
"Yes."
"What year is it?"
"I do not know."
"Why do you not know?"
"I pay no attention to such things. Years mean nothing
to me."
"Has anything important to the rest of the world
happened recently?"
"Yes."
"What has happened recently?"
"The war has ended."
"Which war?"
"The war."
Another pause. "The Great War? The 1914 war?"
"Yes."
"So it is 1918?"
"Yes."
"What month is it?"
"I do not know."
"What season is it? Winter, spring...?"
"Spring. It is spring."
"And the war has recently ended?"
"Yes."
"The war ended in November of 1918. So it is spring of
1919?"
"Yes."
"Where are you, Kaldy?"
"On a hillside."
"Where is the hillside?"
"I do not know." A pause. "Hungary."
"You are on a hillside in
Hungary
in the spring of
1919?"
"Yes."
"Are you alone?"
"No."
"Who is with you?"
"Claudia."
"Who is Claudia?" No answer. "Is she your wife?"
Â
"No. "
"Is she your friend?"
"No...yes...no, not my friend."
"Who is Claudia, Kaldy?" No answer. "Tell me who Claudia
is, Kaldy."
A long pause, and then, "She is another werewolf..."
Â
"Who are we, Janos?" Claudia asked.
"I don't know," Janos Kaldy replied.
Somewhere buried in the dim recesses of his mind there was a memory of love and a vestigial sensation of contentment which might or might not have been imaginary. Kaldy knew that he should be enjoying a moment such as this. The sky was a clear blue and the April sun was warming the cool earth as a refreshing breeze stirred the long black hair of the beautiful woman who sat beside him on the grassy knoll. Kaldy knew that of such scenes romantic notions are born. He turned to his companion and looked at her, trying to remember the longings of passion and the need to kiss another human being, to touch the flesh of a woman. He could not. That had all been long ago, too long ago, so long ago.
"Did you make me what I am?" Claudia asked.
"You have said that I did," Kaldy replied. "I do not
remember." He lay down upon his back and folded his hands behind his head. "Perhaps
you
made me as
I
am."
"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head, trying to think. "I seem to have a memory of you attacking me. Do
you have a memory of me attacking you?"
"No. "
"So you must have attacked me. You must have made me what I am."
"I don't know, Claudia. I don't remember."
She sighed. "That must be what happened."
"If you say so," he replied weakly.
They watched in inattentive silence as the faded colors of the Gypsy wagons rolled slowly past them across the distant plain. Ten of the nomadic homes of the Romani people lumbered slowly by, and the sounds of laughing children and neighing horses and squeaking, grinding wheels were wafted on the cool wind to the two people sitting on the hillside. "Do you think they are happy, Janos?" she asked.
"Who?"
"The Gypsies, down there."
"They must be happy," he replied, rubbing his eyes. "They can die."
"Why can't we die, Janos? I want to die, so badly. Why can't we die?"
"I don't know, Claudia. I have tried, believe me. I have tried. You have tried."
She ran her hands through her hair and brushed a fly away from her thin nose. "I hate you, Janos. I know that I
hate you. Why do I hate you?"
"Because I made you what you are."
"But you said that you didn't remember doing that,"
"And you said that you did. So that must be why you hate me, because I must have bitten you and made you what you are
. "
"But if I hate you, why am I with you?"
He shrugged, "With whom else would you be?"
She lay down beside him and rested her head upon his chest. He put one arm around her, leaving the other behind his head. "What night is it, Janos?"
"You know," he replied.
He felt her shudder. "I can't go through this again. I just can't stand it any longer."
"We have no choice."
They were silent again for a long while and then she asked, "Who are we, Janos?"
"I don't know, Claudia," His voice was patient and kindly, and betrayed no hint of irritation or annoyance. This was not the first time they had had this conversation. She wondered aloud who they were on an almost daily basis, and she had been wondering for as many centuries as Kaldy could remember. The question was always the same. And the question remained forever unanswered.
They looked for all the world like two young lovers enjoying the first warm days of peace after Europe's half decade of mad, monstrous, vicious, suicidal war, as they lay upon the
hillside in a placid embrace. But theirs was no romantic idyll, no springtime rite of awakening passion. They were
waiting for the sun to set. They were waiting for the moon.
On the plain below, the Gypsy caravan came to a slow
stop on the edge of the forest, and an old man climbed awkwardly down from the front wagon and surveyed their
surroundings. "Jurghis, Aladar, Blasko, Zorkis!" he called out, and four younger men came down from the driver's seats
of their wagons. They walked over to him and he said, "Let us
camp here. This is a peaceful region. No need to hide in the woods
. "