Vienna Blood

63

HERR BEIBER WAS LYING on the divan, describing a dream he had experienced in his childhood.

“It's strange, but I can remember it quite clearly.”

“How old were you at the time?” asked Liebermann.

“Very young.”

“How young?”

“Ooh… about four or five, perhaps. I was still sleeping on a cot in my parents’ bedroom.”

After his traumatic interview with Herr Weiss, Liebermann had immersed himself in his work at the hospital. It had been a therapeutic exercise from which the doctor had benefited more than his patients. Four walls, a supine body, speech, and meaningful silences: this was Liebermann's world. An intimate, protected space-a still center. There was something extraordinarily soothing about the therapeutic situation, its emollient familiarity: the careful listening, which if sustained resulted in a complete loss of self-awareness. The gas lamp flickered and the day receded.

“Four or five? That is quite old-to be sleeping in one's parents’ bedroom, I mean.”

“Yes. I could be wrong,” said Herr Beiber. “Maybe I was younger. On the other hand, I was a very sickly child. I suffered from terrible fevers. My mother told me that once or twice she and my father thought I was going to die. I suspect that they were worried about my health-they didn't let me sleep on my own until much later.”

Herr Beiber tapped a finger on his stomach.

“And the dream?”

“Oh yes, the dream. I dreamed that it was the dead of night. The curtains had not been drawn and there was a full moon-so the room was well lit. I could see my mother and father's bed, my mother's dresser, and the wash table with its jug and bowl. Everything was silvery-white. What I remember most vividly, though, was the wardrobe. I never liked that wardrobe. It was a large plain box. It reminded me of a casket. I'd seen caskets on the backs of hearses, and in my childish mind I am sure that I had made some form of association. It was my fancy, I suppose, to imagine that the wardrobe concealed something macabre.” Herr Beiber smiled and tilted his head back. “Ahh, I seem to have inadvertently accepted your psychoanalytic ideas, Herr Doctor-was that not an interpretation?”

Liebermann shook his head. “Please continue. Your dream is of considerable interest to me.”

“Is that so? Well, I suppose dreams are a fascinating phenomenon.

… I hadn't given them very much thought before coming here.” Beiber's voice became eager. “I hope that when the Archduchess and I are united we shall spend many happy hours sharing each other's dreams. I have often wondered what fantastical dramas must unravel behind those beautiful eyes when they are closed by sleep.”

“Herr Beiber,” said Liebermann. “Your dream?”

“Oh yes-where was I?”

“The wardrobe. It reminded you of a casket.”

“Indeed. Well, there I was, staring at this tall, plain box, which I had childishly imagined was the repository of all manner of horrors, when what should happen next? The realization of my worst fear. The doors began to creak open, and as they did, I became conscious of a heavy-breathing sound-a kind of hungry panting. Slowly, slowly, the doors opened-seemingly of their own accord-to reveal an impenetrable darkness, impervious to moonlight. I could see nothing inside. No coats, jackets, or hatboxes-no possessions-none of the expected items that had come to represent the day-to-day presence of my mother and father. I was transfixed and, needless to say, consumed by terror. I wondered what manner of creature might make that horrible panting sound, and whether it would attempt to escape its lair. Two red eyes appeared. They glinted in the moonlight. Then another pair appeared above them… I wanted to scream, but I was struck dumb. Not so much as a squeak escaped from my lips. Then something extraordinary happened. A great shaggy black creature jumped out of the wardrobe. It was a massive, salivating thing-as a wolf might be depicted in a children's picture book. Then out jumped its companion-a beast of the same lupine breed and almost equal in size. The two of them were staring at me, their tongues hanging from their slack open jaws. And all of the time that horrible, horrible panting… They began to advance. They were coming toward me.” Herr Beiber's voice was now strained. The mocking, superior tone had completely vanished. “Their great paws on the floorboards, the scratching of their claws, long tails wagging, merciless feral eyes…” Herr Beiber's chest rose and fell with increasing speed and his breathing grew ragged. “They were going to eat me up. I imagined those sharp teeth sinking into my flesh, ripping, tearing, shaking… I screamed and screamed. And suddenly I found that I really was screaming! I was sitting up on my cot-wide awake-clutching my eiderdown with both hands.”

Herr Beiber gripped his hospital gown as the haptic memory made his fingers spasm. He remained silent for a few moments.

“And what happened then?”

“My mother came to my assistance. She petted and kissed me-told me that it had all been a bad dream and that I had nothing to fear. But I did not believe her. And… and…”

“Yes, go on.”

“I was right to disbelieve her. This will no doubt sound odd to you, Herr Doctor-but you have asked me to be candid. On subsequent nights I listened very carefully, and I swear that I could hear that horrible breathing emanating from the wardrobe.”

“Perhaps you were asleep again-and it was another dream.”

“No, Herr Doctor, I was awake. Wide awake-as awake as you or I right now.”

“What was it, do you think?”

“You will concede-I hope-that there are many things in this world for which we have no ready explanation.”

The young doctor did not reply.