by G Johanson
“In private.”
The undertaker instructed his assistant to wait with the horse and he led Inès to the room in which the body was laid out. Once inside Inès began her spiel, a shady tale of medical students who were acquaintances of hers who were interested in studying cadavers containing the virus and she offered him 20 francs to deliver the body to them. He asked to see the money and upon seeing the notes in Inès’ hand he forced her palm shut, causing her some discomfort as he refused the bribe. He moved towards her, his manner changing entirely as he realised he owned her now, and he said, “Avarice is not one of my vices, girl. They want the body they can have it, gift-wrapped if you like. A cold body for a warm one.”
He chuckled malevolently and Inès felt sick. She nodded silently and her heart sank even further as she quickly realised he meant here and now. Her mother could never know of the sacrifice she was making to fulfil her dream. Throughout she looked to Fraisse, whose final expression was enigmatic, a Mona Lisa death mask. Contentment? Surprise? Or relief?
Inès rooted through Fraisse’s personal possessions to find his address and she quickly jotted it down and posted the money to his mother after work. Lucien was outside and she gave him short shrift. She didn’t have time to chat today; there was too much to organise. She sprinted home and gasped to her mother and Durand, “It’s happening. They’re bringing a body tonight.”
Mrs Videt looked to Durand, thrilled that the world was finally going to be put to rights. Durand was determined to remain calm, though under the surface he was brimming with excitement and trepidation too. A lot of preparation had gone into this, intense study of the arcane arts, and now it would all come to fruition. He had Inès tell him everything, though she left out her method of payment, pretending that the undertaker had accepted the cash bribe. Barring a double-cross (which was highly possible) he was bringing the body round at midnight, time for the group to assemble and for Inès to try and get her head together. She went to her room and pulled her cap from her head and threw it onto the bed. She stood at the dresser and briefly looked at her reflection in the mirror, only able to bear her own gaze for a moment. She had to get out of her uniform though that would have to wait as her door opened and Durand entered. He sat on her bed and gestured for her to sit alongside him and she did so joylessly, traipsing the few steps from her dresser as though it were the greatest chore in the world. Such a display was most unlike her and Durand patted her leg and smiled at her as he said, “You’ve made your mother proud, Inès.”
While Inès’ face was still, her eyes revealed she disputed this and Durand’s hand crept up her thigh. She moved away pointedly, walking back to her dresser, and Durand knew something was wrong for she usually accepted his touch silently. He was aware that she had tacit reservations about their plans now that they neared fruition and he walked towards her and stood behind her, wrapping his arm around her bust, resting his chin on her shoulder as he gazed at her reflection in the mirror, holding her stolid gaze. “We have to come together on this. She’s grieved for three long years and tonight the healing process begins. You have reservations and doubts? Bury them like those genocidal bastards buried your brother in mud and shit. Tonight we end all wars.”
Inès found Durand questioning her loyalty highly offensive and bit her tongue due to his position as de facto head of the household. “There is nothing I would not do for this cause. I have demonstrated that already.”
The fire in her heart was not present in her jejune words and insipid delivery. Nonetheless her words seemed to sate him and after molesting her through her clothes a little while, Durand left her to change. After she changed into a funereal black gown with a veil she knelt on the floor and picked up a small independently pressed book with a plain blue cover with the word ‘Salvation’ emblazoned on the front with no author given. It was to be a long night for her and she needed some inspiration.
When Durand had entered their world he had persuaded them to relinquish their bibles along with any other artefact representing their faith. Inès had worn her crucifix from a young age and only removed it for bathing and her neck had felt bare for a long time without it. He spoke in slogans, presenting himself as their saviour and giving them another way. Mrs Videt did not succumb immediately to his wishes and initially took exception at him for challenging her belief system before his message got through to her. Her faith had not helped her or her son. In her time of need it did not provide the succour that she required. It was a plaster over a chasm, and Durand’s vision of a world where no other mother had to send her son to die became her dream too. By the time she learned of the necessary sacrifices required to bring in the new age she was carried away with the goal and anything became acceptable.
Inès was less sure and that was largely why Durand gave her a book to study every night. It was a curiosity and extremely compelling, the account of how the world was almost saved at the end of 1899 from a century of misery before Georges Steil sabotaged the visionaries, killing the leaders and snuffing out any hope. The book was confusing in parts as it was written as though by Albert, the self-professed leader of the campaign to save the human race, though later in the book it transpired that he had been killed in cold blood by his blood brother, the treacherous Georges Steil. Georges came out of the book dreadfully, coming across as a duplicitous figure who had accepted the hospitality of the group and had stabbed them all in the back. With a dragon for a pet, he was worlds away from the man she saw at the hospital.
There were things she did not understand. Durand had a slightly different version of the same book which he lent her and in this text Albert had the surname Harper, while in her copy he was Albert Clarke. His book also had the year that the book was printed, which was listed as 1905, 6 years after Albert’s death. The crux of it got through to her, the 80 page book designed to inspire future generations to not give up and abandon mankind to misery, death, war and deprivation. A miracle had almost happened and the book gave sage, specific advice as to how to replicate the process. The magical side of things was lost on her but fortunately Durand was able to decipher what was required. The book spoke of tough choices that had to be made and warned that one man’s saviour was another man’s pariah but proved an inspiring read which helped her convert fully to the cause. To prevent another war she could justify anything.
When Inès finally ventured out from her bedroom she was greeted by Matthieu and Jeanne who she had heard arrive some time earlier. Perhaps she could have shared their enthusiasm too if she did not have to see that grubby undertaker again. He had said something at the end that had troubled her, suggesting that he viewed their liaison as an ongoing arrangement. Then there was her strange bond with the dead man, something which made little sense as she barely knew him and he certainly didn’t know her yet there was some connection and she knew that the poor man would not receive the dignity of a decent burial. Eventually she was compelled to smile with the rest of them when they commented on her sullen expression. As performances went it was not her best.
Durand dealt with the undertaker who finally arrived after one. He required assistance to remove the body from his cart, having kept his assistant out of the arrangement, and Durand and Matthieu brought the corpse inside where they laid it on the floor. It was wrapped in a sheet and once the undertaker left they lifted the body onto the kitchen table and unfurled the sheet and examined Fraisse’s naked corpse. Jeanne handled this sight the worst. She had expected Mrs Videt or Inès to flounder at the sight and she would offer a comforting embrace partly for her own benefit. Instead she was the one who had to look away. As fascinating as she found Matthieu’s hobby, she was an outsider to this scene, most unlike his first wife, and as things became very real she found her stomach was not as strong as she made out.
Durand was completely in his element. Dead bodies were nothing new to him, dating back to his time as a medical practitioner before one hysterical woman made spurious accusations besmirching his good name. He scrupulousl
y examined the body and when he was satisfied he had the small group sit around the table, around the body, holding hands and repeating his incantation while he stood above them. He had studied books of true potency, which some would interpret as malignant, which taught him how to make life grow from death. Just as maggots feasted on rotting flesh, this corpse could generate fresh life beyond human understanding.
At a pivotal moment in the proceedings he drew his athame and sliced down the middle of Fraisse’s belly and began a long-winded speech about how this unnatural process, with the male as the bringer of life, would usher in the new age, such a dramatic act necessary to stem the tide. He turned to Inès, as she expected, and he pricked her wrist with the knife, which she had been forewarned that he would. The cut was minor and she did not flinch, though his words after causing this wound disconcerted her. He held the bloody athame above the cut he had made in the corpse and let a few drops of Inès’ blood enter the wound and he declared, “The fresh blood of an untouched maid interred in the cold, still blood of a freshly departed male. The final touch.”
Inès did not correct Durand’s assumption. The untouched bit was debatable anyway with his regular molestations, though he had never entered her or even removed his own clothing in her presence. After today there was no debate anymore; she had most certainly been touched. She had to hope that this was not of great significance.
Jeanne was swept up by Durand’s bravura turn and her fear subsided, which was fortunate or she would have fled upon the sight of movement from the body. It was subtle at first, the chest expanding as though breath had been restored before it began to grow. The thing tore through Fraisse’s tissue with ease, the cut making escape easier, and crawled out of his carcass, clambering over Fraisse’s groin and legs before it tumbled onto the floor, leaving a bloody trail of ‘afterbirth’ behind it. Durand released his hold on Inès and Jeanne and stood up to investigate with the rest of the group standing behind him. Inès had little idea what to expect this thing to look like, though she had expected it to be bigger. It was a foot shorter than her and pitifully thin, a spindly asexual humanoid figure which lay huddled up in a ball. It did not look like the saviour of the world, the creature that would end all wars.
Durand attempted to touch it and it opened its mouth and appeared to hiss at him, though no sound was forthcoming. Durand backed off a little, smiling at the thing whose black pupils locked onto his own, and he said softly, “We are friends. We brought you into being to prevent another disaster. Do you understand me?”
The creature slowly nodded and Durand explained what they had in mind for the creature, what treats it could expect if it performed what they expected of it. It grew in confidence very quickly, finding its feet like a newborn farm animal, and after crawling around for a bit it sat up and pointed to its mouth before demonstrating a most unusual feat. It opened its mouth to what appeared the maximum opening, which was wide enough to insert an adult fist, before it opened further, the creature’s face morphing to accommodate the opening, with the eyes and nose being pushed upwards until they were at the top and then the back of the head so that the only feature at the front of the head was the gaping maw. No teeth were visible, just a greying fat and long tongue, a sight which Inès did not know how to comment on. Thankfully Durand was still completely in control, sitting at the level of his ‘pet’, which fascinated him enormously.
“Tomorrow,” Durand promised. “Inès will take you to work.”
It was not for some time after the ‘birth’ that the pictures were noticed. Jeanne noticed first and wasn’t sure how to tell Mrs Videt that the picture of Jean was now...disfigured. Mrs Videt only had three pictures on display: the picture taken of Jean before he was taken from her in a meaningless conflict and one of the whole family and another of Inès when she was still at school. All three pictures had now altered to resemble x-rays, with all skin removed from the subjects so that bare skulls were now visible. Jeanne pointed to the picture of Jean and all turned at once and Mrs Videt fell off her chair. Durand left his creature to help her up and he explained, “Prior victims. He helps show the truth, that this is what they did to him.”
Inès internally disputed this theory, which seemed like it was made up on the spot. If that was the case, presuming she understood his meaning, then why was her picture and the family portrait, which had three members who were still alive, showing skeletons in place of flesh?
Matthieu nodded in agreement and he joined in with Durand, adding, “He shows us the truth beyond the fleshly casement, of what we all become, what the generals would have us all become. It’s positive, Marie, positive.”
Mrs Videt was unable to string a sentence together and she looked to Inès for help and Inès grabbed her hand and sat on the floor by her chair and she parroted, “It’s positive, Mama, very positive.”
Inès knew she could not join Lucien after work and arranged to meet him for lunch at the cafe. Like his uncle he was a loquacious man and his prattle would distract her from thinking about what she had to do later. She saw that he was already at his favourite table with the perfect vantage point and he waved to her as she crossed the road and opened the door for her. It was daft how these small courtesies meant so much to her. His interest would instantly wane if he knew how low she had sunk, abasing herself for a greater good, though the result was the same, her flesh now unsullied and she felt very unclean.
“Are you in a better mood today?” Lucien asked.
“I’m fine. I’m busy later so that’s why I’m here now.”
“What are you doing later?” Lucien asked with avid interest.
“Family business,” she said mysteriously.
Lucien took the hint and did not probe further. “Speaking of family, would you be willing to give Georges a note?”
Inès nodded and Lucien reached into his pocket and handed her a sealed letter.
“I know it might make no difference but it made me feel better writing it. I have little else to do on the long nights,” Lucien said, his glance suggesting there were other ways he would prefer to spend his evenings. Inès was unsure if she misunderstood what he was saying and she did not respond.
Their food arrived and Lucien asked her how things were at the nursing home. She was vague and Lucien found himself doing more of the talking than usual and he asked her, “Is something wrong? You don’t seem yourself.”
“You’re in no position to say that. You don’t know me at all,” Inès said coolly, distancing herself from him. While she had instantly liked him and found herself drawn to him, she continually questioned his interest in her. She was morose and quiet, the dictionary definition of terrible company, especially lately with all that she had on her mind, which left her creeping to the conclusion that he was using her to access his uncle, causing her to be guarded around him, just in case.
“I know you’re the only member of staff at that building who gives me the time of day. If you’re stressed you can talk about it with me. I couldn’t do your job for all the money in the world. At least the undertaker hasn’t been back. If ever anybody was born to do their job it was him. Creepy old man, don’t you think?” Lucien couldn’t forget the warped grin on his face as he left the nursing home with yet another dead soldier, like the cat that got the cream. Everybody liked making money, only his glee seemed misplaced all things considered. He could at least have had the decency to restrain his joy until he had left the vicinity when he could have celebrated the golden age of undertaking however he chose.
Inès nodded vigorously in agreement at his assessment. She felt dreadful and had hoped that Lucien’s company might have lifted her spirits but his words of comfort and understanding just made her feel worse. He had no idea of what was troubling her and mistook her for a good person, blissfully unaware of what she had to do later. Sometimes sacrifices were necessary for the greater good...though this statement by Durand seemed uncannily similar to those made by those damned evil generals.
“It’
s hard when people you care about are taken away in boxes. You could have taken away some of my friends in matchboxes,” Lucien joked darkly. “You can read it if you want.”
Inès’ eyes kept being drawn to the letter and she said, “It’s your private business.”
“It’s to my uncle, not a love letter. Go on.”
Inès opened the letter at his urging and admired his casual tone, Lucien writing like he spoke. The letters she had written to her brother had been more formal than this and had taken several drafts while Lucien appeared to have taken pen to paper without forethought. He was jocular throughout, letting his uncle know that he wasn’t intending on sticking around in this boring town for much longer and berating him for prolonging his sentence. All he wanted to do was to see him once and then Lucien was heading back home and Georges could join him later, if he wished. His request seemed reasonable and Inès was happy to oblige him again, not that it would make any difference in changing his uncle’s mind. Her book demonstrated how cold and unyielding that man could be. Lucien mentioned a kind nurse who had been helping him in his letter and this made her feel funny inside.
“I’ll pass it to him but I doubt that’ll work. You should threaten to disown him.”
“He’s been disowned by the family several times. By my mother and my aunt anyway. It doesn’t make any difference. If this doesn’t work I have another idea.”
“Go on,” Inès said, her curiosity piqued.
“See if this works first.”
Inès handed the letter over to Georges who seemed very pleased to receive it and he immediately took his writing materials from his bedside cupboard and set to composing a reply. He was less spontaneous than Lucien though less measured than she was and she watched him write. At one point he shook his head as he read back his words and he rubbed the writing with his forefinger, which caused it to vanish from the page and appear on his finger instead. Not even a smudge remained and this small action reminded Inès that this was no ordinary old man. He was not a helpless patient and still posed a threat to them and she had to remain strong. As she was leaving the ward she heard him call the lunatic over to join him for a game of cards, something she gathered she was not supposed to hear, and she knew why. It wasn’t because he thought they may get into trouble for leaving their beds; she fancied he was grooming Royer to do his bidding, manipulating his impressionable, addled mind for his own nefarious purposes. The quicker Royer was transferred to the bedlam the better, for his own good.
