Schlacht laughed. "I, ah, tend to doubt that werewolvery is a disease which can be passed from one person to another as if it were a cold. That is, to say the least, an amusing notion."
"No doubt," Petra replied, her dark eyes gazing coldly at Schlacht through the narrow slit between the mask and the cap. "I am quite certain that if anyone had suggested six hundred years ago that bacterial-infected fleas hopping from rats to humans were responsible for the Black Death, most people would have been amused by the assertion."
"You should be aware, Fräulein," Festhaller said quickly, "that recent historical research has tended to indicate a Jewish involvement in the spread of that disease."
Petra ignored his comment and said to Schlacht, "We have had one bit of success, by the way. Kaldy does produce saliva, and I have begun a chemical analysis of it."
"Results?" Schlacht asked.
"Little as yet, though I have isolated an enzyme in his saliva which I cannot identify. I am continuing my tests."
"An enzyme in the saliva," Schlacht mused. "Tell me, Fräulein, do you think there is a possibility that the old legends are correct in saying that the bite of a werewolf creates another werewolf? If there is a strange substance in his saliva..."
"I am a scientist, Herr Colonel," she replied. "I prefer not to speculate in the absence of concrete data."
Schlacht nodded and smiled at her. "The proper approach, of course. You are doing good work, Fräulein Loewenstein. I must remember to mention that to Dr. Mengele when next I speak to him." This was as close as Schlacht chose to come to an apology for his previously hostile attitude, and as Petra nodded her head to accept the compliment, he thought he detected her mouth curl in a smile beneath the surgical mask.
A moment later the door swung open and two guards dragged Kaldy and Blasko into the room. Blasko looked around nervously and then, seeing Louisa, he smiled. "Bion journa, Donna," he said in Romansch.
"Bon journo," she replied in Italian, smiling at him, pitying him, fearing for him.
He looked over at Petra, her face hidden beneath her mask and cap, and then smiled again at Louisa. "La Famma blanka," he grinned. The lady in white.
The guards positioned Kaldy and Blasko in the center of the room, and Festhaller, Weyrauch and Petra turned their chairs around to face them as Schlacht strode up to Kaldy and said. "We have certain questions which you will answer, Gypsy. Let me warn you before we begin that any reluctance to reply will have the most unfortunate results." He waited for a response, and when none seemed forthcoming he added, "And we all know that you can speak German, so don’t bother trying to pretend that you don’t understand me."
Kaldy turned his weary eyes slowly to Schlacht and said softly, "I understand you full well. Iam just not very impressed by you."
Schlacht was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of rage at the Gypsy’s words, and he struck out at Kaldy’s face with a closed fist. Kaldy’s head snapped back from the impact and then righted itself. No blood issued from his nose or mouth, no bruise appeared on his cheek or eye. He gazed at Schlacht impassively. Schlacht struggled to master his anger as he said. "You may very well be difficult to injure, pig, but there is a way to hurt you, and you can rest assured that we shall find it. In the meantime, your friend here is not blessed with your unique qualities. If I stab him, he will bleed. If I torture him, he will scream. So if you value your friend’s life, I suggest you cooperate."
Kaldy looked over at Blasko, and saw the fear in his friend’s face. Blasko had not understood what Schlacht had said, but he was able to surmise it. Kaldy sighed. "Ask your questions. I shall answer them."
"Very well," Schlacht said. He turned to Festhaller. "Perhaps you had better do the questioning, Herr Professor. I might not be able to control my anger at this animal’s insolence."
Festhaller coughed and leaned back in his chair. "How did you become a werewolf?"
Kaldy shrugged. "I do not know."
Festhaller frowned. "Are you attempting to be amusing, Gypsy? I asked you a question and I expect to receive an answer. How did you become a werewolf?"
"I have answered your question," Kaldy said calmly, his voice a tired monotone. "I do not remember how I became a werewolf. I suppose that another werewolf bit me."
"So the bite of a werewolf does create more of his kind," Schlacht observed.
"I believe so," Kaldy replied.
"And you have done this yourself?"
"I believe so," he repeated.
"How often?"
"To the best of my knowledge, only once."
"When?"
"I do not know."
Schlacht folded his arms angrily. "How did you become a werewolf?" he asked, repeating Festhaller’s question.
"I do not know."
"Why does this change come over you?"
"I do not know."
"How can creatures like you be killed?"
"I do not know."
"Yes, nor would you tell me if you did," Schlacht spat. "Do you expect us to believe that you have no knowledge of your own being, of your origins, of how your condition originated?"
"Your belief or disbelief is of no interest to me," Kaldy said languidly.
"But your friend’s freedom from pain is of some interest to you, is it not?" the colonel demanded. Kaldy nodded and Schlacht went on, "Then I suggest you make a greater effort to be cooperative."
Kaldy sighed and asked, "Do you remember your own childhood, Colonel?"
"Of course I do," he replied. "What has that to do with...?"
"And which memories are clearer in your mind, those of your childhood or those of last year?"
Schlacht bristled. "Get to the point, Gypsy."
Kaldy’s eyes moved away from Schlacht and gazed at a distant nothingness. "Time passes and memory fades. I am immortal, this much I know, but the experience of so long a life buries memory beneath layers and layers of experience. A human being can remember his childhood but dimly, and when he reaches old age his memories become jumbled and erratic; and such old age is as nothing to me." He smiled sadly as if at some private joke. "There is a drawback to immortality, you see, something which does not occur to those who desire to live forever. Memory was not made for immortality, memory cannot absorb immortality. I remember the past hundred and fifty years with some clarity. Beyond that it begins to fade. Eventually it becomes darkness, and beyond the darkness it becomes emptiness, it becomes nothing."
"Hundred and fifty...!" Weyrauch muttered. "How old are you, Kaldy?"
"I do not know." he replied. "The first date I can fix in my mind is 1789, the year of the French Revolution. It was in that year that I was released from prison."
"Who imprisoned you?" Weyrauch asked.
"I do not know."
"When were you imprisoned?"
"I do not know."
"How long had you been in prison?"
He shook his head. "A century, two centuries. I really do not know."
"But this is an absurdity!" Schlacht said. "It is impossible to forget one’s own origins!"
"Not necessarily, Helmuth," Weyrauch said quickly. "If what he says is true, if he is indeed as old as he claims to be, then his mind may not be able to accommodate all of the memories and experiences he has undergone. Faced with centuries of life, his memory may very well be inadequate for the task of retaining it all."
"But…"
"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. "E
xplain."
"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 RagoczyPalace, 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.
PART TWO
ANCIENT OF DAYS
Und sie schweigen, weil die Scheidewände
weggenommen sind aus ihrem Sinn,
und die Stunde, da man sie verstände,
heben an und gehen hin.
(They are silent because the divisions
are broken down in the brain,
and the hours when they can be understood
come and go.)
-Rilke
CHAPTER EIGHT
"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?"
"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..."
"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.
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