Young Frankenstein

by Gilbert Pearlman

  "I am Aye-gor," the man said.

  "Isn't that Ee-gor?"

  "Not anymore. Now, it's Aye-gor."

  "Are you from the castle?"

  "Look at me-where else would I be from?" Igor answered.

  "Were you sent by Herr Falkstein?"

  "Yes. My grandfather used to work for your grandfather," Igor told the doctor. "Herr Falkstein thought it might be ironically appropriate if I worked for you."

  "How nice."

  "Of course, the rates have gone up," Igor said.

  "Yes, yes. But, I'm sure we'll get on splendidly." Wanting to show the man that he was willing to go at least halfway to be friendly, he gave him a comradely slap on the back-and was reminded abruptly, and to his embarrassment, that Igor was a hunchback. "Sorry," he said.

  Igor shrugged.

  "I don't mean to be personal or anything," the doctor said, "but, you know, I'm a rather brilliant surgeon. Perhaps I can help you with that hump."

  Igor looked at him puzzledly. "What hump?"

  "On your-Well, never mind." Dr. Frankenstein indicated his luggage, the small, light attache case, and the large, heavy suitcase. "I'm ready if you are," he said. "I can help with the bags," he added, reaching for the attache case.

  Igor snatched the case before the doctor could grasp it. "This way," he said, melting away into the darkness, leaving the doctor with the heavy suitcase.

  Resigned, Dr. Frankenstein followed, dragging the unwieldy bag along the platform.

  When the doctor caught up to Igor, the hunchback was standing beside a two-horse cart that was piled high with hay.

  "You'll probably be the most comfortable in the rear," Igor said, starting to climb up to the driver's seat

  Dr. Frankenstein lifted his suitcase up to a wheel, rested a moment, then gave it a shove, toppling it over into the hay.

  There was a cry of surprise. "Oh!" The voice was unmistakably female.

  "What was that?" the doctor asked Igor.

  "It must have been Inga. She's your laboratory assistant-temporary."

  Dr. Frankenstein climbed up on the wheel and looked into the back of the wagon. A young woman was lying there in the hay. She was so gorgeous, in a peasant way, that she was almost frightening. The doctor had been dreaming of bazooms like Inga's since the day he reached puberty. And she was obviously friendly. She was smiling.

  "Would you like to have a roll in the hay?" Inga asked.

  Not only friendly, downright aggressive. Unless he had misinterpreted her question. "I'm not sure I.. . uh ... get your drift," he replied.

  "You should try it. It's fun!" she cried out, flinging her arms wide. Then she began rolling herself over and over in the hay, childlike, and singing: "Roll, roll . . . roll in the hay! Roll, roll. . . roll in the hay . . ."

  Dr. Frankenstein guessed that she was singing a Transylvanian children's song. It certainly had spirit. And possibilities.

  There was the crack of a whip. Then wagon bucked, starting up, and the wheel spun beneath Dr. Frankenstein's feet, forcing him to grasp frantically to keep from being thrown off. Struggling, he dragged himself into the wagon and tumbled head over heels into the hay. He found Inga resting beside him.

  From the driver's seat, Igor sang out. "Roll, roll. .. roll in the hay!"

  The wagon was now speeding recklessly along a bumpy road. The vibrations bounced the doctor and Inga up and down and gradually they settled into a hollow in the center of the hay.

  "Roll, roll .. . roll in the hay!" Igor sang joyously.

  There was a crash of lightning.

  Inga threw herself into Dr. Frankenstein's arms. "Sometimes I'm afraid of lightning," she told him.

  He comforted her. "Just an atmospheric discharge," he said. "Nothing to be afraid of."

  From out of the darkness came the horrifying howl of a wolf.

  Inga cuddled close to the doctor. "Werewolf!" she whispered frightenedly.

  "Werewolf!" Dr. Frankenstein exclaimed.

  Igor looked back. "There," he said.

  "What?" the doctor asked.

  Igor pointed toward the surrounding woods. "There wolf," he replied. He pointed in another direction. "There castle," he said.

  "Why are you talking that way?" the doctor demanded.

  "I thought you wanted to. You started it."

  "No, I don't want to," the doctor snapped.

  Igor shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm easy."

  Again, a flash of lightning. Inga cuddled closer. Dr. Frankenstein felt her big bazooms pressing against his chest. He wondered fleetingly if he could get away with retracting his statement about lightning being an atmospheric discharge and nothing to fear and telling her that it was a suspected cause of cancer and the only way to defend against it was to strip down to the waist. At that moment, unfortunately, Igor spoke again, distracting him.

  "There it is!" Igor said. . The doctor raised his head, wanting to see what "it" was, thinking that he might be about to see his first werewolf. But "it" was a castle. It stood high on a hill, and, in the grainy darkness, looked almost like an extension of that hill, a towering, jagged peak. A bolt of lightning split the sky, and the sudden light glistened on the mist-drenched battlements and illuminated the green-gray moss that was spreading like a pestilence along the cracks in the castle's walls. It reminded him of something he had once read on the first page of a gothic novel.

  "Home," Igor said.

  "Home . . ." Dr. Frankenstein murmured. He sat transfixed, fascinated, immune even to the nearness of big bazooms, as the cart slowly climbed the dark, winding road to the castle. Home? Yes, the castle was home to the Frankensteins. But was it home to a Fronkonsteen? If he discovered that it was, would he have to change his name, legally? He shuddered, thinking of the red tape. Oh, Lord! The forms to fill out. The bureaucrats to interview!

  In time, the cart reached the castle entrance and halted. Dr. Frankenstein stared at the heavy wooden door, with its hand-wrought iron hinges and its gigantic twin knockers. It was flanked by a pair of brightly burning torches, their flames like devil's eyes in the darkness. Then the spell was shattered as Igor jumped down from the cart and moved toward the door.

  Dr. Frankenstein got down, too. He reached his arms up to Inga. From behind him came two loud booms. He looked back just as his laboratory assistant jumped down into his waiting arms. His hands went sliding up her waist and came to rest just below her breasts.

  To cover his embarrassment, he tried to explain to Inga that his attention had been on the booming sounds made when Igor banged at the door. "What knockers!" he said.

  "Why, thank you, Doctor," she replied shyly.

  Igor had now returned to the cart. He got Dr. Frankenstein's attache case from the back and dropped it on the ground, then began to tend to the horses.

  "What about my bag?" the doctor asked.

  Igor glanced at Inga. "What about her?"

  The stillness was disturbed by a creaking. Turning, Dr. Frankenstein, Inga, and Igor saw that the castle door was opening. A face appeared from the murky darkness. Or was it a face? Perhaps it was a Halloween mask. The nose was large and hooked. The eyes were small and set in deep hollows. There was a hairy mole on the chin. The hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Then the rest of the body appeared. It was a woman, old and bent.

  "I am Frau Blucher," she said in her hag's voice.

  Lightning cracked. The horses, terrified, reared, neighing in horror.

  "Steady! Steady!" Igor said to the animals, trying to calm them.

  Coolly, Dr. Frankenstein approached the door. "How do you do," he said to the woman. "I am Dr. Fron-kon-steen." He motioned. "This is my assistant, Inga. Inga, may I present Frau Blucher."

  Lightning crashed. The horses reared, neighing in terror once more.

  "Easy. Easy. Steady now," Igor said to them soothingly.

  "Your rooms are ready, Herr Doktor," Frau Blucher said.

  "Fine." Dr. Frankenstein turned to Igor. "Bring the bags," he commanded. Then, fac
ing his hostess again, he said, "After you, Frau Blucher."

  Lightning cracked. The horses reared, terror-stricken.

  "Down! Down, you beasts!" Igor shouted.

  "Something's got into those horses," Dr. Frankenstein said, unable to resist the chance to make a diagnosis.

  Struggling, Igor got the suitcase down.

  "Come along," the doctor urged.

  But, unable to resist an urge that had come over him, Igor paused a second. Speaking to the horses, he said, "Blucher!"

  Lightning crashed. The horses reared, neighing wildly.

  "Maybe they're afraid of lightning," Dr. Frankenstein guessed. He shrugged. "But I'm no vet." Then, following Frau Blucher, he led his associates into the castle.

  They entered a cavernous reception hall. The sound of their footfalls echoed and reverberated in the vast-ness, sounding like moanings from the grave. Awed, the doctor, Inga, and Igor stood staring about. Before them was a broad, majestic stairway. Above them was an elaborate chandelier that was studded with what appeared to be hundreds of unlit candles. The walls were hung with the dark-hued portraits of Frankenstein ancestors. The furnishings were heavy and stolid, decorated lavishly with intricate hand-carvings. In an enormous fireplace a fire burned slowly, throwing moody shadows against the soaring walls.

  Oh, what operations he could perform in a hall like this, Dr. Frankenstein thought to himself. The applause would echo for days and days and days and-

  Frau Blucher had picked up an unlit candelabrum from a small entrance table. "Follow me, please," she said, moving on toward the murky stairs.

  "Stay close," Frau Blucher advised, as they started up the steps. She raised the unlit candelabrum higher, as if to assist the others in seeing.

  Igor pushed his way between the doctor and Inga and joined the hostess. "I can't see a bloody thing back there," he said to her. "Do you mind if I walk up here with you, Frau Blucher?"

  From outside came sound of horses rearing and neighing in horror.

  A short distance along the dim corridor, Frau Blucher halted at a door. "This will be your room," she said to Dr. Frankenstein, holding up the unlit candelabrum once more to spread its invisible illumination. She then turned the squeaking knob, pushed the door open, and stepped back to allow the others to enter.

  The doctor led the way again, followed closely by Inga and Igor. He stopped a few steps into the room. It was cozily lighted by candles in wall sconces. One wall was a mass of books. The furnishings, like those in the entrance chamber, were sturdy and cumbrous-looking and gleamed with the patina that the centuries of human touching had given them. There were heavy draperies at the windows.

  "I hope you will find the room comfortable," Frau Blucher said, entering. "It was your Grandfather Victor's." With a gesture of affection and intimacy, she indicated the portrait that hung just inside the doorway.

  "You look a lot like him," Inga told the doctor.

  "Appearances can be deceiving," he replied. He addressed Frau Blucher. "The room seems fine," he said.

  Igor put the suitcase and attache case down.

  Frau Blucher held out a ring of keys to Dr. Frankenstein. "You'll find the keys to all the rooms in my cas- all the rooms in your castle, that is, on this ring," she said.

  He reached out.

  She placed the ring of keys on a table. "I'll put them here."

  "Does that include the key to the laboratory?" the doctor inquired.

  "You mean the laboratory, don't you?"

  "Yes. The laboratory."

  Frau Blucher sighed tragically. "No. The laboratory was destroyed in a fire. Long ago."

  The doctor shrugged. "I see." He turned toward the room's library. "There seem to be quite a few books here."

  "This was Victor's-I mean, this was the Baron's medical library."

  "And where is his special private library?" Dr. Frankenstein asked.

  "I don't know what you mean."

  Dr. Frankenstein had walked on to the wall of books and was scanning the titles. "Well, these are all very general," he explained. "Any doctor might have them in his study." He faced back to Frau Blucher. "I would think that my grandfather, being more than just an ordinary-You know what I mean, I'm sure ..."

  "This is the only library I know of, Dr. Franken-stone."

  "Fron-kon-steen."

  "Mmmm, yes."

  "Well, we'll see," Dr. Frankenstein said. "I'll have time to look around."

  "Would the Doktorcare for a brandy before retiring?"

  "No, thank you."

  "Some warm milk, perhaps?"

  "No," Dr. Frankenstein replied edgily. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

  "Ovaltine?"

  "Nothing!" he snapped. "Thank you. I'm a little tired."

  "Then, I'll show your friends to their rooms," Frau Blucher said.

  Igor and Inga turned and stepped out into the corridor.

  Frau Blucher glanced toward the portrait. "Goodnight, darling," she said.

  "I beg your pardon?" Dr. Frankenstein said.

  "Yes, and good-night to you, too, Herr Doktor," she said. Then, departing, she pursed her lips and mimed a kiss to the portrait.

  A moment later, the door closed behind her.

  Alone, Dr. Frankenstein spent a minute or so studying the portrait of his grandfather. There was a resemblance between himself and his ancestor, he decided. Basically, Victor Frankenstein had been a damned handsome chap.

  The doctor lugged his suitcase to the bed and opened it, and then he began unpacking and putting his clothing away in the drawers of the various chests and in the closet. As he was finishing, he heard a strange musical sound coming from outside. Curious, he went to a window and pulled back the heavy drapes and looked out. Nothing and no one. Yet the music continued. He concentrated, trying to locate the source of the sound, then looked upward.

  He saw Igor sitting in a window near the top of a turret. The hunchback was blowing a horn. Listening closely, the doctor discovered that the tune was a simple melody, being played over and over again. It was hypnotizing, in a way. It was good, the doctor decided. Not great, of course, but good-really good.

  "Not a bad horn player," he said aloud to himself, closing the drapes and turning back into the room.

  Fatigue-the aftereffects of the long journey-began to overcome the doctor as he undressed. By the time he got into his nightshirt, he could hardly keep his eyes open. And when he stretched out on the bed, finally, he immediately dropped off into a deep sleep.

  It was a short rest, however. Very soon, dimly, as if he were still asleep, he became aware of the sound of a violin. He tried to ignore it, thinking that, in his subconscious, he was recalling the little old street musician he had met outside the hospital the day that Herr Falkstein had come to read him his grandfather's will. That notion was bolstered by the fact that the music he was hearing now was the same as the music that the old violinist had played, the Transylvanian lullaby.

  The doctor spoke out in protest. "I am not a Frankenstein. I'm a Fronkonsteen! Don't give me that. I don't believe in fate and I won't say it. I won't, I tell you. I will not say it."

  The words perplexed him. Who was he talking to? And why was he protesting so vehemently?

  Suddenly, the tension seeped from his body. He felt marvelously at ease. To his amazement, he heard himself speak again. "All right, all right, all right, you win!" he said. And then, startling himself, he launched into a rousing cheer.

  Give me a D

  Give me an E

  Give me an S

  Give me a T

  Give me an I

  Now, give me an N,

  And I mean,

  I really want to hear it!

  Now, give me a Y

  And what have we got?

  DES-TI-NY! DES-TI-NY!

  No escaping, that's for me!

  He was being shaken. Someone had him by the shoulders and was shoving and pulling. Who was it? A critic? Surely his performance hadn't been that bad.
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  "Dr. Fronkonsteen! Dr. Fronkonsteen-wake up!"

  It was Inga's voice.

  With effort, he opened his eyes. Inga was standing over him, dressed in a nightgown and robe.

  "What is it?" he asked groggily.

  "You were having a nightmare," she told him. "You were shouting. You wanted a lot of letters from the alphabet."

  "Oh, yes . . ." he said dimly, trying to remember the details. "I heard music," he said. "Strange music. I-" He opened his eyes wide. "I still hear it," he said.

  "I know. It woke me. Then I heard you calling out. That's why I came to your room."

  "Shh!" he said. Then he listened. It was the violin music that he had heard in the nightmare. "Funny," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Who could that be at this hour?" He went to a chaise and picked up his robe from where he had placed it before getting into bed.

  "It seems to be coming from behind the books," Inga said.

  With the robe on, Dr. Frankenstein went to the wall of books and placed his ear near it. "You're right," he said. "It does seem to be coming from behind here." He began looking behind the books. "There's usually a button or a lever or something," he said. "I can't see a thing." He reached back. "Hand me one of those candles, will you?"

  "Yes, just a minute. Here, you . .."

  Her voice was fading out. Dr. Frankenstein had the sensation that he was moving-yet he knew he was standing still. Then, abruptly, the room was plunged into total darkness.

  "Inga!" he called out.

  "Doctor! Where are you?"

  He could barely hear her voice.

  "I'm here!" he shouted. "Where are you?"

  "I'm here," she answered.

  "How can you be here?" he called out crossly. "I'm here. If I'm here, then you must be there. Where the devil-"

  He suddenly understood what had happened. Without realizing it, he had located the button or lever or whatever and had pushed it or pulled it and the wall had swung around, taking him along with it. Inga was still in the bedroom and he was-Well, wherever he was. He began feeling behind the books again, hoping to accidentally activate the wall mechanism.