‘There is an alternative,’ Gregory retorted with assurance. ‘All this time you have been taking it for granted that Kuporovitch will be caught. But if he is not you have nothing to fear. And unless he’s very unlucky I’ve little doubt that he’ll succeed in getting away.’
‘You cannot really believe that.’
‘I do. His mild, happy-go-lucky nature is very deceptive. I’ve worked with him for months in Paris and other places, right under the noses of the Nazis. He is as cunning as a weasel, up to a hundred tricks and completely ruthless. If anyone gets in his way he’ll kill him without the slightest compunction, and he possesses remarkable endurance. You have only to recall his extraordinary feat of getting me away from Peenemünde.’
‘You may be right, but I dare not risk it.’
Suddenly an inspiration came to Gregory and he said, ‘Listen. Before you set about murdering me, or exciting comment at the Manor by making arrangements for your flight, why not go downstairs and consult the oracles? You can’t have lost your faith in the stars and that horoscope of Kuporovitch that you drew up. Surely if there really is any basis for your beliefs you could find out what his chances are.’
Slowly Malacou nodded. ‘Now you speak sound sense. There are many reasons for my wishing to remain here if I can do so in safety.’ Turning, he picked up from the bed a pair of pyjamas he had lent the Russian and added, ‘I can psychometrise these. Together with his horoscope that should tell me what we want to know.’
As he left the room Gregory relaxed on his bed with a sigh of relief. Yet he knew that he was still under suspended sentence of death. His thigh began to pain him, but his mind was so filled with apprehension that he was fully conscious of the throbbing only now and then. An hour dragged by and the better part of another; then Malacou entered the room again.
His dark, hooded eyes now looked tired from the efforts that he had made to concentrate, but his face was no longer grey with fear. Passing a hand wearily over his thick black grey-flecked hair, he said in a toneless voice:
‘I have done it. And the omens are favourable—very favourable. Today is the 11th and he could not have chosen a more propitious date. Not only is he ruled by the 2, but he was born on an 11th. Moreover, his two best days of the week are Sunday and Monday; therefore astral influences should continue to protect him tomorrow and the day after. His horoscope bears out what you say about his endurance, courage and resource; so with three fortunate days before him there is very good reason for hoping that he will get away from the district without accident. But probably not without a fight. I saw newly spilled blood in connection with him; and in some way he becomes involved with a servant of Mercury—perhaps a postman—but in what way I could not determine.’
‘Then,’ Gregory asked eagerly, ‘you are prepared to stay here?’
‘Yes. For me to leave Sassen now would be to fly in the face of the omens. My own stars predict an uneventful period for me for some months to come. Besides, I have re-examined your horoscope and it is now much clearer to me. We are destined to work together in the future and you will be the means of saving me, probably from death.’
‘I am delighted to hear it,’ Gregory remarked with unconcealed sarcasm. ‘Perhaps, then, you will set about giving me my daily dose of hell by redressing my leg, for I couldn’t save a rabbit from a snare as long as I remain like this.’
Malacou shrugged. ‘You have cause to bear umbrage against me for my recent conduct. But I ask you to remember that I am endowed with very different qualities from yourself. You are a man of action, whereas I am a contemplative with an unusually vivid imagination. People like myself become frightened easily and liable to be panicked into taking any steps which they think may save them from physical pain. You have great fortitude, whereas I——’
‘God knows I need it,’ Gregory cut in bitterly. ‘However vivid your imagination may be, I doubt if you can realise the gyp it gives me every time you treat my wound.’
‘I have a very good idea of it,’ the doctor replied seriously, ‘and to show you that I am not altogether a coward I will, if you like, actually experience it.’
‘How can you?’
‘By taking your pain upon myself. You must have heard of that being done by psychic people who are also good Samaritans?’
‘Yes, I have,’ Gregory agreed. ‘Very well, then. You owe me something for the scare you gave me two hours ago. We’ll call it quits and I’ll try to forget about that if you can do your stuff on my leg without causing me any pain.’
Rolling down the sheets, Malacou set about his daily ministrations. As he removed the bandages Gregory, to his amazement, felt only a slightly increased throbbing, but the occultist began to groan. Soon he was sweating profusely. Now and then he closed his eyes and, breathing heavily, had to stop. Twice his thick red lips quivered in an abrupt cry. By the time he had done his face was again haggard and as he stepped away from the bedside tears were running down his furrowed cheeks.
Collapsing in a chair he sat there for a few minutes panting and mopping his face. When he had recovered a little Gregory said, ‘I’m grateful to you for that. How I wish to God someone could take my pain every day.’
Malacou grunted. ‘For accepting it you have only yourself to blame. I told you a fortnight ago that it could be absorbed into your unconscious if you would allow me to hypnotise you.’
‘And I refused.’
‘To persist in doing so surprises me in a man of your intelligence. Do you not see how illogical it is to reject this method of killing pain, while being perfectly willing to let me inject you with pain-killing drugs? You would not refuse to be anaesthetised either, if you had to undergo an operation, would you?’
‘That’s true,’ Gregory said slowly, ‘but you are not an ordinary doctor, and Kuporovitch was convinced that you had entered into a pact with the Devil. Add to that, barely half an hour ago, you forswore your God in front of me. I’m pretty sceptical about that sort of thing myself, but——’
‘The Russian thinking that does not surprise me,’ Malacou broke in. ‘They are a backward race and still greatly influenced by superstition. He, too, would be particularly imbued with such ideas, because he is subject to the Moon. Such people readily attribute every happening to the intervention of Christ or Satan. To suppose that is absurd, as people in Western Europe have come to recognise. As for my denying Jehovah, I no longer subscribe to the Jewish faith. It was only like a Protestant exclaiming “To hell with the Pope”. Anyhow, you at least appear to have an open mind on the matter, so I will bring you some books on hypnotism to read; then you will see for yourself that no question of good or evil enters into it.’
For several days, in spite of the occultist’s favourable prognostications about Kuporovitch, Gregory continued to be extremely anxious about him, but by the Wednesday it seemed fairly certain that he had got away safely and by that time would have succeeded in establishing for himself a new identity.
About the latter possibility one matter gave both Gregory and Malacou food for speculation. It was that the village postman had also disappeared. He was an elderly dug-out who had returned to duty on account of the war, a widower and lived alone. He had last been seen on Friday evening working in his garden and when he had not turned up at the village post office on Saturday morning it had been supposed that he was ill; so a girl had been sent out to do his round. As there was no delivery on Sunday, no-one had worried about his absence until Monday morning. The police had then been informed and had searched his cottage, but could find no clue to his disappearance; and no-one could suggest any reason why he might suddenly have decided to leave Sassen.
In addition to cooking and bringing up Gregory’s meals, Tarik had taken Kuporovitch’s place in looking after him and now helped him with certain exercises the doctor had prescribed to keep his circulation going. As he had soon learned, the hunchback always either communicated in silence with his master or spoke Yiddish to him. Apparently he knew no other language, s
o Gregory had to indicate his wants by signs and was unable to find out whether under the man’s bald cranium there lay the mind of a simple, unfortunate being or a sinister personality.
Khurrem had already visited the invalid several times and now she came to see him more frequently. But she was still obviously oppressed by her secret worries, so made anything but a cheerful companion. Gregory felt sure that her visits were due only to her wish to show appreciation of his having offered to help her if she would confide in him, but she came no nearer doing so. In consequence, when their stilted conversations lapsed, and she said that she ought to get back to the farm, he never sought to detain her.
The result was that he now spent many hours each day alone, and as pain often kept him awake at nights he became subject to terrible fits of depression about his future as a cripple. His only escape lay in reading. Before the end of the week he had got through several books in German on hypnotism and J. Milne Bramwell’s great opus on the subject in English.
When, in due course, Malacou asked him how he was getting on with his reading, he replied, ‘I have learned quite enough to convince me that hypnotism is simply an extension of the powers of the human brain and owes nothing to the supernatural.’
The doctor showed his long teeth in a smile. ‘Yet you will agree that anyone who practised it a few hundred years ago would have been credited with supernatural powers?’
‘Yes, I don’t doubt that they would.’
‘There, then, you have the explanation of all these mysteries. Supernatural is simply a word to express any happening that lies beyond our present comprehension and magic the procuring of a result normally regarded as impossible when judged by the accepted laws of cause and effect. As more and more natural laws receive recognition, the magic of yesterday becomes the science of today.’
‘That sounds perfectly reasonable; but do you suggest, then, that contrary to popular belief magic never entails calling upon the forces of evil?’
‘I would not say that, although, of course, from the beginning of time people have differed about what is good and what is evil. There are laws governing the material plane and laws governing the spiritual plane. During the past two hundred years many of the former have been harnessed to the great benefit of mankind—electricity, for example; and the modern wizards we term scientists take credit for new discoveries every day. But the greater part of the laws governing the spiritual plane they still refuse to recognise or investigate. To apply such laws requires the development of a person’s higher being so that he is in rapport with powers that enable him to bring about that which he wishes to achieve.’
‘I see. But as spiritual powers are either of God or the Devil, that must entail becoming a priest of sorts to one or the other.’
‘Not necessarily. Everyone has spiritual powers within himself. A knowledge of them enables an occultist to use certain unseen forces for his own ends without attracting to himself either good or evil. Prolonged study of these mysteries has enabled me to do so.’
‘Then why did you not use yours to ensure Kuporovitch’s getting away safely?’ Gregory asked shrewdly.
‘Because my command of the unseen forces is strictly limited. Just as scientists are still only on the fringe of discovering the laws that govern the material universe, so modern occultists are still only gradually obtaining knowledge of the laws that govern the realm of the spirit. The ancients knew far more of them than we do; but when their civilisations were overrun by barbarians that knowledge was lost. We are regaining it only a little at a time by deep thought and patient experiment.’
‘Your contention is, then, that such people as yourself are, in a way, scientists and that evil plays no part in occult operations.’
Malacou shrugged. ‘It need not do so. Naturally the supreme powers lie at the root of all things. I was seeking only to assure you that certain results that you would term “miraculous” can be achieved without calling for help upon either good or evil forces. There are ten grades of occultists, ranging from Neophyte to Ipisissimus. Only those holding the three highest ranks have passed the Abyss and so irrevocably committed themselves to follow either the Right Hand or Left Hand Path. I am no more than a Practicus, so still engaged in mastering the mysteries of the Qabalah. However, while in the lower grades I achieved entry to the Astral Plane and complete success in Asana and Paranayama, which enables me to perform many minor magics.’
‘And you claim that your success in such practices owes nothing to evil forces?’
‘I do. Surely you do not suppose that every clairvoyant, thought-reader, hypnotist and pain-taker has entered into a pact with Satan?’
‘No; of course not.’
‘Then why be so frightened and continue to put up with your pain when by hypnotising you I could relieve you of it?’
For several minutes Gregory remained silent. All things considered, he decided that Malacou had made his case; so at length he said:
‘Very well, then. Life will be a lot pleasanter for me if I don’t have to lie here for hours dreading these daily ordeals. Let’s start tomorrow.’
When Malacou came up next morning he was wearing an elastic band round his head, from the centre of which, above his forehead, there rose a circular metal mirror of the kind that doctors use for reflecting light down a patient’s throat. Sitting down opposite Gregory, he told him to keep his eyes on the metal disc and to open his mind by not allowing it to follow any chain of thought.
Having taken a decision, it was against Gregory’s nature to adopt half-measures in carrying it out; so he fixed his gaze steadily on the disc and as each thought drifted into his mind promptly dismissed it. As he stared at the bright metal it seemed gradually to increase in size until its light blotted out everything else and he had the sensation of being drawn towards it. Surprisingly soon he felt drowsy, his eyelids flickered a few times then fell; yet through them he was aware of a strong, rosy glow. He then felt his hand lifted and was vaguely surprised that when left unsupported his arm remained up in the air at right-angles to his body without his exerting the least effort. After that his mind became blank.
When he recovered his faculties he was again lying back in bed and Malacou was looking down on him. With a smile the doctor said, ‘By offering no resistance you made things easy for me. You were under for half an hour and did not make so much as a murmur. What is more I was able to lift you up and turn you round so that for a while both your legs were dangling over the side of the bed and the blood could flow more freely into them.’
Gregory returned his smile. ‘I didn’t feel a thing. What a blessed relief to know that I haven’t to suffer any more when you do my dressings. I’m very grateful to you, Doctor.’
Since Gregory and Kuporovitch had returned from Peenemünde Malacou had, from time to time, brought them up news of the progress of the war as given out on the German radio. For the first fortnight Gregory had been too ill to take in much that had happened, but he gradually caught up with events. Two days after he had been struck down the Allies had completed their conquest of Sicily; and on September 3rd they had gone into the toe of Italy.
This news amazed and appalled him. It had seemed so obvious that the German forces in Sicily would withdraw to the great natural bastion of Mount Etna on the north-east corner of the island and that, although they could be boxed in there, it would take many weeks, or even months, before they could be finally subdued; so the enemy would have all that time to bring up reinforcements and prepare defensive positions across the straits in the south of Italy. And eight weeks had elapsed between the first landing in Sicily and this on the mainland. That meant for certain that the Allies must meet with fierce opposition and could have little hope of making a swift deep penetration, as could have been the case had they landed further north.
Four or five days after the Allies had crossed the Straits of Messina the Italians had broadcast an announcement that they had signed an armistice. At first it looked as if the Italian surrender wou
ld make the occupation of the country comparatively easy. But that had not proved at all the case. Instead of withdrawing the Germans had continued to hold the strong defensive positions they had prepared, and had found little difficulty in tying down Montgomery’s invading troops in the toe of the peninsula.
A few days later, the Germans had made themselves masters of Rome, then, by a brilliant exploit, snatched Mussolini in an aircraft from a high plateau on which he had been held prisoner and set him up as the head of a new Fascist Government in the north, on Lake Garda.
Belatedly, the Allies had attempted to outflank the Germans in the south by a landing at Salerno, but had failed to achieve their object. Kesselring had reacted with amazing speed and not only hemmed in their new bridgehead but looked like driving them back into the sea. Their fate still hung in the balance; and Gregory could only pray that this ill-conceived campaign—so different from any of the proposals put forward by the British Joint Planning Staff early that year—would not bring a series of bloodbaths and disasters to the Allied Armies.
For three days Malacou continued to come each morning and dress his wound, while he remained in oblivion. On the fourth, soon after waking, he got a strong impression that the doctor would not come in the morning but in the afternoon; and that proved to be the case. When he remarked on it, Malacou smiled and said:
‘This is excellent. My delay in coming to you was deliberate. I sent out that thought and you received it.’
At that Gregory felt slight alarm and replied quickly, ‘If my allowing you to hypnotise me is going to lead to your dominating my mind I’d prefer to put up with the pain.’
Malacou shook his head. ‘The transference of thoughts between two people does not lead to one dominating the other. It is an equal partnership. To prove that, I suggest that now we have achieved some small degree of rapport you should try to convey a thought to me. Tomorrow I will not come to you until you send for me.’
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