The Hypnotist

by Laurence Anholt

  19

  Love Is Something To Steal

  if you aint got nothing

  you cant lose nothing

  thats always been my plan

  been running round this world

  like the old lone wolf

  catch me if you can

  well theres nothing to lose

  when you aint got shoes

  theres nothing they can take

  so why should i care

  when my heart is bare

  theres nothing there to break

  if you dont love no one

  you cant lose no one

  is that so hard to explain

  but

  along comes this boy

  chains my heart with joy

  now all i feel is pain

  cos when you got something

  you can sure lose something

  love is something to steal

  if they take him from me

  and swing him from a tree

  i aint never gonna heal

  20

  Down by the River (I)

  How Pip survived the following days he would never know. Wherever he went – along the dark corridor in the farmhouse, reading aloud at Lilybelle’s bedside, or lying in his makeshift bed above the stable – his fingertips would rise of their own accord to touch his throat, and he would feel once more the tightening of that evil noose.

  The events of that night seemed like a strange dream or a terrible nightmare and, after the affection she had shown him, Hannah seemed distant again; sitting alone beneath a tree working on her mysterious dreamcatchers, or wandering the countryside. It hurt Pip more than he could say.

  In spite of his anxiety, Pip’s sense of duty to Lilybelle remained. It never crossed his mind that he should not turn up at her bedside each morning.

  He saw Erwin fleetingly. On the first occasion Pip emerged from the stable block and had the fright of his life. There was the man they had called the Exalted Cyclops, relaxing in a broken easy chair on the farmhouse porch, dressed in a camouflaged hunting jacket and cleaning a gun – and this was not a shotgun like Zachery’s, it was a blood-chilling assault rifle constructed from the same grey-green metal as his Jeep. Erwin raised the weapon and stared, one-eyed, in Pip’s direction. Pip prepared to have his head blown from his body, but incredibly, Erwin lowered the gun and waved vigorously with his huge hand, like an infant waving to its mother at the school gates.

  ‘Lookee thar. It’s mah freend! That’s li’l Pip. Awww, he makes me reel happy! Come here, Pip. Ah wanna hug ya reel taight.’

  During the following days Pip did everything he could to avoid the maniac. And whenever they met, the encounter was the same – the gap-toothed grin, the childlike wave, and the disturbingly friendly greeting. ‘Hey there! Hey . . . ah see you. That’s Pip. That’s mah freend. Ah jes’ wanna say, ah truly love you, Pip . . .’

  To Pip this was more terrifying than violent hostility; so the boy was mighty relieved when one afternoon, concealed behind a shed, he watched Erwin load up the Jeep with tents, ropes, shovels and military equipment before driving out of the yard.

  Once the Jeep had passed the row of white bungalows, turned left at the end of the track and disappeared from view in the direction of the mountains, Pip emerged from his hiding place and stood there for a while, savouring the relief of Erwin’s absence. He heard the faint tinkle of Lilybelle’s handbell from the farmhouse, and he was about to see what she wanted when his foot kicked something metallic on the ground where the Jeep had stood a moment before. It clanked and scuttled across the cobbles, and Pip thought it must be a nail or a tent peg. But what he found lying between two stones was an old-fashioned key, unusually long and cold to the touch.

  Holding the heavy key between finger and thumb, Pip wandered into the farmhouse, beneath the glass-eyed animals and down the corridor towards Lilybelle’s room. As he passed the huge door to Erwin’s room, some instinct guided his hand towards the keyhole, and the key slid into place as easily as a murderer’s blade slips between a man’s ribs.

  Pip felt a wave of panic, but he knew that Erwin was far away, and something compelled him to see behind that colossal door.

  ‘I’ll be right with you, Lilybelle,’ he called weakly.

  Pip turned the ice-cold steel handle and eased the door ajar. He put his head inside, and then his shoulders, and when he was sure that no living being was waiting there to seize him, he slipped slowly into Erwin’s bedroom.

  Pip found himself in a long, narrow room which felt cold and lifeless even on that baking summer’s day. On the shabby greying walls were many pictures torn from magazines – of wars and helicopters and battle scenes in jungles, and grinning soldiers, and overturned Jeeps and dying men and weeping children.

  Along the full length of one wall lay Erwin’s long, long bed, and Pip saw that it had been built from two regular single beds, nailed end to end. He noticed that even the grey army blankets were made of two regular blankets sewn untidily end to end. With a shudder, Pip realized that the bedside table, which was covered with empty bottles and weeping candles, was nothing more than a moss-coloured ammunition case turned on its end.

  Instead of the cheerful shelves of books he had seen in Jack’s room, one entire wall was hung with racks bristling with rifles and ammunition. And instead of a curtain, the single window was covered by a large flag, printed with the same emblem he had seen that fateful night – a white cross on a red circle, with a single drop of blood at its centre.

  Unable to stop himself, Pip slid open drawers and discovered foul torture devices – knives, pistols, knuckledusters and swastikas.

  With stomach churning and head spinning, Pip stepped out of the huge door, turning the key in the lock behind him. Then he went into the kitchen to fill a bowl for Lilybelle’s bed bath. As the kettle boiled, Pip placed the key on the kitchen table where Erwin would be sure to find it when he returned.

  Lilybelle seemed blissfully unaware of the horror chamber along the corridor. These days she painted more and more, and Pip was surprised to find her sitting almost upright in bed with a contented expression on her doll-like face as she worked on another imaginary scene.

  Later that day, Hannah, Pip and Jack met for the first time since the dreadful events at the barn. The atmosphere in Jack’s bungalow was more subdued than before, and although Jack had devised all kinds of lessons to interest them, Pip felt tired and Hannah seemed more withdrawn than ever.

  Jack tried to cheer them by reminding them about the mystery tour he was planning. Although Pip didn’t want to seem ungrateful, he wasn’t interested in a vacation – all he could think about was escaping Dead River for good; a fantasy which even the howling dogs of his imagination had never quite chased away.

  The afternoon light was fading when Jack brought the class to an end. As he tidied the table, he put a hand on Pip’s shoulder. ‘Pip, I’ll be honest with you, old fellow, I’m a little worried about you. You know I’m not a medical doctor but I am a qualified hypnotherapist. I’ve used trance to help lots of people with all kinds of difficulties and I think you said you were keen to give it a try. How would you feel about that? It’ll do you no harm and it might help you to move on from all the terrible things you’ve experienced . . .’

  Pip looked up at Jack. He was growing to trust this unusual man. ‘I’ll do it if Hannah stays with me.’

  ‘That’s fair enough,’ said Jack. ‘What do you say, Hannah?’

  Of course, Hannah said nothing, but she nodded a little and the agreement was made.

  As if it were the most everyday thing in the world, Jack began making preparations. He closed the curtains in the living room and switched on a small reading light draped with a cotton scarf, so that a soft light filled the room.

  Then he placed two kitchen chairs beside the leather couch by the bookcase. When he was satisfied, he invited Pip to remove his boots and settle himself on the couch. Hannah sat at Pip’s feet and Jack took his place by Pip
’s head.

  Pip had no idea what he was in for, but he was ready for anything that might settle the anxiety he felt these days. Besides, hypnosis seemed like an incredible adventure to him – the closest thing to magic he had ever seen. Strangely, even as he lay on that old battered couch, he began to relax.

  What encouraged him more than anything was a small signal from Hannah, which made his heart soar. It was only a wave – not even that; she just raised her fingertips slightly – but it was enough to reassure him as the hypnotist began to talk in a soft and rhythmic tone.

  ‘Now, Pip, we’ll start with light trance and see how we get along . . . I promise you’ll be in safe hands. Did you know, that’s my very favourite couch you’re lying on? I had it shipped all the way from Dublin, and it’s where I like to relax with a book of an evening . . .

  ‘Now, what I am about to do is teach you how to find a wonderful safe place in your mind. Once you’ve been there, you’ll be able to visit whenever you choose; so it’ll be a nice relaxing game – like a lovely dream, if you like, only much more real.’

  ‘I don’t want Erwin to be there, nor them ghost-men.’

  ‘No indeed, we’ll make sure of that, Pip. It will be your own special place and you don’t have to take anybody you don’t want to. You are completely in charge. So think hard for a moment and tell me about a time when you felt absolutely happy and at peace.’

  ‘Fishin’ with Pa.’

  ‘Ah, now, that sounds grand! So you used to fish together when you were younger? Let’s see if we can find that place, shall we? All you need to do is turn your head towards me – that’s right, you can look deep into my eyes – and I can tell you are beginning to relax . . . So now you might like to count backwards from ten to one . . .’

  . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .

  And from that moment Pip began to lose all sense of time, so he couldn’t say whether the counting lasted an hour, or a day, or maybe a month. All he knew was that a warm fog had settled in his mind, which was not unpleasant at all. And although he did not understand how it could be, the fog seemed to emanate from Jack’s soft voice and those marvellous eyes which shone down like the twin moons of some faraway planet.

  The twin moons seemed to be telling Pip that he was sliding back through the years, and to Pip’s surprise he found that this was not a hard thing to do. In fact it was as easy as floating down a slide at the fair. Pretty soon he found himself far away from the white room, and there was no one there – except his father, of course, who was frying pancakes on the stove. And as he cooked those pancakes, Papa kept humming and breaking into little dance moves, which pleased Pip enormously.

  Papa told him that he had the fishing bags all set, and when Mama came in, Pip begged her to join them on their expedition. But she just kissed him and said that no, this was Pop an’ Pip time, and besides, she’d be no use at keeping up with two strong men fuelled up with pancakes and maple syrup. Besides, her belly was so swollen, she might as well have been up all night eating pancakes herself.

  But just when Pip was feeling quite happy and safe, something terrible happened that spoiled everything . . . A huge roaring train was coming at colossal speed, and Pip was screaming at the top of his lungs, ‘LOOK OUT, MAMA! The train’s comin’!’ He needed Papa to turn the car right round, but there wasn’t time – the train was coming too fast – and the brakes were screaming and Mama was screaming and Pip was screaming—!

  And Pip was yelling and thrashing with fear until the twin moons guided him swiftly back up the slide, and Pip realized that Jack was by his side, and Hannah seemed to have forgotten her indifference because she was squeezing his hand and looking so concerned and lovely that all his fear vanished. Pip sat up on the couch, shaking and blinking and trying to figure out where he was, but Jack was always steady. He said that everything was fine, and just as soon as Pip was ready, they were going right back down the slide to his happy place in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

  And there they were – Pop and Pip, marching along the road in front of the schoolhouse, with all the rainbow-coloured washing dancing on the lines, and some folks were calling out to Papa and waving, and Pip was carrying his fishing rod so proudly, it might have been a spear for fighting dragons in the hills.

  And those hills were as soft and green as a dream. As they left the village, Pip couldn’t stop chattering about all the fish he was going to catch and how big Mama’s eyes would be when the fish come tumbling onto the table, all white-eyed and silvery and fat.

  They kept on strolling through the patchwork countryside, heading towards the river. The bees were humming and the butterflies were flitting and everything was astonishingly bright and clear. Pip kept saying, ‘Hurry up, Papa!’ but Papa wouldn’t hurry; he was just taking his time and singing, so Pip ran ahead to the top of the hill until he could see right down to the beautiful twisting blue river below, all clean and bright and full of bubbles and fishes . . .

  And from way up in the clear blue sky, Jack said, ‘Well, that sounds grand, old fellow. And how are you feeling now?’

  And Pip told him, ‘I’m feeling much better, thank you, Jack Morrow, sir, because the sun is warm and Papa’s by my side. Look, I can reach right out and touch his hand!’

  And the twin moons shone down from above, and they said, ‘Tell me what you see now, Pip – tell me what you see . . .’

  So Pip described how he and Papa were settling into their usual fishing spot, in the shade of the old stone bridge. Papa had brought lemonade, and now he was taking off his boots and rolling up the legs on his pants so he could stand the bottle in the shallow water to keep it cool.

  Then they threw out their lines to the deep place where all the fishes sleep, and then it was important to sit very still. ‘Gotta be patient, see . . .’

  ‘Ah, patience is everything,’ said the moons. ‘Now, you just relax there, young Pip, for as long as you want. You’re as safe as houses and the day is long . . .’

  ‘Papa says . . . Papa says . . .’

  ‘What does he say, Pip? What does he say, old fellow?’

  ‘Papa says I mustn’t ever forget. Not ever . . .’

  ‘Mustn’t forget what, Pip?’ asked the moons.

  ‘But I did forget, Papa!’

  ‘What did you forget, Pip? You can remember everything now if you try . . .’

  ‘Papa says, “Don’t never forget, Pip. But you don’ tell no one.”’

  ‘Well, if it’s a secret, you don’t have to tell us,’ said the moons.

  ‘Papa says, “You know I don’t trust banks, Pip. The White banks ain’t no good for folks like us. Me an’ your mama made our money by the sweat of our brows – ain’t no bankman gonna take it from us.” And then Papa’s standing up and laying the rods on the ground. He’s taking my hand and leading me under the bridge . . .’

  ‘What’s under the bridge, Pip? Can you see?’

  ‘Sure I can see. I see it plain as day. Can’t you see it? Papa is counting stones in the wall. There are hundreds of stones, but Papa knows exactly which one he’s lookin’ for. He starts countin’ . . . five, six, seven stones up off the ground . . . seventeen, eighteen, nineteen stones from the right . . . “That’s the one!” he says. And he’s pointing at a big blue-grey stone. Now he gets hold of the stone in his hands. He’s trying to wiggle it, but it’s jammed real tight. He says, “Pip, fetch ma blade from the bag.” So I’m going over to Papa’s bag and I’m getting the old jack-knife and I’m handing it to Papa. Now Papa jams it in beside the blue-grey stone, and I’m scared he’s gonna bust the blade. Then, real slow, the stone starts easin’ out a little, and Papa gets his strong fingers round it, and suddenly it leaps out and darn near drops on his toes. We’re laughing and he’s hopping about, and inside the hole where the blue-grey stone was – that’s where I see it. “You won’t ever forget where it’s hid, Pip?” “No, sir. I’ll never forget where it’s hid . . .”’

  ‘Where what’s hid, Pip?’ ask the
moons way up in the blue, blue sky. ‘What’s behind the stone under the bridge?’

  ‘Why, the cookie jar of course! The jar fits real neat in the hole. Ain’t no one ever gonna find that jar if they don’ know where to look.’

  ‘But what’s in the cookie jar?’ wonders the moons.

  ‘Well, you can see, can’t you, Mr Moons? It’s plain as day.’

  ‘Tell us, Pip. Tell us what you see, old fellow.’

  ‘Papa twists open the lid, and inside the cookie jar is a canvas flour bag. Papa pulls out the bag and drops it right into my hands. It smells of old canvas and underground places. And there’s something heavy inside. I’m opening the strings on the top of the bag and peeking inside . . . “Whoo-ee!” I say. “WHOO-EEE, sir!”’

  ‘What is it, Pip? What is it, old fellow?’

  ‘“Why, that’s my great expectations!” That’s what Papa says. He says there’s only one kind of bank a man can trust – and that’s a riverbank! That’s Papa’s joke, see. Then he helps me stuff the flour bag back in the cookie jar and we push it back deep inside the hole. Now we pick up the heavy blue-grey stone and wiggle it in place.

  ‘Papa shows me how to cram soil into the cracks around the stone, so it’s hidden from every peepin’ eye. Then he gathers a fistful of moss to smear over the scratch marks on the rock. And all the time, the river whispers and whispers like it knows the secret too.

  ‘And when the job is done, Papa and me stand back, and we can’t even see which was the special blue-grey stone . . .’

  Then the twin moons let Pip sit by the river a while longer. The moons tell him that Papa loves him very, very much. They let Pip catch a fish if he wants to – the biggest, fattest, wettest fish that ever swam.

  And at last the moons are counting back from one to ten, and the river is rushing and rushing, louder and louder, and when Pip looks up, he sees that the twin moons are the kindly eyes on Jack Morrow’s face, and there’s Hannah smiling at him, with eyes as round as buttons.