The Hypnotist

by Laurence Anholt

  By the time Pip had kissed Hannah goodnight and climbed the ladder to his bed, a howling wind was raging. In the yard, ghostly doors were banging, and in spite of Pip’s efforts, objects raced about as if they had a life of their own. Throughout the rackety night the storm rumbled closer, so Pip did not hear Erwin’s Jeep coming down the hillside in the first weak light of morning.

  As Pip tossed in a troubled sleep, Erwin leaped from the Jeep into the yard, swigging whiskey from a bottle, his clothes whipping in the wind. In the wild dawn he fought his way across the cobbles towards the tool store, where Hannah sat upstairs, wide awake in bed, staring through her swaying dreamcatcher at the flashing sky.

  So how could Pip have heard the dog yelping in its kennel, or the slow thud, thud, thud as Erwin climbed the staircase to where Hannah had piled furniture against the door?

  Amongst the clattering and crashing of the night it would have been impossible for him to hear her faintly whispering – ‘Pip! Pip! I need you now!’

  Or even the loud crash as Erwin heaved aside the flimsy pile of furniture that barricaded her door. And certainly he would not have heard those menacing words: ‘Ah’m cummin’ for ya, gal. Ah always tol’ ya ah would.’

  46

  The Call of Kerry

  It was a full six years before we met again. Six years before I heard the details of that awful night.

  By that time I’d bought a tiny cottage in Kerry, not too far from Dingle Bay.

  I’d always fancied the seaside, and now that I’m blind it’s the sounds I love – the way the waves wash the pebbles, the birdsong in the hedges, the whisper of the wind dancing with the trees. Beautiful mysterious sounds, like paintings in my head.

  For the first time in my life, when people see my white stick, they do not stare at my funny old eyes – or if they do, I do not know it. Soon after I left America my eyesight failed completely, but I was surprised at how little it troubled me – I have always been more interested in the internal world, the life of the mind, than what I could see in this imperfect world. Do you know what the Buddhists say? The mind is everything – what you think you become. Think loving thoughts and your world will be filled with love.

  And my world is filled with love. I never had children of my own, but Pip, and Hannah, who sits beside me now, stroking my hand, were always like my own children.

  It is 1969, and the two of them are full of excitement, having returned from a music festival called Woodstock. Now that Hannah is gaining a reputation as a singer, they spend a lot of time at concerts and festivals. Of course she has always had the flower-child look, and these days bare feet and braided hair are all the rage. Hannah tells me that Pip has grown his hair. What adventures he’s had, that boy of mine. But that’s another story for another day.

  Ah, those festivals would be too noisy for me, but I love a little music in the evenings, and I especially enjoy Hannah’s first album, dreamcatcher, which I listen to on one of these new-fangled devices called a cassette recorder. I think my favourite track is ‘i am spirit i am sky’.

  She always had a strong spirit, that woman, and last night she asked me to help her recall those final events at Dead River Farm. I’m a little nervous of the old regression these days, but she assured me that it would help her let go of all that had happened.

  We went into my quiet office, and this time it was her turn to lie on the couch, and Pip’s to sit at her feet and whisper words of reassurance. The old thing with the eyes would have been helpful, but it’s the voice that does it . . . the Voice of the Wind, if you catch my meaning.

  I said, ‘I’m counting back now, Hannah . . . eight, seven, six . . . Your breathing slows . . . Your eyes fall deep into their sockets . . . five, four, three, two . . . You are deeply, deeply relaxed . . .’

  ‘It’s so hot tonight.’

  ‘Where are you, Hannah? Tell me what you see.’

  ‘I’m in my bed above the tool store. There’s a strange light keeps flashing . . . No, no, it’s the storm brewin’ outside and lightning crackling in the sky.’

  ‘Go deeper now . . . You can remember everything. Tell me, how old are you, Hannah?’

  ‘I’m thirteen or fourteen years old – and I’m so afraid!’

  ‘You know how to wake if you need to . . .’

  ‘I’m kneeling on my bed. Here’s my dreamcatcher blowin’ at the window an’ I stare through its web at the yard below. There’s a whole lot of noise out there, and suddenly I see a Jeep drivin’ fast through the gates. I hear doors slammin’. The dog is barking in the doghouse . . . and now it’s yelping – maybe he’s kicked it.’

  ‘Who is it? Who has returned so late?’

  ‘Erwin. It’s Erwin. Oh God! He’s comin’ into the tool store below. I hear him crashin’ about downstairs. He’s drunk – I can tell because he’s stumblin’ and cussin’. Now . . . Oh my Lord! He’s treading up my stairs . . .’

  ‘You remember everything, but you are quite, quite safe . . .’

  ‘I always knew he would come – that’s why I never go to my bed without heavin’ the chest of drawers against the door.’

  ‘Take it steady, Hannah . . .’

  ‘I’m out of my bed, shivering in my nightgown, and outside the thunder is crashin’. Now I’m piling chairs and the laundry basket against the door – I need to stop him getting in. I’m trying to drag the bed, but he’s so strong, the door is already opening . . . Oh Lord! I see one huge hand reachin’ at me, and he’s saying, “Ah’m cummin’ for ya, gal. Ah always tol’ ya ah would.”

  ‘I’m whimperin’ like the dog in the yard an’ I’m callin’, “Pip, Pip, I need you now!”

  ‘Then I’m climbin’ back into bed ’cos there’s nowhere else to go. I’m pullin’ the blankets way up to my eyes. Suddenly there’s an almighty CRASH! – and Erwin is here! Right here in my room! Nearly seven feet tall. No matter how many times I see that man, I am shocked and terrified. I’m tryin’ to disappear into the bed and he’s lookin’ down at me, bent beneath the ceiling, like . . . like a shrunken head on a stick.’

  ‘Keep breathing, Hannah. Remember, you can wake if you want to . . .’

  ‘And now he’s bendin’ down, and my heart is beatin’ so fast it may bust my rib cage. The smell of whiskey makes me wanna puke. His long fingers are tuggin’ at my blankets, he’s pushin’ that tombstone face right up to mine, and he whispers, “Ah ’magine yer ’bout the purtiest li’l woman ah ever seen.”

  ‘Now he’s untyin’ his laces and pullin’ down his dungaree straps – then he trips and hits the bed so hard it knocks the breath out of me. My mouth is dry – I can’t find a sound, but my eyes – my eyes are . . . screaming!’

  ‘But you remembered the words, Hannah? The words I taught you?’

  ‘I’m trying to find the words, because I know they can save me. But I been silent for so long . . . I been mute for years now, and my jaw is frozen and my tongue don’t work.

  ‘Erwin’s naked and slimy with sweat. There’s a big ugly tattoo on his back: a blood-drop on a white cross.

  ‘He’s kneelin’ on my bed, which almost gives way, and he’s pressin’ his mouth against mine and pushin’ his tongue inside – I can taste the chicken and onions he had for his supper.

  ‘I feel his stubble scrapin’ my skin. I’m tryin’ to twist my head away. Then he says, “Ah ain’t gonna hurcha, gal. Wal, not too much anyways.”

  ‘And I know I’m gonna die . . . Right here. Right now.’

  ‘But now you remember the words?’

  ‘Yes, yes, now I remember those words. I am shaping my lips and forcing out the first words Erwin has ever heard me speak. I’m saying, “Erwin . . . Erwin . . .”

  ‘He’s pushing himself upright and he’s staring at me in disbelief. “Ah thought y’ cain’t tawk, Hannah. Yer know y’ cain’t tawk!”

  ‘Now I’m saying it loud an’ clear: “Erwin, it’s time to climb.”’

  ‘You did it, Hannah. Those were the trigger words I taugh
t you.’

  ‘It’s happening exactly as you promised. Erwin’s strength is just evaporating. His long, long body and his private parts grow slack. He stands up. I’m looking down at his feet, long as canoes on the boards.

  ‘I’m saying it again: “It’s time to climb.” It feels so strange ’cos I still ain’t used to talkin’. Something is happening to Erwin: it comes over him like a drug – reminds me of when my daddy put the needle in. There’s a weird pumpkin smile spreading across his jaw. Now Erwin’s turning and lopin’ towards the door like a slow-motion movie. He’s bending down to go under, and just then there’s another flash of lightnin’ and it sparks up that big tattoo across his back.

  ‘Now he’s goin’ down the stairs, real slow. I see the pile of clothes he left on my floor. I hear him crashing an’ tossin’ stuff around like he’s searching for something in the tool store. I kneel on the bed and peek out through the dreamcatcher, and I see him headin’ across the yard, long and naked. He’s holding a big pair of bolt-cutters in one hand.

  ‘Now someone comes rushin’ in my door and I turn round and it’s Pip! Dear, dear Pip! He says, “Hannah – oh my Lord, Hannah! What has he done to you?”

  ‘I say, “I’m feeling kinda shaky, Pip. Won’t you come an’ kiss me?”’

  ‘That’s grand, Hannah. You’ve done well. I’m going to wake you now. I’m going to bring you slowly back . . . and when you awake, you will remember everything, but you will feel calm and strong. I’m counting from one to ten . . .

  ‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’

  47

  Time to Climb

  One . . . two . . . three . . .

  Three raindrops.

  That’s what woke Pip in the dawn of the storm. Not the sound of Erwin’s Jeep, or Hannah’s cries – it was three fat raindrops which fell on his face. There must have been a faulty tile right above his bed, because now the rain was cascading on the rooftops and finding its way through every crack and cranny.

  While Pip was sleeping, the storm had rolled down from the mauve mountains. It had hurtled across the fields, whipping up scraps of dry grass. It had roared over Hannah’s secret valley, wrestling with the willow trees and spitting rain onto the dusty river bed. And finally, in the deathly glow of morning, the storm began to lash the leaky roofs of Dead River Farm.

  In an instant Pip awoke. He ran to the window just as a mighty thunderclap exploded overhead. He peered into the wild yard and, to his utter horror, he saw Erwin’s Jeep discarded at a crazy angle. Then he noticed that the toolshed was open wide and various implements were flying outside – a rake, a scythe, a shovel. Someone was searching for something in there. And right up above lay Hannah’s room!

  The storm and the crashing must have woken Zachery too, because Pip could hear the old man wailing from a window in the farmhouse. ‘Ye best show yerself. Ah gotta gun, y’ hear?’

  In the blink of an eye, Pip had tugged on his clothes, leaped down the ladder and sprinted across the slippery yard, where the first rain in years gave off a sweet sickly smell like rotting fruit.

  To his stunned amazement, a man stepped out of the tool store – it was Erwin, stark butt-naked with a pair of long-handled bolt-cutters in one hand.

  Zachery came out on his porch in long johns, a gun in hand, and he was yelling, ‘Erwin! Erwin! Zat you, boy? Where ’n tarnation are yer clothes?’

  But Erwin did not hear. He had a strange glazed grin on his face. He stared right through Pip as if he were made of fog, and simply headed out of the yard, long and slow, pushing against the wind and rain as if he were on a mission. He went out through the back gate and up the path to the fields. As the sky split, Pip saw the bolt-cutters dangling at his side and a terrible tattoo across his back.

  Pip ran into the tool store and vaulted the stairs. All he could think of was Hannah. All he could see in his mind was Hannah lying— No! He could not bring himself to think of it.

  Her door was open wide. Pip saw a pile of furniture to one side. And there was Hannah in her nightgown, staring through the dancing web of her dreamcatcher. And she was alive!

  Hannah turned and smiled at him, and her face was bright as a lantern in a storm.

  He said, ‘Hannah – oh my Lord, Hannah! What’s he done to you?’

  She said, ‘I’m feeling kinda shaky, Pip. Won’t you come an’ kiss me?’

  And kiss her he did, with arms clutched tight around her body.

  In two minutes Hannah had pulled on her new dress and boots, and they rushed out into the hot rain. Now Amigo was bounding at their side, licking Pip’s hand with his sandpaper tongue.

  Up ahead, old man Zachery, soaked to his skinny limbs, was bent double, squealing and wheezing like a squeezebox, ‘Erwin! Erwin! Goddamn him! Th’ boy’s gawn raight out of his maind – or lickered up – or – or sleepwalkin’. Ye come back now, Erwin!’

  Way up ahead they could see the distant figure of Erwin, slickery as a silverfish in the crazy morning light.

  Zachery had run out of steam like an ancient locomotive. Half a century of smoking had halted him in his tracks. Spitting, coughing, wild-eyed and fighting for breath, he seized Pip’s arm and gasped, ‘Git after him, boy, ah beg ye. He’s gawn crazy. Lawst his maind . . .’

  Pip shouted against the wind, ‘We’ll do what we can, Mr Zachery, sir. Now you head back to Lilybelle – ain’t nothing you can do out here.’

  Hannah and Pip ran onwards, battling against the roaring wind, past the dripping apple trees, up to the red barn where all that bad stuff happened and out into the fields. The cut corn was sharp as knives and Pip felt glad for Hannah’s boots.

  As for Erwin, his feet must have been lacerated, but nothing slowed that mad machine as he moved across the boundless fields in that strange determined manner.

  Far out on the horizon, the rising sun was battered by violent clouds, and across the landscape the army of pylons glistened beneath the splintered sky.

  Erwin had seen his goal. His speed increased. The old man was far behind, but Hannah sprinted onwards, and for the first time Pip found he could equal her pace.

  Now they were near the base of the first tower, and above the howling wind they heard Erwin talking to himself, over and over. ‘Time t’ claimb. It’s time t’ claimb. Higher than evah befaw. It’s time t’ claimb, Erwin.’

  For a moment he paused and stared up towards the soaring tip of the spire, where the sinister black cables converged. Pip was close enough to see the eerie smile on his face, and then, in one slow movement, Erwin bent his powerful legs and leaped into the air, grabbing the first steel rung with outspread fingers. With almost superhuman strength, the giant swung himself upwards, grabbing each bar like a great wet crab.

  Pip was overwhelmed with horror at what they were about to see. He cupped his hands and yelled, ‘Erwin, it’s Pip here . . . You remember me – I’m your friend. That’s enough now. Please, climb down . . .’

  But Erwin did not pause. He only shouted, ‘Ah ain’t gonna stop for no man. Ah’m claimbin’ higher than evah before. Erwin gonna be a gawd!’

  When he was twenty feet above their heads, he reached the barbed-wire barrier. It looked strong, and Pip offered up a prayer that it would prevent Erwin from climbing higher. Perhaps he would tire now and climb down so they could walk him safely home. Maybe he could get help. Maybe, with the right medication, he could live safely in an asylum.

  But nothing would stop the mesmerized man. Erwin stretched up with the bolt-cutters and began to snip the barbed wire as if he were cutting straw with scissors . . . Clonk! Clip! Clunk!

  Hannah and Pip were directly below him now, and amongst the continuous rain Pip felt something hot and sticky splash onto his face; he touched it with his hand . . . It was blood! It was blood tumbling from Erwin’s lacerated feet.

  By now Erwin had removed a section of the barbed wire and Hannah guided Pip backwards – she had seen that Erwin was about to toss down the bolt-cutters – and Pip heard them land with a t
hump at his side. With his bare hands, Erwin tore away the last strands of wire. Then he hauled his long naked body through the gap, muttering to himself all the while, ‘Time t’ claimb, Erwin. Time t’ claimb. Higher th’n evah b’fore.’

  The morning sky was a sickly yellow glow and the storm had become a deluge.

  Behind him, Pip heard gasping and spitting: somehow Zachery had made it up the hill. His white beard and hair streaming like some biblical prophet of doom, he cried, ‘Pip, ye git yerself up there now, y’hear. Ye bring back my boy . . . Go on now, git after him.’

  Pip placed his arm gently around the fragile old man and said, ‘No, sir. I can’t do that. Can’t no one catch him now.’

  Erwin was higher than a house. Higher than a tree. He was so high that the three of them had to step further from the base of the tower to watch. Pip longed to lead Hannah and Zachery away – he knew for sure that something terrible was about to happen – but the sight of that crazy climbing creature held him like a magnet.

  At the top of the tower the girders tapered together, and now Erwin stood between them like a tiny trapeze artist, surrounded by nothing but wet steel and whirling cloud. Pip felt a sharp pain in his hand and found that Hannah was squeezing it so tight that he was forced to prise her fingers away.

  Perhaps it was peaceful up there. Perhaps there was nothing but sweet tumbling rain and the whisper of thousands of volts in the wires. Perhaps Erwin felt powerful. Perhaps he felt no fear as the clouds engulfed his head.

  Then came a strange noise from the sky. It was the sound of Erwin laughing like a demented being. It was as if the higher he climbed, the happier he became. And maybe in that moment he truly felt like a god – free of pain and suffering.