by Unknown
It transpired that the natives, seeking desperately to assuage their nicotine cravings, had resorted to shaving and pounding the dry leathery flesh (which did resemble shag-cut Turkish) of the Northern Gannets stacked against every outer wall. The result was a mixture of bitter, not to say nauseating flavor that the natives nevertheless found curiously satisfying when packed into the bowl of a clay pipe and lit. The one exception had been Mrs. Magilside, who had taken hers as a snuff.
Even so, this was not sufficient to explain the mass hallucination of lewdly behaved phantoms. Though distasteful, there is nothing inherently toxic in gannet flesh. We resolved to examine the problem more closely; and to that end repaired to the island’s infirmary with three specimens taken from the stack of Northern Gannets next to Mrs. Magilside’s cottage.
Peering closely at the black, withered things, we could see nothing out of the ordinary—or at least Sergeant MacCreech could not, for I was scarcely able to offer an opinion on what a dried Northern Gannet ought to look like. It was not until he produced a magnifying glass from a drawer and made a more detailed examination that Sergeant MacCreech noticed the brown mosslike substance apparently growing on the birds. It had, curiously enough, a not altogether unpleasant smell; and perhaps this was what emboldened us to test its properties, in the name of scientific experimentation.
Employing Sergeant MacCreech’s penknife, we shaved away several fine flakes of particularly mossy bird flesh, and by judicious use of a coal-hammer reduced it to serviceable fragments. Here we were at an impasse, for we lacked the clay tobacco-pipes favored by the islanders, and as it was past ten the newsagent’s was closed; but Sergeant MacCreech, having inquired amongst his subordinates, obtained a book of cigarette papers, and shortly produced a suitable pair of “roll-ups” or “reefers.”
These, when lit, produced a notably greasy smoke and an appalling smell, though after the first few inhalations the taste was not so pronounced as one would have thought. Sergeant MacCreech was just drawing out his memorandum book to make a record of any symptoms when the infirmary door opened. We looked up, expecting to see the young policeman who had loaned us his papers. Imagine my astonishment on beholding instead Erasmus of Rotterdam, closely followed by Thomas Jefferson!
I would like to state for the record that I was in absolutely no doubt as to their identities, for they closely resembled their historical portraits. Initially I was delighted, assuming that we might engage in a stimulating discussion of the humanist philosophies that had led to the Enlightenment. Sadly; this was not to be. Neither gentleman seemed remotely interested in intellectual exercise, quite the contrary in fact, and Erasmus in particular made several suggestions of a quite shocking nature.
Nor was I to receive any support, moral or otherwise, from my esteemed colleague, for he was entirely preoccupied with rebuffing the improper advances of Eleanor of Aquitaine.
I will draw a veil of propriety over the next several hours, but by the time the hallucinations took their leave, in the unpleasantly blue dawn, we had a thorough understanding of the chemical forces that had so worked upon the inhabitants of Binscarth.
It will be remembered that the spring of 1931 was remarkably warm in the islands, one might even go so far as to say sweltering, with daily temperatures reaching as high as 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Moreover, the spring Northern Gannet harvest was particularly abundant that year, as the birds were unusually easy to catch; many a crofter recalled afterward that they had seemed disoriented, falling prey almost too easily to the net and the club.
It may be that the warmer temperatures resulted in a certain degree of spoilage, providing a suitable medium in which the unknown mold (since dubbed Sclerotium maccreechi) was able to thrive on the imperfectly-dried bodies of the Northern Gannet. Would it even be too fanciful to suggest that the unfortunate birds were themselves under its influence at the time they blundered into the crofters’ nets?
In any case, matters were soon set to rights on Binscarth. The tainted gannets were collected and destroyed, though, it must be admitted, over the objections of the crofters. Mr. Magilside’s death was ruled a misadventure after Sergeant MacCreech proudly presented his “Observations on a New Disorder Which We Shall Call MacCreech’s Dementia” before the Department of Medicine at Scrabster College, and for some years my friend became a local celebrity.
News of the effects of S. maccreechi reached even unto Glasgow; where the Presbyterian Women’s Society for Social Elevation established a fund to purchase a patented food-drying device for the use of the islanders, a remarkable pyramidal cabinet lined with pitchblende, and sent a delegation of society members to establish meaningful dialogues with the island residents concerning proper preservation of food. The device was reported to have worked very well, successfully preventing any growth of suspicious molds on Northern Gannets kept within it. I am sorry to say however, that the islanders were not long able to enjoy its benefits, since most of them passed away within the next decade from a mysterious degenerative bone ailment.
I returned to California that autumn and pursued my vocation as a writer, producing several well-thought-of monographs and treatises on Maturin’s Cysted Whelk Fluke (of which I may proudly claim to know more than any researcher now living) as well as penning the occasional “scientifiction” story for light entertainment.
Apologies if I have rambled on somewhat. I have suffered occasional lingering effects from my experiment with S. maccreechi, of which excessive conversation is the most common. However, Saint Luke assures me that my lapses are scarcely noticeable, and have grown less frequent of late. ■
Dr. Kage Baker
One of the infamous–now highly collectable–Jolly Boy editions (see Chronology, p. 221). The copy shown is for the year 1975. MacCreech’s Dementia appeared in one of the first of the Jolly Boy editions.
The Argentine Spanish-language edition of Borges’ Pocket Guide to Metaphysical Diseases (1977)
THE SEVENTIES
1977: THE MALADY OF GHOSTLY CITIES (PUBLISHED IN THE POCKET GUIDE TO METAPHYSICAL DISEASES EDITED BY JORGE LUIS BORGES)
FORMAT: HARDCOVER, 6 X 9
PUBLISHER: DE LA SOL, BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA
While not strictly an example from a prior edition of the Guide, “The Malady of Ghostly Cities” exemplifies the ways in which Dr. Lamhshead’s influence has manifested itself in the world–even to the point of inspiring others to create their own guides.
In 1953 in Buenos Aires, the illustrious Argentine author Jorge Luis Borges sought anxiously for an effective treatment for his persistent earaches. This search led to Borges’ encounter with Dr. Thackery T. Lambshead, whose accounts of his work in medical research made a great impression on the blind literary artist and library administrator.
The two men’s mutual admiration and their ensuing correspondence over the next 30 years led Borges to edit his one and only medical work, The Pocket Guide to Metaphysical Diseases (sometimes known as the Compendium of Rare and Fantastical Afflictions), which was released in 1977 and featured important articles by 21 distinguished Latin American physicians. The sole European contributor to this volume was the reclusive transcendental pathologist, Dr. Nathan Ballingrud of Norway. Dr. Ballingrud’s report on the “malady of ghostly cities,” translated into Spanish by Borges and Gabriel Mesa, marked the first time information about this apparently venerable disease appeared in print.
The Pocket Guide to Metaphysical Diseases has languished for more than two decades as an out-of-print curiosity, avidly sought by collectors of first editions, but ignored by the medical community. (A cheap mass market paperback English-language version did appear in 1979. However, it contained only half of the material from the original Spanish edition, omitting Dr. Ballingrud’s disease. The translations from the Spanish were so incompetent that Borges himself disowned the edition.)
The editors hope that this valuable collection will someday be reissued in an English translation. Apart from the book’s obvious value as a springboard for further r
esearch into rare tropical diseases, it constitutes a glowing tribute to the impact that Dr. Lambshead makes on the life of nearly everyone he encounters.
We are proud to make the following excerpt available in English for the first time, translated from the Spanish version by Diego Funes. “The Malady of Ghostly Cities” proves once again that in the realms of disease, truth is often stranger than fiction.
Translator’s Note: Before his disappearance in 1978, Dr. Nathan Ballingrud was enjoying a return to international prominence, albeit in an unfamiliar capacity, due to the anticipation brewing in medical circles surrounding the imminent publication of the second edition of Jorge Luis Borges’ Compendium of Rare and Fantastic Afflictions. Previously, Ballingrud had served as the Royal Medical Officer in the Kingdom of Norway from i960 until his unceremonious dismissal in 1971, after it was revealed that he had collaborated with the Nazis during their occupation of Norway during the Second World War. His research into what he called the Malady of Ghostly Cities, soon after its discovery in 1976, aroused the interest of Borges, who arranged to fly him to Argentina so that he could visit the site in person. Alas, the notorious criminal Jack Oleander beat him to the punch, and the results are described herein. It is believed that Ballingrud was prepared to follow Oleander to Libya when he was abducted by the Argentinean government in 1978, a victim of their infamous “dirty war.”—DIEGO FUNES
EL MAL DE CIUDADES FANTASMALES
Dr. Nathan Ballingrud
EL PRIMER CASO DEL MAL DE CIUDADES FANTASMALES que se conozca fur descubierto en 1976 por la marina Argentina durante sus intentos por establecer una base en la Isla Cook, la más meridional de las Islas Sandwich del Sur, a poca distancia de la costa de la Antártida. La víctima fur un tal Ivar Jorgensen, miembro de la expeditión al Polo Sur de 1910 a 1912 del explorador Roald Amundsen.
De acuerdo alos diariosde Amundsen (Vol. XXIV: Racing the Empire, Libro 3, p. 276), Jorgensen abandonó al grupo, hurtando un trineo y cuatro perros al amparo de la noche para ayudar en su huída. Amundsen hace poca mentión de cambio alguno en el comportamiento o apariencia de Jorgensen antes del increíble evento, comentando solamente que “parecía estar sufriendo de algún tipo de delirio. El pobre tonto no va a durar dos días porsu cuenta.”
La verdad fue que duró considerablemente más de dos días. Logró viajar varios cientos de millas sobre el terreno brutal de la Antártida, cruzando incluso el estrecho tramo del Mar de Weddell hasta encallar en la Isla Cook, donde sucumbió a su enfermedad. Sus restos permanecieron en un silencio congelado durante 64 años.
Desde ese entonces tres otros casos han sido descubiertos, haciendo posible una definitión rudimentaria de los síntomas de la enfermedad, aunque no de sus causas. Poniéndolo de manera sencilla, es un mal que transforma a su víctima – al parecer de la noche a la mañana – en una ciudad poblada por fantasmas. La identidad de la víctima, junto con un archivo de sus sueños y temores así como de las geografías de su cuerpo, se contienen en una pequeña serie de volúmenes encuadernados, localizados en un sótano escondido y amortiguados contra la intrusión como un cerebro en un cráneo.
Sample page from Dr. Ballingrud’s disease in the original Spanish-language edition of The Pocket Guide to Metaphysical Diseases.
The Malady of Ghostly Cities
The first known case of the Malady of Ghostly Cities was discovered in 1976 by the Argentinean Navy during efforts to establish a base on Cook Island, the southernmost of the South Sandwich Islands, just off the coast of Antarctica. The victim was one Ivar Jorgensen, a member of Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen’s 1910–12 expedition to the South Pole.
According to Amundsen’s diaries (Vol. XXIV: Racing the Empire, Bk. 3, pg. 276), Jorgensen abandoned the party under cover of night, stealing a sledge and four dogs to aid his flight. Amundsen makes little mention of any change in Jorgensen’s demeanor or appearance before this incredible event, noting only that “(h)e seemed to be suffering from a sort of delirium. The poor fool won’t last two days on his own.”
In fact, he lasted considerably more than two days. He managed to travel several hundred miles over Antarctica’s brutal country, even crossing the narrow scope of the Weddell Sea, until he beached himself on Cook Island, where he succumbed to his disease. His remains abided there in frozen silence for 64 years.
Since then, three other cases have been discovered, making possible a rudimentary definition of the disease’s manifestations, if not its causes. Simply put, it is a malady that transforms the victim—seemingly overnight—into a city populated by phantoms. The identity of the victim, along with a record of dreams, fears, and geographies of the body, are contained in a small series of bound volumes, located in a hidden cellar, buffered against intrusion like a brain in a skull.
In each case, the victim was apparently a traveler far from home, and indeed, far from any substantial civilization. Otherwise, characteristics vary dramatically.
The Jorgensen city resembled, naturally enough, a turn-of-the-century Norwegian fishing village. It was populated by a host of spectral figures, solid in appearance but breaking into little whirlpools of cloud and mist if one attempted to touch them, coalescing again moments later as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They interacted freely with one another, but did not seem to notice in any fashion the Argentinean soldiers who stood in their midst and demanded, at great volume, to know how long they had been there, and what it was they thought they were doing.
The Jorgensen city is one of only two cases in which the secret library has been discovered. The small series of books that composes these libraries gives a detailed account of the victim’s life. This is not an account, however, of the mundane aspects of that life (although it seems those can be gleaned from the comprehensive footnotes that supplement the texts); they are instead a precise record of the imagination. As such, they are filled with the exploits and terrors of the victims’ dreams, secret thoughts, and the potential resolutions of their lives. Esoteric knowledge is also contained here, often at a level of scholarship far exceeding that which the victim could have reasonably attained during his lifetime (for example, Jorgensen’s library is reputed to have contained a moving map of the night sky visible from Cook Island, one for every day of the year since his birth in 1882; the stars crawled across the pages as they would the natural sky; clouds floated past, rain and snow rose from the pages of stormy days in a fine mist).
The other known city is Colleen Norton, a discontented college student from Columbia University in New York City, who disappeared from her classes and the lives of her family and friends without a word of warning. She traveled to North Africa, taking up with a band of Bedouin wanderers, ingratiating herself to them with her uncanny ability to pick up languages and her extensive knowledge of their culture. Evidently, she already carried the disease, however, and within weeks a mysterious new city was half buried by the roaming dunes of the Sahara Desert: it is a city built entirely of glass; its silent occupants can be glimpsed only through the reflections they cast.
The books here were discovered in an underground chamber cleverly disguised by a series of angled mirrors. The books revealed a tempestuous inner life of longings and ambitions. Among them were a series of novels that she might have written depicting the histories of dream cities fashioned by a secret society of architects who have severed their ties with the material concerns and restrictions of human life, as well as a two-volume catalogue of the Libraries of Heaven and Hell that included the half dozen locations on Earth where some of these books can be acquired.
The 1979 Avon paperback reprint, published to catch the fad for books about cults, UFOs, and crank cures. A bad translation, disowned by all concerned.
Two other recently discovered cities are believed to be results of the disease, although as of this writing their libraries have yet to be discovered. One is located in the Ghost Forest in central Brazil. This city, fog-garlanded, rain-haunted, is constructed from the bones of exotic birds of the area, and
is the only city that seems to have a discernible relationship with its immediate environs. Its fragile construction is the principal reason for the continued mystery surrounding the location of the library: the hollow bones of the birds are easily crushed by even the lightest explorer. For now, we must stand in frustration at its borders, gazing into its complicated arrangements and listening to the whispered, melodic conversations of its hidden inhabitants, which emerge from the city in glowing, gossamer loops and coils, illuminating the wet green foliage and our own astonished faces.
The other city exists in a labyrinth of caves, tunnels, and abandoned mine shafts in the southern Appalachian Mountains of West Virginia. The city is a dark, sprawling arrangement of stunted buildings, suffused with the perpetual sound of grinding machinery. The inhabitants of this awful place have been stripped of all their skin: the glistening tangles of muscle and tendon flex and surge in absolute darkness, staggering around on broken limbs, hustling to and fro in an excited caper. They are prone to sudden, spectacular acts of violence, rending their fellow citizens into shivering slabs of meat. The muted sound of angry exertions, grunts of rage and effort, follow these monsters around like dogs on chains.
There is much disagreement regarding the length of time this disease has been with us. Some maintain that it is a product of the Industrial Revolution, depicting in bold strokes the subjugation of the soul to the mechanized muscle of unbounded greed and arrogance. Others suppose it is a traveler’s disease, in which the victim’s profound desire for home manifests itself in this unearthly architecture, although the fantastic nature of most of these cities seems to undermine this theory. Others posit that the Malady of Ghostly Cities has afflicted humankind for thousands of years, that we have in fact made homes of the corpses of its victims, and that what we perceive as ghosts are the world’s true citizens, the ones left here by the memory of the dead.