Chapter 107 ... and an Unsound Mind
As the days passed Daniel Kauffmann employed all manner of devices to
restore the memory that shock and pain had stolen from his lovely young patient.
He was thankful that the baron - as the staff usually referred to the interim
vice-consul, had been called away to Tsingtao to meet with the Japanese, because
his absence allowed him an unusual amount of time to devote to "Lorelei".
As before, he gave her a thorough physical examination each morning, to
assess the state of her recovery, which continued to proceed nicely. When she
seemed ready have recovered enough strength to leave the embassy for a few
hours, he arranged for a dressmaker to come to her room, with samples of various
fabrics, to take the appropriate measurements in order to provide Erika with a
modest wardrobe.
Erika's spirits were greatly buoyed by the opportunity to select some new
garments and shoes, but she lamented to the doctor that she did not know how she
would be able to repay his kindness. He dismissed her concerns with a smile,
but he was grateful that she was not extravagant when it came time to make her
selections.
The first of her dresses and shoes were ready within a day or two. From
that day forward, upon completion of her daily check-up, he would step out of
the room while Erika dressed. When she emerged, he would take her by the arm
and they would set off on long walks through various quarters of the great city,
hoping that a glimpse of some person or place in Shanghai might spark her
interest or her memory. On their first such promenade they had walked very
slowly, owing to the soreness of her limbs, but with each passing day Erika's
freedom of movement improved, and within a week, the Doctor was having trouble
keeping up with his fit, athletic, patient.
********
Once their long morning walks had become part of their daily routine, Dr
Kauffmann encouraged Erika to take a nap to restore her strength in the
afternoons. And it was during those afternoons that the young doctor
experimented with several techniques that he had concluded might possibly help
to restore the shattered mosaic of her memory.
He had decided to station himself in Erika's room during her naps, on the
off chance that she might wake in the middle of a nightmare or speak in her
sleep, or otherwise provide a clue to her history. On the first such afternoon,
he set up a small table and a chessboard in one corner of the room and pored
over the scores of games from a collection of memorable contests between
masters, re-playing the games move by move, trying always to anticipate the
next move of the great champions.
He became so immersed in the geometric patterns of the chessboard, the
myriads of difficult variations, that he did not notice that Erika had woken
and had taken up a position behind him.
"The doubled pawns on Black's queen's side look weak," she mentioned in a
low voice, as she looked over his shoulder.
"Why, yes; that often happens in the exchange variation of the Ruy Lopez,"
he replied as if he were discussing the game with another strong amateur in a
Vienna coffeehouse. "On the other hand ..." Suddenly it occurred to a startled
Dr. Kauffmann that the comment had come from his troubled patient. "How ...how
do you know that? Do you remember where you learned to play? Or who taught
you?" Erika's comment had displayed a certain discernment in evaluating a chess
position; it was hardly a comment someone who knew only the movement of the
pieces would make.
Erika furrowed her brow in concentration as she took a chair opposite her
doctor. "I was just a little girl, I think, when I learned. I remember having
to stand on tiptoes the first time I saw the pieces." She smiled. "I thought
they were very beautiful. Especially the knights," she added fondly as she
reached forward and took the long-since captured Queen Knight between her
slender fingers. She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "The pieces
were new and shiny, but the board was old, very old. There was a coffee-stain
on the King Bishop's square. After I learned to play, I fancied that when I
castled on that side of the board, my king was jumping over a puddle."
What a beautiful smile she had, Kauffmann thought, noticing how the memory
seemed to light up her face. But then her expression darkened,
"Why, doctor, can I remember a foolish set of chessmen, but I can not picture
the face of my father or uncle or brother or whoever it was who taught me the
game?"
It was Kauffmann's turn to be perplexed. "Perhaps," he began with a
worried look, "it is because there is some tragedy associated with your family,
a tragedy that is too painful to remember at this time."
********
On the next afternoon, Erika woke from her nap to find the versatile Dr
Kauffmann once again sitting in front of the chessboard, but the black king had
long since been checkmated by a bishop who had seized a long, open diagonal at
the perfect moment. Kauffmann seemed to be celebrating the unfortunate
monarch's demise by playing a sprightly serenade on a well-worn violin.
"Mozart?" Erika guessed sleepily as she brushed her tousled blonde hair
away from her eyes.
"Yes, exactly." Dr Kauffmann glanced at Erika out of the corner of his eye
as she slid her long legs over the edge of the bed and stretched languorously,
oblivious of how that movement caused the curves of her full breasts to press
deliciously against the thin bodice of her low-necked nightgown.
"I did not know that you played the violin," she added as her voice trailed
a way into a yawn.
"Not nearly as well as I would like, but I try." Kauffmann gave his
patient a benign smile. "I am badly out of practice," he added, doing his best
not to stare too obviously at the alluring cleavage of his newly-woken patient.
"You know," he said, giving her a friendly smile, "it is said that in the old
days, when the pogroms came, and the Jews sometimes had to flee their homes with
only what they could carry on their backs, there were two things that they
never left behind - the violin and the chessboard. This was my father's," he
added as he caressed the well-varnished instrument lovingly. "He taught me to
play when I was a boy."
Kauffmann shouldered the violin again and slid the bow lightly across the
four strings. He paused to check the tuning of a string, and then took up the
piece where he had broken off, as Erika Weiss' shoulders swayed dreamily in time
to the music.
After he had finished the piece with a flourish, Daniel Kauffmann put the
violin away in an ancient case, cradling the instrument as carefully as he would
have held a newborn infant. Then, realizing that he was standing between Erika
and the afternoon sun that streamed in the window, he stepped to one side,
allowing the radiant sunlight to bathe her face and body in its health-giving
glow. "I did some more reading about your condition last night, and, with your
permission, I would like to attempt a new course of treatment."
Erika looked up at him anxiously, suddenly wide awake. "I am willing to
try anything, doctor; I feel sometimes as if I were swimming in a dark sea on a
starless night, knowing that land is nearby, but not knowing in which direction
to swim."
"It is quite understandable," he replied sympathetically. "I know that so
far my efforts have yielded little tangible benefit, but I think the method I
have in mind might just succeed." Daniel Kauffman paced across the room with
his head bowed in concentration, stroking his coal-black goatee as he continued.
"While the method of treatment is not new - in fact it is more than a hundred
years old - its founder was something of a charlatan. But I think that it may
offer possibilities in a case such as yours ..."
"What kind of treatment, doctor?" Erika asked, intrigued but a little
frightened by the caveats expressed by the physician.
"It is called mesmerism -- or hypnotism. Franz Mesmer - I know, I know -
you're thinking, 'Another Viennese!" he added with a rueful smile. When Erika
smiled indulgently, he went on. "As I was saying, Mesmer introduced the
practice during seances that he gave in Paris during the last years of the
ancien regime." Kauffmann, seeing that he now commanded Erika's full attention,
continued on, his dark eyes eyes gleaming with the familiar glow of enthusiasm
that Erika had come to expect when he spoke on a topic that had seized his
interest.
"Mesmer had the erroneous notion that there was a mysterious bodily fluid
that permitted one individual to exert a magnetic influence over another."
Erika shivered slightly at the thought of falling under the spell of a will
more dominant than her own.
"But," Kauffmann continued, "some of his ideas seem to have genuine merit.
Hypnosis - sleep treatment - sometimes allows students of the mind access to
parts of a patient's psyche that are locked away even from the patients
themselves."
Erika looked at him strangely. "You - you would like to use this treatment
on me? To explore my mind -- against my will, almost?"
"Precisely. I would like to put you into a hypnotic trance and to ..." he
paused for a moment, lost in thought. "To use the power of suggestion to see if
I can't help you to uncover ... the secret to the loss of your memory.
Naturally, it is ... it is imperative that the patient trust the physician
completely." Dr Kauffmann looked at Erika questioningly.
"Y-yes," Erika added slowly. "I can see how that would be necessary."
There was an awkward pause and then Kauffmann gave her an inquiring glance.
"Well? Would you be willing to try it? It is painless, I assure you, in a
physical sense, although it is only fair to warn you that the treatment, if
successful, may unearth unpleasant memories."
Erika nodded thoughtfully. "Do you really believe that there is a good
chance that it may help to restore my memory?"
Daniel Kauffmann's dark eyes were intense with the glow of a scientist in
pursuit of a great discovery. "Yes. Yes, I do. There is an area of the mind
that we have come to call the subconscious that ..." he stopped himself, with a
wan smile. "It's not necessary for you to understand the theory, I don't
suppose. So, what do you think?" he repeated brightly, rubbing his hands with a
confident air. "Do you think you'd be willing to try it?"
Erika twisted a golden ringlet around a finger pensively. "If you think it
might help," she said finally, giving him an earnest look. "If I can not trust
you ..."
"Excellent!" Kauffmann exclaimed. "Please, take a seat here and we shall
begin. He stood up, offering Erika a seat at the table on which the
beautifully carved black and white figures on the chessboard stood. It struck
him as peculiarly fitting that Erika's treatment would be witnessed by these
thirty-two silent sentinels who had taken part in so many contests for mental
mastery.
He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and removed a shiny chain,
from which hung a silver-backed pocket watch.
"Take a deep breath, Lorelei, and relax. No harm shall come to you, but
you must place yourself entirely in my hands. Now, clear your mind of
everything and ... keep your eyes on the watch," he whispered in a strange,
droning monotone as he began to swing the watch in a gentle pendulum-like
motion. "Yes, that's it. Back and forth, back and forth," he murmured softly,
allowing the watch to catch the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Erika, feeling a little light-headed, nodded and obeyed, letting her blue
eyes track the gentle arc of the watch as she surrendered to its spell....
********
A quarter of an hour later Klaus Schumacher tapped gently on the door to
Erika's bedroom, and then, hearing no reply, turned the brass knob that Ju had
polished until it sparkled, and stepped softly into the room.
"Were you alone, Lorelei?" he heard Dr Kauffman ask softly, as he bent over
his patient. Then, sensing an interloper, Kauffman spun around toward the door.
"How did you ...?" exclaimed Daniel Kauffmann in an irritated voice, as he
recognized the intruder. "I thought that I had locked the door." ..."
"Evidently not, Doctor, " Schumacher observed patronizingly. "I assure you
that I have no key. Hmm, what have we here?"
"Please ... leave us ... you have come at a most inopportune time!"
"Have I?" Schumacher crossed the room toward the chair on which a somewhat
disheveled Erika Weiss sat glassy-eyed, while her body rocked forward and then
backward in a most peculiar way. The chess-table had been pushed or pulled out
of reach - or out of the way. "Inopportune for you, perhaps."
"Get out!" Kauffmann whispered hoarsely, pulling himself up to his full
height as he challenged the taller man. "We are in the middle of an important
and ... and possibly dangerous experiment."
"I would not dream of interfering, Doctor," Schumacher muttered as he
brushed past him and approached within a few feet of Erika. The tall
bureaucrat watched the flaxen-haired beauty as she leaned well forward in the
chair, her back slightly bent, and extended both of her arms directly in front
of her, and then slowly leaned back again in the chair, pulling her arms back
toward her in a smooth, even motion, until her elbows were bent outward, her
closed fists almost touched her chest, and her spine rested flat against the
chair-back. Then, she lifted her indrawn arms slightly, and leaned forward
again, extending her fists in front of her, and repeated the strange pantomime.
Although Schumacher stood only two or three strides from her, Erika Weiss
never looked in his direction, nor even seemed to see him, as she obsessively
repeated the same sequence of movements in time to a driving rhythmic tempo that
only she could hear.
"Please, Deputy Secretary, leave us!" Kauffmann hissed again as he wrung
his hands together nervously. "You could not have come at a worse moment."
"I don't blame you for wanting to be alone with her, my friend," Schumacher
said with a widening grin. "She can't hear me, can she?" he asked as Erika's
body surged forward again, her arms and legs straining, moving so energetically
that her low-cut nightgown fell away from the creamy perfection of her
thrusting breasts, baring the delicious globes almost to the nipples.
Kauffmann shook his head from side to side, confirming Schumacher's
supposition that Erika could not hear the unwelcome guest.
"Mein Gott, Kauffmann!! It's been a long time since I've seen a pair like
that!" he murmured under his breath. "Don't misunderstand me -- some of these
hot-blooded Asian girls are beauties. But it's nice to squeeze the big tits of a
healthy German farm-girl every now and again, eh, Doctor?" he added with a
conspiratorial wink. "Tell me -- does she show that much energy when you ..."
"She is my patient, sir, not some sluttish peasant girl!" Kauffmann
interrupted indignantly. "I must ask you to leave!"
"Of course, Doctor, of course," Schumacher added condescendingly, making
light of the physician's protestations, his covetous eyes never leaving the
voluptuous curves of the scantily-clad 'patient'. As he watched the nubile
blonde go through the strange, repetitive cycle of motions once again, he was
struck by the fact that Erika's entire body was dripping with perspiration. Her
long blonde ringlets, which Ju had brushed until they resembled spun gold, were
wet, beads of perspiration ran slowly down her cheeks, and her pale nightgown
clung to her sweat-soaked breasts, belly and thighs, as if it were damp tissue
paper. With her every forward surge, Erika's tantalizing, half-erect nipples
threatened to poke holes in the sheer fabric that veiled them.
"What have you done to her, Doctor?" Schumacher asked with a salacious
leer. He planted his feet squarely in front of Erika's chair, and crossed his
arms across his chest, enjoying his excellent vantage point as the scantily-clad
blonde continued to lunge forward energetically and then fall back against the
chair. "And would you mind showing me how it's done? Not only is she speechless
- an admirable trait in a woman so young - but she is as un-selfconscious as a
forest nymph, is she not? What a fortuitous combination of qualities in a woman
of her age! And what a body!"
"She was not silent until you entered the room," Daniel Kauffmann replied
with exasperation. "I have hypnotized her, you fool, as part of her ...
treatment."
"Hypnotism, eh? A most congenial profession, I'm sure, for a doctor with
female patients built like this one!" the under-secretary observed with a coarse
grunt as Erika leaned forward again, moving ever faster, her beautiful face
straining against some unseen force. As the tempo of her bizarre movements
increased, the nightgown slipped off of one shoulder, and the sweat-moistened
tips of her magnificent breasts popped into full view.
"Please, leave us," Kauffmann rasped, as he took Schumacher by the elbow
and tried to lead him toward the door. "I was close ... so close. Until you
barged in. And now I fear we have lost the moment."
"Close to what, Doctor?" Schumacher smirked as he reluctantly allowed
himself to be pulled away. "Far be it from be to spoil a colleague's fun, but
you really must remember to lock the door, before you conduct such ... research
on your lovely ... patient." Schumacher cast a last lingering, envious glance
back at the beautiful young woman who continued to rock rhythmically forward and
backward in her chair. "But tell me, Kauffmann," the deputy secretary asked
with a puzzled expression. "What exactly is she doing, there?"
Dr Kauffman gave his superior an agonized look. "She is rowing, Mr
Secretary," he responded in an agitated voice. "She is rowing across a mountain
lake that is surrounded by a pine forest. She is rowing under a sun that is
broiling hot, driven by a fear so dreadful that her conscious mind has cloaked
its existence in darkness."
Just then Erika Weiss' violent forward momentum threw her out of the chair,
and she fell full-length onto the carpeted floor. She lay there trembling, but
motionless, her nightgown riding high on her bare thighs, her face flushed, her
breathing rough and ragged, her exhausted body dripping with perspiration, her
azure eyes bright with ... what? Pain? Anxiety? Terror?
Dr Kauffmann rushed toward her, bending down over the prostrate beauty to
check her racing pulse. "I think she was just about to bridge the gap between
past and present, when you came into the room." Daniel Kauffman's face was
disconsolate. "Somehow, I lost her then, and her mind returned to that dark
place. The connection has been severed."
"Not to worry, Doctor," the deputy secretary responded in a cynical tone,
as he stepped out into the hallway. "The vice-consul and I are men of the world.
I'll leave you to continue your ... treatment. But remember the motto of your
profession, Doctor," Schumacher added as he gave the downcast physician a
cynical smile, "First, do no harm."
