A complex set of emotions stayed her hand.
It felt very wrong to be burning art. Of course, the artist’s choice of subject matter was questionable but there was no denying his talent. And more importantly still, by proceeding with this barbarous act she felt that she was — in a sense — doing violence to herself.
Such considerations had made it impossible for her to destroy the drawings when she had first acquired them. Instead of doing what was necessary she had stupidly hidden them behind the lithograph of Ashputtel and the white dove. What if the young doctor had touched the frame — and the drawings had fallen to the floor? She could not afford to be sentimental.
Kristina posted the first drawing into the stove. She watched the paper blacken, curl and then burst into flames. Something close to grief tightened her chest and her breath became laboured as she watched the image of the girl turning to ashes. Curiously, the bottom right-hand corner of the drawing resisted ignition, managing by some accident of physics to preserve its existence for a few more seconds more.
Kristina read the signature: Rainmayr.
The paper turned from yellow to brown and then shrivelled to nothing.
51
‘Herr Doctor, I am concerned that we are not making very much progress,’ said Erstweiler.
Liebermann looked down at his supine patient and after a brief pause replied: ‘I am sorry that you are dissatisfied.’
‘My condition,’ Erstweiler continued, ‘or, rather, the natural state of anxiety that arises from my unusual situation remains unchanged. I cannot sleep, my bowels are still loose — and every moment of the day I live in dread of his appearance. You will forgive me, I hope, for questioning the efficacy of this treatment of yours. What did you call it?’
‘Psychoanalysis.’
‘None of the other patients are receiving it.’
‘No. It’s new.’
‘The modern world is too enamoured of novelty. Just because something is new does not mean that it is better.’ Erstweiler was clearly depressed and showing the irritability so typical of patients whose mood was low. ‘Perhaps the time has come, Herr doctor, to try something different. What about hydrotherapy?’
‘I do not think hydrotherapy will be very helpful.’
‘Why not? It helped that chap who kept on shouting about the Hungarians coming. When he returned to the ward after hydrotherapy he was much better.’
‘I do not think hydrotherapy is the appropriate treatment for your condition.’
‘What condition?’ Erstweiler raised his arms and let them fall heavily on the rest bed. ‘I have seen my doppelganger … and if I see him again that will probably be the end of me. I am tired of all this talking, Herr doctor.’
‘Then perhaps you should try listening. Psychoanalysis is a listening cure as well as a talking one. It demands that I — for the most part — listen to you. But sometimes you must listen to me. I have been thinking about your dream, Herr Erstweiler, the dream of the English fairy story.’
‘What of it, Herr doctor? It was only a dream!’
Erstweiler sighed — exhausted by his own impatience.
‘Dreams,’ said Liebermann, ‘are shaped by processes in the mind that obey certain laws or principles. If one is conversant with those principles it is possible to interpret dreams. Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious.’
‘The unconscious?’
‘That greater part of the mind — ordinarily inaccessible — wherein can be discovered the answers to the most puzzling questions about human experience: in your case,’ Liebermann clapped his hands together lightly, ‘why it is that you have hallucinations of a double. It is my belief that the cause of your hallucinations is a set of memories buried in your unconscious. And your dream gives us some indication as to what those memories relate to.’
Erstweiler was about to speak, but before he could raise a further objection Liebermann added: ‘Allow me to explain.’
The young doctor leaned forward on his chair.
‘The language of dreams is symbolic; however, symbols, as they appear in dreams, usually possess features in common with the object or person they are supposed to represent. Thus, by studying these correspondences a dream can be made intelligible. Now, let us consider the content of your English fairy-tale dream, beginning with the most important element, the pivot around which the narrative turns.’
‘I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.’
‘Do you remember the title of the fairy story? What did Frau Middleton call it?’
‘I think she called it Jack and the Beanstalk.’
‘So the defining image of the story is …’
‘The beanstalk?’
‘That is correct.’
Erstweiler looked perplexed.
‘You think it means something? The beanstalk?’
‘I do.’
‘Well — perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.’
‘Think of it as an object with features — some of which are shared with other things.’
Erstweiler made some grumbling noises and then said: ‘A beanstalk is long … and it grows.’
‘Excellent. Remember also that you described the beanstalk rising up.’
‘You think that’s significant?’
‘Very much so. Come now, Herr Erstweiler, apply yourself. What is long and rises up? What grows and stands erect?’
Erstweiler’s eyes opened wide.
‘Herr doctor — am I understanding you correctly? Are you implying …’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you implying that the beanstalk in my dream represents the male reproductive organ?’
‘I am indeed. Your dream is — fundamentally — a sexual dream. It is about sexual longing and a forbidden wish fulfilled.’
‘Herr doctor, this is ludicrous!’ Erstweiler sneered. ‘My dream is a recollection of a story told to me when I was a child. A story for children! How on earth could it be sexual?’
‘The unconscious often finds expression by appropriating innocent material. Some memories — particularly if they are disturbing — are only permitted to enter awareness during sleep after donning a disguise. The more innocent the disguise, the more likely it is that the memories will find expression in a dream. Now, let us remind ourselves of the narrative: the boy — whose part you took in the dream — climbs up the beanstalk and discovers a castle on a cloud. In the castle is a goose who lays golden eggs, which belongs to an ogre. The boy steals the goose, but is pursued. On reaching the ground, the boy chops down the beanstalk and the ogre falls to his death.’
‘Herr doctor,’ said Erstweiler. ‘I am finding this conversation somewhat confusing …’
Liebermann ignored his patient’s objection.
‘We must delay consideration of the cloud for a short while and consider next the castle. Enclosed spaces — such as boxes, cases, chests, rooms, houses — and large buildings — are often symbolic of the uterus.’
‘Herr doctor, I asked you to convince me of my own insanity. But you seem determined to accomplish the very opposite. I find myself doubting your mental stability.’
‘A fact,’ Liebermann continued with blithe indifference, ‘which is underscored by the presence of the goose, whose golden eggs signal fertility.’
‘Herr doctor …’ Erstweiler’s fingers gripped his hospital gown.
‘Let us proceed,’ Liebermann pressed on, ‘to the proprietor of the castle. In my opinion, the ogre conflates two real individuals. Your father, whose ogre-like behaviour once caused you so much distress on top of the Stephansdom — a location, please note, that brought you close to the clouds. And Bozidar Kolinsky — who, like your father, was a brute.’
‘Bozidar Kolinsky,’ whispered Erstweiler. His grip tightened and the blood drained from his knuckles.