Carlsen said: “What is she sorry about?”
Geijerstam said: “It is puzzling, but not entirely unexpected. While Torsten Vetterlund was in the power of Nina, the pendulum registered him as a woman. I have told her this, but she is pointing out that the same length — about sixty-three centimetres — can also mean danger.”
He said: “You mean that’s the reaction she’s getting from me?”
“Yes.”
He felt his stomach sink with disappointment and depression. At once he realised he was feeling sick and exhausted. In a few seconds, it had become so acute that he was afraid he was going to vomit. His forehead was prickling with sweat. As he groped his way to his feet, the dog began to growl. It was backing away, blocking the doorway, its fur bristling.
Geijerstam said: “What are you doing?”
“I feel sick. I think I need a breath of fresh air.”
“No!” Geijerstam said it so sharply that Carlsen stared with surprise. Geijerstam placed a hand on his wrist. “Don’t you understand what is happening? Look at the dog. The vampire is back, isn’t she? Close your eyes. Can’t you feel that she is here?”
Carlsen closed his eyes, but he seemed unable to think or record his impressions. It was like acute delirium. “I think I’m going to faint.” He tried to move to the door again; the dog crouched and growled, showing its fangs.
Geijerstam and Fallada were on either side of him; he realised that he was swaying. Geijerstam said: “We must do one more test — a crucial one. Come and lie down over here.” They led Carlsen across the room. He had a sense of will-lessness, as if all his strength had been drained. He lay flat on his back, but immediately felt so sick that he had to turn over onto his stomach. The matting felt rough against his forehead and smelt dusty. He closed his eyes again and seemed to drift into a twilight world, a kind of black mist. At once he understood what was happening. She was there, but she was not concerned with him. She was communicating with the derelict, which still floated in the black emptiness. Now he could also sense wave after wave of ravenous hunger emanating from the wreck. The men in the spaceships had gone, and the aliens felt cheated. They were angry that they were still there; they could not understand what had gone wrong. She was finding it hard to make them understand, because she was in another world; she was conscious, they were asleep. Their agony lashed her like whips. Like an induction coil, Carlsen was recording her torment.
Through the mist he heard Geijerstam say: “Please turn over for a moment.” With an effort, he opened his eyes and twisted onto his back. He was only half in the room, and the black clouds drifted between himself and the others. He could see that the old woman had mounted the flight of steps against the wall, and that the pendulum was now dangling over his chest. It began to swing is a wide circle. He felt beads of sweat running from his armpits down his sides.
Geijerstam’s voice said finally: “You can get up now.” With a painful effort, he propped himself up on his elbows. The dog began to bark frantically. He leaned back against the wood of the stairs, afraid to close his eyes in case he was again drawn back into the world of hunger and, pain. He became aware that the old woman was standing over him, holding something out. She said in halting Swedish: “Here, take this and smell it.”
From the smell he realised that it was garlic. He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Geijerstam said: “Please try to do as she says.”
He accepted it and held it against his face. It felt as if someone were holding a pillow over his nostrils. It smelt of decay and death. He began to cough and choke, the tears running down his cheeks. Panic rose in him, a fear of choking to death. Then, quite abruptly, the sickness vanished. It was as if a door had closed, shutting out a nerve-wracking sound. He realised the dog had stopped barking.
Fallada laid a hand on his shoulder. “How do you feel now?” He felt grateful for the genuine conern in his voice.
“Much better. Could I go outside now?” The desire for fresh air was like thirst.
They took his arms and helped him through the door. He sat down on the wooden bench, his back resting against the wall. The sunlight was warm on his closed eyelids. He could hear birds and the wind in the branches. He felt someone grasp his wrists. It was the old woman. She was sitting on a low stool, facing him, her face wrinkled, as if concentrating. Then she looked into his eyes and spoke in Lettish. Geijerstam translated: “She says: do not give way to fear. Your chief enemy is fear. A vampire cannot destroy you unless you give your consent.”
Carlsen managed to smile. “I know that.”
She spoke again. Geijerstam said: “She says: vampires are unlucky.”
“I know that too.”
The old woman pressed his wrists, looking into his eyes. This time, she spoke in Swedish. “Remember that if she is inside you, you are also inside her.”
He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”
She smiled and stood up. She said something to Geijerstam in her own language, then went into the cottage. She came out almost immediately and placed something in his hand. It was a small brass ring, with a piece of string attached to it.
“She says you should tie it to your right arm to protect you from evil. It is a Lett witch charm.”
Carlsen said: “Loti pateicos.” She smiled and curtsied.
Geijerstam said: “Do you feel well enough to walk back to the house?”
“Yes. I feel better now.”
Geijerstam bowed to the old woman; she took his hand and kissed it. As they turned back at the edge of the clearing, she was standing with one hand on the dog’s head.
They heard shouts of laughter as they emerged from the trees. The three girls were swimming in the lake; Annaleise was on her back, kicking up a haze of spray. When Selma Bengtsson saw them, she waved and called: “Your wife tried to reach you.”
Carlsen asked: “Did she leave a message?”
“No.”
Geijerstam said: “Why don’t you call her back? Perhaps, if there is no urgency, you could stay another day?”
“You’re very kind.”
The dreamlike sensation had left him; now he was physically tired. He wanted to lie down and sleep. The idea of relaxing for another day was attractive.
In the house, Geijerstam said: “Please use the screen in my study. That is upstairs.”
It was a small, comfortable room that smelt of warm leather and cigars. The leather smell came from the old-fashioned settee, which was standing too close to the log fire. As he sat down at the desk, Carlsen said: “Would you mind being introduced to my wife? She discovered your book, so she’d like to say hello.”
“It would be a pleasure.”
He was able to dial direct. Jeanette’s face appeared on the screen. She said: “Daddy! Are you on the moon?”
“No, darling. Just across the sea. Is Mummy there?”
Jelka’s voice said: “Yes, I’m here. Hello.” She picked Jeanette up and sat her on her knee. “Are you all right?” For some reason, Jelka was never at ease on the telescreen. Her manner seemed detached and cool, like a secretary.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
Jeanette asked: “Are you coming home today?”
“I don’t know, darling. I might stay another day. I’m staying in a castle that belongs to this gentleman.” He beckoned to Geijerstam, who moved within range of the screen. Carlsen introduced him, and Jelka and Geijerstam exchanged polite comments. Jeanette interrupted:
“Daddy, what’s a pryminister?”
“A what?”
Jelka said: “Oh, yes. The Prime Minister’s office wanted to get in touch with you. Unfortunately, I’d lost your address.”
He felt a stir of uneasiness, like a cold wind on the back of his neck. “What did they want?”
“I don’t know.”
“And did you find the address?”
“No. Susan’s been making paper aeroplanes out of the jotting pad.”
“Then how did you get this number?”
“I rang Fred Armfeldt at the Swedish embassy. The Prime Minister’s secretary’s going to ring back later. I’ll give him the number then.”
“No!”
She looked startled at his vehemence. She asked: “Why not?”
“Because. . . because I don’t want anyone to disturb me.”
“But suppose it’s important?”
“Never mind that.” He was aware of the irritation in his voice. “If anyone rings, say you’ve lost my address.”
She looked around. “That’s someone at the door. When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
When he had rung off, Geijerstam said: “Do you have something against your Prime Minister?”