Hadrian's Wall (20 page)

“A great step forward for you!” he said.

“What?” I asked, distracted.

“Now, you’re free to walk without the
assistance of the nurse. Enjoy your freedom.”

Why I do not feel free?

After inserting the articles into a large
manila envelope, he stood up, walked to the coffee table, and
poured himself a cup of coffee from the red insulated thermos. The
session was finished.

“Oh, before I forget...” he said, turning to
face me. “Ian wants to talk to you. He’s in the clinic now.”

7

VAMPIRES DANCE

I walked slowly to the location indicated by
the head nurse. Dr. Talbott was sitting at the desk, making notes.
As always, his face was a study in total concentration. Funny, to
me he looked too young for this practice, as well as Dr. Barringer,
but unlike my psychiatrist, Talbott behaved like an old
doctor—always so formal, so serious, often causing me to wonder if
he was even from this century.

The patient whom he was attending had just
stood up to leave. The doctor gave him some additional
instructions. “If the headache persists or if you have vision
problems, let me know immediately.”

He turned to the door and upon seeing me
there, tensed up, as if it were possible to stay more rigid than he
does. After a half second of hesitation, he motioned for me to come
in and sit down. He went to the cabinet and pulled out some x-ray
films that I assumed were mine.

My assumption was correct. He began to
explain his conclusions about my case and all that I could expect
if I had a serious problem. But it wasn’t because my test results
yielded very good news—there was nothing wrong with my head.

Then I told him about the memories that
surfaced during yesterday’s crisis. Naturally I omitted the parts
that could be considered incredible, which was almost
everything.

When I finished, he stared at me for a long
moment before turning his eyes calmly to my file.

“I have no doubt that you suffered some kind
of accident, Miss. Baker. The consequences are quite visible in
your x-ray films—broken ribs, a concussion from the bump on the
head.”

The phrase “suffered some kind of accident”
obviously meant that he didn’t believe that I’d been in South
Portland because I was found, unconscious, in the Mountain of
Polish Man. Thankfully, at least he recognized the “physical
evidence.” What he did not say was that he assumed I’d invented my
amnesia! If not for my injuries, he would not have even considered
the possibility that I’d lost myself in the woods.

“Carmen, Bob, Linda Jones, Simon Cridder...”
he was saying. “You mentioned these names. It’s possible that you
know them...just like you may have read or heard about them.”

If he doubts that I met
these people, these common people. I wonder what he’d say about the
giant panther.
..
if
I talked about it...which I definitely did not.

“The question is... do these people know
you?” he inquired. “Your mind may have created an alternate
reality, but that doesn’t mean the true memories won’t come back
someday.”

True memories?

“Someday?” My voice rose an octave. “That
sounds so vague...”

“Well, I don’t think it will take so much.
All you need is rest. Find an activity that gives you pleasure and
makes you feel accomplished. You must have a hobby, right? I
suggest you spend more time with it.”

He set aside the films and test results,
then went on to say words of encouragement—how I’m a very smart
girl...too mature for my age; how I would know to take advantage of
the sessions with Dr. Barringer. In the end, Dr. Talbott emphasized
that in case of doubt, I should not hesitate to look to him.

“Now you’re ready to leave the hospital. Dr.
Endfield and Dr. Way agree with me. Later, they will advise you
about what you can or cannot do, given your physical condition and
what you should do to take care of your ribs and guard against a
possible relapse of your lungs. Summer will soon be over and
temperatures will begin to decline dramatically. Cold weather can
cause serious problems in your case.” He inserted the x-ray films
into a large file folder. “That’s it, Miss. Baker. We’re
discharging to you, but advise you not to neglect the psychiatric
treatment.”

That meant the consultation was over...and
apparently my stay in Caledonia as well. I should have been happy,
but I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to leave there without refuting
the facts that he’d stated.

“I
was
in South Portland, Doctor. I’m
sure about that. I lost my memory there.”

Dr. Talbott blinked, his face showing that
he didn’t want to prolong the interview; but with forced patience,
he shook his head. “You were found in the Mountains of Polish Man,
which is a dense forest in a sparsely populated area in northern
Maine. There’s no way you could have made it all the way from South
Portland alone. You had to have had help from someone, but who
would do such a thing? Why?”

Well, it was just what I
was wondering. Memory of cold hands and a fast car suddenly
assailed me. I sensed the
coup de
grâce
approaching before he opened his
mouth.

“We found your name on the Polish Man
Springs Resort’s register.”

* * *

I collapsed on the bed, clutching the
envelope that the psychiatrist had given me.

Take the picture,
girl.
The neurologist was thinking that I
should treat my madness. On the other hand, the psychiatrist was
thinking I should decide whether or not I was crazy.
I was thinking that those two would drive me
crazy.

So someone investigated my stay at the
Polish Man Springs Resort—but who? The Hadrian’s Wall police? I
didn’t know the town even had a police department.

Dr. Talbott said that my name appeared on
the register of the resort. That meant I really was a crazy enough
to be institutionalized. It was the only logical explanation. Had I
invented being an orphan too? Did I have loving parents somewhere
in the country, desperately looking for me?

Of course not!
It would be so good if it was true, but I knew I
couldn’t have invented so much. One thing was clear: if I didn’t
invent this, they did...but why? Is Hadrian’s Wall really Stepford
of
The Stepford Wives?
I shook my head, laughing at my own black humor. I was
woolgathering again. I stared at the envelope. There was only one
way to know what was real and what was not. After fifteen days of
following the same routine—room consultations, consultations for
sunbathing, and back to my room. Finally, I’d been discharged. Now
I was free to do whatever I wanted, including returning to South
Portland and checking the truth of my memories with my own eyes.
Until then, I decided that it would be interesting to play the game
proposed by Dr. Barringer, so I turned on the computer and opened
the envelope.

I quickly read the
addresses of the websites mentioned by the psychiatrist. They
filled just a single sheet.
Fine!
So it would be easier for me to handle the
reference works from the bibliographies, while trying to locate the
texts directly on the Internet. At one point, I had entered several
addresses, but their content wasn’t what I was looking for, so with
the help of links, I navigated a little further. I was looking
at
Celtic deities
when something stopped me. The terrible yellow
eyes...

In the illustration
captioned “Messengers of Darkness,”
dark
gods
stared at the people who dedicated
offerings to them, as if they would devour them. About the
illustration style, I realized that it was a
Renaissance
work.
The painter had managed to successfully convey the effect that
those yellow eyes should cause—I almost felt myself attached to
them, like what happened when I really was
hallucinating.

There were pictures on the subject...pages
and more pages. Each one was accompanied by a legend that explained
its contents and also a short summary.

“Goddess Macha
is the queen of life and death, symbolized by
the
crow
(...)
After the battles, the Irish people cut off the heads of enemies
and offered them to the goddess, (...) a ritual known as the
‘harvest of Macha.’”

I shuddered just looking at
all those heads impaled on spears, the blood dripping down,
staining the ground beneath them. That scene was strangely familiar
to me. “
Scath
is
the guardian of the spiritual underworld and herald of destruction
(...) a warrior who taught the soldiers to fight. They would only
be able to serve in battle after winning the hard evidence prepared
by the goddess.” (...)

“A fearless and wild
Epona
was known as the
goddess of horses
(...) It seems that the
goddesses were very involved in the fighting.” (...)

“The obscure powers
of
witchcraft
were
strongholds of
Math
and also of
Merlin
, the latter revered as druid mor of the
Welsh people
and even as a
god
.” (...) Hey, this guy was the same
bearded old man...the magus of the English legend? I’d once read
something about Excalibur. My earlier Internet research said that
King Arthur actually existed. Did Merlin too? And what’s to be said
about the Knights of the Round Table?

I bit my lip. I was bored with reading, but
suddenly I’m excited.

(...) “
Merlin had the curious ability to change his shape. Generally,
he transformed himself into a wolf or a raven—a power that
some
druids
termed
‘
transmutation
.’
The
transmutive
interpreted the real forms, (i.e., they converted it into
other similar forms, but infinitely more beautiful, powerful, and
lethal)—unlike the
shapeshifters
,
shifters
,
and
mutants
.”

Then I glimpsed the
striking figure of
Morrigan
, also known as Morgan. (...)
“
The goddess of war, death, and rebirth,
known as Queen of
ghosts
and
undead
” (...) Look, she also had the
ability to turn herself into a wolf! (...) “
Translucent skin and seductive, defined muscles, incredible
strength, invulnerability, piercing eyes, very long hair—these were
the descriptions given by the soldiers about her appearance on the
battlefield” (...) “Morrigan was a ruthless warrior who came from
the
supernatural world
to lead the troops with her resounding battle cry”
(...)

“Besides the attractive
physical appearance and supernatural abilities, what the old dark
gods as well as
creatures of
darkness
generally had in common were the
nocturnal habits, the desire for blood, their immortality, and
power enough to dominate humans through the strange sensual
magnetism that were endowed.” (...) “
Characteristics markedly of corpses animated by ghosts, known
as
vampires
”
(…)

(...) “
The night was their kingdom. As the dark gods,
demons
, vampires, and
fellow creatures of dark, they drew from the night the strength to
live among us.

According to traditions,
there would be a world of diurnal, normal, human beings. On the
other hand, there would be a nocturnal world—from hideous
creatures, shrouded in mystery, which contains dangers and
forbidden pleasures... The day would therefore represent the path
of goodness and
virtue
, as well as edifying work and the
reason
—the night, in turn, would be
the ultimate stage of evil and sin, illicit or animalistic
activities”
(...)

Good heavens! What did all this have to do
with my diagnosis report?

Later, I saw something
concerning the origins of the vampire and demonic figures. Two
names came to my attention. “
Lamia
- Greek demi-goddess and
Lilith
, who appear in
Sumerian
and
Hebrew
mythologies, as
well as in
Arabic
(with the name of
Karina
). Lilith would have been
created
before
Eve
.”
Who
would have guessed this?
“According to
Hebrew tradition,
Adam
had a
first wife
who fled the marriage and from paradise. The girl was a kind
of rebellious girl and would have been punished for that. The
punishment made her more rebellious than she was. So she wandered
the earth, seeking revenge by killing the sons of Adam and Eve,
eating their flesh and drinking their blood.”
Yuck!

Mmmm
...I see. She became a serial killer. Big deal! The movies
were full of them. Probably, Lilith and Hannibal Lecter would make
a pretty interesting romantic couple.