I had to increase my speed, because the Stammerer had disappeared round a corner and I was afraid of losing him. As a result I let my guard down somewhat and walked past a gateway without even glancing into it. However as soon as I drew level with the dark aperture, I suddenly found myself grabbed by the collar from behind with monstrous, superhuman strength, so that I was almost lifted up off the ground. There was a terrible, bloodcurdling hissing sound and a baleful, whistling voice, the very memory of which freezes the blood in my veins, uttered a word that sounded like a curse: ‘TIKUSYO!’ I would pay dearly to know what it means. The next moment a blow of terrible force came crashing down on my poor, unfortunate, dumbfounded head and consciousness mercifully abandoned me.
I came to in the gateway. According to my watch, I must have lain there unconscious for at least half an hour. I do not know what disaster befell me, but it was not a robbery – I still had my watch and wallet and all my other things. Trembling in terror, I ran as far as Sretenka Street, stopped a night cab and drove home.
Now, as I write this report to you, my feet are soaking in a basin of hot water and I have a bag of ice tied to the back of my head, where a huge lump has come up. The soles of my feet are battered and bloody, and it is highly likely that I have a severe chill. I hardly need mention my shattered nerves – I sat down to write this letter to you because I am afraid to go to bed. I am sure that as soon as I fall asleep I shall hear that nightmarish, hissing voice. And I am very upset about my stolen boots. They were goatskin and almost brand-new.
And so, highly respected Lieutenant-Colonel, now that you know all the details of what I have suffered, through your good services, I shall make my demand. You may, if you wish, regard it as an ultimatum.
You must give me an absolutely exhaustive explanation of the reasons why your ‘very highly placed individual’ is interested in the Stammerer, who this mysterious gentleman is and what this devilish business is all about in the first place.
Affronted and perplexed,
ZZ
12 September 1900
CHAPTER 4
I. From the Newspapers
There are More Things in Heaven and Earth . . .
Non-scientific musings concerning the epidemic of suicides in Moscow
Do you believe in science and progress?
And so do I, my reader. I believe with all my heart and I am proud of the achievements of the scientific geniuses who point out to us the way ahead into the twentieth century: electric light bulbs, the cinematograph and 1000-tonne battleships.
But do you believe in wizards, hexes and evil spirits?
Why, naturally, you do not, otherwise you would not be reading our enlightened newspaper, but the spiritualist Puzzle or A Glimpse into the Abyss. And if I, Lavr Zhemailo, were to tell you that the devil really does exist, you would think that your humble servant, who has been doggedly tracking one of the most dangerous secret societies of the century, has succumbed to the influence of mystical spells or lost his mind and any day now he will find himself a patient in the Bozheninka psychological clinic or, even worse, will soap up a rope and follow the example of the subjects of his own sombre articles.
There are rumours creeping round Moscow. Sinister, exciting, intoxicating, seductive rumours. In society drawing rooms, in artistic salons, where cultured individuals take tea, there is a great battle taking place between the materialists and mystics. People argue loudly, until their voices grow hoarse. Or, if there are children in the house, they argue in whispers, but no less furiously. The mystics would seem to be gaining the upper hand, and the mysterious word ‘Signs’ is now heard more and more often.
Even those who have never before taken an interest in poetry declaim the nebulous verse of suicides that speaks of emissaries in white cloaks, howling Beasts and Tsareviches who bring death.
This is frightening, very frightening. But it is even more interesting!
Has Death herself, in full regalia, complete with scythe and shroud, really taken to stalking the streets of our peaceful city, glancing into faces and marking her own with some secret sign? Or perhaps these are merely amusing pranks played by the Devil (whose name must not be mentioned after dark)?
I have amused you, you are smiling. And you are right to smile. The key to this box of tricks is far simpler than that.
The wasting disease of obscurantism has infected people’s minds and hearts. The brains of those who have contracted this terrible plague eagerly soak in the vapours of darkness and they gaze intently into the gloom, seeking for ‘Signs’, ready to accept anything strange or inexplicable as an invitation to throw themselves into the icy embrace of Her Majesty Death.
And then, glancing at the clouds at sunset, it is quite possible to see in them the silhouette of a gallows tree, as happened to sixteen-year-old F., who apparently had no connection with the ‘Lovers of Death’ (see the article ‘Death of a Schoolboy’ in our issue of 9 September); some listen with bated breath to the howling of the night wind in the chimney or shudder when they see a word that rhymes with death. Never before has the Old Capital known such an orgy of suicides as in recent days. Three yesterday, two the day before yesterday, four the day before that – and that does not include the ones who were saved, who probably number ten times more!
Five foolish young women have already poisoned themselves, following the example of Lorelei Rubinstein, who is unlikely to be lying easy in her grave as she is showered with curses by the unfortunate families of the girls who have died.
Yes, of course, in rational terms I understand very well that this is all a matter of the psychological malaise of modern society. But my God, how greatly I am tempted to repeat after the Prince of Denmark: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy!’
Indeed there probably are. For death, gentlemen, is no chimera or magic trick, but a scientifically established fact. From the point of view of physics it is an inexplicable loss of energy which, as far as I can recall from my grammar-school studies, directly contradicts the law of its conservation. Where does the vital energy really disappear to at the moment of death? Can it not return in some changed or transformed guise? What if there is some natural anomaly involved here? What if there is some invisible but entirely real cloud of death-dealing energy hovering over Moscow?
Has this really never happened before? Have not entire cities perished for reasons unknown, as if they were deprived of the very source of life? Ancient Babylon, Athens and Rome suffered decline and desolation. Historians blame a barbarian invasion, economic decline or spiritual crisis. But what if there is a different explanation for everything? Any ancient and populous city, in which hundreds of thousands and millions of people have left this life over the long centuries, is veritably choking in the tight embrace of graves and burial grounds. Dead bones are everywhere; in the graveyards, on the beds of the rivers, under the foundations of the houses, under the feet of people in the streets. The air is thick and oppressive with the final breaths of those who have died and the bursts of vital energy released. Does not the country dweller feel this asphyxiation when he first finds himself in the ancient capital and breathes in its vapours?
If we take all the inhabitants of Moscow over seven centuries, there will be far more dead than alive. You and I are in the minority, ladies and gentlemen. So is it really surprising that some, indeed, many of us feel drawn to join the majority? The focus of energy is there, not here.