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Authors: Thomas Harris
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titles: DOCTEUR EN MÉDECINE, PH.D., PSYCHIATRE.
Count Lecter and Lady Murasaki sat in straight chairs in the waiting room amid Dr. Rufin’s patients, some of whom had difficulty sitting still.
The doctor’s inner office was heavy Victorian, with two armchairs on opposite sides of the fireplace, a chaise longue with a fringed throw and, nearer the windows, an examining table and stainless-steel sterilizer.
Dr. Rufin, bearded and middle aged, and Hannibal sat in the armchairs, the doctor speaking to him in a low and pleasant voice.
“Hannibal, as you watch the metronome swinging, swinging, and listen to the sound of my voice,you will enter a state we call wakeful sleep. I won’t ask you to speak, but I want you to try to make a vocal sound to indicate yes or no. You have a sense of peace, of drifting.”
Between them on a table, the pendulum of a ticking metronome wagged back and forth. A clock painted with zodiac signs and cherubs ticked on the mantle. As Dr. Rufin talked, Hannibal counted the beats of the metronome against those of the clock. They went in and out of phase. Hannibal wondered if, counting the intervals in and out of phase, and measuring the wagging pendulum of the metronome, he could calculate the length of the unseen pendulum inside the clock. He decided yes, Dr. Rufin talking all the while.
“A sound with your mouth, Hannibal, any sound will do.”
Hannibal, his eyes fixed dutifully on the metronome, made a low-pitched farting sound by flubbering air between his tongue and lower lip.
“That’s very good,” Dr. Rufin said. “You remain calm in the state of wakeful sleep. And what sound might we use for no? No, Hannibal. No.”
Hannibal made a high farting sound by taking his lower lip between his teeth and expelling air from his cheek past his upper gum.
“This is communicating, Hannibal, and you can do it. Do you think we can work forward now, you and I together?”
Hannibal’s affirmative was loud enough to be audible in the waiting room, where patients exchangedanxious looks. Count Lecter went so far as to cross his legs and clear his throat and Lady Murasaki’s lovely eyes rolled slowly toward the ceiling.
A squirrelly-looking man said, “That wasn’t me.”
“Hannibal, I know that your sleep is often disturbed,” Dr. Rufin said. “Remaining calm now in the state of wakeful sleep, can you tell me some of the things you see in dreams?”
Hannibal, counting ticks, gave Dr. Rufin a reflective flubber.
The clock used the Roman IV on its face, rather than IIII, for symmetry with the VIII on the other side. Hannibal wondered if that meant it had Roman striking—two chimes, one meaning “five” and another meaning “one.”
The doctor handed him a pad. “Could you write down perhaps some of the things you see? You call out your sister’s name, do you see your sister?”
Hannibal nodded.
In Lecter Castle some of the clocks had Roman striking and some did not, but all those that did have Roman striking had the IV rather than IIII. When Mr. Jakov opened a clock and explained the escapement, he told about Knibb and his early clocks with Roman striking—it would be good to visit in his mind the Hall of Clocks to examine the escapement. He considered going there right now, but it would be a long shout for Dr. Rufin.
“Hannibal. Hannibal. When you think about the last time you saw your sister, would you write down what you see? Would you write down what you imagine you see?”
Hannibal wrote without looking at the pad, counting both the beats of the metronome and those of the clock at the same time.
Looking at the pad Dr. Rufin appeared encouraged. “You see her baby teeth? Only her baby teeth? Where do you see them, Hannibal?”
Hannibal reached out and stopped the pendulum, regarded its length, and the position of the weight against a scale on the metronome. He wrote on the pad:
In a stool pit, Doctor. May I open the back of the clock?
Hannibal waited outside with the
Count Lecter and Lady Murasaki sat in straight chairs in the waiting room amid Dr. Rufin’s patients, some of whom had difficulty sitting still.
The doctor’s inner office was heavy Victorian, with two armchairs on opposite sides of the fireplace, a chaise longue with a fringed throw and, nearer the windows, an examining table and stainless-steel sterilizer.
Dr. Rufin, bearded and middle aged, and Hannibal sat in the armchairs, the doctor speaking to him in a low and pleasant voice.
“Hannibal, as you watch the metronome swinging, swinging, and listen to the sound of my voice,you will enter a state we call wakeful sleep. I won’t ask you to speak, but I want you to try to make a vocal sound to indicate yes or no. You have a sense of peace, of drifting.”
Between them on a table, the pendulum of a ticking metronome wagged back and forth. A clock painted with zodiac signs and cherubs ticked on the mantle. As Dr. Rufin talked, Hannibal counted the beats of the metronome against those of the clock. They went in and out of phase. Hannibal wondered if, counting the intervals in and out of phase, and measuring the wagging pendulum of the metronome, he could calculate the length of the unseen pendulum inside the clock. He decided yes, Dr. Rufin talking all the while.
“A sound with your mouth, Hannibal, any sound will do.”
Hannibal, his eyes fixed dutifully on the metronome, made a low-pitched farting sound by flubbering air between his tongue and lower lip.
“That’s very good,” Dr. Rufin said. “You remain calm in the state of wakeful sleep. And what sound might we use for no? No, Hannibal. No.”
Hannibal made a high farting sound by taking his lower lip between his teeth and expelling air from his cheek past his upper gum.
“This is communicating, Hannibal, and you can do it. Do you think we can work forward now, you and I together?”
Hannibal’s affirmative was loud enough to be audible in the waiting room, where patients exchangedanxious looks. Count Lecter went so far as to cross his legs and clear his throat and Lady Murasaki’s lovely eyes rolled slowly toward the ceiling.
A squirrelly-looking man said, “That wasn’t me.”
“Hannibal, I know that your sleep is often disturbed,” Dr. Rufin said. “Remaining calm now in the state of wakeful sleep, can you tell me some of the things you see in dreams?”
Hannibal, counting ticks, gave Dr. Rufin a reflective flubber.
The clock used the Roman IV on its face, rather than IIII, for symmetry with the VIII on the other side. Hannibal wondered if that meant it had Roman striking—two chimes, one meaning “five” and another meaning “one.”
The doctor handed him a pad. “Could you write down perhaps some of the things you see? You call out your sister’s name, do you see your sister?”
Hannibal nodded.
In Lecter Castle some of the clocks had Roman striking and some did not, but all those that did have Roman striking had the IV rather than IIII. When Mr. Jakov opened a clock and explained the escapement, he told about Knibb and his early clocks with Roman striking—it would be good to visit in his mind the Hall of Clocks to examine the escapement. He considered going there right now, but it would be a long shout for Dr. Rufin.
“Hannibal. Hannibal. When you think about the last time you saw your sister, would you write down what you see? Would you write down what you imagine you see?”
Hannibal wrote without looking at the pad, counting both the beats of the metronome and those of the clock at the same time.
Looking at the pad Dr. Rufin appeared encouraged. “You see her baby teeth? Only her baby teeth? Where do you see them, Hannibal?”
Hannibal reached out and stopped the pendulum, regarded its length, and the position of the weight against a scale on the metronome. He wrote on the pad:
In a stool pit, Doctor. May I open the back of the clock?
Hannibal waited outside with the
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