says he has blue wings and hard shiny skin like a beetle. I hope it’s him, anyway. If it’s the one called Trago, we’ll be up half the night. He upsets her.”
“Tell me what you do for these people.”
“Bugger all, frankly. We feed and protect them. There are drugs that would help, but we’ve no hope of getting hold of them. Before the war I had a colleague who used to wire patients up and shoot a dose of electricity through their brains. That would see off the demons for a day or two. And the angels, of course. But he joined the Nazi Party and went off to Germany to do ‘research.’ He made the right decision, seeing as how we’re lucky to get electricity one day a week, at best.”
Dart said, “But it’s a miracle, isn’t it, that the Germans haven’t shut you down? The Nazis don’t have what you would call a kindly attitude towards the mentally ill.”
Veening watched the plane trees lose a few more leaves before he replied.
“We used to have a large number of inmates who were mentally handicapped, rather than mentally ill. I’m sure you understand the difference. Many of them were the kind of people who get called village idiots. Perfectly harmless. In 1941 the Germans came and took them away. Rounded them up and piled them into two trucks. Some of them were in mortal terror; others thought they were being taken out for a treat. It was a lovely summer day.”
He stubbed his cigarette out and pocketed it.
“I don’t know what happened to them. I think that if I did know, I’d be wearing a white uniform and trying to trap shadows with my feet, like Gerard over there. Now there are just twenty-four patients and seven staff, including me. We rattle around in this huge great place like dried peas in a bucket. But, as you say, it’s a miracle that we are here at all. Perhaps Sidona’s angels are watching over us.”
He turned to face Dart. “Sorry. I tend to ramble. Now, come with me to the office. I promised to show you the telephone.”
Dart stood. “Albert,” he said, “I hate to correct you, but it’s not seven staff. It’s eight, including me.”
Veening bowed his head, a gesture of apology. “Of course, Dr. Lubbers. I get forgetful sometimes. I find it helps.”
The asylum superintendent’s office had once been rather grand. The leather-topped desk was the size of a bed, but there was nothing on it except a stained cup, a novel, and dust. A large statue stood at the back of the room: a white marble woman, her upper body naked, one arm outstretched in a caring gesture. Veening had hung his coat, hat, scarf, and umbrella on it. The ceiling was covered in fancy plasterwork, and the walls were dark oak panelling. Dart glanced around.
“Over there,” Veening said.
In a corner, half hidden among a heap of unwanted furniture and old files, was a huge and ancient contraption mounted on a thick slab of mahogany: a pair of round bells with a little hammer between them, a brass winding handle, a handset on a brass hook. The mouthpiece looked like a black cup and saucer. It was connected to the rest of the machine by what looked like frayed grey rope.
“You’re joking,” Dart said.
“I found it in one of the cellars, a week after the Germans took our proper phones away. Dates from about 1900, at a guess. It’s a beauty, don’t you think? The wires run up behind the panelling. As I said, we are connected to only two other phones, one in Apeldoorn and one in Amersfoort, but there’s a relay system. You have to wind it up with that handle thing before you can use it.”
Dart ran his fingers through his hair. There were things he hadn’t been briefed on, he realized. “London didn’t say anything about this.”
“I don’t suppose they know. It’s a local thing. Something we put together ourselves. And it’s only for emergencies, mind. It usually only rings when some new kind of hell breaks loose.”
“Albert, may I ask you something? How long have you been working for the
“Tell me what you do for these people.”
“Bugger all, frankly. We feed and protect them. There are drugs that would help, but we’ve no hope of getting hold of them. Before the war I had a colleague who used to wire patients up and shoot a dose of electricity through their brains. That would see off the demons for a day or two. And the angels, of course. But he joined the Nazi Party and went off to Germany to do ‘research.’ He made the right decision, seeing as how we’re lucky to get electricity one day a week, at best.”
Dart said, “But it’s a miracle, isn’t it, that the Germans haven’t shut you down? The Nazis don’t have what you would call a kindly attitude towards the mentally ill.”
Veening watched the plane trees lose a few more leaves before he replied.
“We used to have a large number of inmates who were mentally handicapped, rather than mentally ill. I’m sure you understand the difference. Many of them were the kind of people who get called village idiots. Perfectly harmless. In 1941 the Germans came and took them away. Rounded them up and piled them into two trucks. Some of them were in mortal terror; others thought they were being taken out for a treat. It was a lovely summer day.”
He stubbed his cigarette out and pocketed it.
“I don’t know what happened to them. I think that if I did know, I’d be wearing a white uniform and trying to trap shadows with my feet, like Gerard over there. Now there are just twenty-four patients and seven staff, including me. We rattle around in this huge great place like dried peas in a bucket. But, as you say, it’s a miracle that we are here at all. Perhaps Sidona’s angels are watching over us.”
He turned to face Dart. “Sorry. I tend to ramble. Now, come with me to the office. I promised to show you the telephone.”
Dart stood. “Albert,” he said, “I hate to correct you, but it’s not seven staff. It’s eight, including me.”
Veening bowed his head, a gesture of apology. “Of course, Dr. Lubbers. I get forgetful sometimes. I find it helps.”
The asylum superintendent’s office had once been rather grand. The leather-topped desk was the size of a bed, but there was nothing on it except a stained cup, a novel, and dust. A large statue stood at the back of the room: a white marble woman, her upper body naked, one arm outstretched in a caring gesture. Veening had hung his coat, hat, scarf, and umbrella on it. The ceiling was covered in fancy plasterwork, and the walls were dark oak panelling. Dart glanced around.
“Over there,” Veening said.
In a corner, half hidden among a heap of unwanted furniture and old files, was a huge and ancient contraption mounted on a thick slab of mahogany: a pair of round bells with a little hammer between them, a brass winding handle, a handset on a brass hook. The mouthpiece looked like a black cup and saucer. It was connected to the rest of the machine by what looked like frayed grey rope.
“You’re joking,” Dart said.
“I found it in one of the cellars, a week after the Germans took our proper phones away. Dates from about 1900, at a guess. It’s a beauty, don’t you think? The wires run up behind the panelling. As I said, we are connected to only two other phones, one in Apeldoorn and one in Amersfoort, but there’s a relay system. You have to wind it up with that handle thing before you can use it.”
Dart ran his fingers through his hair. There were things he hadn’t been briefed on, he realized. “London didn’t say anything about this.”
“I don’t suppose they know. It’s a local thing. Something we put together ourselves. And it’s only for emergencies, mind. It usually only rings when some new kind of hell breaks loose.”
“Albert, may I ask you something? How long have you been working for the
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