THE ALIENIST

 

A shaft of light from a high window bathed the scene. Fishy demons writhed down the ochre walls and across my canvas as I drew the women in stripy aprons of pink and yellow. Imps screamed and spat at me as I loaded the brush with burnt sienna and sketched a crude rowan tree. Pythons twisted around my arms as I painted viridian leaves. They dispersed as I stippled on red berries like bullet wounds. I looked back down at my guide; the photograph propped up against a mortar and pestle.
I heard the sliding of the hatch. The Alienist's cold face framed, stared in at me, a white handkerchief clutched to his nose.
The hatch was drawn shut. Bolts heaved back and the door opened. The Alienist in his usual dark suit entered the room.
I turned to face him and smiled.
"What have you brought?" I asked.
He looked at the canvas and said, "The photograph has inspired you. The tree. A rowan?"
"Yes to keep the witches away," I replied.
I pulled the stool from under the table and sat on it. The Alienist deftly reached out and clasped my cheeks on either side, mentally measuring the dimensions of my face. He twisted my head to the left and then to the right. In my peripheral vision I glanced devils hiding in corners of the room. He released my head with a shrug and turned to the table. He picked up the photograph of fishwives.
"The possibilities. I will get photographs commissioned of all my patients. Faster than my artists, more changes recorded. Phrenology animated over time," said The Alienist.
I snatched the photograph out of his hand and replaced it next to the mortar.
I said, "What did you bring?"
He took a rolled up parchment from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"My estate executed in ink by my daughter. I'd like your opinion on it's artistic merit."
I grabbed the parchment and popped it into my shirt, next to my breast. I stared at the wall, willing him to leave.
"The servants of Osiris won't let me open it until I am alone," I whispered.
The Alienist's tired craggy features peered down at me like a desiccated and stuffed bird of prey. He went over to the door and tapped once sharply. The bolt was immediately drawn back and the door opened. He looked back as he left the room. I crossed my arms and swayed back and fore to calm myself down a bit. The Alienist's footsteps echoed away into the distance. I waited. The door hatch was shoved open abruptly and the orderly stared at me. He looked disappointed and closed the hatch.
I listened until the footsteps faded away and then I cleared a space on the table. I unrolled the parchment using glass jars of colourful mineral salts to anchor the edges. It was a delicate ink drawing. An impressive grand house with a slate roof dominated the scene. In the background was a stretch of sea; sailing ships drawn in neat detail. It was an empty landscape waiting for something to happen.
I felt a calm overtake me like a velvet hat smothering the flames of my burning brain. Rivulets of sedation meandered down my spine as I thought of the juxtaposition of landscape and demonscape, of crazy cumulus clouds and fruitful sea. In my mind's eye I walked into the sketch, enlarged the view and added vibrant colour. I walked through a paddock up towards the grand house. I reached the top of a low hill and saw a smaller dwelling with gay red tiles to the left of the mansion. I heard the sound of laughing and saw people hanging out washing on a stretch of grass framed between the two houses; a painting within a painting. One of the figures wearing a dark suit and a hat walked up to me with a birdlike gait. He carried a book under his arm and a handkerchief to his nose. As he came closer I recognised him. He stopped and removed his hat.
"Sir what a strange shaped head you have. I beseech you. Let me measure it at once," he said.
I felt cold dry hands clutching at my temples