Others

  ‘Wisbeech, I don’t give a shit.’

  ‘Ah. Well, perhaps you should, given that your fate is in its hands. As was your unfortunate friend’s.’

  I wanted to throw myself at him then, but the time wasn’t right just yet. I was still weakened from the attack on me and still unnerved by unfolding events. The bright light was dazzling my eye.

  ‘Are you really not curious, Dismas?’ He seemed concerned.

  Despite our plight, I realized I was. I wanted to know what made the man this way, I wanted to know everything that went on in this place, how he had got away with stealing malformed babies, how he managed to imprison these imperfect but very human beings here without the knowledge of local authorities, government bodies, the Department of Health – anyone who should have bloody well known what was going on. And I wanted to know why. Oh God, I really wanted to know why.

  It was quiet in the huge studio room, only an occasional buzz of conversation coming from beyond the double doors, a raised voice now and again, laughter, as if the film crew and the PERFECT REST employees were getting on well, enjoying a normal ‘tea-break’ during the course of a normal night’s work (which, no doubt, paid them an abnormal amount of money for both diligence and discretion). Sick, or what? Maybe they just had hardened mentalities, products of a hardened age where sensationalism was the norm, and moderation the humdrum.

  Wisbeech stopped pivoting from side to side on his swivel chair and took a long draw from his cigarette. ‘Now where was I?’ he said with an exhalation of blue smoke. ‘Ah yes, our friend in the corner.’

  He allowed me time to glance nervously across the room at the semi-tranced monster there before continuing.

  ‘It was discovered in a Quishang commune, born of – or so I was reliably informed – a peasant woman in 1971. Some claimed she was merely a barren wife who found the baby thing in the lower reaches of the mountains, while others said that, desperate for a child but married to a man who could not provide enough active sperm, she had copulated with one of the strange – some say mythical – beasts that on rare occasions were sighted roaming the region. The head of the commune, however, insisted it had been conceived naturally and was merely a freak of nature; I tend to believe him. From the direction of your rather dramatic entrance, I can only assume you found your way through the rooms below, so you must have observed for yourself the range of mutants possible to be born of mankind itself.’

  I kept quiet, smoking the cigarette he had given me, waiting for some of my strength to return, not to mention my nerve.

  ‘Word reached me of the find – you might be surprised to learn that there is a worldwide network of dealers in such “prodigiosa” – and I travelled to the Hubei province to see it for myself. It was three years old by then and, I can tell you, I was well pleased with the prize. Bidding was fierce, but our wealth was substantial in those days.’

  ‘Bidding . . . ? You’re saying others were trying to buy . . .’ I shook my head in disbelief. ‘There’s a trade in these things?’

  ‘Aren’t you listening, Dismas? Didn’t you hear me tell you just that? Usually it’s legitimate but covert government-sanctioned research institutions that purchase them whenever they appear, but quite often independents such as myself manage to hear of them first and make our own private and more lucrative – for the seller, that is – arrangements.’

  ‘You’re saying that our own government is aware this was going on?’ I was incredulous, but not that surprised.

  ‘It was, and is – although much more discreetly these days.’

  ‘Your – ’ I almost snorted the word ‘ – researches are government-funded and authorized?’

  ‘No longer. In the beginning yes; but then our noble ministers realized the political implications if such studies became generally known. They and, of course, the Health Authorities, gradually backed away from my work and finally washed their collective hands entirely of me. Fortunately, they could not undo what was already done, and I progressed in my own way.’

  I wondered if the authorities had backed away from Wisbeech because they had begun to realize that his interest was more than just scientific.

  ‘So tell me why, Doctor?’ I said almost genially, glancing around as slyly as I could, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. ‘How did you become involved in this kind of research in the first place? You know, it’s kind of hard to imagine the fascination.’ Or the perversion, I thought.

  I don’t think he was fooled one bit, he was too smart for that, but he knew he held all the cards.

  ‘Oh, and by the way,’ I added. ‘You do keep them all on drugs, don’t you? That’s why you manage to control them, isn’t it?’

  ‘It isn’t just a question of control. It’s a way of commanding their respect, also.’

  ‘As a supplier?’ I kept the disgust out of my tone, and it wasn’t easy.

  ‘As a benefactor. They’ve learned to rely on my benevolence, you see? And they’re only mildly drugged, otherwise the effects would interfere with our experiments, and while our own medical and scientific authorities are no longer so interested in the results, there are plenty of institutes in other countries that are.’

  ‘But when they don’t behave . . .’ or perform, I said to myself ‘. . . you cut off their supply.’

  ‘It’s a way of ensuring their cooperation.’

  ‘So you profiteer not just from film-making, but from your researches too.’

  ‘Profiteer is putting it harshly, but times have changed and finances have to be maintained. At one time, the money generated from those researches provided for everything.’

  I wanted to ask him more about Henry’s death, but I knew at that moment I would never be able to control myself when he provided the answers, so I encouraged his ego instead, biding my time.

  ‘It must have been difficult to start. Didn’t you meet with opposition from others in your profession?’

  ‘You’d be surprised how little. Ever since the dawn of medicine itself, there has always been a fascination for curiosa, rara, monstruosa, selecta, exotica, lusibus naturae, occultis naturae, these exceptional deviations from the natural; my own interest, and that of my brother, has merely been stronger than most.’

  The mention of this mysterious kinsman interested me, in spite of my predicament. ‘Do I get to meet this brother of yours?’ I asked, as if it would be an honour.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Why? Isn’t he here?’

  ‘He’s watching us. I’m afraid he’s very shy.’

  ‘But that’s his thing, isn’t it? He likes to watch others.’ I remembered my first meeting with Wisbeech, the long, horizontal mirror in the room where I had waited. I had sensed someone watching me from the other side of the treated glass, but had figured it was Leonard Wisbeech alone. Obviously the two-way mirror was there for the amusement of the doctor’s reclusive brother.

  I was too afraid to feel foolish when I said, ‘Couldn’t I meet him? Just to say hello? I mean, he’s obviously a big part of all this, so it would be interesting to talk to him, if only for a couple of minutes.’

  Wisbeech might have laughed at the absurdity, but instead his face grew deadly serious. For the first time I noticed the tiredness in those piercing blue eyes of his, the lines in his face that had not been quite so evident before.

  ‘Dominic was not born as well-blessed as I,’ he said gravely.

  Was that remorse I now saw in his eyes; or could it be cold anger? It was difficult to tell in a person as self-controlled as Wisbeech.

  ‘He was older than me by twenty minutes,’ the doctor went on, dropping his cigarette to the floor and stubbing it out with his shoe.

  Twins? There was another one like Wisbeech running around? Wait a minute: he had said the brother was less fortunate. A suspicion began to grow in my mind.

  ‘My mother was in her early forties when she became pregnant with us and whilst still in the womb my brother and I were diagnosed as suffering f
rom “twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome”. The blood vessels in the placenta were delivering too much to one foetus and not enough to the other. But it seemed that I had not only taken blood from my twin, I took his strength also. In fact, I took everything that would have made him normal, even space in the womb itself.’

  He brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from his knee, as though in momentary need of a distraction. I detected a hint of regret in his gaze when he returned it to me, but the coldness was still there too.

  ‘My brother should not have survived,’ he said, reaching into his suit pocket for the silver cigarette case again. He lit up, noticing that my own cigarette was only half-smoked, then tucked the case away again. ‘But he did. And although deformed and terribly debilitated, in some ways Dominic was much stronger than I. Yes, I must grant him that: he certainly knew how to survive almost from the day we were born. As we grew older, he learned how to dominate.’

  There was more movement next to me and I glanced down to see that Constance’s eyes were half-open. I gripped her arm and used gentle pressure to reassure her, hoping she would understand.

  ‘Although our parents never mentioned it, I knew they blamed me for my brother’s condition – they were a handsome, some would say perfect, couple in the physical sense, you see, and their vanity would never allow the notion that the fault could be theirs, or perhaps of one of them. No, they never had to voice their accusation, but a child knows, a child will always feel resentment directed towards it. Ironic, in its way, that the perfect couple should resent the son who exemplified their own united beauty whilst cherishing the one who might have been an embarrassment to them. Perhaps it was pity for Dominic. Perhaps their plan for me was part of my punishment. Perhaps they loved their less fortunate offspring so much they wished to make sure he would never lack material comforts.’

  Constance tried to rise, but my grip tightened, holding her there. I think she was too confused or strung out to resist.

  ‘It was they who decided I should devote my life to medicine, particularly to medical research dealing with genetic disability and abnormalism, their hope being, I suppose, that I would find ways of making Dominic’s existence easier, perhaps even to cure some of his maladies. And part of my father’s masterplan was to leave all his wealth to Dominic – he was the elder brother, after all – a means of tying me to my twin for as long as he lived. Of course, he was perfectly correct; my father knew my character only too well. What he failed to see, however, was that my own guilt, drummed into me, albeit subtly, from a very early age, irrevocably tied me to my twin in any case. Foolish, I know, but once it was explained to me just what had happened to us both whilst still in the womb, how I had appropriated Dominic’s sustenance and life force for myself, I had always felt to blame for his tragedy. So it wasn’t difficult for me to follow my parents’ wishes, fear of poverty having very little to do with it.’

  I wasn’t sure how all this had led to the making of pornographic movies, but I was willing to listen – and learn. After all, there really wasn’t anything else I could do right then.

  ‘As it turned out,’ Wisbeech went on without any prompting, ‘I proved to be an apt pupil as far as medical matters were concerned and I made rapid progress. If I thought that would please my parents, I was right; but only in the sense that they approved of my achievements because they placed me in a better position to help their other son. Oh, he was an angel to them, despite his deformity; but they failed to see the other side of his nature, the side that was more fitting to his form. Only I glimpsed that, and Dominic was never too afraid to reveal it to me; he was too cunning to let others know, though, particularly our parents.’

  I saw the reflection of Wisbeech’s back in the long mirror across the studio, saw my own hunched figure too, sitting on the bed, huddled shape of Constance beside me, her legs drawn up, an arm across her breasts, as though she had become aware of her nakedness.

  ‘Both our parents died when I was establishing myself as a medical researcher after having trained as a physician and then a surgeon, so I never quite had the full opportunity to make them proud of me. A silly regret for someone of my years, don’t you think?’

  No, I didn’t think it was silly at all, but I didn’t say so. This was a complex man before me, the veneer of cultured intelligence and physical attractiveness concealing inner depths of labyrinthine complexity, psychological intricacies I could only guess at. I’d always been aware that no one can be judged on appearance alone, that we’re all taking part in some great masquerade and the human psyche is far too complicated, even too devious, for such superficial appraisement, and Leonard Wisbeech was no exception to the rule.

  ‘Could I have another cigarette?’ I asked, ignoring his question, which was probably rhetorical anyway. The butt I held in my curled palm was only two-thirds smoked, but I wanted a fresh one.

  Wisbeech took out the cigarette case once more and we both stretched forward so that I could take one. He lit me and we both settled back.

  ‘So you still haven’t explained how or why you got into baby-snatching,’ I said, deliberately provocative, feeling the anger burning deep inside, but managing to keep my cool.

  ‘You sound as though you’re accusing me of some wrongdoing,’ he remarked, surprisingly unruffled.

  ‘Taking infants away from their mothers isn’t wrong?’

  ‘Not if I can offer those infants something more than an early, agonizing death. And that’s the point – at least, that was the point all those years ago – of my quest. Prevention and alleviation were my goals. Companionship for my brother was a by-product of my pursuits.’

  ‘Company?’

  ‘He wished to know others like himself. He demanded friends to whom he would not feel inferior. He wanted to indulge in activities without being unequal. As for me, I began to see the beauty in them all.’

  As much as I should have welcomed that last remark, I knew only too well that the sentiment wasn’t reasonable, no matter how hard these ‘love-all-your-fellow persons, we’re all beautiful inside’, politically correct idiots might try to convince themselves and others (believe me, I’ve known many of these types myself and they’ve never convinced me, let alone normal people). Wisbeech wasn’t looking at his charges through natural or honest eyes: their beauty to him was as experiments, as research specimens. Unless . . . I took in the cameras, the arc lights . . . I remembered the artworks around the home itself, the subtle change in beauty’s definition the further you ventured into the building . . . unless he and his twin brother, both coming from different directions obviously, had become so wrapped up in their arcane world that their own proclivities now leaned towards the unnatural . . . Perhaps the film-making was, to use the doctor’s own word, a profitable by-product of their own unhealthy interest. Perhaps the other twin was so disabled he could only watch, the films an extension of his own voyeurism . . . I looked towards the mirror again. Complexity upon complexity. Jesus, now even I felt unclean.

  I became aware that Wisbeech was still talking, still using me as . . . as what? He was using me, of that I was sure. As a confessor? No, I don’t think he felt any shame in what he did, what he had become. An arbiter of some kind, then, someone who might understand and even bless all his good works? Could it really matter to him? I think now that ultimately he was trying to justify himself to himself, that he had reached a point in his life, one that comes to us all eventually, usually at a certain age when something tells us that death is not that far away, when it was time to take stock and perhaps assess oneself for oneself. Complexity upon . . . I’ve already said it. Suffice to add that it all made some kind of sense to me later.

  ‘I had become quite established in my profession by the time I approached the relevant authorities to allow me custody of unfortunate babies born so disfigured that there was virtually no possibility of their survival. I’m sure that you’re aware that the worst defects are allowed to expire shortly after death through their own unnatural causes. Wi
thout the knowledge or permission of the parents involved, of course. It’s a practice that has been going on since both man and animal have roamed this earth – animals are merely less sentimental about it. Doctors have always informed parents that such newborns have died shortly after birth to spare them the shock of knowing they have given breath to a monster. Terribly sad but, I’m afraid, a fact of . . . well, a fact of life itself. However, what is not generally known – certainly not by the public at large – is that some of these mutants do not always die immediately after birth. Some can live for years afterwards and these are hidden away and cared for until nature truly does take its course.’

  ‘That’s . . . that’s wicked. Christ, it’s obscene.’

  ‘Is it? You think it’s kinder to let a mother know she has just given birth to a grotesque?’

  ‘At least it would be her decision whether or not to let the baby die.’

  ‘You think so? Even though such offspring usually expire within moments of being born? You honestly believe the mother’s grief should be added to in that way? Your emotions, if not your brain, should tell you otherwise.’

  I suppose I was stunned into silence, even though I’d learned little more than I had suspected.

  ‘So, after very little persuasion, I might tell you, my researches were authorized and funds were even granted provided I matched them with some of my own. Dominic was delighted to help me with that. The stipulations were very strict – I was only allowed to take away babies who had no hope of living beyond a very short time, those so enfeebled by their disfigurements that they would, indeed, be better off dead. However, the survival instinct of humans, no matter how tortured their bodies might be, is incredible. Not many, but at least some, lived beyond all expectation, and here I have nurtured them, raised them, cared for them.’

  ‘You call what you’ve done in this place caring for them?’ This time I couldn’t hold back my contempt, my disgust.

  ‘Would you have preferred them to die? Perhaps you would have had them aborted before they even left the womb? At least I have given them life.’