Queen of Spades by Michael Shou-Yung Shum

Author:Michael Shou-Yung Shum [Shum, Michael Shou-Yung]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Forest Avenue Press
Published: 2017-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Sandman

Early in their relationship, Dr. Eccleston had told Mannheim she’d never encountered an aura like the one that surrounded him: it was radiant yellow, and streaked through with deep scarlet and lime, like veiny fingers. She said it reminded her of the organ of some ancient beast—the worm-ridden heart of a saber-tooth. Little Theo recognized the singularity of Mannheim’s aura as well. It was growing, enlarging slowly, as his mind and body failed to contain it.

“It’s preparing,” the child stated solemnly.

Mannheim himself did not know what it was his aura was anticipating. He had never married or sired children, nor could he remember ever having held any sort of ambition other than to perform his job at the Royal competently and without fuss. He understood his subconscious was a sort of blank wall, its repression complete. But Mannheim wanted to break through. On the other side was an understanding that eluded him: why had he arrived at this late point in life, having hardly made any impression at all on the world around him?

On a gray, rainy afternoon, Mannheim arrived at Dr. Eccleston’s and was ushered by the child directly into the spacious office. The desk at which they usually sat had been pushed against the wall. Mannheim was made to take off his jacket, shoes, and socks and lie down on the dark leather divan that now occupied the center of the room.

As before, Dr. Eccleston connected diodes leading from his temples and his wrists to the intaker machine. Once this was completed, Little Theo dimmed the bulb and lit a tall, tapered candle. Dr. Eccleston placed a heavy black pillow over Mannheim’s eyes. The smoke was musky and sweet, and soon his nerves calmed. As in their first interview, Dr. Eccleston sat beside him.

“Fifty years ago,” began Theo, “there was a mother. She had a young son. One night, he was sleeping. His mother walked into the room quietly.” Mannheim heard him blow out the candle. Dr. Eccleston breathed nearby. He sensed her close, hovering over his shoulders.

“She cut open her son’s arms,” Theo said.

Mannheim felt something sharp penetrate his shoulder—a nail?—and he jumped. But there was no pain. The nail—if that was what it was—scored its way down to the elbow, bisecting the vein, and then to the wrist. It moved to his left arm, again starting at the shoulder, scoring the middle of it, all the way down.

“Then she put sand inside,” said Theo.

Starting at the wrist, Mannheim felt Dr. Eccleston pressing on his right arm vigorously with her palms, working their way up to his shoulder—she did this several times, each time increasing the pressure with her palms. Then she did the same with Mannheim’s left arm.

“She cut her son’s legs open,” said Theo.

The nail scored Mannheim’s right leg from the top of the thigh to the knee, splitting the shin, all the way down to the ankle. Then the nail moved to his left leg, again scoring the middle of it to the knee, through the shin, all the way down.

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