The Asylum of Dr. Caligari by James Morrow

Author:James Morrow [Morrow, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, General, Action & Adventure, Absurdist
Published: 2017-06-13T07:00:00+00:00

Shortly after dawn on Friday the 25th of December, 1914, feeling confident that even Alessandro Caligari would not consider Christmas morning an appropriate time for war profiteering, we peeled the linen Ecstatic Wisdom forgery from Ilona’s painting, detached Totentanz from the mahogany bars, disassembled the stretcher frame, and rolled up the dried canvas like a rug. We bore the components of our conspiracy down the passageway to the museum door, then cautiously admitted ourselves. The gallery was blessedly deserted. As always, Herr Direktor’s magnum opus—at the moment mantled in velvet—commanded the west wall. We laid our materials beneath Ilona’s spiderweb oils, then set about making the grand substitution.

Gaston, Ludwig, Pietro, and I took Ecstatic Wisdom in hand, grasping the bottom edge and lifting the suspension cable clear of the three spikes. We staggered backward under the weight of the stretcher frame. I half expected the painting to harm us in some way, perhaps by transforming its pigments into chlorine gas or its cable into a poisonous snake, but we conveyed it to the elevator hatch without mishap, resting it vertically on the platform.

Werner approached the winch and began turning the crank as if operating an immense coffee grinder. With a harsh screeching of pulleys and a strident clattering of chains, the platform descended, delivering the malign painting, the lunatics, and myself into the depths of the cellar. Taking care not to smash any of Caligari’s alchemical apparatus, we slid Ecstatic Wisdom across the length of the atelier, the mahogany bar functioning like the runner on a sled, and secluded it in a cavernous alcove.

There remained the task of retrieving the crimson curtain. Apprehensive that the monster might awaken, I grasped the material with both hands and slowly lifted it free of the canvas. Although I heard faint whisperings of “La Marseillaise,” Ecstatic Wisdom remained otherwise inert, evidently oblivious to our presence. We exited the alcove, then folded the curtain into a rectangle the size of a coffin lid. Embracing the velvet pile, I led the students back to the elevator platform.

Werner worked the winch. As soon as the gallery floor was whole again, I set the curtain in the corner, even as Gaston, Ludwig, and Pietro began reconstructing Totentanz. It took them a mere half-hour to assemble the frame, affix the canvas, and screw the cable in place. Assisted by Conrad, they carried Ilona’s chef d’oeuvre to the west wall and hung it on the spikes.

Acting on an unspoken consensus, we arrayed ourselves before our peace machine, until the maimings and the pain, the thundering guns and the bursting shells, became too much for us to bear, and we turned away.

“Consurge, daemon!” cried Ilona, gesturing toward the Ecstatic Wisdom forgery. Like a lethargic phantom, the scrim rose slowly from the floor. “Vola!” It floated toward the west wall. “Vola!”

The scrim pressed itself against the canvas and, surrendering to the power of Totentanz, became sufficiently opaque to camouflage the canvas. Our Grandmaster, space traveler, and paranoid retrieved the velvet curtain, straightaway draping it over the stretcher frame.

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