The Midnight Circus, стр. 16
DoI sound the mad man? Do not judge me yet, Atky. Readon, read on.
FirstI must tell you that while you may rightly grieve for the others, donot do so for me. Of them all, only I have attained the one goal that Itruly sought: peace and a final freedom from the curse that hasafflicted me for some five years now.
Yes—acurse. A disease and a curse. You must understand that orall is lost. If you have ever judged my behavior in this lastexpedition to have been difficult, even to the point of irrationality,I hope that these revelations will at least shed some light on my stateof mind.
Itwas never my ambition to be an explorer, let alone one who charted thenew lands of Antarctica. I was but a simple seaman. However, when SirClements Markham singled me out for that first expedition, I saw anopportunity to rise above the humble circumstances of anundistinguished naval career. The benefits proved even greater than Ihad anticipated. The burdens, greater still.
Returningto London after three years in Antarctica, I found myself to be a muchsought-after celebrity. I now moved in an exotic milieu of writers,actors, and artists, not just hardened seamen. It quite turned my head,as much as a girl at her first ball. Indeed it was through my celebritythat I met my beautiful Kathleen. It is the one truly good thing I havedone in this life. But do not, I pray you, burden Kathleen with what Iam about to impart. Let her think me dead a hero. Only you will knowotherwise. And—in this wild waste where I stay—I will know it as well.
Nowto get to the meat of the matter. My cursed disease. It began inLondon, of that I am sure. Having led a conventional, perhaps evendull, life before—even as a seaman I’d not resorted to low pubs andlower women—I found it difficult to resist the allures of a moreBohemian existence, especially with my dear wife newly pregnant andunable to go out with me even to the more staid parties. Time aftertime, after she had retired early to bed, I would frequent areas ofLondon I might once have shunned for fear of embarrassment or scandal.
Whatprecisely occurred on the night that altered my fate so completely Ihave never been able to recall. Was it an infection I contracted fromsome whore? A mania passed on by tainted meat? Was I bitten by a maddog? Raked by a rusty blade? Poisoned by some foreign tincture? Yoursurgeon’s knife might have uncovered the seat of the infection. Butfive years on, discovering it would be like arguing First Causes with aJesuit—fascinating but beside the point. Whatever it was that set me onthis dark path is all lost in the miasma of those London rookeries. Andconfused by the great quantity of rum I had drunk with my low friends.
AllI do know is that I found myself staggering down a deserted,muck-covered street in the early hours of the morning, my head poundingand my eyes curiously unfocused. I was also plagued by a peculiarthirst so intense that my throat was actually aching with it.
Itwas here that I was approached by a drunken vagrant begging for money.I tried to push my way past him, for he was a noxious, smelly brute,but he persisted in blocking my path.
“Guv’nor?”he said, his hand in my face.
It enraged me. Enraged me.
Ido not speak here, Atkinson, of anger, or even a momentary spasm ofannoyance, but of a pure, unreasoning rage.
Nowas a very young man I had been known for my quick temper, but in lateryears I had mastered such outbursts. Now, however, I was possessed bya rage such as I had never before experienced. I trembled with it, likea tree in a fierce storm. Seizing hold of the raggedy man by thefront of his filthy shirt I hauled him down onto the pavement with aspeed and savagery he was powerless to resist. Before I couldunderstand what was happening, I found myself with my teeth at histhroat, sucking away his life’s blood.
Myhorrible thirst quenched by this ghastly infusion, my head was finallycleared sufficiently for me to recoil in horror. The man lay under me,the side of his throat torn as if a wild beast had ravened there.Instinctively I wiped a hand across my mouth in an effort to erase thetaste. My childhood squeamishness at the sight of blood brieflyreasserted itself and, for a moment, I thought I was going to vomitright then and there.
Iwas sure I had killed the man and wondered what I was to do with thecorpse. I knew no one would miss him. He was but a piece of filth. Andthere was no one else on the street to decry my deed. But to take himin my arms, to drag him to some smaller back alley—I did not know if Ihad the strength for it.
WhileI was thinking what to do, the man moaned piteously and I reeled back,more shocked than before. His eyelids began to flutter, like a girl ather first assignation. It appeared that he had merely swooned and waseven now beginning to recover. I turned and ran from the scene as fastas my legs would carry me.
Uponmy return home I cleaned myself up and made weak excuses for myevening’s absence to dear, trusting Kathleen. It took all thecomposure I could muster to make it throughthat day, but by the end of it I was prepared to believe that what hadoccurred—however shocking—had been an isolated incident brought on bytoo much rum and base companionship, and that it would never repeatitself.
Myshallow optimism was soon cruelly dashed. Within a day I felt onceagain the stirrings of that unnatural appetite and nothing I could docould stop me from feeding again.
HadI been a religious man I