sweating, from the terror; he held her for a long, long time until she was warm, until she came back to life in his arms, like a flower filmed over a whole spring and then played back at breakneck speed.
He continued to kiss her, on the neck, on the inside of her arms, on the stomach, not with insistence, not even teasingly, but half to comfort her, half comatose, as if he could vanish at any moment. And when she followed, waveringly, because she thought it was safe where they were going, he continued to lead her until they arrived in a landscape not even he recognised, and when he turned it was too late and she threw herself into his embrace, cursing him, begging him and tearing at him with her strong hands until his skin bled.
He was awoken by his own panting and had to turn over in bed to make sure he was still alone. Afterwards, everything merged in a maelstrom of thunder, sleep and dreams. He awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of beating rain; he went over to the window and stared down at the street where water was streaming over the edges of the pavement and an ownerless hat drifted along with it.
When Harry was awoken by his early-morning alarm call it was light outside and the streets were dry.
He looked at his watch on the bedside table. His flight to Oslo left in two hours.
88
Thereses Gate. 15 May 2000.
Stale Aune's office was yellow and the walls were covered with shelves crammed with specialist books and drawings of Kjell Aukrust's cartoon characters.
'Take a seat, Harry,' Doctor Aune said. 'Chair or divan?'
That was his standard opener, and Harry responded by raising the left-hand corner of his mouth in his standard that's-funny-but-we've-heard-it-before smile. When Harry had rung from Gardemoen Airport, Aune had said Harry could come, but that he didn't have a lot of time as he had to go to a seminar in Hamar at which he was to give the opening speech.
'It's entitled 'Problems Related to the Diagnosis of Alcoholism',' Aune said. 'You won't be mentioned by name.'
'Is that why you're all dressed up?' Harry asked.
'Clothes are one of the strongest signals we transmit,' Aune said, running a hand along a lapel. 'Tweed signals masculinity and confidence.'
'And the bow-tie?' Harry asked, taking out his notebook and pen.
'Intellectual frivolity and arrogance. Gravity with a touch of self-irony, if you like. More than enough to impress second-rate colleagues, it seems.'
Aune leaned back, pleased with himself, his hands folded over his bulging stomach.
'Tell me about split personalities,' Harry said. 'Or schizophrenia.’
‘In five minutes?' Aune groaned. 'Give me a summary then.'
'First of all, you mention split personalities and schizophrenia in the same breath, and that is one of these misunderstandings that for some reason has caught the public's imagination. Schizophrenia is a term for a whole group of widely differing mental disorders and has nothing at all to do with split personalities. It's true schizo is Greek for split, but what Doctor Eugen Bleuler meant was that psychological functions in a schizophrenic's brain are split. And if
…'
Harry pointed to his watch.
'Right,' Aune said. 'The personality split you talked about is called an MPD, a multiple personality disorder, defined as the existence of two or more personalities in an individual which take turns in being the dominant partner. As with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.'
'So, it exists?'
'Oh, yes. But it's rare, a lot rarer than some Hollywood films would have us believe. In my twenty-five years as a psychologist I've never been lucky enough to observe a single instance of an MPD. But I do know something about it all the same.'
'For example?'
'For example, it is almost always connected with a loss of memory. In other words, an MPD sufferer could wake up with a hangover without realising that it is because their other personality is a drinker. Well, in fact, one personality can be an alcoholic and the other a teetotaller.'
'Not literally, I take it?'
'Certainly.'
'But alcoholism is a physical ailment too.'
'Yes, and that's what makes MPDs so fascinating. I have a report of an MPD case where one of the personalities was a big smoker while the other never touched cigarettes. And when you measured the blood pressure of the smoker it was 20 per cent higher. Women with an MPD have reported that they menstruate several times a month because every personality has its own cycle.'
'So these people can change their own physical nature?'
'To a certain degree, yes. The story about Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde is in fact not so far from the truth as one might think. In one well-known case described by Dr Osherson, one of the personalities was heterosexual while the other was homosexual.'
'Can the personalities have different voices?'
'Yes. Actually the voice is one of the easiest ways to observe the shift between personalities.'
'So different that even someone who knows this person extremely well would not recognise one of these other voices. On the phone, for example?'
'If the individual concerned knew nothing about the other personality, yes. With people who have only a superficial knowledge of the MPD patient, the change in gestures and body language can be enough for them to sit in the same room and not recognise the person.'
'Could someone with an MPD keep it hidden from those closest to them?'
'It's feasible, yes. How frequently the other personalities appear is an individual matter and patients can to some degree control the changes themselves, too.'
'But then the personalities would have to know about each other?'
'Yes, indeed, but that's not unusual either. And, just as in the novel about Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, there can be bitter clashes between the personalities because they have different goals, perceptions of morality, sympathies and antipathies with respect to the people around them and so on.'
'What about handwriting? Can they mess around with that too?'
'This is not messing around, Harry. You aren't the same person all the time, either. When you get home from work a whole load of imperceptible changes take place in you too: your voice, body language and so on. It's odd that you should mention handwriting because somewhere here I've got a book with a picture of a letter written by an MPD patient with seventeen totally different and totally consistent handwriting styles. I'll see if I can find it one day when I have more time.'
Harry noted down a few reminders on his pad.
'Different menstrual cycles, different handwriting; it's just absolutely insane,' he mumbled.
'Your words, Harry. I hope that helped because I've got to run.'
Aune ordered a taxi and they went out on to the street together. As they stood on the pavement Aune asked Harry if he had any plans for Independence Day on 17 May. 'Wife and I are going to have a few friends round for a meal. You're very welcome.'
'Kind of you, but the neo-Nazis are planning to 'take' the Muslims who celebrate Eid on the seventeenth and I've been instructed to coordinate surveillance round the mosque in Gronland,' Harry said, both happy and embarrassed at the surprise invitation. 'They always ask us singles to work on such family celebration days, you know'
'Couldn't you just drop in for a while? Most of the people who come have something of their own to go to later on in the day.'
'Thanks. Let's see what happens and I'll give you a ring. What are your friends like anyway?'
