“Maja, you’re dangerous, so dangerous,” I said, putting down the camera.
“I know I’m a naughty girl.”
“But I’m a married man, you have to understand that.”
“Don’t you think I’m beautiful?”
“You’re amazingly beautiful, Maja.”
“More beautiful than your wife?”
“Stop it.”
“But I turn you on, don’t I?” she whispered, then giggled before suddenly becoming serious.
I nodded, moved back, and saw her give a very satisfied smile. “I can still carry on with my interviews, can’t I?”
“Absolutely,” I said, moving toward the door.
She blew me a kiss, I blew one back, and then I left her studio, hurried downstairs, and headed for my bike.
That night I dreamed I was looking at a stone relief depicting three nymphs. I woke myself up saying something out loud, so loud I could hear the echo of my own voice in the dark, silent bedroom. Simone had come home while I was asleep; she stirred in her sleep beside me. I was drenched with sweat from my dream, and the alcohol was still coursing through my blood. A street cleaning truck rumbled past the window, flashing its light. The building was silent. I got up to take a pill and tried not to think, but what had happened the previous evening returned, immediately and vividly: I had photographed Maja Swartling while she was practically naked. I had taken pictures of her breasts, her legs, and her transparent spring-green panties. But we didn’t have sex, I kept repeating to myself. I hadn’t intended to, I hadn’t wanted to- I had over-stepped, but I hadn’t betrayed Simone. Had I? I was wide awake now, chillingly wide awake. What was the matter with me? How the hell had I let myself be persuaded to photograph Maja naked? She was beautiful and seductive, and I had been flattered by her attention. Was that all it took? I realized with surprise that I had discovered a real weak point in myself: I was vain. Nothing within me could claim I was falling in love with her. It was my vanity that enjoyed her company so much.
I rolled over and pulled the duvet over my face, and after a while I fell into a heavy sleep again.
Marek was in a state of deep hypnotic rest. He sat low in his chair, his sweater straining over his powerful upper arms and his overdeveloped back muscles. His hair was cropped very short, exposing a scalp covered with scars. His jaws were chewing slowly; he raised his head and looked at me with empty eyes.
“I can’t stop laughing,” he said loudly. “The shocks are making this guy from Mostar jump around like a cartoon character.”
Marek looked happy, his head swaying from side to side.
“He’s lying on the concrete floor, dark with blood, breathing fast, very fast. And then he curls up and starts crying. Fucking pussy. I shout at him, tell him to get on his feet, tell him I’ll kill him if he doesn’t get up. I lean over to give him one more shock, but his body just jerks like a dead pig. I call over to the door and tell them the fun is over, but they come in with this guy’s older brother. I know him, we worked together for a couple of years at Aluminij, the factory- ”
Marek stopped speaking, his chin quivering.
“What happens now?” I asked quietly.
He sat in silence for a while before he began speaking again. “The floor is covered with green grass; I can’t see the guy from Mostar any more; there’s just a little mound of grass.”
“Isn’t that strange?” I asked. “I don’t know, maybe, but I can’t see the room any more. I’m outside, walking across a summer meadow; the grass is damp and cold beneath my feet.”
Carefully, I brought everyone out of the hypnosis, checking to make sure each of them was all right before I started the discussion. Marek wiped the tears from his cheeks and stretched. He had big patches of sweat under his arms.
“I was forced to do it, that was their thing. They forced me to torture my old friends,” he said.
“We know.”
He looked at us with a shy, searching smile. “I laughed because I was frightened. I’m not like that. I’m not dangerous,” he said.
“You liked hurting people,” Lydia said with a soft smile. “Why can’t you admit that?”
“Shut your mouth!” yelled Marek, moving over to her with his hand raised.
“Sit down,” I said forcefully.
“Don’t shout at me, Marek,” Lydia said calmly.
He met her gaze and stopped. “Sorry,” he said, with an uncertain smile; he ran his hand over his head a couple of times and sat down. I called for a break.
It was a gloomy day. Rain hung heavily in the air. The wind blowing in was cold, and carried with it a faint smell of wet leaves, a reminder of winter that made me feel glum. My patients began to return to their seats.
Eva Blau was dressed all in blue; she had even painted her narrow lips with blue lipstick and made up her eyes with blue mascara. She seemed anxious as usual, placing her cardigan around her shoulders and then taking it off, over and over again.
Lydia was talking to Pierre; as he listened, his eyes and mouth contracted in painful, repetitive tics.
Marek had turned his back on me. His body-builder’s muscles twitched as he searched for something in his backpack.
I waved to Sibel; she carefully stubbed out her cigarette on her shoe and replaced it in the pack.
“Let’s continue,” I said, intending to make a fresh attempt with Eva Blau.
Although Eva Blau’s face was tense, a teasing smile played across her blue-painted lips. I was wary of her pliancy; it was a form of manipulation. I had an idea of how I could stress the voluntary nature of hypnosis to her, though. It was obvious to me that she needed help to relax and begin to sink.
I watched Eva as I told everyone to let their chin drop to their chest. She immediately reacted with a big smile. As I counted backwards, I could feel the descent against my back, the water enveloping me, but I remained alert. Eva was sneaking a look at Pierre, trying to breathe with the same rhythm.
“You are sinking slowly,” I said. “Deeper down into rest, into relaxation, into a pleasant heaviness.”
I moved behind my patients, seeing their pale necks and rounded backs; I stopped behind Eva and placed a hand on her shoulder. Without opening her eyes she turned her face up slowly, pushing her lips out slightly.
“Now I am talking only to Eva,” I said. “Eva, I want you to remain awake but relaxed the whole time. You are to listen to my voice when I speak to the group. You will feel the same calmness, the same pleasant immersion, but you will not be hypnotized; you will remain awake throughout.”
I felt her shoulders relax.
“Now I am speaking to everyone again. Listen to me. I am going to count, and with each number we will sink deeper, deeper into relaxation. Eva, you will accompany us, but you will remain conscious and awake all the time.”
As I returned to my place I counted backwards, and when I sat down in front of them I could see that Eva’s face was limp, completely relaxed. It was almost hard to believe it was the same person. Her lower lip was drooping, the wet, pink inside a stark contrast to the blue lipstick, and her breathing was very heavy. I turned inwards, let go, and sank through the water in a dark shaft. We were inside a shipwreck or a flooded house. A stream of salt water came up to meet me from below. Air bubbles and small pieces of seaweed floated by.
“Keep going, deeper, calmer,” I exhorted them gently.
After perhaps twenty minutes we were all standing deep underwater on a perfectly smooth steel floor. A few odd molluscs had managed to attach themselves to the metal. Small clumps of algae could be seen here and there. A white crab scuttled sideways across the flat surface. The group stood in a semicircle in front of me. Eva’s face was pale, her expression faintly surprised. A grey, watery light billowed over her cheeks, reflecting and flowing.
Her face looked naked, almost innocent, when she was so deeply relaxed. A bubble of saliva formed at the side of her open mouth.
“Eva, tell us what you can see.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Tell the rest of us,” I urged calmly. “Where are you?”
She suddenly looked strange. It was as if something had surprised her. “I’ve gone away. I’m walking along the
