the same rock that had been quarried to create the temple.
As I stood there shivering, I felt wave after wave of depression pass over me. I remembered Catriona’s death as though it had just been yesterday. As time passed, the little room filled with other, darker sensations, ugly and uncompromising, as though, in the deepest antiquity, fear and loathing and brutality had been laid down there for all time. Then, underneath all that, I became aware of another sensation, a conviction that I was in the presence of something wholly evil, something darker and older than the earth itself.
I turned to see d’Hervilly watching me intently.
‘You feel it?’ he asked.
‘It’s . . . horrible,’ I said. I felt as though I wanted to be sick.
‘Come back upstairs,’ he said. ‘You are not ready for this yet.’
Back in the cellar, d’Hervilly shut the trapdoor that led to the temple.
‘You will return here,’ he said. ‘When you are stronger, when you understand more. What you experienced today were the feelings of the victims who died here. The chamber is full of their pain, and if that is what you are attuned to, that is what you will experience. But in time you will see that there are other sensations, and when you are old enough and wise enough, you will be able to share them as well. Feelings of mastery, feelings of deep joy.’
We went upstairs to a room overlooking the sea.
‘What did you feel exactly?’ asked d’Hervilly. ‘It is best to explain, to bring it into the light.’
I told him what I could, finding it hard to put what I had felt into words, however simple.
‘The worst thing was the very beginning,’ I said. ‘I remembered someone I once knew, someone who’s dead, and it was as if I were reliving her death. It was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.’
‘That is not uncommon,’ he said. ‘The room seeks out our griefs and uses them to construct its own sensations in our minds. The first step in overpowering it is to gain control over our own feelings.’ He paused. ‘The person you told me about was Catriona, is that right?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Duncan told me about her, about how badly her death affected you. I am sorry. Duncan says she was very beautiful.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And very kind, and very funny. I miss her very much.’
‘That is natural. Do you have a photograph of her?’
I took one from my pocket and passed it to him. As he took it he smiled. I saw his finger move in the same circular motion that had been described by Duncan’s, as though encircling Catriona’s face; and he too whispered something inaudible beneath his breath.
‘Is this the only one you have?’he asked.
I shook my head.
‘No, I have several. I seldom look at them. But I like to have some with me.’
‘May I keep this? To help me remember your grief.’
I hesitated. I had given the photograph of Catriona’s grave freely to Duncan, since I considered him a friend. But d’Hervilly was a comparative stranger. On the other hand, he had just entertained me lavishly and spoken of further visits. He would not be a man to cross lightly.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘If you would like it.’
‘I would like it very much. Duncan was not mistaken. She was beautiful. At my age, it is good to be reminded of beauty.’
* * *
I left him shortly after that, walking back towards the medina in light that was losing its earlier strength. The air was still warm, but I could feel a freshness in the wind coming from the sea. I was too confused and full of thoughts to want to go straight back to Villiers. Instead, I headed into town, wandering past shops and cafés in the hope of distraction. At the end of Boulevard Pasteur, I saw a sign for the main post office, and this reminded me that I had told the secretary of the department back in Edinburgh that, should they need to get in touch with me, I might be contacted at the Poste Restante in Tangier.
I had a long wait in a
As I stood there shivering, I felt wave after wave of depression pass over me. I remembered Catriona’s death as though it had just been yesterday. As time passed, the little room filled with other, darker sensations, ugly and uncompromising, as though, in the deepest antiquity, fear and loathing and brutality had been laid down there for all time. Then, underneath all that, I became aware of another sensation, a conviction that I was in the presence of something wholly evil, something darker and older than the earth itself.
I turned to see d’Hervilly watching me intently.
‘You feel it?’ he asked.
‘It’s . . . horrible,’ I said. I felt as though I wanted to be sick.
‘Come back upstairs,’ he said. ‘You are not ready for this yet.’
Back in the cellar, d’Hervilly shut the trapdoor that led to the temple.
‘You will return here,’ he said. ‘When you are stronger, when you understand more. What you experienced today were the feelings of the victims who died here. The chamber is full of their pain, and if that is what you are attuned to, that is what you will experience. But in time you will see that there are other sensations, and when you are old enough and wise enough, you will be able to share them as well. Feelings of mastery, feelings of deep joy.’
We went upstairs to a room overlooking the sea.
‘What did you feel exactly?’ asked d’Hervilly. ‘It is best to explain, to bring it into the light.’
I told him what I could, finding it hard to put what I had felt into words, however simple.
‘The worst thing was the very beginning,’ I said. ‘I remembered someone I once knew, someone who’s dead, and it was as if I were reliving her death. It was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.’
‘That is not uncommon,’ he said. ‘The room seeks out our griefs and uses them to construct its own sensations in our minds. The first step in overpowering it is to gain control over our own feelings.’ He paused. ‘The person you told me about was Catriona, is that right?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Duncan told me about her, about how badly her death affected you. I am sorry. Duncan says she was very beautiful.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And very kind, and very funny. I miss her very much.’
‘That is natural. Do you have a photograph of her?’
I took one from my pocket and passed it to him. As he took it he smiled. I saw his finger move in the same circular motion that had been described by Duncan’s, as though encircling Catriona’s face; and he too whispered something inaudible beneath his breath.
‘Is this the only one you have?’he asked.
I shook my head.
‘No, I have several. I seldom look at them. But I like to have some with me.’
‘May I keep this? To help me remember your grief.’
I hesitated. I had given the photograph of Catriona’s grave freely to Duncan, since I considered him a friend. But d’Hervilly was a comparative stranger. On the other hand, he had just entertained me lavishly and spoken of further visits. He would not be a man to cross lightly.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘If you would like it.’
‘I would like it very much. Duncan was not mistaken. She was beautiful. At my age, it is good to be reminded of beauty.’
* * *
I left him shortly after that, walking back towards the medina in light that was losing its earlier strength. The air was still warm, but I could feel a freshness in the wind coming from the sea. I was too confused and full of thoughts to want to go straight back to Villiers. Instead, I headed into town, wandering past shops and cafés in the hope of distraction. At the end of Boulevard Pasteur, I saw a sign for the main post office, and this reminded me that I had told the secretary of the department back in Edinburgh that, should they need to get in touch with me, I might be contacted at the Poste Restante in Tangier.
I had a long wait in a
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