Chapter 53, Station to Station

Station to Station

The year was 1897 and Frank was 36. The rotting tooth had been the first imperfection delivered to his body by age, but it had told him that the time was approaching when he would seek recourse to the cave, the nutriment and what it contained. Travel to Edgeøya was easy enough to arrange but took several days from Paris; requiring a train journey from Gare du Nord to Brussels and then to Copenhagen. From here the train ferry, the Helsingør – Helsingborg route aboard the latest ship, the paddle steamer Thyra would get him over the short 2.5 nautical miles crossing to Sweden. Frank still felt it necessary to leave for Svalbard on mining industry supply ships from Norway. Once in his native country he could go where he wanted with no questions asked, and he knew which skippers would drop him off in Edgeøya with appropriate discretion. There was also the small detail that the owners of the French train company operating out of Gare du Nord were both regular customers for his most potent narcotic gas and enthusiastic participants in the bestial orgies he helped orchestrate; thus assuring him of a free private compartment at least as far as the Belgian capital.

Katt had changed everything: his identical copy of the marmalade queen had inherited learnt behaviour from the original after he had mixed cerebral matter from the fore brain with the cat’s life blood in the nutriment. He had transferred memory from original to copy. This was enough for Frank. His next transfer of memory would be performed upon himself, the target being his other pale body floating in an Arctic cave pool. The Princess could help his personal project along by one more crucial step however: it had occurred to Frank that he might increase his already impressive intellectual capacity by adding a contributor to the transfer process. Frank was currently engaged in the onanistic process, long and delicate as he preferred, of selecting the correct intellectual and practical experience that would allow him to grow and expand his ability to both survive and enrich himself. He was fully aware that living for a very long time also required an updating of the interests. An immortal dinosaur remained a big lizard. His early introduction to Wallace and Darwin had not been forgotten. Just as his geographical return to Edgeøya was a matter of moving from station to station, so would be his individual evolution. He thought of mad Nietzsche and smiled. He detested the German’s moustache and his notions of what the Superman should do. Frank was to be the Superman, and he should do nothing, he would do whatever he wished. He also detested pubic hair, and he imagined that of Nietzsche to be particularly appalling. Frank regarded shaving as a whole-body experience, and an essential aspect of intellectual clarity. His contempt for Nietzsche would have an important role to play in his life 40 years later, but by then he would be three times the man he was now, and soon to incorporate a fourth personality into the Greater Frank.

He lifted a glass of iced tea to his lips and the stabbing pain in his tooth took him instantly from Gare du Nord to Gare Austerlitz: he needed to get his dental work finished by Dr Jean-Louis Meaursault. He depressed the button which would alert the staff to his request and carefully placed his papers into the desk before locking. His ideas were already protected by their complexity and the fact that they were written in Norwegian, but Frank trusted no-one. Although he had full confidence in his gas to remove all pain from the dental carnage to come, he swallowed a large glass of Absinthe before following the maid to the waiting Phaeton carriage. The twin grey mares propelled him rapidly from the expanse of the estate to the dark grove which Browne had called Cleis’ quim. Within the hour he stood before the pre-revolution block in which was situated the office of his dentist. Meaursault appeared promptly at his knock and ushered him to the Wilkerson chair. Perhaps under the socially liberating influence of the absinthe Frank entered into conversation with the dentist.

“M. Meaursault, what interests do you have beyond your profession, I know you refrain from the hedonism of many of my other customers, but you must be an intelligent fellow to work as you do,” Frank tried to think of the most absurd hobby to put the man at ease; “Pottery possibly?”

Of course, Frank’s psychological ploy worked, and the dentist laughed. “No M. Kørner, but in the arts. I am an afficionado of new music, and Paris is the place to hear it. Only last night I was present at a sublime performance of pieces by Saint-Saëns and Ravel. Do you know their works?”

“I fear I know nothing of music apart from that sung in my native Norway.” Frank was keen to know more of this world, wishing to delay the application of the ether for a few minutes until his curiosity had been satisfied.

“You are missing a musical evolution in Paris at this moment, M. Kørner, every type of music is being transformed by composers of the finest degree. All forms from different cultures are being explored, adapted and refined. It is both beautiful for its own sake and yet presages great promise for the happy union of all peoples of all nations in the century to come. Art, and particularly music will liberate mankind from war to a glorious equality and fraternity in creative expression.”

With these heartfelt words Meaursault placed the leather bag of gas over Frank’s nose and mouth and counted down: “dix, neuf, huit…”

An ostrich composed of diamonds in primary colours marched across Frank’s field of perception, and it did so over and over again, jumping a box in time to an imagined melody that came from Spain, Russia and Norway. This gave Frank his first taste of the visceral pleasure of music and his first contributor, the only contributor he would take, kill and immortalise for reasons other than pique.

On regaining consciousness Frank sought two things: a tool to enter the dentist’s skull and a means of liquifying and extracting the content required.  He had them identified before he could speak. As the numbness left his lips, he received the offered cup of wine. As Meaursault busied himself with cleaning his instruments Frank picked up the long pliers and with a savage upthrust, inserted them into the space behind the left ear. He then let the suction tube take their place and pushed it in far enough to be inside the frontal lobe. Now maximum suction was applied and at first reluctantly, but then more rapidly, clots of cerebral matter entered the collecting cylinder. He would macerate them next and enclose in ice for the long journey ahead.

As he locked the door, the precious substance secreted in a pocket, Frank had one more altruistic thought, possibly his last: he would deliver on his promise to Cleis, although she wouldn’t like it, a deal was a deal.