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Back The Double Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
  47. 47
  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
  53. 53
  54. 54
  55. 55
  56. 56
  57. 57
  58. 58
  59. 59
  60. 60
  61. 61
  62. 62
  63. Acknowledgements

On and on they went through the list of words. There was no rhyme or reason to them, no pattern he could discern, though he’d always been more of a numbers person. Analysing data was his strong suit. The gears in his parietal and frontal lobes clicking into place as he worked through a series of equations and algorithms. But as his muscles relaxed, he gave himself over to the sound of Dr Lindstrom’s well-modulated voice and lilting accent, until the rhythm of the words took on the cadence of a lullaby. Never a good sleeper, he could imagine sinking into a deep slumber, her cool fingers soothing his brow. Not a lover’s touch, but a maternal one. His own mother had been dead for thirty-five years, but in Dr Lindstrom’s soothing voice she seemed to rise again.

‘Dry.’

‘Desert.’

‘Bird.’

‘Caged.’

On and on, until it felt as though they’d been trapped in the little room for days. As fatigue turned to exhaustion – when had he ever felt this tired? – the painting on the wall appeared to take on a three-dimensional form. An oblong shape pushed out from the canvas and beckoned to him. A portal. His body slipped its bonds and levitated above the couch for a few moments before floating towards the aperture, just large enough for him to slip through.

On the other side, he caught a glimpse of paradise. That enchanting word, Persian for garden, and the paradise arrayed before him was indeed an enticing garden of delights, shimmering and dancing in the sun. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of orange blossoms and rose petals, rejoicing in the sound of water splashing in a fountain. A dark-haired woman in a white robe appeared from behind a pomegranate tree and held out a slender hand. Her green eyes beckoned. Come.

In a strangled voice he called out Ummi! and stumbled forward to meet her.

‘Mr Kiraly?’

Dr Lindstrom leaned over him, peering into his face with a frown. ‘Are you all right?’

He struggled to sit and fell back. ‘I’m sorry, what? I must have… nodded off.’ He squeezed his head in his hands.

‘It is rather warm in here.’ She touched his shoulder. ‘Let me get you a glass of water.’

Her face swam in and out of his line of vision. Water, yes. His throat was inexplicably parched and his head ached terribly, as if he’d been travelling through a scorching desert under the noonday sun. She unfastened the shutters and opened the window to let in the mountain air, damp and cool as water from a spring. When he looked at the painting, the blood still pounding in his chest, it was flat and innocuous. Nothing but a few lines slashed in chalk. The garden of earthly delights was gone.

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