The Strangling Hand
by Karl Hans Strobl
translated by Joe E. Bandel
Copyright Joe E. Bandel
The Strangling Hand Ch 1 pg 9-12
“His memory permits him to be like a saint, but it will not belittle him, if I tell you that he didn’t have any more to give, that he was not producing any more great creations. The people have already glorified and immortalized his claim to fame. The world would have become very impatient if they had to wait for his final great work. They would have become very impatient with him and because of that his glory would have become less than it now is.”
“But you have only spoken to me about him, now tell me a little about yourself.”
“There is not anything to say about myself, other than that I loved him.”
“There is only one love, but it’s appearance is multifold and varied like the colorful images of this world and nature will never tire of creating ever changing shapes and blossoms. Each day is a celebration.”
The glass dome arched higher, and an exquisite silence sank down upon her that rang against the smooth marble walls like silver. Then the Frau began to talk, and the finger tips of her hands slid over the cool surface of the table.
“He lifted me up, when I was close to falling. I s pent my youth among strange people, in whose houses I had to educate spoiled children. They tolerated me at the table, because they were so disturbed by the bad habits and sassy questions of the little girls. But they never forgot to let me know that my good work was in service to them.
The grown sons and Masters of the houses often pretended to be sweet when they were alone with me. They brought little gifts and flowers, which they asked me to hide from their mothers and spouses. I pretended not to understand their hints and wishes, so I could never find a permanent home.
Going from place to place made me tired, and in the house where I finally ended up the not so subtle pressure of the gentleman wore down my resistance. He had a strange power over his entire environment and was a terrible Master. He had the cruelty and lewdness of an Assyrian conqueror.
It was one evening in a quiet park, after a difficult storm, when I felt that my power was broken and that I would soon succumb to his will. I saw swans like blue birds with large wings fly up a narrow stream, and from far away came the sounds of their music.
That was where I spoke to a young man, and his first words told me that a poet was standing in front of me. He felt my despair and the distress deep within my soul. Every one of his words was so good and kind that they seemed to caress me like soft hands and I could not resist him. When he asked me to share his happiness and his meager life, I took it as a gift from an old friend.
He led me back to the house of my oppressor, beat his empty threats into the wind, and didn’t allow himself to be intimidated by the teeth grinding and angry gestures.. Then we lived in a dream for six years and ... were ... happy.”
The long beard of Eleagabal Kuperus trembled on his breast. His finger followed a red marble thread on the table, at which the young blond Frau was sitting. Her eyes seemed to be blinded by a radiant glory. The dark cloth that had covered her head and shoulders had slid down onto her lap, and all the light in the room, which flowed in invisible waves, seemed to appear and collect on her transfigured pale face and radiate back at him.
“Have you told me everything?” Asked Eleagabal Kuperus.
“I have been given very much. What I mean is that we were happy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were unfaithful to him?”
“It was his right as a poet to leave, and yet, he always returned to me. His love only made my conquest greater”
At that Eleagabal Kuperus bowed down and kissed the young Frau on the forehead, and she looked him quietly in the eyes as he took her by the hand.
“Now I will gladly fulfill your wish.”
“He spoke of you with reverence and conceived many plans of how he could be closer to you. Your life had a great influence over him. He often said that you were the one that had the power and courage to shake off all the things that he couldn’t. He created his island, which the entire world had to go around. He built high barriers around his life, and only narrow paths led to him. Now he himself comes on a narrow path. It was his last wish to have his head preserved. Will you deny him your skill?”
“I waited for him, and he didn’t come. I will not deny him my skill now . Follow me.”
Eleagabal took the hand of the Frau and walked with her toward the marble wall. No door was visible, and the Frau shrank back when her forehead almost touched the stone. Then she saw that delicate copper leaf vines stretched over the opening and they looked like the green and red veins in the marble. The hand of the man reached in, lifted the vines and she stepped through.
Another room lay in front of her, a type of laboratory with marble walls and like the domed hall it had a row of columns. These columns were permeated with a mild tranquil light that spread through the room in invisible waves. Marble pedestals were placed around the room near the walls, upon which, beneath glass covers, lay human limbs; arms, legs, and hands with the full appearance of life, whose cut surfaces appeared to be still fresh and bloodied. Eleagabal Kuperus lifted up one of the glass covers and invited the Frau to touch the arm, a beautiful woman’s arm. Emma obeyed without horror or disgust and felt how the skin was soft and supple, so that the flesh gave way beneath the pressure of her fingers.
“This arm is 30 years old: it belonged to my daughter Constance,” said Eleagabal. “I studied and researched for a long time until I discovered this method to bring back life from the dead. The old Egyptians preserved the bodies of their dead for life in the underworld. But those dried out, shriveled up bodies, whose cavities were filled with spices and wrapped with countless bandages, are more frightening in their decomposition because they no longer maintain the beautiful shape that life once gave them.”
He pointed to one corner where a wrinkled and ridiculous head could be seen with a narrow gold band around its forehead which appeared to be glowing. It lay within a weathered black coffin. Emma was frightened and turned quickly away, in order to follow Eleagabal, who walked in front of her explaining as he guided her from pedestal to pedestal, from one memorial of his life to the next, and at each she marveled at the perfection of his art, the perfection of its victory over the dead relatives and friends who had donated parts of their bodies to this remarkable museum. So many of them had been dead for decades and their limbs here still retained an unending freshness. They stopped in front of one where the head of a negro lay on a shiny mirrored plate beneath a bell jar.
“This head was not the best part of my Hassan,” said Eleagabal Kuperus, “but it was a strong skull and took more than one chop, which shattered the cutting board, for me to cut it off.”
The way that Eleagabal grabbed the thick curly hair with loving tenderness and softly held it showed how loyal this servant had been and Emma sensed how much he had been loved. A little breeze of eternity, uninterrupted by death, lay in this room, a continued sympathetic existence, on these pedestals placed at measured intervals. And they insured beyond any doubt that oblivion was not known here. The deep peace of a temple and quietness of a true home gave the room a deep sense of happiness. Here time was stopped and could no longer unfold. It was dammed up, and only flowed in a measure that was pleasing to the master of this house, slowly and without beating waves. The water in this chamber did not carry the smell of sewer, of decay and rot that often was given off by a cadaver, but remained refined and clear as if it was purified through a machine.
So detached from all other things, yet at the same time suspended in and through itself, a world in space, so filled with peace lay within this chamber. These things were so strange to the young Frau, so content and inoffensive as they gave themselves to this man. While she was lost in thought and kept coming back to these images of the infinite, the mild light within the room transformed to became stronger and more radiant. It seemed as if red bundles of light radiated out from the columns, until the walls lay bathed in a glowing red like the light through a stained glass window, and all of the limbs twitched upon their pedestals in these strong life giving rays.
I am currently translating this book a few pages at a time. I will be posting them as I translate them. If you enjoy this story and type of literature please support me and become a patron. Translation is hard work and takes a lot of time. Consider donating $1 a month to help out. This book is over 500 pages long! You can donate at my website:
http://thelastrosicrucian.is/wp/
or my Patreon link: https://www.patreon.com/anarchistbanjo
Comments are welcome!