Mortal Mischief Read Online Free PDF

operatic sob, full of despair and melancholy. At the same time, the woman's right leg moved forward.
'Good,' said Gruner. He applied the rods again.
The woman's legs began to shake.
'Stand up, Signora.'
The shaking became more pronounced.
'Stand up!' Gruner commanded.
Grimacing, Signora Locatelli pressed her hands down hard on the arms of the wooden throne and a moment later she was standing up, her whole body trembling. Gruner stepped back so that every member of the audience could see and appreciate his achievement. He held the metal rods up like trophies.
'Observe, gentlemen. See how the subject stands. If hysteria were a psychological illness, then what you are now witnessing would not be possible.'
To Liebermann, Signora Locatelli's balance looked precarious. Her arms were extended outwards, a little like an acrobat standing on a high wire. She did not appear to be pleased or surprised by her accomplishment. Instead, her features seemed to be contorted by fear and confusion.
'Signora,' said Gruner. 'Perhaps you would care to venture a step or two?'
Her upper body swayed and wobbled above legs that refused to respond. It was as though the patient's feet were fixed to the floor.
'Come now, Signora. Just one step.'
Using all her strength, the diplomat's wife cried out as she forced her left leg forward. But as she did so she finally lost her balance and fell. The assisting doctor caught Signora Locatelli under the arms and lowered her gently onto the chair, where she lay back, breathing heavily, her forehead beaded with sweat.
Gruner placed the rods in the box and switched off his machine. The buzzing stopped, creating a strangely solid silence that was broken only by Signora Locatelli's loud exhalations.
A smattering of applause, which then became more vigorous as others joined in, passed through the audience. The man sitting in front of Liebermann suddenly stood up and cried out: 'Bravo, Herr Professor.'
Liebermann turned towards Kanner, raising his voice above the applause.
'I'm never going to sit through one of these absurd, barbaric and humiliating demonstrations again.'
Kanner leaned towards his friend and spoke directly into his ear.
'You'll be dismissed.'
'So be it.'
Kanner shrugged: 'Well, don't say I didn't warn you.'

4
T HE CENTRAL PATHWAY was flanked by eight muses and ascended to the lower cascade: a giant stone shell, supported by a team of tritons and sea nymphs. The balustrades lining the steps on either side of the fountain were populated by chubby putti, and beyond was the first of the Belvedere's celebrated sphinxes.
'Did the storm frighten you?'
'Max, I'm not a child. Of course it didn't frighten me.'
The ground was still wet, and Liebermann had to guide Clara through an archipelago of puddles. He couldn't help noticing her boots – so small and elegant.
'Although Rachel made a fuss.'
'Did she?'
'Oh yes, she knocked on my door and insisted that I let her in.'
'And did you?'
'Of course I did. I told her that there was nothing to be frightened of – and that the storm would pass. But it didn't seem to do much good. She simply crawled into my bed and pulled the covers over her head.'
'How long did she stay like that?'
'Until it stopped.'
Once they had negotiated the puddles, Liebermann offered Clara his arm, which she took without hesitation. 'What was Rachel frightened of? What did she think was going to happen?'
'I don't know. Perhaps you should analyse her – although it wouldn't do any good. Rachel wouldn't listen to anything you said.'
Liebermann had explained to Clara that psychoanalysis was more about listening than 'telling', but resisted the urge to correct her. 'True. But neither do you!'
Clara broke away, laughing. She turned and, facing Liebermann, started walking backwards.
'Be careful,' said Liebermann. 'You might stumble.'
'No, I won't. It's better this way – I'm enjoying the view.'
Clara was wearing a long coat with a fur collar and a Cossack-style hat. The ensemble emphasised the