A Lonely and Curious Country (22 page)

Igawesdi

Cliff Biggers

              “In your phone call, you mentioned a book, Mr...”

              “Conroy—Edward Conroy. Yes, I did. It’s an unusual book, and I had been told that you were an expert in this sort of thing.”

              “Thank you, Mr. Conroy. I suppose that’s true, yes—I’ve spent years studying what are sometimes classified as “forbidden books.” Which is why I was interested in the particular book that you mentioned...”

              “I’m not sure that it’s the sort of book you’d be interested in, Dr. Ahlstrom. It’s not just the book’s contents that struck me as odd—it’s the book itself.”

              Dr. Ahlstrom did his best to maintain a professional aloofness, but his demeanor betrayed his interest. “Yes, you mentioned that. Did you bring the book with you?”

              “Not the actual book, no—but I did bring some copies I made, and a few photos of the book’s binding.” Conroy opened a heavy brown leather satchel, removed a folder, and from that folder he pulled out a stack of pages. He placed them on Ahlstrom’s mahogany desk and started to slide them across. Before he could do so, however, Dr. Ahlstrom had reached across with a bit more eagerness than he intended to display. He began flipping through them, stopping at random intervals to scrutinize the pages’ contents.

              There was a silence that might have seemed uncomfortable to most people, but Conroy sat patiently.

              Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Initially, Ahlstrom flipped through the pages casually, clearly expecting very little. But after a few such flips, his pace slowed; it was clear that he was reading some passages rather than superficially scanning them. Whatever was in these xeroxes, it had piqued his interest... and more.

              Almost twenty minutes passed before Ahlstrom spoke again.

              “It’s not what I expected,” Ahlstrom finally said.

              “Sorry I’ve wasted your time,” Conroy said as he reached for the copies.

              Dr. Ahlstrom’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly, “No—no, that’s not what I mean. It’s just—well, it’s different than anything I’ve seen before.

              “People are always bringing me books they claim to be rare grimoires, or a distant relative’s spellbook, or an apocryphal necromantic reference. Most of the time, it is a waste of my time. Something cobbled together by not particularly imaginative Supernatural fans or would-be horror writers. The usual nonsense names mixed with genre fiction creatures and demons, some Biblical names, that sort of thing. But these pages... well, they’re not like that at all.”

              “So they’re the real thing?” Conroy’s bit of a smile showed that he was pleased with what he had heard so far.

              “Not exactly the real thing, as you put it. But they are the product of people who
know
the real thing.”

              “I’m not sure I follow...”

              “You know what Wikipedia is? Well, this book is like an occult Wikipedia. It’s an incredibly detailed reference volume. Cultes des Goules, the Pnakotic Manuscripts, The Unexpurgated Book of Lilith, the Zanthu Tablets, The Igawesdi, Unaussprechlichen Kulten, The Ninth Book of Moses... They’re all in here. But what’s significant is that they’re all correctly referenced.”

              “So you’re saying it’s like a reading list, or a long book report?”

              “No, no—that’s not it. In every case, the books are
distilled
... and quite expertly. The excess verbiage has been stripped away, the style has been clarified to remove archaisms, but the
content
is all here. I’m basing that on the books that I’m familiar with, of course—some of the books represented in here are almost mythic, in fact. I’ve heard of The Igawesdi on multiple occasions, but I’ve never seen a copy. I’ve only heard of one scholar—an expert in Tsalagi culture— who ever had one, but that was decades ago. And yet your book contains what I am confident are very detailed recountings of its contents, complete with spells and incantations. It’s as if experts on every ‘forbidden book’ had written down the most secret elements of each book. Thus the Wikipedia allusion—it’s like what Wikipedia was supposed to be, a master reference produced by experts in their chosen fields.”

              “So you’re telling me that my book is a comprehensive reference to ‘forbidden books?’”

              “Obviously I only had a few minutes to peruse its contents, but it seems to be quite thorough.” Ahlstrom paused for effect before he continued. “However, I notice some significant omissions..”

              “Omissions? You mean there are books that are not referenced in here?”

              “Well, I’m only basing this on the photocopies you have here, but you did include the contents page. As I read through it, two books stood out in their absence. One is the Necronomicon, of course—I know of only one complete copy still in existence, and access is quite limited—and the other is Ascuns La Vedere.”

              “Ascuns La Vedere? What’s that?”

              “You’ve asked that question to the right person,” Ahlstrom said with a slight laugh. “I’ve actually devoted much of my professional life to this book. It’s a sort of occult taxonomy... a book that classifies by type and effect all the demons and horrors that most people can’t see. The book purports that we are surrounded by monstrous creatures who are scarcely more aware of us than we are of them. In our case, we are simply incapable of fully experiencing them with our sensory limitations. In their case, we are so insignificant that our very existence is as unimportant to them as is the existence of dust mites to us. Ascuns La Vedere opens that world... it explains how to open the gateways.”

              “You’re quite the expert, aren’t you?”

              Ahlstrom smiled. “I suppose I am. I was the first person to translate the book into English, in fact. I have chosen not to publish that translation, however, so I have the only English copy.”

              “I guess I was lucky that I showed this to you, then. No one else would have caught the omissions, I’ll bet.”

              “Quite correct! I would guess that there’s not another scholar in the field who would have caught that omission. But that doesn’t mean that your book is worthless, by any means, just incomplete. Even so, I’d love to see a copy of the entire book, not just the pages you’ve included here.

              “Oh, I could mail you a copy if you’d like,” Conroy replied. “If you could give me a self-addressed envelope, I’d be glad to xerox the rest of the book and send you the entire thing.”

              “Excellent!” Ahlstrom said in a mock Mr. Burns voice, complete with tented fingers, after which he grinned briefly. Ahlstrom had became more casual, more comfortable as the conversation had turned to his own work. “I have an envelope,” he said, rummaging into a desk drawer, “but I don’t have any stamps.”

              “Not a problem--I have a few here. They’re older stamps, so they’re not self-adhesive. I found them in a folder in the back of my desk the other day, and just threw them in here just in case.” He passed the stamps over to Ahlstrom—a mix of colorful images of varying values. “I think it’s about $5 worth of stamps, total; that should do it.”

              “Oh, don’t worry—if it’s not enough, I’ll be glad to pay the postage due!”

              Ahlstrom wrote his address in both spaces on the oversized envelope to ensure that the envelope would get to him even if it was rejected for insufficient postage, licked the stamps, then placed them across the top right in three rows of varying lengths. He then passed the oversized envelope to Conroy.”

              “I look forward to reading the entire book, Mr...”

              “Conroy.”

              “Yes, Mr. Conroy. I’m sorry--it’s one of the hazards of having taught for so many years. I’ve dealt with so many students and so many names that they slip right out of my head nowadays. But you also mentioned something else—something about the book itself being unusual.”

              “Oh, yes,” Conroy said, reaching for his iPhone. “I almost forgot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.” As he spoke, he brought up his Photos folder, flipped between pictures for a second or two, then made his selection. He passed the phone over.

              The screen showed a book bound in a patchwork of various leathers in various hues. It was not a sturdy textured leather, though; instead it appeared to be a very fine leather, as fine as kidskin. The pieces varied in tint—many almost the same hue, some a darker, richer tone—but the texture seemed to be quite uniform. The edges of each square were lined up perfectly, turned under and stitched so meticulously that no seams were visible.

              “I’ve never seen a book like this,” Ahlstrom said. “I’d love to examine the actual book. Would that be possible?”

              “I don’t have the book with me, as I mentioned when I called. Sorry.”

              “What about other photos?”

              “Oh, yes—there are several. Just flip from photo to photo.”

              Subsequent shots showed details of some of the binding squares. There was something bout the texture of the leather that seemed familiar to Ahlstrom. He zoomed in to the point that pixellation began to detract from the image. “I think I know what this is,” he finally said. “Anthropodermic bibliopegy, if my guess is right.”

              “Anthropomorphic?...”

              “No, anthropodermic. Human skin. I suspect this book is bound in human skin—or, judging from the patchwork nature, human skins.”

              “No way!”

              “It certainly appears that way. It’s not unheard of, although it’s quite unusual. There are books that have been bound in human flesh—not just books of necromancy, but erotic books bound in skin taken from the female breast. Even a book bound in a human face.” As he spoke, Ahlstrom flipped ahead to the next picture, then the one after that. “I’d li... I’d like to see more, but the... the photos are... are.... blurry...” Ahlstrom’s speech was slurring somewhat, and he seemed to be struggling to complete a sentence.

              “Oh, no—the photos are quite sharp. It’s your eyes, Dr. Ahlstrom—they’re getting blurry.”

              “Wha?...” He looked up at Conroy, but seemed to have trouble focusing, and his head lolled slightly to one side.

              “The stamps, Dr. Ahlstrom. The stamps were drugged. One of two stamps should have been enough to paralyze you, but I brought extras just to be sure. I was confident that you wouldn’t be able to resist a chance to see the entire book once I gave you the bait.

              “You were right, Dr. Ahlstrom—the book is a distillation, as you put it, of a great many forbidden books. And each chapter is absolutely accurate because it was produced by an expert in that particular book.” As Conroy spoke, he rummaged thorugh his bag. Finally, he removed several tools—some quite modern, some visibly antique.

              “It was one of the secrets of the Igawesdi, you see. I was a graduate assistant to Professor Ridge, who had dedicated much of his career to that book. His notes were quite thorough.” He paused and picked up a scalpel, inspecting it closely. Then he removed another tool—a rod with a wooden turn handle on top and a saw-edged cylindrical piece at the bottom.

              “That first piece you saw in close-up? That was Professor Ridge. He was the first who I added to the book. And the book was right—I followed its instructions, and within days all of Professor Ridge’s knowledge of the Igawesdi appeared in my book, just as his translation indicated.”

              Other tools—a curved metallic spoon-like scoop, a dental pick, an awl. And a few small containers, along with zip-loc bags.

              “Oh, and his computer? It was amazing—those files contained his correspondence with a number of scholars, each an expert on one forbidden book or another. It was a virtual guidebook, matching scholar and book. The second square? That was Dr. Mosig, the leading authority on De Vermis Mysteriis.”

              After meticulously arranging his tools on the desk, Conroy picked up the scalpel and leaned in close to Ahlstrom’s face. “I only recently found out about Ascuns La Vedere—I can thank Professor Schwartz for that. He was quite talkative, and he mentioned your name and your work more than once.” Conroy picked up his iPhone once again, then flipped a few photos forward. He held the screen up to Ahlstrom’s unfocused eyes. “That square? Professor Schwartz!”

              He brought the blade up to Ahlstrom’s eyes... then went slightly higher, to his forehead. “The instructions were very specific—the flesh had to come from the forehead. It had to be the skin over the third eye.” As he spoke, he began to cut. Ahlstrom was aware of the pain, almost as if it were a memory rather than a real sensation... but the blood that was running into his eyes was quite real. The cut was quick and clean. Then he picked up another tool, a scraper of some sort, to help him remove the square of flesh cleanly.