The Cleansing Flames Part 5

Porfiry acknowledged his presence with a respectful bow. 'Are you here to witness the medical examination? I am the investigating magistrate in charge of the case.'

'I will not set foot in there again, sir.'

Porfiry raised one eyebrow for Virginsky's benefit. 'But you are here as one of the official witnesses? The law requires that we have two citizens present.'

'You cannot make me go back in there and look at that thing. It is too much to ask of a respectable citizen.'

'The other witness is inside, I take it?'

'The other witness took himself off entirely.'

'That is indeed unfortunate. We do need two witnesses.'

'I can hardly say I blame him.'

'Is it really so bad?'

The elderly gentleman's expression became sheepish. 'I'm afraid there was an unfortunate accident.'

'An accident?'

'At the sight of that thing . . . the smell of it . . . I was not able to hold on to my breakfast. I blame that doctor of yours.' The elderly gentleman shook his head disapprovingly. He produced a silver flask from his breast pocket and took a quick swig, releasing vodka fumes to the morning. 'I will be here if you need me. But I will not set foot in there again.'

Perversely, the witness's words only quickened Porfiry's eagerness to be inside.

As soon as he and Virginsky stepped through the entrance, they were met by the same swampy smell he had noticed by the Winter Ca.n.a.l. The light and air that flooded in with them seemed cowed by it, and hung back.

They found Dr Pervoyedov chatting blithely to his a.s.sistant or diener, to use the accepted German term next to a trestle table bearing the body to be examined. The cadaver's strange, waxwork-like face was uncovered.

Both Dr Pervoyedov and his a.s.sistant were dressed in long leather ap.r.o.ns, darkly stained. The diener was one of the orderlies from the Obukhovsky Men's Hospital, whom Pervoyedov had picked out on account of his apt.i.tude for the peculiar work of the pathology laboratory. He had proven himself to have a strong stomach, in other words; one that held on to its own contents even when he was required to empty out the contents of others. That he was also a humourless and taciturn individual, as adept at retaining his thoughts as his recent meals, was perhaps understandable: Dr Pervoyedov accepted that here were two sides of the same coin. But he would have found almost any other temperament more amenable and certainly regretted the man's habit of a.s.suming a doglike snarl whenever he set to work dismembering a cadaver.

'Ah, there you are, Porfiry Petrovich, there you are. And good day to you too, Pavel Pavlovich. At last, you are here. We may begin now, I presume?'

'One moment, doctor. There has been some difficulty with the official witnesses?'

Dr Pervoyedov winked slyly towards his unresponsive diener. 'Difficulty, you say? I can't imagine what you mean by that.'

'One has absented himself and the other refuses to fulfil his civic duty.'

'No matter, no matter. We don't need them. I always rather feel that the official witnesses are somewhat superfluous on these occasions, don't you? They haven't a clue when it comes to forensic medicine. If you ask them to perform the simplest task, they either keel over or vomit.'

'What did you ask them to do?' Porfiry's voice was heavy with suspicion. He had worked with Dr Pervoyedov for many years now. He knew the doctor well and liked him, although he did not always trust him. He was confident that such feelings were thoroughly reciprocated.

'Oh nothing really. I merely thought they might be interested. Just trying to educate them, you know. One is never too old for a little education, now, is one? And besides, how can they be expected to bear witness if they haven't the least idea what's going on? It will be meaningless to them. Meaningless!'

'What did you do?' demanded Porfiry.

'I simply asked them if they wanted to smell some of the adipocere.'

Porfiry blinked in astonishment. 'And now we have lost our official witnesses! You are aware that we cannot proceed without them. You may resent the presence of unqualified laymen to supervise you, but the law requires it.'

'Supervise? I hardly think that is the right word.' A flash of indignation came into the doctor's tone. 'As I understand it, Porfiry Petrovich, the law merely requires that they sign the papers affirming that they have presented themselves here today in the capacity of official witnesses. I took the precaution of having them complete that minor administrative detail before uncovering the body.'

'And then you promptly scared them off.'

'Scared them off? Do you really think so?'

'Don't play the innocent with me.'

'I was only trying to demonstrate to them that the adipocere was the source of the rank smell that they had themselves commented on. I told them it was adipocere, but they looked at me blankly. So I had Valentin Bogdanovich scoop some out on a spatula and offer it to them.'

As if to confirm the doctor's account, the diener thrust out a wooden spatula towards Porfiry. On the end of it was a small mound of something soft and white.

'Adipocere is the most interesting substance,' continued Dr Pervoyedov, as Porfiry leant forward gingerly and inhaled. 'Many writers, the Englishman Taylor for instance, describe its odour as highly offensive. And yet, I wonder, if you did not know that it had been taken from a corpse, would you necessarily be repelled by the smell? It's an interesting question, is it not, Porfiry Petrovich?'

'There is no question about it,' said Porfiry, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his face. 'It is a disgusting smell. Unequivocally.'

'Un-equivocally, you say? But what do you make of Casper, a German, and one of the foremost authorities of forensic medicine, who, I believe, rather likes the smell. By no means disagreeable, are his words if memory serves me right. A little cheesy, but by no means disagreeable, is how he describes it.'

'I would say that Dr Casper has become too habituated to the smells of the charnel house.'

'Perhaps! That is certainly possible.' Dr Pervoyedov chuckled, as if at a private joke. 'I myself incline to Casper's view,' he admitted shyly.

'Then the same may be said of you,' commented Porfiry.

'But is it really soap?' asked Virginsky abruptly, having also sniffed at the sample on the diener's spatula.

'Yes. Soap. Ammoniacal or, sometimes, calcareous soap. In the case of the latter, it is thought that the body first forms ammoniacal soap and that this is subsequently further converted by the presence of lime. But, yes, soap, of one form or another. The process by which the body is converted to adipocere is known as saponification.'

'Could you wash yourself with it?' wondered Virginsky. He looked down at the face of the unknown man on the trestle table. Two glistening white patches showed where his cheeks once were. 'He is turning into a bar of soap.'

'He was. Since he has been taken out of the water and dried out somewhat, the process has stopped.' Dr Pervoyedov took a spatula of his own and prodded gently at one of the white cheeks. 'You will notice too that the adipocere on his face has hardened, due to its exposure to air.'

'How long does it take for a body to be completely converted to adipocere?' asked Porfiry.

'In the case of an adult body totally immersed in water, about a year.'

'And so, from the degree of saponification, you will be able to calculate how long he has been in the ca.n.a.l giving us an approximate date of death?'

'Approximate, very approximate. One may not set one's watch by adipocere. It is an erratic and inconsistent material. It has no organic structure, you know. How it behaves in one case, on one body, may not necessarily be repeated in another.'

'And as for cause of death?' asked Porfiry, a little impatiently. 'Do you have any opinions pertaining to that?'

'All in good time, Porfiry Petrovich. We have not even commenced the examination. I have been waiting for you, you know.'

'You did not wait for me before you started dis.h.i.+ng out mortuary wax.'

'I a.s.sure you that there is more than enough to go round.' It seemed that Dr Pervoyedov had misunderstood Porfiry's objection. He bowed to his diener, who began cutting away the dead man's clothes.

'But you must have already noticed the wound on the side of the head?' Porfiry's voice was imploring. 'That's all I meant to suggest.'

'As you know, Porfiry Petrovich, I follow the Virchow method.' Dr Pervoyedov angled his head almost tenderly as he watched the diener work. 'In the Virchow method, the organs are removed and examined separately. In due order. However, adipocere has a rather interesting attribute that does somewhat compromise any forensic examination, whether by the Virchow method or any other.'

'And what is that?'

'All tissue, including organs, skin, musculature and fat even blood and blood vessels all is equally capable of conversion to adipocere. Indeed, in a body that has undergone complete saponification, it is impossible to distinguish the internal organs at all. One is simply confronted by a ma.s.s of soapy material. Similarly, it becomes impossible to distinguish flesh that has been subject to trauma from flesh that has not. Damaged tissue simply melts away and becomes one with the undamaged tissue. All is . . .'

'Soap,' completed Virginsky, wonderingly.

'Yes. And the more of his body that has turned to adipocere, the harder it will be to make any firm conclusions about the cause of death.'

The body now lay unclothed, the considerable bulk of the belly sprawling out on either side. Further patches of white were visible in certain places, noticeably at the chest, thighs and upper arms. Porfiry noticed that the man was circ.u.mcised.

Dr Pervoyedov looked down at the body wistfully. 'Even so, one must adhere to the method. If we abandoned the method, where would we be? And the first thing that the method calls for is that the physician conduct a thorough visual examination of the exterior of the body.' Dr Pervoyedov proceeded to put his words into practice, in a series of exaggerated swoops. He was like a hen pecking at grain, ducking his head sharply down towards the body on the table and back up again. All the time, he continued his explanation: 'Thorough, Porfiry Petrovich. That's the watchword. I should be a poor pathologist if I confined my observations to the head and offered an opinion based only on what I saw there. What if a further trauma were subsequently revealed, upon removal of the clothing?'

Porfiry waited impatiently for Dr Pervoyedov to cease his examination. 'Well then, can you see any other wound, liable to have resulted in the victim's death?'

'There are a number of abrasions, particularly around the wrists and ankles.' Dr Pervoyedov pointed out the marks.

'He was tethered to some stones,' remarked Porfiry. 'I take it these abrasions could not in themselves have proved fatal.'

'They may even have been inflicted post-mortem. However, I have yet to examine the victim's back.' The doctor signalled to his diener, who hefted the body over with a savage grunt. Further white patches showed on the back, at the b.u.t.tocks and kidneys.

'And yet . . .' There was a note of exasperation in Porfiry's voice. 'And yet, we do have evidence of a major trauma to the head, do we not? The only significant wound visible, as far as I can see. To your expert eye, does that wound appear sufficient to have caused this man's death?'

Dr Pervoyedov broke off from his swooping examination of the body and turned to Porfiry. His look was one of wounded disappointment, like a child who had been deprived of a favourite toy. 'Well, yes, it is difficult to imagine how anyone could survive such a trauma.'

'Thank you. And the blackening around the wound? Consistent with gunshot? A larger exit wound on the other side of the head, also consistent?'

'Porfiry Petrovich, would you prefer to conduct the examination yourself?'

'Not at all. I am not qualified. Although I have encountered similar wounds in the execution of my duties over the years.'

At a further signal from Dr Pervoyedov, the diener turned the body onto its back again.

'He was a Jew?' said Porfiry.

'Apparently so, although I have read studies by physicians who call for the removal of the foreskin on hygienic grounds.'

Porfiry watched as Dr Pervoyedov began the Y-shaped incision that would allow him to open the body up, across from shoulder to shoulder, and down from sternum to groin. No blood raced to his scalpel blade, of course. Instead, Porfiry felt the thump of his own quick pulse. He was intensely aware of the churning turmoil of his heart. It was almost as if he were willing himself to bleed on the dead man's behalf. He experienced a core of weightlessness in his being, a kind of empty intoxication where his soul should have been. It was an unbearable sensation, in which the instability and fragility of his organism overrode any other consideration. The sense of dread he felt was undeniably personal. It was a moment in which he was horrifically aware of his mortality. And yet he forced himself to continue watching, as Dr Pervoyedov teased his scalpel blade beneath the epidermis.

The skin came away in tatters, large looping holes where the formation of adipocere disrupted it.

'All flesh is as gra.s.s,' said Dr Pervoyedov, as the sheet of skin fell apart in his hands. 'Except when it is soap.' The doctor handed the remnants to his diener and turned back to the body.

'Look at this, Porfiry Petrovich.'

More than anything in the world, Porfiry did not want to accept that invitation.

He took a step closer. Dr Pervoyedov was probing the white mounds that had formed on the chest with a long metal implement. 'Here the adipocere goes deep. The heart has all but gone, it seems. I will be able to tell more when I cut the ribs away.'

'His heart has gone?'

'Yes. Turned to soap.'

Porfiry felt unspeakably sorry for the man on the table.

The air had never tasted fresher. Porfiry drew in great, bursting draughts as if he had just been rescued from drowning. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side and listened to the riotous sounds of the nearby fair. And then lit a cigarette.

'We must not resist it, Pavel Pavlovich.'

'But should we not get back to the department?'

'Yes, of course. But first we must greet Yarilo.'

'I would rather not.'

'Are you afraid?'

'What do you mean? Of what could I possibly be afraid?'

'It takes courage to acknowledge every aspect of one's personality.'

'One may acknowledge the aspects to which you are referring without being enslaved to them.'

'Yarilo, G.o.d of regeneration. Of resurrection. Of life, reborn out of death. Striking how these ideas recur, is it not? As if there is some deep, eternal truth behind them.'

'Or rather, it is because they answer some deep, eternal need in man. Man creates his G.o.ds to meet his needs.'

'Perhaps. But I have always loved the balagany.'

'I find them rather tiresome. If it is all the same to you, I shall see you back at your chambers.' Virginsky gave a curt nod.

Porfiry answered with a flurry of angry blinks. His smile hardened. 'As your superior, I command you. You will come to the fair with me.' Porfiry's hand tightened around Virginsky's wrist. 'Furthermore, you will enjoy yourself.'

Porfiry treated Virginsky to hot boiled potatoes from an old woman selling them out of her ap.r.o.n. He led the way through the crowd, holding his napkin of potatoes reverently out in front of him, as if it were a holy relic in procession.

He was happy to go where the crowd let him, carried along by the press of jostling shoulders. Every now and then, the throng eased around him and he would take the opportunity to guzzle a mouthful of potato. Following listlessly in Porfiry's wake, Virginsky left his fare untouched for as long as possible. But eventually even he could not hold out against the wholesome smell.

As they moved about the fairground, the clash of sounds around them constantly mutated. An ever-s.h.i.+fting power struggle was being waged. One moment, a trombone band dominated, blaring out a s.n.a.t.c.h of 'The Petersburg Theatre Goer'. The next, it was an organ grinder singing along to 'Katenka Goes Throughout the Village'; he turned the bra.s.s handle of his street organ to grind out the melody, as if it were a form of auditory sausage meat. The s.h.i.+mmer of a balalaika swayed in time with the swinging cradle in which a young man serenaded his sweetheart. The shrieks of children running in and out of their legs were chased away by the yelps of a hungry dog. A moment later, screams of unfettered delight from the slopes of the artificial ice mountains sent their gaze soaring.

And all the time, the barkers' cries rang out from competing booths.

Porfiry took in the sideshows with the air of a wine connoisseur given free run of a well-equipped cellar with an unhurried excitement, in other words, and in the full expectation that he would not be disappointed. His promiscuous eye ranged over the dizzying choices. The flash and dazzle of the fire-eater's torches held him entranced until all the flames were swallowed out. He gasped at the speed of a juggler's batons spinning in the air. He felt his mouth kink into an antic.i.p.atory grin at the sight of an actor in harlequin costume, who was balancing on one of the balconies of an enormous booth, as if about to leap off into the crowd below. The fellow raised himself on his tiptoes and stretched his arms out to either side like wings. The a.s.sembled spectators drew in their breath as one, as the performer flexed his body with a few lithe dance steps on the balcony rail. At the next balagan window, puppet masters with magnificent priestly beards perched on the sill, dangling their brightly coloured marionettes or turning the wooden heads of their child-sized dummies. The most imbecilic displays were strangely compelling: a dog in a tutu dancing on its hind legs; a monkey in a hussar's costume riding a tricycle. Porfiry smiled at them both and turned to see if Virginsky shared his delight. He did not seem to notice the younger man's sullen glare.