The Manitou Read online

  “Okay, then, here goes,” I said, and picked up the phone. I dialed Dr. Snow’s number and listened to it ringing. He seemed to take a long time to answer.

  “Snow here,” said a dipped crisp voice.

  “Dr. Snow, I’m sorry to disturb you on Sunday, but when I tell you why I’m calling, I hope you’ll understand. My name’s Harry Erskine, and I’m a professional clairvoyant.”

  “You’re a what?” snapped Dr. Snow. He didn’t sound very amused.

  “I tell fortunes. I work in New York City.”

  There was a tense pause, and then Dr. Snow said: “Mr. Erskine, it’s very good of you to call me on a Sunday morning and tell me that. But I don’t understand why your being a fortune teller is so particularly urgent.”

  “It’s like this, Dr. Snow. I have a client who’s in hospital right now, a young girl, and she’s very sick. She has a kind of tumor on her neck, and the doctors are pretty baffled.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dr. Snow, “but I don’t quite see what it’s got to do with me. I’m a doctor of anthropology, not of medicine.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m calling you, Dr. Snow. You see, I believe my client is being used as a host for the reincarnation of an Indian medicine man. I think that tumor of hers is actually the fetus of a redskin. You’ve heard of that, haven’t you? The way they drank blazing oil and got themselves reborn in the past or the future.”

  This time, there was a longer and tenser pause. Then Dr. Snow said: “Are you serious, Mr...”

  “Erskine.”

  “Mr. Erskine, do you know what you’re saying? You’re telling me that there is somebody in New York City today, alive now, who is harboring a reincarnated medicine man?”

  “That’s exactly it, sir.”

  “Is this some kind of a hoax? Are you putting me on? Students do that, you know.”

  “I realize that, sir. But if you give me the chance to come and talk to you for half an hour, I think you’ll realize that we’re not kidding. If you want to check up on me, you can ring Dr. Hughes at the Sisters of Jerusalem Hospital. We’re doing this work with his approval.”

  “We?”

  “Myself and two friends. One of them is a medium.”

  I could almost hear Dr. Snow’s mind churning around on the end of the telephone. Amelia and MacArthur stared at me nervously as I waited for the old man’s reply.

  “All right,” he said finally. “I suppose you want to come and see me today?”

  “As soon as possible, Dr. Snow. I know this is a real inconvenience, but a girl is dying.”

  “Oh, it’s no inconvenience. My wife’s sister is coming over today, and the less I have to see of her, the better I like it. Come up anytime.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Snow.”

  I put the phone down. It was as simple as that I’m always amazed how readily and quickly people will accept the occult and the supernatural, once the evidence is there in front of their eyes. Dr. Snow had probably read about medicine man reincarnation for years, without really believing it was possible, but as soon as someone had told him it had actually happened, he was ready to accept it without a qualm.

  Anyway, I grabbed my car keys and put on my herringbone coat.

  “Who’s coming to Albany?” I asked, and Amelia and MacArthur both got up to get ready.

  “I hate to say this,” said MacArthur, “but this is a damn sight more interesting than selling social security plates.”

  Dr. Snow lived in a small, tight, brick-built house on the outskirts of Albany. It was surrounded by dark, mournful cypress trees, and its windows were hung with yellowed lace. The sky was threatening and metallic as we drove up through the thick slush and ice, and there was a keen persistent wind blowing from the northeast. There was a strange silence around, like the silence of children waiting for a teacher they feared.

  We stood around on the doorstep clapping our hands to get the circulation back, and I rang the bell. It went ding-donggg, deep in the recesses of the old house.

  The door opened, and Dr. Snow stood there. He was a tall, bent man with white monkish hair and gold-rimmed spectacles. He was wearing a maroon cardigan with baggy pockets, and plaid carpet slippers.

  “Mr. Erskine?” he said. “You’d better come in.”

  We shuffled into the gloomy hallway. There was a strong smell of lavender polish, and a long-case clock ticked wearily in the corner. We took off our coats, and Dr. Snow led us through into a chilly parlor. There were fierce Indian masks all around the walls, contrasting with the English delicacy of stuffed linnets in glass domes, and faded little Stevengraphs.

  “Sit down,” said Dr. Snow. “You’d better explain what this is all about. My wife will bring you some coffee in a moment. I’m afraid we don’t drink liquor in this house.”

  MacArthur looked decidedly glum at that. There was a flask of bourbon in the car, but he was too polite to ask if he could go and get it.

  Dr. Snow sat down on a hard little cane chair, and crossed his hands in front of him. Amelia and I shared a low and uncomfortable settee, and MacArthur perched himself on the window seat, so that he could stare out at the snowy trees.

  As briefly as I could, I explained Karen Tandy’s condition to Dr. Snow, and told him about the seance we had held the night before. He listened quite intently, occasionally asking me questions about Karen and her aunt, and about the apparition we had seen on Mrs. Karmann’s cherrywood table.

  When I’d finished, he sat there for a while with his hands clasped, and considered. Then he said: “From what you’ve told me, Mr. Erskine, the case of this unfortunate girl sounds genuine. I think you’re right. There is only one other recorded case of a person being chosen as the host for a medicine man’s rebirth, and that was in 1851, at Fort Berthold, on the Upper Missouri, among the Hidatsa Indians. A young Indian girl had a swelling on her arm, which eventually grew so large that it overwhelmed her, and she died. Out of the swelling emerged a complete and fully-grown man, who was said to be a magician of the tribe from fifty years previous.

  “There was very little documentary evidence to support the truth of this story, and up until now it has been regarded as myth or legend. I have even called it that myself in my book on the Hidatsas. But the parallels with your Miss Tandy seem so close that I can’t see what else it could be. There are also stories among the Kiowas that medicine men could appear as trees, and talk to people of the tribe. Apparently trees and wood have a mystic life-force of their own which medicine men were able to exploit for their own purpose. And that is why I believe your story of the cherrywood table. I thought at first you were trying to hoax me, but your evidence is overwhelmingly convincing.”

  “So you believe it?” asked Amelia, brushing her hair away from her eyes.

  “Yes,” said Dr. Snow, peering back at her through his spectacles. “I do believe it. I also took the trouble to do what you suggested, and I called Dr. Hughes at the Sisters of Jerusalem. He confirmed what you told me. He also told me that Miss Tandy was in a critical condition, and that anything that anyone could do to save her would be very important.”

  “Dr. Snow,” I said, “is there any way to fight this medicine man? Is there anything we can do to destroy him, before he kills Karen Tandy?”

  Dr. Snow frowned. “What you have to understand, Mr. Erskine, is that the magic of the Indians was very powerful and far-ranging. They drew no clear distinction between the natural and the supernatural, and every Indian saw himself as being in close touch with the spirits that ruled his existence. The plains Indians, for instance, spent as much time on their religious ceremonies and medicine signs as they did on perfecting their hunting skills. They considered it important to be able to hunt their buffalo with craftsmanship and cunning, but at the same time they thought that only the spirits would give them the strength and the bravery to be able to carry out the hunt successfully.

  “The Indians were seekers of visions and practicioners of ritual, devoted to ceremonies that bro
ught them into close touch with the cosmos. They were in fact, one of the great magical societies of modern times. Much of their secret lore has been lost to us, but there is no doubt at all that they had real and extraordinary powers.”

  Amelia looked up. “What you’re trying to tell us, Dr. Snow, is that none of us have enough magical power to be able to combat this medicine man...”

  The doctor nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right. And if the medicine man is really three hundred years old, he comes from a time when the magic of the Indians was still amazingly strong. It would have been pure ethnic occult art, undiluted with European preconceptions, and unimpressed by Christianity.

  “The occult spirits of North America, at the time of the early settlers, were a million times more powerful and dangerous than any of the devils or demons of Europe. You see, a spirit can only work its magic in the world of humans through the medium of men and women who believe in it and understand it. Spirits do have an independent existence, but they can have no material power in our own material world unless they are summoned, consciously or subconsciously. And if no one believes in a particular spirit, or is able to understand it, it cannot be summoned, and so it remains in limbo.

  “The demons of Europe were pitiful compared with the demons of the Red Indians. All they were—or are, if you still believe in them—were opposites to the good and holy tenets of Christianity. In The Exorcist, the story uses the demon Pa-zuzu, the personification of sickness and ill health. To the red man, a demon like that would have been ridiculous—nothing more terrifying than a mongrel dog. The whole concept of life and health and the meaning of physical existence was rolled up in the red man’s equivalent spirit, and that made this particular spirit an incredible being with monstrous powers.

  “To my mind, the real decline of the red man came not so much through the treachery and greed of the whites, but through the erosion of the occult powers of the medicine men. When the red tribes saw the scientific marvels of the white man, they were unduly impressed, and lost faith in their own magic. It’s arguable that this magic, if it had been used properly, could have saved them.”

  Amelia interrupted the doctor with a question. “But what about Karen Tandy’s medicine man? What do you suppose he was doing? I mean, why should he want to be reborn in her?”

  Dr. Snow scratched his ear. “It’s difficult to say. From what you’ve told me about her dream of the Dutch ship, I’d hazard a guess that the medicine man’s existence was being threatened by the Dutch settlement on Manhattan. Maybe the medicine man had tried to prevent the rest of his tribe from selling the island so cheaply. With the kind of occult powers that medicine men possessed, he may have been able to see how instrumental the possession of Manhattan by white men would be in the development of a white America. It’s also possible that the Dutch, being strict Calvinists, considered the medicine man an evil influence, and were out to destroy him. Whatever happened, he obviously thought that the only way he could escape was by leaving his seventeenth-century existence, and reappearing in some other time. I wouldn’t have thought he chose Karen Tandy deliberately. She probably just happened to be a receptive home for his reincarnation, at the right place at the right time.”

  “Dr. Snow,” I asked him. “If we’re not equipped to fight with this medicine man, then do you have any idea who might be? I mean, can anyone at all summon enough power to destroy him for good?”

  Dr. Snow looked thoughtful. “This is such a remarkable occurrence that one wishes that a young girl’s life wasn’t involved. Just think of it, Mr. Erskine, within two or three days we could actually meet an Indian medicine man, living and breathing, from another time far in America’s past. It seems almost criminal to think of destroying him.”

  MacArthur turned round from his seat by the window. “We all know the wonders of anthropology, Dr. Snow, but this is a human life we’re trying to save here. Karen Tandy didn’t ask to have this witch doctor grow inside here. I think it’s up to us to do everything we can to save her.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Dr. Snow. “But there really is only one way we can do that.”

  “And what’s that?” Amelia asked. “Is it difficult?”

  “It could be. And dangerous. You see, the only person who can fight a medicine man is another medicine man. There are one or two around still, in some of the reservations. But none of them would be nearly as powerful as this man. They might know some of the old rituals, but it’s doubtful if they’d have anything like the same abilities and strength. And if they couldn’t beat him, if they couldn’t destroy him utterly, they’d inevitably be killed themselves.”

  “But wait a minute,” I said. “That medicine man is still in the process of rebirth. He hasn’t grown to his full size, and he’s obviously not as strong as he could be when he’s completely redeveloped. If we could get hold of another medicine man now, we could kill him before he emerges.”

  “It would be very dangerous,” said Dr. Snow. “Not only to our own medicine man, but to the girl as well. They might both die.”

  “Doctor,” I said, “she’s going to die anyway.”

  “Well, I guess that’s true. But how are we going to persuade some poor old peaceful reservation Indian to risk his life for a white girl he doesn’t even know?”

  “We bribe him,” said MacArthur.

  “What with?” asked Amelia.

  “Maybe we ought to talk to Karen Tandy’s parents,” I suggested. “They’ll be in town by now. They’re obviously quite wealthy, and I guess a couple of thousand dollars would take care of it. Dr. Snow, do you think you could find a medicine man?”

  Dr. Snow rubbed his chin. “Oh, that shouldn’t be too difficult. I have a friend in South Dakota who could probably dig someone up. We’d have to pay to fly the medicine man to New York, naturally, even supposing that he’d agreed to do it.”

  “I think it’s time we talked to Karen Tandy’s parents,” I said. “They have a right to know what’s going on, and we’re obviously going to need some cash. Dr. Snow, can I ask a favor of you?”

  “Certainly,” said Dr. Snow. “This case is fascinating, and I’d feel privileged to help.”

  “Could you call your friend in South Dakota and ask him to start looking for the most powerful medicine man he can find? Then if Karen Tandy’s parents do agree to bring someone in, at least we’ll be ready. Could you do that?”

  “With pleasure,” said Dr. Snow.

  We left the Snow’s house around five o’clock. It was already night, and the wind hit us in the face like a bucketful of razor blades. We drove off into the weird half-light of icebound landscape, tired and chilly, but even more determined to save Karen Tandy from the mysterious enemy which had invaded her body. The first thing I wanted to do when I got back to New York was to check up on how she was, and ask Dr. Hughes just how much time he thought we had left. There was no point in going to all the expense of bringing an Indian medicine man from South Dakota if Karen was already dead, or just about to die.

  “You know something,” said MacArthur, resting his legs across the Cougar’s back seat, “I think there’s something like historic justice in all this. I mean, I feel sorry for Karen, but as you sow you certainly shall reap, don’t you think?”

  Amelia turned round and smirked at him. “MacArthur,” she said, “I love your beard and I love your body, but your philosophy stinks.”

  I dropped Amelia and MacArthur in the Village, and then I drove up to the Sisters of Jerusalem to check on Karen. I was pretty exhausted by the time I got there, and I went into the men’s room to wash up and tidy my hair. When I looked at myself in the glass, I looked pale and tired and frail, and I began to wonder how the hell I would summon up the strength to battle with a medicine man from the golden age of Indian magic.

  I found Dr. Hughes in his office, reading a pile of reports by the light of his desk lamp.

  “Mr. Erskine,” he said, “you’re back. How did it go?”

  I flopped down in the chair
opposite him. “I think we know what’s going on, anyway. But whether we’ll be able to fight it or not—well, that’s another question.”

  He listened seriously while I explained what Dr. Snow had said. I also told him that we were trying to find a rival medicine man to fly into New York.

  Dr. Hughes got up from his chair and went over to the window. He stared down at the crawling lights of traffic, and the first spinning flakes of a fresh snowfall.

  “I just hope to God that none of this leaks out to the newspapers,” he said. “It’s difficult enough keeping it quiet from the rest of the specialists and surgeons involved. But just think about it—the world’s second or third leading specialist on tumors has to bring in a redskin from the plains of South Dakota, some mumbo-jumbo artist with warpaint and bones, because he can’t manage to deal with a tumor by himself.”

  “You knows well as I do that this isn’t any ordinary tumor,” I said. “And you can’t fight a magic tumor with ordinary methods. The proof of what you’re doing will be in the cure.”

  Dr. Hughes looked away from the window. “And supposing she doesn’t get cured? What do I say then? I brought in a redskin medicine man, but that wasn’t any use, either?”

  “Dr. Hughes—”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Erskine. I don’t really have any qualms about this. I’ve seen enough tumors in my life to know that this isn’t anything like an ordinary condition. And I believe your theory, about the Indians. I don’t know why I believe it, but I can’t see any other rational explanation. None of my colleagues has even got as much as a wild guess.”

  “How is she, doctor?” I asked him. “Is the tumor still growing?”

  “Do you want to see for yourself?” he said. “It’s got worse since you last saw her, yesterday.”

  “If it’s okay. I’ll try not to upset her, like last time.”

  In silence, we took the elevator to the tenth floor. In silence, we put on masks and robes. In silence, we walked down the corridor to Karen Tandy’s room, and opened the door.

  It was grotesque. Karen Tandy was lying on her front now, her face as white as the sheet it was resting on. The tumor lay bloatedly on her back, a fat white bladder of swollen skin. It was as big as a pillow, and it seemed to shift and bulge and ease itself from time to time, a great pulpy growth with a malignant life of its own.