Memento Monstrum Read online

  »On Ms. Yeti,« Vira corrects him. »Is that true, Grandpa?«

  »No, I didn’t,« I answer. »It’s … complicated.«

  »Tell us!« Beenie demands.

  »Yes, tell us the story,« says Vira. »What was it with you and the Yeti?«

  »Do you really want to know?« I ask. »I don’t want to bore you with lots of ancient stories.«

  »I like old stories,« says Beenie. »I like my old grandpa too. The only old things I don’t like are old cookies. They always get so hard.«

  »Stop keeping us in suspense, Grandpa,« says Rhesus, putting his cell phone down. »We want to know everything.«

  Oh, so suddenly I’m more exciting than dead werewolves. Then it’s decided.

  »Okay, fine,« I begin. »Then I’ll tell you …«

  It was on June 28, 1909. I remember the date so precisely because I’d moved into my London flat on Baker Street the day before. I had to move often in those days – it was a difficult period. I’d previously been living in Paris, but that accursed Van Helsing was on my heels again and I’d decided to hide in England for a while. I bought a disguise: a deerstalker hat and an Inverness cape that I’d found at a flea market, and adopted the name Sherlock Holmes. The flat, number 221B, was above my landlady’s house. She was a nice old woman named Mrs. Hudson and, fortunately for me, she was easily confused. I told her that I worked mainly at night because I was a private detective, and she believed me. As a result, she wasn’t at all surprised when I arrived in the middle of the night, bringing a coffin along with my furniture – a key piece of evidence for a very tricky case.

  Just before sunrise, I straightened up my bedding and settled down to sleep, but only a few minutes later I was startled by such a loud noise that I bumped my head on the coffin lid.

  »Ow,« says Vira. »I’ve done that before. I’d been dreaming that I’d learned to fly. But I was indoors so I flew up into the ceiling and bumped my head. And when I woke up, I had a big lump on my head. I’ve always slept with the lid open since then.«

  »Ooh, I don’t, never,« says Beenie. »I get scared of bugs crawling in. I hate bugs. Bugs are dumb.«

  »There’s no need to be afraid of bugs,« I reply. »Most of them are actually very nice. And it wasn’t a bug that woke me. There was a crash in the flat above me. It was tremendously loud, as though someone had been throwing their furniture around the room.«

  »As loud as just now, when the books all tumbled down?« asks little Beenie.

  »Much, much louder,« I say.

  I tried to go back to sleep, but the thumping just didn’t stop. Now, I’m not normally the type to complain to the neighbors about excessive noise or little things like that, but when the ruckus still hadn’t stopped an hour later, I decided I’d have to do something about it. I climbed out of my coffin.

  »But, Grandpa!« Beenie cries in horror. »It was daytime! The sun!«

  »That’s true. But fortunately, in England the sun rarely shone, even in summer. And it rained most days. Which was the case that day. And as you know, daylight in itself can’t hurt us if we take good care.«

  »Sunshine either,« adds Vira. »It just mustn’t touch a single bit of our skin. I stood in the direct sun once at vampire school, when we slept over one day. We wore space suits. But most of my class were still too scared to go out. Not me. It was kind of spooky though.«

  »Oh, I did that too,« says Rhesus. »It was a piece of cake, just a bit hot.«

  »It can’t have been as hot as the Sahara,« I say. »Van Helsing threw me out of an airplane there once, just before sunrise. No matter which way I flew, the next bit of shade was too far away to save me. I had to spend three days in a row completely buried in the sand to stay alive. But that’s another story. Now back to my noisy neighbor …«

  I pulled on my cape to keep out the daylight, climbed the stairs, and knocked on the door. But the noise was so deafening that nobody answered. So I hammered on it with both fists, and suddenly the door swung open. The racket grew louder, and then I could hear music too. I walked toward another door, opened it a crack, and peeked in cautiously. The first thing I saw was a gramophone, on which a record was turning. I knew the music: it was The Nutcracker Suite by my old friend Tchaikovsky – I’d spent some exciting times with him in Russia a few years earlier. But the crashing noise was definitely not part of his composition. From there, I could see what was causing the noise. Or, more – precisely, who.

  Dancing in the middle of the room was the most enchanting creature I’d ever seen. She was wearing a pink tutu and hopping, jumping, and pirouetting around the room like an ecstatic elf. She must have weighed at least six hundred pounds and her entire body was covered in thick white fur. The floor shook under each of her steps and jumps – it was her dancing that was making the noise. My irritation vanished in an instant. How could I be angry with this angelic creature? Despite the din, which sounded as though a donkey had gone wild and started rampaging around the room, she seemed to float like a cloud. I stood there dumbstruck, simply overwhelmed. When the music stopped, I started clapping. It never occurred to me that she hadn’t noticed my being there. With a bloodcurdling scream, she sprang behind the sofa that had been pushed into the corner of the room.

  »Forgive me!« I said hastily. »I didn’t mean to alarm you!«

  »Who … who are you?« she asked in horror. »Wha… what are you doing here?«

  »I live downstairs, as of yesterday,« I explained. »I only wanted to check if everything was all right. The noise … unsettled me a little. The door was open.«

  »The lock’s broken,« she said. »But that is absolutely no excuse for walking into a single lady’s flat uninvited.«

  »I wholeheartedly agree,« I said. »I didn’t know who lived here. And I apologize profusely. May I say that you dance wonderfully?«

  »Truly, you think so?« she said, popping up from behind the sofa.

  »Absolutely! I would go so far as to state that you are the best dancer I’ve ever seen, Miss …?«

  »Yeti,« she said. »You can call me Yeti.«

  »Dracula,« I introduced myself. »Count Vlad Dracula. But please do call me Vlad.« I walked toward her and held out my hand. She must have seen my fangs as I smiled, because she immediately drew back behind the sofa again.

  »You … you’re one of those vampires, aren’t you?« she asked fearfully. »I’ve heard a lot about your kind. Have you come to bite me?«

  »No, don’t worry,« I laughed. »I could never do such a thing to your wonderful white fur. In any case, we vampires only bite humans in an absolute emergency.«

  »I’m no human,« she said.

  »I had noticed that. May I ask what species you belong to?«

  »Unfortunately, I don’t know that myself,« she sighed. »Some people think I’m a spirit, others call me an ogre, or even a monster.«

  I nodded understandingly. »I’ve been called such things myself. Don’t listen to them. People like to invent rude names for creatures who are different. They don’t know any better. Besides, there’s proof that you’re not a monster. No monster could dance like you do. What I just watched was balletic art of the highest order.«

  »Oh, you don’t know how good it is to have someone say that to me,« she rejoiced. »As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a prima ballerina.«

  »Then you’ve already fulfilled your lifetime dream,« I said. »Many congratulations!«

  »No,« she replied dejectedly. »Sadly, it’s not that simple. A true prima ballerina is the star of a dance company. Unfortunately, nobody has ever heard of me – I don’t even dance professionally.«

  »Not yet,« I said. »But that can be changed.«

  Yeti dropped onto the sofa. »That’s so easy to say. Have you ever seen a prima ballerina? They’re lithe and lissome and so beautiful. And not furry.«

  I wasn’t to be deterred. »Oh, those are just superficial things.«

  »Yes, perhaps,« she murmured. »But nobody wants to see a
monstrous prima ballerina.«

  I jammed my hands forcefully onto my hips. »Yes they do – I do! And I am quite certain that I’m not alone. Have you ever auditioned for a ballet company?«

  Yeti shook her head. »I’ve never dared.«

  »Then it’s high time you did!« I said. »Although we are in quite the wrong city. London is sadly a little behind the times when it comes to ballet. We must go to Paris. I know the director of a brand-new company there, the Ballets Russes. I am sure he would take you on with the greatest of pleasure.«

  »You … you would do that for me?« Yeti asked in disbelief. »And will you come with me?«

  I didn’t take long to think it over. Van Helsing was still in Paris, I knew that. So it would be a risk for me to go back there …

  »Of course I’ll go with you,« I said. »We can set off this very night!«

  And so we did. We took the night ferry to Calais and, from there, the first train to Paris, where we arrived just before sunrise. I sought out a small, secluded hotel near the Théâtre du Châtelet, where my old Russian friend Sergei Diaghilev was running his company.

  Unfortunately, the weather in Paris was very sunny, so we couldn’t leave the hotel until later on. The sun set at just the right time for the evening performance of the Ballets Russes, and I bought tickets for the upper balcony, right next to the stage. We watched the performance, which starred the fantastic Anna Pavlova, but Yeti found it more intimidating than encouraging.

  »She’s so delicate,« Yeti whispered to me. »Beside her, I look like a sack of flour.«

  »Not when you dance,« I replied. »When you dance, you are a hundred times more delicate than Pavlova.«

  »Oh, you’re just saying that.« She turned a little pink.

  »Just you wait,« I whispered. »In the not too far distant future, you’ll be dancing on that stage.«

  When the performance was over, Yeti clapped until the very last people had left the auditorium.

  We went backstage, where my friend Sergei had his office. I walked in alone.

  Sergei looked up from his desk.

  »Vlad, old boy!« he greeted me happily, with a kiss on both cheeks as the custom is in France. »What are you doing here? Weren’t you leaving town?«

  »Yes,« I answered. »I’ve been in London. But then I happened to come across somebody that you absolutely have to meet. Believe me, you won’t regret it; she’s the best dancer I’ve ever seen. Better than Pavlova.«

  »A dancer? Better than la Pavlova?« Sergei was astonished. »That cannot be. Nobody is better than Pavlova, however dreadfully she annoys me with all her precious attitude.«

  »I know about that,« says Beenie, rolling her eyes. »A girl at kindergarten goes on about how she has to play her attitude on the violin, and it really is annoying.«

  »An étude,« Vira explains with a laugh. »It’s called an étude. It’s a practice piece you play when you’re learning an instrument.«

  »Oh,« says Beenie. »What’s an attitude then? It still sounds annoying.«

  »It is,« mutters Rhesus. »Especially yours.«

  »Is not!« Beenie is outraged. »I don’t even have one!«

  »Are you sure about that?« asks Rhesus. »You don’t even know what it is.«

  »So what!« Beenie says, stamping her feet. »I don’t have an étude or an attitude! I don’t have any ’tudes! It’s all stupid! Isn’t it, Grandpa?«

  »Yes,« I say with a laugh. »You’re quite right, having a bad attitude is stupid.«

  Sergei gave me an extensive list of complaints about la Pavlova’s expensive special requests.

  »You would have no such worries with Yeti – she is very modest,« I said. »She’s right outside. Shall I introduce you?«

  »A modest prima ballerina? That really would be a novelty!« said Sergei with a laugh. »Bring her right in!«

  I opened the door and beckoned to Yeti. She entered the room looking shyly down at the floor.

  »Er …« Sergei whispered to me, »are you sure this is a ballerina? She looks more like a danseur. A circus dancer. A very hairy circus dancer.«

  »I knew it,« sighed Yeti, who clearly had very good hearing. »There’s no point.«

  She turned away and was about to leave the room, but I held her back.

  »Now just wait a moment!« I said, turning to look seriously at Sergei. »Give her a chance. You have to see her dance. This very moment.«

  »Very well.« Sergei looked skeptical. »But only because I trust your judgment. Let’s go onto the stage. There’s nobody there right now.«

  I took Yeti’s hand. She was trembling as we followed Sergei.

  »We need music,« he said, pointing to the other side of the stage. »Could you two help me to push the rehearsal piano onto the stage?«

  »Leave it,« said Yeti. »I’ll do it.«

  She walked over to the piano, picked it up with both hands, raised it over her head, carried it right across the stage, and put it down again at Sergei’s feet.

  »You are very strong for a ballerina,« said the astonished Sergei. »Which music would you like to dance to?«

  »The Nutcracker Suite please,« said Yeti.

  Sergei nodded appreciatively and sat down at the piano.

  Yeti positioned herself in the center of the stage, her body shivering with fear. But as soon as the first note sounded, she stopped shaking. In an instant, she was in a world of her own, where it made no difference how she looked or how others saw her, a place where she was nothing more and nothing less than a dancer. The best dancer of all time.

  As she danced and spun and leapt and pirouetted, Sergei’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. Once, he even played a few wrong notes he was so distracted.

  Even before the last chord had died away, Sergei leapt up and applauded as loudly as he could.

  »That … that was … that was simply sensational!« he gushed. »Such strength! Such perfect technique! Such unexpected lightness! Such charm! Such grace! Bravo, madame! Well done! You are truly unique!«

  »Thank you,« said Yeti, embarrassed. »That’s very sweet of you.«

  »It’s not sweet!« replied Sergei. »It’s the plain truth! You were born to dance! And for the stage! For my stage! You’re hired! We’ll put on a special performance! A matinee! A Nutcracker matinee! Next Sunday! What do you say?«

  Sergei was answered by a loud bang – Yeti had keeled over, quite without warning, and fainted.

  »Oh no, poor thing,« says Vira. »Did she hurt herself?«

  »No, don’t worry,« I reassure her. »Yeti was very robust.«

  »I’m going to be a prima ballerina too one day,« Beenie announces. »I’m a really good dancer!«

  She climbs onto the table and starts hopping around wildly. She flings out her arms and legs, jumps up in the air, whirls around, loses her balance, and … falls off the table. I hurl myself forward, just in time to catch her. Phew, that was close!

  »All you’ll be is a prima fallerina,« remarks Rhesus with a grin.

  »That was fun!« giggles Beenie. »Again!«

  »Better not,« I reply, breathing hard. »Sit back down, please. I need to tell you the rest of the story.«

  Yeti and I spent the days before the matinee in beautiful Paris. By day, Yeti rehearsed for her big performance, and as soon as the sun went down, we roamed through the city. I showed Yeti all the sights. We secretly climbed the Eiffel Tower at night, crept into the Louvre through a back entrance, and ate ice cream together on the Champs-Élysées.

  Sergei had put up posters all over the city, which billed Yeti as Yetina Karamasova, the Sensation from St. Petersburg.

  Yeti was not entirely happy about this.

  »But it’s a lie,« she said to Sergei. »That isn’t my name and I’m not from St. Petersburg.«

  »Ah, nobody will know, sweetheart,« replied Sergei. »Russian dancers just sell better. You want the performance to be sold out, don’t you? We’ve sold over one hundred tickets already.«

  »Oh, so
many?« said Yeti, visibly touched. »They’re all coming to see me?«

  »They’re coming to see the new Sensation from St. Petersburg,« said Sergei with a wink. »Can you speak Russian?«

  »No, not a word,« answered Yeti.

  »That doesn’t matter,« Sergei reassured her. »Ballerinas have no need to speak.«

  Yeti studied the poster. »But there isn’t even a picture of me on it,« she observed. »There’s always a picture of Anna Pavlova on her posters.«

  »La Pavlova doesn’t weigh six hundred pounds and look like a long-haired polar bear,« replied Sergei. »Just leave the advertising for our matinee to me, sweetheart, I know what I’m doing.«

  »Yes, but won’t the people feel cheated on Sunday, when there is no lithe and non-hairy Russian on the stage as billed?«

  »Oh, don’t you worry your big little head about that,« said Sergei. »As soon as they see you dance, they’ll forget everything that was on the poster. Trust me, sweetheart, it’ll be magnificent, a great triumph!«

  »I don’t seem to have any choice,« sighed Yeti.

  Then the great day came. The weather was, unfortunately, looking glorious, so we went to the theater before sunrise. Even so, we weren’t the first to arrive: Sergei was waiting for us. He welcomed us to Yeti’s dressing room, flanked by five men in white coats.

  »Ah, perfect, you’re nice and early!« he said. »Then we have enough time!«

  »Time for what?« I asked.

  »Well, for the transformation of a scruffy polar bear into a prima ballerina.« Sergei turned to the five men and clapped his hands. »You may begin!«

  At once, each man whipped out a pair of scissors. They advanced toward Yeti.

  »Aagh!« she screamed in horror and leapt into my arms. »Vlad, help! They’re hairdressers!«

  As much as I enjoyed being so close to her, I was unable to hold Yeti in my arms for longer than three seconds. I set her gently down on the floor.