Read the book "Puzzle" online in full - Frank Tillier - MyBook. Frank Thillier puzzle Tillier puzzle

© E. Klokova, translation, 2015

© Edition in Russian, design.

LLC "Publishing Group "Azbuka-Atticus"", 2015

Publishing house AZBUKA®

But when from the ancient past

there won't be a trace left

when people die and things crumble to dust,

the smell and taste will remain for a long time,

more fragile, but also more tenacious,

calm, faithful, they are like souls,

calling to each other, waiting and hoping,

that on the ruins of all things they will preserve,

even in a tiny drop,

a giant building of memory.

Marcel Proust. Towards Swann

The entire medical team caring for Luca Chardon gathered around his bed and they removed all the electroencephalograph electrodes. The indicators of the electrocardiograph and other devices indicated the stability of the condition.

The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.

“I will only talk to my psychiatrist, and let everyone else leave.” Please…

The chamber was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but could not.

“Don’t try,” said Sandy Kleor. – You have been in serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.

- Well, yes, but the belts are very useful, they won’t let me fall or get hurt, right?

The psychiatrist sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient’s forehead. A beautiful young woman - no more than thirty in appearance - was without a robe: the hospital where Luca was lying was located a hundred kilometers from the Department for complex patients where she worked.

“You shouldn’t be ironic, Luke, it’s for your own good, otherwise it’s impossible.”

- Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want it.

- How are you feeling?

He looked out the window, turned his head and looked straight into his doctor's eyes, very beautiful dark blue eyes.

- Tell me, Doctor Kleor, how long did you try to treat me - before transferring here?

- Don’t you remember?

- Ridiculous question... how can a madman remember something? Reality and time are concepts that mean nothing to madmen, don't you know that?

Cleor thought about it. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed coherent to her, completely logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.

- Four months. You spent four months in OTB...

– Do you consider electric shock an effective procedure? You can’t do without it, there’s nothing to replace it with? Do you understand the pain they caused me while they were “treating” me? Do you know what it’s like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? You feel like your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets and all your veins are about to explode. You should try it at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.

Sandy Cleor glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, as quickly as a cobra, and he did this more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and destructive illness; patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by delusional ideas, and most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.

“Electrotherapy has helped your memory bring to the surface some memories from the past.” No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think to yourself, she helped you.

- Stop it, doctor! You fed my fear and aggravated the suffering, you thought you were healing, but only made the situation worse.

The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart was giving out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm down.

“You and Dr. Paul Gambier, that pipe tobacco lover, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was “absent.” But I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.

“It’s hard to understand, much less believe.”

He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face red from the effort. Having caught his breath, he asked:

How is Cecile Jeanne? Are the dead still stalking her?

- Alas...

- And she still flays herself if she is left without a straitjacket?

“Unfortunately, Cecile did not get better.

- And it won’t. While she is locked in your hospital, the dead will not get rid of her. – He sighed. - It's a pity. She is a beautiful woman. She has such wonderful dark hair - long, down to her waist. I always loved looking at them and touching them with my palm. Cecile Jeanne means a lot to me. You know this.

- Yes, sure.

For a moment, Luka's eyes became empty, but he made an effort and returned to the conversation:

“While I was in a coma, something happened, Dr. Kleor, and this “something” may call into question some of your barbaric methods.

The psychiatrist did not understand what Luke was driving at, but, having experience in such conversations, she did not allow herself to be unsettled.

- I’d better ask a question. You are a brilliant doctor, so tell me, is the brain capable of healing itself? Cleanse yourself from rot without external intervention, drugs, doctors? How do abrasions on the knees heal, even if they are not smeared with iodine?

She shook her head.

– Recovery is the path to that part of yourself that the brain has deliberately blocked. Patients for the most part are not able to go through this path on their own; their illness interferes with them. We psychiatrists help our patients break down barriers.

Luke caught Sandi's gaze - he wanted her to fully feel his words.

- I know the truth. I know exactly what happened that day, December twenty-second, Doctor. I know who killed the eight players. I see his face as I see you now, doctor.

Sandy Cleor straightened up. Her patient had never said anything like that. He perceived her as a tormentor, believed that she was participating in a conspiracy against him. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but her excitement was getting the better of her.

- And who is he? What exactly do you know about that day on December twenty-second?

Lucas Chardon looked up at the clock hanging above the TV:

– Get out your gray voice recorder, doctor, the same one you trust with all these penny conclusions.

– I left him in the department.

- Very successful. Drive before the road is covered with snow and go into my room - the one where I was kept before being transferred here. I hid something in one of the metal bars of the bed. Get this out, grab the recorder and come back - it's worth it. I hope you have enough time because the story I am about to tell will blow your mind.

The morning in the heart of the Alps was dry and frosty. In this weather, it's good to put on your snowshoes and go for a walk. This is exactly what adjudan chef Pierre Boniface was going to do if he had not been given terrible news at the very end of the day. The caller, a mountain guide, was in a state of shock and could barely explain what had happened.

there won't be a trace left

when people die and things crumble to dust,

the smell and taste will remain for a long time,

more fragile, but also more tenacious,

calm, faithful, they are like souls,

calling to each other, waiting and hoping,

that on the ruins of all things they will preserve,

even in a tiny drop,

a giant building of memory.

The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.

I will only talk to my psychiatrist and let everyone else leave. Please…

The chamber was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but could not.

Don't try, Sandi Kleor said. - You have been in serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.

Well, yes, and the belts are very useful, they won’t let me fall or get hurt, right?

The psychiatrist sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient’s forehead. A beautiful young woman - she looked no more than thirty - was without a robe: the hospital where Luca was lying was located a hundred kilometers from the Department for complex patients in which she worked.

You shouldn’t be ironic, Luke, it’s for your own good, otherwise it’s impossible.

Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want it.

How are you feeling?

He looked out the window, turned his head and looked straight into his doctor's eyes, very beautiful dark blue eyes.

Tell me, Dr. Kleor, how long did you try to treat me - before transferring here?

Don't you remember?

Ridiculous question... how can a crazy person remember anything? Reality and time are concepts that mean nothing to madmen, don't you know that?

Cleor thought about it. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed coherent to her, completely logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.

Four months. You spent four months in OTB...

Do you think electric shock is an effective procedure? You can’t do without it, there’s nothing to replace it with? Do you understand the pain they caused me while they were “treating” me? Do you know what it’s like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? You feel like your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets and all your veins are about to explode. You should try it at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.

Sandy Cleor glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, as quickly as a cobra, and he did this more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and destructive illness; patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by delusional ideas, and most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.

Electrotherapy has helped your memory bring some memories of the past to the surface. No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think to yourself, she helped you.

Come on, doctor! You fed my fear and aggravated the suffering, you thought you were healing, but only made the situation worse.

The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart was giving out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm down.

You and Dr. Paul Gambier, that pipe tobacco lover, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was “out.” But I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.

This is difficult to understand - much less believe.

He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face red from the effort.

Frank Tillier

Puzzle

© E. Klokova, translation, 2015

© Edition in Russian, design.

LLC "Publishing Group "Azbuka-Atticus"", 2015

Publishing house AZBUKA®

* * *

But when from the ancient past

there won't be a trace left

when people die and things crumble to dust,

the smell and taste will remain for a long time,

more fragile, but also more tenacious,

calm, faithful, they are like souls,

calling to each other, waiting and hoping,

that on the ruins of all things they will preserve,

even in a tiny drop,

a giant building of memory.

Marcel Proust. Towards Swann

The entire medical team caring for Luca Chardon gathered around his bed and they removed all the electroencephalograph electrodes. The indicators of the electrocardiograph and other devices indicated the stability of the condition.

The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.

“I will only talk to my psychiatrist, and let everyone else leave.” Please…

The chamber was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but could not.

“Don’t try,” said Sandy Kleor. – You have been in serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.

- Well, yes, but the belts are very useful, they won’t let me fall or get hurt, right?

The psychiatrist sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient’s forehead. A beautiful young woman - no more than thirty in appearance - was without a robe: the hospital where Luca was lying was located a hundred kilometers from the Department for complex patientswhere she worked.

“You shouldn’t be ironic, Luke, it’s for your own good, otherwise it’s impossible.”

- Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want it.

- How are you feeling?

He looked out the window, turned his head and looked straight into his doctor's eyes, very beautiful dark blue eyes.

- Tell me, Doctor Kleor, how long did you try to treat me - before transferring here?

- Don’t you remember?

- Ridiculous question... how can a madman remember something? Reality and time are concepts that mean nothing to madmen, don't you know that?

Cleor thought about it. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed coherent to her, completely logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.

- Four months. You spent four months in OTB...

– Do you consider electric shock an effective procedure? You can’t do without it, there’s nothing to replace it with? Do you understand the pain they caused me while they were “treating” me? Do you know what it’s like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? You feel like your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets and all your veins are about to explode. You should try it at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.

Sandy Cleor glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, as quickly as a cobra, and he did this more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and destructive illness; patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by delusional ideas, and most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.

“Electrotherapy has helped your memory bring to the surface some memories from the past.” No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think to yourself, she helped you.

- Stop it, doctor! You fed my fear and aggravated the suffering, you thought you were healing, but only made the situation worse.

The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart was giving out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm down.

“You and Dr. Paul Gambier, that pipe tobacco lover, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was “absent.” But I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.

“It’s hard to understand, much less believe.”

He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face red from the effort. Having caught his breath, he asked:

How is Cecile Jeanne? Are the dead still stalking her?

- Alas...

- And she still flays herself if she is left without a straitjacket?

“Unfortunately, Cecile did not get better.

- And it won’t. While she is locked in your hospital, the dead will not get rid of her. – He sighed. - It's a pity. She is a beautiful woman. She has such wonderful dark hair - long, down to her waist. I always loved looking at them and touching them with my palm. Cecile Jeanne means a lot to me. You know this.

- Yes, sure.

For a moment, Luka's eyes became empty, but he made an effort and returned to the conversation:

“While I was in a coma, something happened, Dr. Kleor, and this “something” may call into question some of your barbaric methods.

The psychiatrist did not understand what Luke was driving at, but, having experience in such conversations, she did not allow herself to be unsettled.

- I’d better ask a question. You are a brilliant doctor, so tell me, is the brain capable of healing itself? Cleanse yourself from rot without external intervention, drugs, doctors? How do abrasions on the knees heal, even if they are not smeared with iodine?

She shook her head.

– Recovery is the path to that part of yourself that the brain has deliberately blocked. Patients for the most part are not able to go through this path on their own; their illness interferes with them. We psychiatrists help our patients break down barriers.

Luke caught Sandi's gaze - he wanted her to fully feel his words.

- I know the truth. I know exactly what happened that day, December twenty-second, Doctor. I know who killed the eight players. I see his face as I see you now, doctor.

Sandy Cleor straightened up. Her patient had never said anything like that. He perceived her as a tormentor, believed that she was participating in a conspiracy against him. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but her excitement was getting the better of her.

- And who is he? What exactly do you know about that day on December twenty-second?

Lucas Chardon looked up at the clock hanging above the TV:

– Get out your gray voice recorder, doctor, the same one you trust with all these penny conclusions.

– I left him in the department.

- Very successful. Drive before the road is covered with snow and go into my room - the one where I was kept before being transferred here. I hid something in one of the metal bars of the bed. Get this out, grab the recorder and come back - it's worth it. I hope you have enough time because the story I am about to tell will blow your mind.

The morning in the heart of the Alps was dry and frosty. In this weather, it's good to put on your snowshoes and go for a walk. This is exactly what adjudan chef Pierre Boniface was going to do if he had not been given terrible news at the very end of the day. The caller, a mountain guide, was in a state of shock and could barely explain what had happened.

The National Gendarmerie helicopter carrying Boniface and his assistant was flying over a huge larch forest. The first rays of the sun illuminated the mountains, their silky peaks stretching all the way to Switzerland on one side and to Italy on the other. Throughout his twenty-two years of police service, Boniface never tired of enjoying this magnificent sight, every day new and varied, like colors on an artist’s palette, but this morning he had no time for beauty, he was thinking about something else.

A white and blue helicopter flew across the lake and landed in a small clearing at an altitude of four thousand meters. The propeller blades kicked up clouds of snow into the air. The non-commissioned officers got out, shivered chillily and, sticking their noses into the collars of their blue uniform jackets and holding snowshoes in their hands, ran at a trot to the man dressed in warm overalls with eider down.

-You didn’t touch anything? - Boniface asked.

The guide led them back in his own tracks. The strong, tall guy walked so widely that Boniface could barely keep up with him. “Thank God that the climb in this part of the forest between the valley and the upward slopes is not too steep...” he thought, puffing and puffing.

Frank Tillier

Puzzle

© E. Klokova, translation, 2015

© Edition in Russian, design.

LLC "Publishing Group "Azbuka-Atticus"", 2015

Publishing house AZBUKA®

But when from the ancient past

there won't be a trace left

when people die and things crumble to dust,

the smell and taste will remain for a long time,

more fragile, but also more tenacious,

calm, faithful, they are like souls,

calling to each other, waiting and hoping,

that on the ruins of all things they will preserve,

even in a tiny drop,

a giant building of memory.

Marcel Proust. Towards Swann

The entire medical team caring for Luca Chardon gathered around his bed and they removed all the electroencephalograph electrodes. The indicators of the electrocardiograph and other devices indicated the stability of the condition.

The patient, strapped to the bed, became extremely irritated.

“I will only talk to my psychiatrist, and let everyone else leave.” Please…

The chamber was instantly empty. Lucas Chardon tried to raise his head, but could not.

“Don’t try,” said Sandy Kleor. – You have been in serious condition for a long time, so it will take a long time before your muscle reflexes are restored.

- Well, yes, but the belts are very useful, they won’t let me fall or get hurt, right?

The psychiatrist sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of light brown hair from the patient’s forehead. A beautiful young woman - no more than thirty in appearance - was without a robe: the hospital where Luca was lying was located a hundred kilometers from the Department for complex patients where she worked.

“You shouldn’t be ironic, Luke, it’s for your own good, otherwise it’s impossible.”

- Nonsense! Everything is possible if you want it.

- How are you feeling?

He looked out the window, turned his head and looked straight into his doctor's eyes, very beautiful dark blue eyes.

- Tell me, Doctor Kleor, how long did you try to treat me - before transferring here?

- Don’t you remember?

- Ridiculous question... how can a madman remember something? Reality and time are concepts that mean nothing to madmen, don't you know that?

Cleor thought about it. The patient's speech and reasoning seemed coherent to her, completely logical and without the slightest hint of aggression.

- Four months. You spent four months in OTB...

– Do you consider electric shock an effective procedure? You can’t do without it, there’s nothing to replace it with? Do you understand the pain they caused me while they were “treating” me? Do you know what it’s like to receive a discharge of hundreds of thousands of volts? You feel like your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets and all your veins are about to explode. You should try it at least once, maybe then you will understand. Psychiatrists should try any therapy on themselves before applying it to others.

Sandy Cleor glanced sideways at the straps on the patient's wrists. This man could attack without warning, as quickly as a cobra, and he did this more than once. Psychosis is an unpredictable and destructive illness; patients suffer from hallucinations, they are overwhelmed by delusional ideas, and most of the time they exist in a parallel reality, which makes treatment very difficult. In the case of Luca Chardon, the matter was complicated by the fact that even in moments of enlightenment he remained paranoid and perceived any attempt by doctors and nurses to take care of him as a conspiracy or persecution.

“Electrotherapy has helped your memory bring to the surface some memories from the past.” No matter how you feel about it, no matter what you think to yourself, she helped you.

- Stop it, doctor! You fed my fear and aggravated the suffering, you thought you were healing, but only made the situation worse.

The electrocardiograph gave a distress signal: the heart was giving out one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Luca lowered his eyes to the IV needle and slowed his breathing, trying to calm down.

“You and Dr. Paul Gambier, that pipe tobacco lover, had lengthy conversations, believing that the patient was “absent.” But I heard everything and every day I lost my mind bit by bit.

“It’s hard to understand, much less believe.”

He tried to laugh, but coughed, his face red from the effort. Having caught his breath, he asked:

How is Cecile Jeanne? Are the dead still stalking her?

- Alas...

- And she still flays herself if she is left without a straitjacket?

“Unfortunately, Cecile did not get better.

- And it won’t. While she is locked in your hospital, the dead will not get rid of her. – He sighed. - It's a pity. She is a beautiful woman. She has such wonderful dark hair - long, down to her waist. I always loved looking at them and touching them with my palm. Cecile Jeanne means a lot to me. You know this.

- Yes, sure.

For a moment, Luka's eyes became empty, but he made an effort and returned to the conversation:

“While I was in a coma, something happened, Dr. Kleor, and this “something” may call into question some of your barbaric methods.

The psychiatrist did not understand what Luke was driving at, but, having experience in such conversations, she did not allow herself to be unsettled.

- I’d better ask a question. You are a brilliant doctor, so tell me, is the brain capable of healing itself? Cleanse yourself from rot without external intervention, drugs, doctors? How do abrasions on the knees heal, even if they are not smeared with iodine?

She shook her head.

– Recovery is the path to that part of yourself that the brain has deliberately blocked. Patients for the most part are not able to go through this path on their own; their illness interferes with them. We psychiatrists help our patients break down barriers.

Luke caught Sandi's gaze - he wanted her to fully feel his words.

- I know the truth. I know exactly what happened that day, December twenty-second, Doctor. I know who killed the eight players. I see his face as I see you now, doctor.

Sandy Cleor straightened up. Her patient had never said anything like that. He perceived her as a tormentor, believed that she was participating in a conspiracy against him. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but her excitement was getting the better of her.

- And who is he? What exactly do you know about that day on December twenty-second?

Lucas Chardon looked up at the clock hanging above the TV:

– Get out your gray voice recorder, doctor, the same one you trust with all these penny conclusions.

– I left him in the department.

- Very successful. Drive before the road is covered with snow and go into my room - the one where I was kept before being transferred here. I hid something in one of the metal bars of the bed. Get this out, grab the recorder and come back - it's worth it. I hope you have enough time because the story I am about to tell will blow your mind.

The morning in the heart of the Alps was dry and frosty. In this weather, it's good to put on your snowshoes and go for a walk. This is exactly what adjudan chef Pierre Boniface was going to do if he had not been given terrible news at the very end of the day. The caller, a mountain guide, was in a state of shock and could barely explain what had happened.