Chapter 7      The Conversation

Clarice's temptation begins.  Transformations commence

The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling, contained herein were created by Thomas Harris. They are used without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the maintainer, creators or contributors to this site.

Clarice sat in Pytor's taxi numb.  Why hadn't she just done it? She had been presented with an open invitation.  No, she didn't want him dead.  She wanted the recognition of the world, her world, that she had finished the job, cleanly, by the rules, no unnecessary force, a job well done.  Contained by the proper authority.

'And what is a proper authority?'

"One that upholds the rule of law.  One that protects the innocent and the weak"

'But you have seen that the FBI doesn't do that'

"Yes it does, some of the time, and some time is better than no time"

'Is it? Haven't you seen the second rate prosper and the good men all leave, either voluntarily or in a wooden box?'

"Not all of them" Clarice responded stubbornly.

'You will be quite famous if you pull this off, Clarice'

"I'm not in it for the profile"

'Really?'

"He was the one that got away – he is the big fish, the most cunning, the one everyone has tried to capture"

'Aaah – ambition. To prove to yourself that you are better than the rest.  But you know that already – why bother?'

"To grind their noses in it"

'Recognition.  Forget it Clarice.  They can't afford to give you that.  You are last Thursdays left overs as far as the FBI are concerned.'

Clarice had found that she had lost her argument again.  Her stubborn intent looked more irrelevant every time she dragged it into the sunlight.

Et in terra pax.  Just for 24 hours.  She could relax a little.

Doctor Lecter arrived at the Inn promptly at 7.  Clarice had dressed carefully in a closely fitting cashmere jumper with a low neck and a fine linen bias cut skirt.  She had one expensive pair of low-heeled sling backs and small gold earrings in the shape of a Celtic knot. After some consideration she had put on the silk underwear that she had bought in Warsaw.  She explained away her efforts as not wanting to let the USA down in old Europe.  The clothes, particularly the silk next door to her skin, made her feel completely different – completely female rather than this person of indeterminate gender employed by the FBI.

She felt rested but still displaced.

The Doctor was standing relaxed, by the bar chatting easily with Tadeusz, as she came downstairs.  As far as Clarice could judge her landlord was respectful but quite easy around Dr Lecter.

She felt his eyes on her, as soon as she started down the stairs.  The reaction from the other men in the bar also felt pretty good.

"And here she is – our queen of the night" He said this very softly and without an ounce of mockery.  He formally kissed her hand and guided her out to the Rover.  The other men in the bar, stood up as she left and she assumed, wished her a good evening or maybe they were just acknowledging the droit de seigneur exercised by Dr Lecter.  Tadeusz beamed.  Clarice was almost getting used to this old world courtesy but she still felt awkward, being treated like a woman in a crinoline.  Good manners demanded that she go along with the local customs.  He didn't touch her again.

He drove with the same grace and precision as he had used in preparing their meal that afternoon.  Clarice enjoyed driving fast herself but rarely enjoyed it with someone else at the wheel.  She felt no qualms with him – he corrected his line and applied the acceleration in time with her mental adjustments.  She relaxed some more.  Dr Lecter talked as he drove about the history of the village and a little about the Soviet rape and pillage during collectivisation.  "This area used to be covered in forests stretching for hundreds of miles.  It made the winters a little less fierce, for everyone.  All cleared in the name of agrarian reform."  He played Vivaldi very softly on the CD system.

It was still light when they arrived.  This was a much more imposing building than Dr Lecter's house.  It was constructed in a yellowish limestone with an almost Italiante design to the frontage with arched windows and a four pillared portico with a curved roof.  There was a battered Lada parked on the fine gravel forecourt and a Toyota 4 x 4.

"The priest Father Geremek is already here" Lecter explained indicating the Lada.

"I met him last night with the village receiving committee" Lecter laughed.

"So how do you get to carry on a civilised conversation with a priest Dr Lecter? "  Clarice looked him straight in the eye.  The Doctor chuckled "Father Geremek was born a Jew and he keeps a mistress in the village.  He is quite open about his Christian inadequacies and he is a deliciously subversive influence in the local diocese.  It is hypocrisy that I abhor, Clarice and blind obedience to idols.  Denying your intellect is a crime against natural humanity."

"So does his congregation know that he is a non believer?"

"Certainly, but then, they are really only interested in the form and the words, not who administers them.  Untidy isn't it?" 

They were greeted by an elderly, stooped butler dressed in a worn frock coat with fraying cuffs and collar.  He greeted Dr Lecter warmly and beamed at Clarice and handed her into the hall.  This had a pink and grey terrazzo floor and Clarice looked up to see a plain cupola over her head about 40 feet above.  It was decorated with scenes from a great battle.

"The sack of Magdeburg" murmured Dr Lecter "A great Catholic victory" his lips curled.

The butler ushered them through tall marquetry doors into a large room beyond the cupola.  Clarice could see this was another salon with an inlaid wooden floor, an elaborately carved marble fireplace, tall French windows opening onto a terrace beyond and furnished with a bewildering selection of sofas and easy chairs, all worn and all of different styles.  There was a group of 3 people by one of the open windows.  They turned as Dr Lecter and Clarice were announced by the Butler.  A lady of about 5' 8'' swept across the room in a fine black lace dress shot with jet beads.  She had a deep purple chiffon scarf carelessly wrapped around her neck and heavy silver jewellery on both wrists. 

"May I present Ms Clarice Starling recently retired from the FBI, Elizabeth"

"You certainly may Hannibal" She offered her hand for Dr. Lecter to kiss and then turned her full attention to Clarice.  Clarice found herself staring at two wide open and intense brown eyes over a long slender nose.  The lips were quite thin.  Clarice didn't flinch under the scrutiny but felt that there were no corners this mind couldn't and wouldn't ruthlessly illuminate, if it chose to.

"Hmm. Intriguing Hannibal.  Welcome Ms Starling.  Please join us" The voice was quite high pitched and incisive.  The Countess took Clarice's upper arm and guided her towards the window.  She continued to study Clarice's profile in detail as they walked across the room.  "It is a very great treat for us to have visitors, particularly from America.  Father Geremek you have already met I believe and may I introduce our purveyor of elixirs and placebos, Doctor Gierowski" The doctor, a man of about 50 with greying hair and a well worn face, kissed Clarice's hand and smiled gently "Please forgive our Countess, She is Russian and has no manners to speak of.  She finds it very painful to mix, with the lower social orders" The doctor beamed at the Countess as he said this.  Father Geremek laughed heartily in a great Jewish cantor baritone.  He too, took Clarice's hand and brushed his lips over her fingers.

The Countess snorted and snapped her fingers at the butler hovering at a long sideboard.  He returned with a deep yellow wine in small Riedel glasses, on a silver salver with a chased silver bowl with what looked like tiny amarettos.

They wandered onto the terrace.  The Countess linked arms with Clarice and launched into a description of the history of the house and gardens.  They circled a fountain with the others.  "It was saved during the war because first the Russians, then the Germans and then the Russians, again, all wanted to stay here – we had a very good wine cellar.  Only Officers, of course.  We ran a brothel upstairs, for a while."  Clarice looked startled.  The Countess curled her lips – "it was that or starve, Ms Starling."

By the time they returned the two professors had arrived with their respective wives, and were in animated conversation by the fireplace.  In their 60's Clarice judged, one Lutoslawski, by name and a Professor of Medieval History, small with steel spectacles and almost bald and his wife who was rotund with apple red cheeks and small plump hands, the other, Jasienski an ex Professor of Economics with white hair, unevenly trimmed and a square face with humorous brilliant blue eyes.  His wife was as slender and tall as her husband with shining black hair tied tightly in a bun.  Her face could have looked severe except for her smile which was wide and warm.

The two men immediately started quizzing Clarice about the state of the US economy.  They wanted her to settle an argument about American policy relating to trade with the European Union.  The Countess rescued her and steered her onto a sofa with Dr Lecter.  The conversation continued, animated and with much laughter.  Clarice was asked to pronounce on Pytor's charm or lack thereof.  Clarice was aware of Dr Lecter studying her from time to time.

"Now Hannibal, how are you getting on with your transcriptions?"

"Slowly, Elizabeth. Everything that has been published is for the left hand, not the right."  Clarice felt a prickling on her spine.

"Tsk.  You can't keep garnering sympathy forever.  Are you practising?  Paul Wittgenstein never did less than 3 hours per day"

Dr Lecter hooded his eyes as he looked at the Countess, but she seemed unfazed.  "I do have other interests you know, Elizabeth"

"Your investments can't consume the whole day Hannibal.  You know we would all love to hear you play again, before Christmas.  What about the Brahms adaptation of the Bach chaconne in D? I'm sure that wouldn't exercise your ingenuity for more than half an hour "

There followed a heated technical discussion about transcribing from the left to the right hand and the limitations of the Brahms adaptation.

"Do you play an instrument Ms Starling?"

"Clarice is just coming to grips with opera seria" Dr Lecter interjected.  This comment sparked a long discussion of operas, interpretations and singers.  Clarice felt comfortable, joining in from time to time as her opinion was apparently valued in this company and they were punctilious about asking for it.  No competition, no sniping and an equality in the conversation between the men and women with which Clarice was unfamiliar.

Clarice was trying to come to grips with the scene in front of her.  Urbane, civilised, animated, rigorous, everyone easy.  Looking at him while he was talking, she saw very little of the man that had inhabited the stone and plexiglass cage in Baltimore.  The voice was golden toned, musical and the body more relaxed.

Now Clarice could understand the comments in his file from the women he had known in Baltimore;  "The sort of demeanour that bathed you in asses milk";  "a mind that lights fires";  "he would look at you and you knew that there was nowhere else to go that evening – delicious"

The conversation then turned to economics and specifically how the state was going to shake off corruption and the scrabbling tentacles of the Russian mafia.  Clarice shared some anecdotes from the FBI history books and then found herself being drawn away, by the Countess, to a couple of chairs by one of the open windows.  It was twilight.  The butler had lit some oil lamps around the room.  By the window it was a little cooler.  The Countess settled herself and the butler appeared with a long slender pipe, lit it for her and left it balancing on a silver ashtray by her elbow.

"Now, tell me about this necklace you brought for Hannibal from America"

"Dr Lecter purchased it from a dealer in Boston.  I understand that it is a family heirloom.  I work there in a security firm and was contracted to courier it here"

"But you two have met before?"  The Countess peered at Clarice intently, in the half light.  Clarice knew it would be pointless to lie.

"Yes, but under different circumstances"

"Before, during or after the trial?"

Clarice was nonplussed for a second.

"My dear, we are not quite as provincial as you might think.  Apart from the doctor and our priest we all knew one another before the war.  It was clear, even then, that Hannibal was meant for greater things.  He started young.  He certainly helped slit a few Nazi and Russian throats before the Red Cross got hold of him"

The Countess drew on her pipe "It is very difficult when you are at war from such a young age, to get out of the habit of settling matters through any other means.  Your patience runs out.  Life is too short to suffer fools gladly.  He never gave any of his history away?  He is an aristocrat.  Any cross examination or interrogation he would have simply viewed as an insult"

Another suck on the pipe.  The tobacco glowed brazier bright.  Clarice was at a loss for words.

"I would imagine that he would have killed very elegantly – both his mother and father had great style.  I shock you a little?  Everyone in this room has committed many murders, by your definition.  The circumstances may or may not have been extenuating – it depends on your point of view. I find it strange that it is the context that is supposed to make a murder good or bad, moral or amoral, just or unjust." 

"I don't see a problem as long as the rules are agreed by the majority"

"Aaah democracy in action.  I'm afraid there was an insoluble problem in this country when a majority over the border decided to selectively cull the population.  From the European experience Ms Starling democracy, does not guarantee natural justice or the preservation of common sense"

"I appreciate that"

"Justice is a moveable feast don't you find Ms Starling?  Pornography in one country is on prime time TV in another.  The human condition is ridiculous.  We make all these limits and rules in an attempt to keep chaos at bay but it still erupts unbidden, at random.  Governments are so clumsy when it comes to managing personal justice"

Clarice felt her hackles rising.  "So we just sit on our backsides and let it all happen?  I don't think so.  You can mock all you like, but rules are there to protect the weak, dispossessed, the innocent"

"And is that how it really works in America?"  The countess looked genuinely surprised although Clarice thought she could detect an undercurrent of sarcasm.  "Also, I would dispute the word 'innocent'.  Apart from some children, no one is totally innocent either in terms of being blameless in their lives, or lacking in knowledge."

"I think you haven't seen what poverty can do to people – they get slapped down so often they never discover that rules can work for them too"

The countess laughed.  "Ms Starling 6 of the people in this room practically starved to death during the war.  Poverty is no excuse.  You can read a book even if your stomach is empty."

The Countess drew on her pipe again. She really didn't want to offend Hannibal's amorata, but her naivety was irritating especially in someone who clearly had a brain.  She decided to turn the conversation.

"You know, I think men are in touch with something that women aren't - that we are all careering uncontrollably towards fulfilling the 2nd law of thermodynamics so … why not help this inevitable process along?  Add to the chaos"

"I must sound very cynical to your American ears – you seem still full of hope and moral certainty, although I see some weariness around your eyes.  Staying compassionate must have been very difficult in your job."

Clarice was having difficulty hanging onto her temper  " As a law enforcement officer I didn't find compassion to be a burden.  In fact it was an essential tool of the trade. It evened out the scales.  You couldn't despise and stay objective.  You needed pity to level out your judgement."

"So…do you feel compassion for Hannibal?  I see some anger and resentment in the way you carry yourself around him."

Clarice paused an instant.  "He played a part in wrecking my career with the FBI " A longer pause as she gazed into the darkness.

"In vino veritas Ms Starling, " murmured the Countess encouragingly.

Clarice continued, "I guess I was heading into a blind alley.  I found that I was working my butt off for an organisation that had lost its way."  She shrugged.  "So maybe Dr Lecter was simply an accident at a random moment" Clarice turned directly to look at the Countess.  "It doesn't change the fact that he wasted people who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time"

"Survival of the fittest, Ms Starling."  The countess looked down her long nose at Clarice.  "In war you learn that life is worthless so … grasp what you have with both hands and hold it close.  I applaud your desire to reduce pain and suffering to a minimum Ms Starling.  You realise, of course, that you can only make a very small difference or none at all."

"Of course" responded Clarice, resentment rising again "But I know any effect I have, is better than none at all.  And there was no war in the US when Dr Lecter was doing his worst"

"I think he possibly doesn't share your view on that score."  There was another pause.  "I can see why he loves you so much. "

These words exploded in Clarice's head like a firecracker.

"You have an incorruptible vision"

There was a small pause as the Countess tamped down the tobacco in the bowl of the pipe.

"You can't change his nature Ms Starling and by your just deserts he is damned, unredeemable and yet, you are here – why?"

That question again.

"To capture him" Clarice realised as soon as the words were out of her mouth that this could be interpreted in two ways.

The Countesses eyebrows shot up.  "I hope you realise the futility of your endeavour, Ms Starling.  The rule of law doesn't apply here and I doubt that your pockets are deep enough or that you have the right sort of contacts to galvanise the authorities to do anything, meaningful." 

She took another gentle pull on her pipe.  "If on the other hand you wish to administer the justice with your own hands you could always resort to the rough and ready recipe.  Love him and leave him"

Clarice looked at the Countess, startled

"No stomach for the subtle kill Ms Starling? Then I am afraid you are wasting your time here" The countess's nostrils flared.  She took another draw on her pipe.  "Is there anything else you want from him?  In his present state you would only have to ask"

The answer came easily in the haze of the tobacco smoke "Enlightenment, I guess.  I would like a better view of him" – a slight pause "and a better view of myself."

"You are afraid of looking at yourself?  You shouldn't be.  You are the sort of person who will always find their true centre again, whatever the perturbation.  A moral gyroscope."

"However, you will need to be much more relaxed with him if you are going to obtain the full benefit from that sort of exercise.  You will feel much better after you have slept together.  Less tense, you will be able to talk more easily."

Clarice flushed angrily "What!"

The Countess looked at her unabashed  "Yes, of course.  He clearly wants you and your unease around him is, I think, not entirely to do with your previous profession or your moral qualms.  He is a very attractive man, whatever his history"

Clarice felt stunned.

"It is what men and women were made for.  Then you will see that he is like any other man, solitary, largely unloved, controllable to a degree and you will be less threatened by what he has to say, you will be on the same footing.  He will talk and you will listen and vice versa"

"Also " the countess's eyes narrowed,  "I think you would welcome some undivided attention.  The Maoris have a wonderful fable.  The woman is the tree in winter – no leaves, dormant.  The man is the spring rain that nourishes the tree so that it may bud and flower.  You are already very beautiful…" Her attention wandered and she left the sentence unfinished.

Clarice felt adrift on a great sea with a huge sky over her head.

"Elizabeth you are monopolising our guest" The tone was smooth and icy, from Dr Lecter, standing by a chair just out of the pool of lamplight.

Lecter could see that the Countess had disturbed Clarice.  This wasn't conducive to persuading her to stay another day.  His irritation began to writhe.

"Don't be tedious Hannibal" snapped the Countess.  "We had no interest in your conversation so we left – has it improved?"

"Madame Lutoslawski has some questions for Clarice.  Her son is going to Harvard next year on a Fulbright scholarship"

Clarice controlled her spinning head and moved away with Dr Lecter.

"Could I have some water, please?" she said a little distractedly.

"Of course"

The butler brought her a tall glass with ice cold water and a slice of lime.  Clarice drank gratefully.  Madame Lutoslawski beamed at her with ruddy cheeks and explained that she was anxious to get as much information about Boston, as possible.  Clarice was mightily relieved to talk to someone patently real and with solid practical concerns.  She spent half an hour talking about the Boston she had got to know over the last year.  Good and bad.  They moved outside into the garden.

Clarice saw her chance.  "How long has Dr Lecter been living here?"

"Oh for a little while" Madame Lutoslawski smiled noncommittally.  There was a little pause.  "You must understand Ms Starling that he is the only survivor of the oldest family in this part of Lithuania.  We are still very feudal here.  He is a long way from America" she looked almost appealingly at Clarice.  "He had a terrible time during the war.  He lost everyone and everything.  He fought.  He is viewed as a Prince here for all those reasons.  You may end up harming yourself if you try and take him back"

"Thank you for your concern, but as I explained, I no longer work for the FBI or any other government organisation."

Madame Lutoslawski still looked a little uncertain  "But you will be returning to America – you will talk to the FBI then.  He will have to leave."  She sounded very wistful  "We would miss him and he would no longer be safe"

Clarice now understood.  He was indeed, impenetrably laagered in this community. 

The Countess called to them from the French windows.  "Come, it's getting cold.  Danesh wants to shut the windows"

As Clarice entered the salon again the Countess fixed her with an unblinking gaze.  There was some Kapsberger playing in the background "Will you join us tomorrow for mushroom picking, Miss Starling?  It's traditional at this time of year " 

This was definitely not what Clarice had planned.  She was aiming to make her call from the post office first thing in the morning and then get Pytor to take her to the rail station – there was a train at 11.30.

" I have to be back in the States by Friday. So I have to leave tomorrow"

The Countess examined Clarice lazily through a cloud of tobacco smoke.

"What a great disappointment for us all.  I hope Hannibal, that you will be able to prevail on our guest to stay at least another day "

"Ms Starling, I think, is immune to my particular powers of persuasion" Lecter directed a gently sardonic smile towards Clarice.

"Then we must make the most of your company this evening Ms Starling.  Hannibal why don't you show Ms Starling the masques while Danesh sets up the card table?  This is a collection my family made over many years – a physical description of their travels."

The Doctor guided her down a corridor still illuminated by the fading twilight to a smaller drawing room with tall windows opening onto a secluded side terrace.  The walls of this room were painted a pale golden yellow and on one wall were displayed about 20 masques.  Some of them heavily decorated with jewels and feathers, others just plain glossy black.  Some with carrying handles, some not.  Clarice had been to New Orleans once and remembered seeing similar creations in some of the tourist shops.  On closer examination it was clear that these were all much older, much more intricate and some of them much more flamboyant than any she had seen in Louisiana.

"These" Dr Lecter pointed to some plainer black masques in a group on their own "are all from the carnevale in Venice collected over three or four successive Grand Tours.  Elizabeth had three brothers.  They all died in the war"

Clarice looked at the array of disembodied eyes. It reminded her of the first Greek tragedy she had seen as part of her education, Euripides, The Bacchae.  Clarice, desperate to keep the conversation on neutral ground, described the experience.  The Doctor saw a lead and pursued it.

"So what did you make of it Clarice?  Chaos over control; emotions over reason."

"I didn't buy the argument that allowing the primitive part of your brain to take over is necessary for psychological health."

"Quite a challenging idea isn't it since people in the West generally try so hard to tame their emotional environment." A small pause. "What about sex as an exception to that argument?"  The tone of his voice was quite even.

Clarice's pulse raised a beat or two.  "Yeah, I'll buy that as an exception…maybe"

Dr Lecter looked at her.  From the way she held herself it was clear that she was no longer a sexual ingénue as she had been in Baltimore.  However, from the lines around her mouth and from her eyes sometimes, he surmised that there had been some disappointments along the way.  "So what about the masks?"

She realised he was making an effort to keep on less slippery ground. Clarice frowned for an instant.

"In my business I need to read faces, so the masks were in the way, it was like watching a bad dream – disembodied voices"

"So you listen to the voices.  It then becomes pure music, don't you think? Another way of exploring your internal landscape.  Do you reflect much now Clarice?  I would think that you did so infrequently when you were institutionalised."

Clarice offered no reply.

"The masks of course also signify change – you can be anyone you want to be under a mask.  Dionysus was regarded as the most protean of all the gods – always breaking free and transforming into something else.  A small pause and then very softly " Are you transformed Clarice?"

Clarice turned to him with her anger flaring "I'm not here to be analysed by you Doctor"

The doctor smiled a little "That isn't what you just said to the Countess, I think."  He looked frankly at Clarice  "I appreciate that you have been through a furnace in the last year Clarice.  But now you are free from all that.  You can become whatever you want to be "

"We covered this yesterday Doctor.  I have unfinished business with you"

"I made you an offer Clarice"

Clarice gave him a withering look.  "Yeah a great offer.  'Let me take you away from all this.  Come and live in my asylum built for two' "

"I meant the other offer, Clarice.  I seem to remember, Pytor interrupted your reply.

"Killing in cold blood is not my style"

"Ah yes.  It may prejudice your ethical underpinnings.   So…how are you going to extract this pound of flesh without using force Clarice?"

"Who said anything about a pound of flesh?"  Clarice snapped back

"Clarice, I thought we had already established that you aren't going to be able to take me back in chains and parade me under the porticos of Quantico.  So, I am suggesting that you vent your ire in some other way.  I am open to all reasonable suggestions" Dr Lecter's eyes flashed as he said this.

Clarice had an image in her head of a stooping falcon.  "Tell me about your mother and your family and what happened in the War" Clarice looked directly at him, and saw the merest flicker at the back of his pupils.

Lecter smiled slightly.  He sat down in one of the brocade armchairs and invited Clarice to sit opposite him.  She sat upright and alert, waiting for his answer.

"My Father was murdered by the Russians in Katyn.  Before he went away he asked me to look after my sister, Mischa who was two years old.  The winter of 1943 was very hard.  The snow came up to the first floor windows and we had to dig a tunnel from the house to the animals in the barn.  The Germans were retreating from Russia – bands of starving men all over the countryside.  They came one night to our house and broke in.  They put my sister, my mother and myself in the billiard room while they raided the wine cellar.  They came back and raped my mother over the table.  There were eight of them.  Then they cut off her breasts and disembowelled her.

"They put us in the barn with our old housekeeper and her husband and their son. He had Downs but was devoted to our animals.  By that stage we had one cow left.  They slaughtered that the next day.  They were inexpert butchers and wasted half the meat.  I crept out that night and got some for everyone before the wolves came.  They took our housekeeper and her husband out the next day.  They raped her while Tomas watched and then scalped them both.  One of the soldiers had taken a liking to me for some reason, so I was put in a place of honour, sitting on his lap to watch.  I could hear Mischa crying in the barn.  I was afraid that one of the others would get annoyed and slit her throat.  I had made a solemn promise to my father to protect her from all harm. Then they took Guido and played some games with him and then cut out his eyes with a bayonet.  I found him that night half way down the snow tunnel, calling to God and his favourite milch cow.  He was too heavy to drag into the barn.  He froze to death."

"Some days passed.  They somehow caught a deer and slaughtered that.  I scavenged the residue for Mischa, but I didn't have the strength to crack the bones open to get at the marrow.  A few days later they came for Mischa.  I tried to stop them.  They broke my arm." 

"That night I escaped.  I had Tomas's old coat and his wife's shawl to protect me.  I hid in a snow hole that night.  I was lucky, there was a storm.  The wolves didn't hunt that night and the snow covered my tracks."

"I was picked up by some partisans.  My job was to go round slitting soldiers throats after the partisans had shot them, to make sure they were dead and then to go through their pockets looking for food, gold, jewellery that they had stolen."

"One night we surprised a group sleeping in an abandoned farmhouse.  I don't know whether they were Nazis or Russians.  We cut their throats or garrotted them as they slept.  We were starving by then.  It must have been February or March 1944 and there was still no sign of a thaw.  We cooked and ate a couple of them that night.  One of the soldiers was carrying my mother's necklace."

"I was picked up by the Red Cross eventually.  That proved to be no safe haven either, as Paul Sowerby probably told you.  One of the people at the manor took my mother's necklace.  The photograph I gave to Paul Sowerby for safe keeping " he glanced at Clarice sharply.

He fell silent, staring at the carpet.  Clarice had been blessed or possibly burdened with an imagination, as an FBI agent. They had been told to keep compassion in a separate box.  She could feel an ache in her chest.

Lecter looked at Clarice quizzically "Now tell me, does that really make any difference?"

"Of course it does.  Why didn't you call it out at your trial?"

Lecter looked at her pityingly.  "In your life, didn't you get tired of listening to excuses, Clarice ?  I asked for no quarter and none was given."  Dr Lecter raised his chin as he said this, like an eagle surveying the horizon. There was a pause and Lecter frowned.  "It is strange.  For a country so jealous of its hunting, shooting and fishing the average American seems curiously separated from the inevitability of death don't you think Clarice?  I always took the view that death was so frequently ugly that one should make an effort to interject some beauty and yes, even humour when one could.  Very difficult when you are fighting out on the streets, I am sure " he looked sympathetically at Clarice.

Clarice felt the ground shift under her feet.  She could not connect with these last statements at all.  She knew, in this country, that there was a history so bloody that casual death could almost be viewed as a genetic imperative. She had never heard someone state it as a natural law.

"So what war were you fighting in America Dr. Lecter?" she could barely keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"A war against the ill mannered.  Do you know the most important underpinning to a civilisation Clarice? It is how you conduct yourself around others.  Everyone has the capacity to be courteous. Many people choose not to be.  They are the seeds of chaos."

"Does that include ambulance drivers and tourists with identities you want to steal?"

Lecter smiled gently.  "When fighting to survive, all rules are irrelevant.  It is the survival of the fittest.  I am sure I don't have to spell that out for you Clarice.  Anyway, I always asked politely, first."

"Unfortunately Dr Lecter, a majority in America disagreed with your world view.  Although I expect Hitler would have approved."  Too late she realised this last comment was probably beyond bad manners.

Clarice watched his jaw muscles clench.  Clarice didn't wait.

"You believe the end justifies the means, Dr Lecter.  I don't.

"Purity of purpose is what we should all strive for Clarice. What you strive for "

"Only if you don't trample innocents in the process "

"What is an innocent Clarice?"

"Someone who isn't involved in that immediate action"

"Who is excused from civilised behaviour? Who is immune from immediate action Clarice?  If your purpose is a civilised society, then everyone has to contribute.  If they don't then the purpose is corrupted and chaos reigns and you will continue to thrash around in the swamp with everyone else.  Remember, a whole nation forgot their manners in 1939 and made death into a heavy industry."  The last he spat out.

Clarice was stopped in her tracks for a moment.  "They had purity of purpose – right?"

" Their purpose was indiscriminate annihilation of both the rude and the well mannered."  He sneered  "They weren't sophisticated enough to distinguish between the two."

"Are there no ill mannered people here, now?"

"Just as many as there are anywhere else, but here we recognise natural justice.  Far fewer bureaucrats to get in the way.  Much cleaner. " And here…" he hesitated, "Since our last meeting and in fact for a long time before, I have felt little need to sweep out the Augean stables. I have been preoccupied with other thoughts… scenarios."  He looked directly at her.  She returned his gaze, frankly.  "I understand that you may view my contemplation of you as an insult, Clarice" He looked away.  His blood was still fizzing.  The argument had been delicious.

The conversation came to a full stop.  Clarice suddenly felt completely drained.  "I would like to go back now.  I have to leave early tomorrow."  Her voice sounded heavy even to her ears.

They returned to the main salon.  Clarice was conscious of his body heat all the way back down the corridor, half a step behind her.

The company were crowded around an old Roberts radio when they returned.  Prof Lutoslawski turned around as they entered and beckoned urgently.  "Belarus has closed its borders – some argument over customs duties and the LG drivers have gone on strike in protest.  He flung his arms wide "A voluntary withdrawal of labour.  My God.  I almost feel like a true European" and he laughed out loud.

The Countess turned to Clarice.  "I think you may have to endure our company a little longer Ms Starling, unless Hannibal does the decent thing and chauffeurs you to Vilnius tomorrow"

Clarice considered.  If she got him away from his ground there would be a better chance of trapping him, maybe.  It would mean calling the police from the post office early tomorrow morning.  They could pick him up in Vilnius, at the airport say.

"I would be delighted," murmured Dr Lecter.  He saw the decision and fire in her eyes.  She looked superb.  "We will need to leave about 6.0 am if we are going to have a chance of getting you on a suitable flight to Warsaw"

Clarice swallowed. That would mean trying to make a call on the road.  Difficult or impossible.

She considered.  The Countess was still measuring her through half closed eyes.

"I guess" a pause as she let her shoulders sag a millimetre "I could really use a days vacation.  Could we travel the day after instead, or maybe the trains will be running by then?  I can call the office tomorrow and explain."  As she said this the real reason for delaying sang in her ears 'I want to please myself, just this once.  I want to have one decent conversation with this man, at my leisure.  I want to grapple with this mindscape.'

Dr Lecter noticed with interest a sudden shot of adrenaline entering his circulation.

"Then Miss Starling you most certainly must join us for mushroom picking tomorrow.  I will pick you up in the Citroen at 10."  The tone of the Countess's voice assumed that Clarice would agree.  Clarice smiled a little weakly and the rest of the company beamed at her.

"Ms Starling is a little fatigued, Elizabeth.  I will run her back to Barbara and Tadeusz, if I may.  Shall I meet you at the picnic site tomorrow?"

Arrangements made, Clarice made her apologies and left the salon.

The Doctor guided her gently to the Rover with a light touch to the small of her back.  She sank into the leather and closed her eyes.  Dr Lecter was silent on the drive back to the Inn.  He could see she was tired but still tense.  She clearly didn't want to talk.  Finally he chose some Mozart – the last vespers he wrote before he left Salzburg. He could see her relaxing as the Laudate Dominum took effect. 

When they arrived he turned off the engine and simply stared ahead through the windscreen.  "I'm sorry if our conversation this evening disturbed you in any way.  You are a guest here.  I really should have exerted more effort to make you comfortable."  His voice sounded to Clarice's ears a little strained.

"I guess it was a little surprising.  Civilised company but the same old arguments" Clarice felt weary.  It felt like she had just done 3 rounds on the mat with one of the big bears at Quantico.

"Dr Lecter, I have to warn you that our truce is over as of midnight tonight."  She looked directly at him when she said this.  The words sounded ridiculous, even to her own ears.

"That's mighty generous of you ex special agent Starling, to give me fair warning an' all" This he said in an affected Texan drawl.

Clarice's anger flared immediately "Don't fuck with me Doctor"

"I wouldn't dream of it without your express consent Clarice". His smile broadened.

"Did anyone ever tell you what an arrogant prick you are Doctor?" Clarice felt her anger boiling over.

"Your use of Anglo Saxon vocabulary is not very original Clarice.  Arrogant? Well I know I have good cause to be."

"So, you spill a little blood and that makes you a God"

"No just an individual who makes a decision and sticks with it.  You recognise that, don't you Clarice?"

Dr Lecter's eyes burned in the reflected light of the dashboard.  "Until tomorrow morning then " he gave Clarice an equable smile and then got out to open the door for her.  He watched the long curve of her leg as she got out of the car – 'like a gazelle' he thought.  Clarice could barely muster enough good will to thank him and asked him not to take her through the door of the Inn.  He stood by the Rover and watched her.

Clarice entered the bar.  It was dark and smoky.  Immediately Clarice detected some unease in the patriarchs sitting at a table with their chess.  They weren't playing but were staring at a group of 4 men in the corner, talking loudly and obviously drunk.  Tadeusz was standing tense behind the bar.  One of them turned to shout at him.  Clarice recognised him immediately as the ape from the train.

The ape saw Clarice mumbled something to his companions and they all stopped talking and stared at her as she made her way to the staircase.  One glance was enough – 'local mafia; black market with a little protection and extortion thrown in' thought Clarice.  She smiled gently at Tadeusz as she passed and said goodnight – almost the only Lithuanian she knew.  Tadeusz smiled weakly at her as she climbed the stairs.  The ape walked over and watched her to the top of the flight.  Clarice did not look back.  Clarice slept badly, restless with anger.

Lecter returned to the Rover and simply sat breathing her in, with his eyes shut while he listened to some Chopin - the first piano concerto He switched directly to the 2nd movement.  He very rarely listened to portions of a piece, like this. It was the first recorded keyboard music he had listened to, since leaving America.