Sleep Walking and Moon Walking: A Medico-Literary StudySadger, J.
Science
Sleep Walking and Moon Walking: A Medico-Literary Study
Sadger, J.
Psychoanalysis; Sleepwalking
"Soelver lay upon the floor, congealed with a coldness which was
stronger than that of the hard tiles. It was as dark as in a walled-in
grave. He dared not move however for fear that he would again feel that
ice cold body. 'Hear me,' sounded suddenly a strangely shrill whisper,
'hear me, if you are a man, let me get out! Call my father! I want to
get out--make light--give me air--I am almost choking--I want to get
out!'" As Soelver opened the shutter again so that the dim shadowy glow
of the night could enter, he saw Gro "tall and slender in the pale
light." "Let me out, let me out!" she begged. "I am afraid here
below--not of you--but of myself and of the dark--let me out!" "For the
first time Soelver heard a soft rhythm in this voice smooth as steel. A
soft breath breathed itself in her entreaty. He became a man, a
protector and felt his power grow through her supplication."
Yet though he exerted himself to the utmost to open the door of his
dungeon, it was all in vain. It must have been fastened on the outside
with massive oak or iron bars. "So finally he gave up entirely and
turned back to the opening where the light came in. Gro had sunk down
under the last bit of light, without complaint, without sound. Her eyes
were closed, she leaned her head against the sharp edge of the aperture
and her arms hung down lifelessly. Soelver bent over her; her breath was
almost inaudible, but irregular and did not suggest sleep. Like a
thirsty plant she stretched herself out of the single airhole of the
dungeon that she might seize the last drop of light before the darkness
extinguished everything. Soelver divined that she could not be brought
away from this aperture for light." He brought all the skins from the
couch, spread them over her, pushed them under her body and "solicitously,
with infinite carefulness he protected her from the damp floor, while he
shoved his arm under her for support without ever touching her with his
hand. All his brutality was gone, all his burning passion. Here she lay
before him like a delicate sick flower, which must be covered over from
the cold of night."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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