[anarchistbanjo]

Censored text Alraune chapter five:

You won't see this in the Endor's translation!

cheers ;)

-Joe

There was a knock at the door. It opened and Dr. Petersen stepped inside. In his hand swung a long glass tube, tightly corked and wrapped in wadding.

“Good morning, your Highness,” he said. “Good morning, your Excellency. Here- here it is.”

The princess sprang up, “Let me see-“

But the Privy Councilor held her back. “Slow down, your Highness. You will see it soon enough. If it is all right with you, we will get right to work.”

He turned to the assistant doctor, “I don’t know if it will be important, but just in case it would be a good idea if you-“

His voice sunk as he put his lips to the ear of the doctor.

He nodded, “Very well, your Excellency. I will give the orders immediately.”

They went through the white corridors and stopped just in front of No. Seventeen.

“Here she is,” said the Privy Councilor as he carefully opened the door.

The room was entirely white, radiant with sunlight. The girl lay deeply asleep in bed. A bright ray scurried in from the tightly barred windows, trembled on the floor, clambered up a golden ladder, darted across the sheets and nestled lovingly on her sweet cheek, plunging her red hair into glowing flames. Her lips were moving- half open- as if she were lightly whispering words of love.

“She’s dreaming of her prince,” said the Privy Councilor.

Then he laid his cold, moist hand on her shoulder and shook it.

“Wake up Alma.”

A slight shock flew through her limbs. She sat up, drunk with sleep.

“What do you want?” she stammered.

Then she recognized the Professor. “Leave me alone.”

“Come on Alma, don’t be foolish,” the Privy Councilor admonished her. “It is finally time. Be sensible and don’t give us any trouble.”

With a quick jerk he pulled the sheets away throwing her onto the floor.

The eyes of the princess widened, “Very good! The girl is very well endowed- that is convenient.”

But the prostitute pulled her nightshirt down and covered herself as well as possible with a pillow.

“Go away!” She screamed. “I won’t do it!”

The Privy Councilor waved to the assistant doctor.

“Go,” he commanded. “Hurry, we don’t have any time to lose.”

Dr. Petersen quickly left the room. The princess came up and sat on the bed, talked to the girl.

“Don’t be silly, little one. It won’t do any good.”

She attempted to caress her, massaging her with fat be-ringed fingers over throat and neck, down to her breasts.

Alma pushed her away, “What do you want? Who are you? Go away, away. I won’t do it!”

The princess would not be rebuffed, “I only want what’s best for you child. I’ll give you a pretty ring and a new dress.”

“I don’t want a ring,” screamed the prostitute. “I don’t need a new dress. I want to go from here. Why won’t they leave me in peace?”

The Privy Councilor opened the glass tube in smiling tranquility.

“Later you will be left in peace and later you can go. Meanwhile you have an obligation to fulfill that you agreed to at the very beginning. Ah, there you are doctor.”

He turned to the assistant doctor who had just entered with a chloroform mask in his hand.

“Come here quickly.”

The prostitute stared at him with terrified, wide protruding eyes.

“No,” she lamented. “No! No!”

She made as if to spring out of the bed and pushed the assistant doctor so hard with both hands on his chest as he tried to restrain her that he staggered back and almost fell down. Then the princess threw herself onto the girl with wide stretched arms, pressing her back into the bed with her mighty weight. Her fingers with their many rings clawed into the luminous flesh as she gripped a long strand of red hair in her teeth.

The prostitute struggled, kicking her legs into the air, unable to free her arms or move her body under this mighty burden. She saw as the doctor placed the mask over her face, heard him lightly counting “one, two, three-“.

She screamed and tried to turn her head to the side away from the mask, “No! No! I won’t! I won’t! Oh, I can’t breathe-“

Then her screams died away, turned into a pitiful weak whimper, “Mother, oh mother.”