Cerebus

Foreword to a Fatal Interview 

I WANT TO tell you the circumstances in which I first encountered Hannibal Lecter, M.D. 

In the fall of 1979, owing to an illness in my family, I returned home to the Mississippi Delta and remained there eighteen months. I was working on Red Dragon. 

My neighbor in the village of Rich kindly gave me the use of a shotgun house in the center of a vast cotton field, and there I worked, often at night. 

To write a novel, you begin with what you can see and then you add what came before and what came after. Here in the village of Rich, Mississippi, working under difficult circumstances, I could see the investigator Will Graham in the home of the victim family, in the house where they all died, watching the dead family’s home movies. 

I did not know at the time who was committing the crimes. 

I pushed to find out, to see what came before and what came after I went through the home, the crime scene, in the dark with Will and could see no more and no less than he could see. 

Sometimes at night I would leave the lights on in my little house and walk across the flat fields. When I looked back from a distance, the house looked like a boat at sea, and all around me the vast Delta night. 

I soon became acquainted with the semi-feral dogs who roamed free across the fields in what was more or less a pack. Some of them had casual arrangements with the families of farm workers, but much of the time they had to forage for themselves. In the hard winter months with the ground frozen and dry, I started giving them dog food and soon they were going through fifty pounds of dog food a week. 

They followed me around, and they were a lot of company – tall dogs, short ones, relatively friendly dogs and big rough dogs you could not touch. They walked with me in the fields at night and when I couldn’t see them, I could hear them all around me, breathing and snuffling along in the dark. 

When I was working in the cabin, they waited on the front porch, and when the moon was full they would sing. 

Standing baffled in the vast fields outside my cabin in the heart of the night, the sound of breathing all around me, my vision still clouded with the desk lamp, I tried to see what had happened at the crime scene. 

All that came to my dim sight were loomings, intimations, the occasional glow when a retina not human reflected the moon. There was no question that something had happened. 

You must understand that when you are writing a novel you are not making anything up. It’s all there and you just have to find it. 

Will Graham had to ask somebody, he needed some help and he knew it. He knew where he had to go, long before he let himself think about it. 

I knew Graham had been severely damaged in a previous case. I knew he was terribly reluctant to consult the best source he had. 

At the time, I myself was accruing painful memories every day, and in my evening’s work I felt for Graham. 

So it was with some trepidation that I accompanied him to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and there, maddeningly, before we could get down to business, we encountered the kind of fool you know from conducting your own daily business, Dr. Frederick Chilton, who delayed us for two or three interminable days. 

I found that I could leave Chilton in the cabin with the lights on and look back at him from the dark, surrounded by my friends the dogs. 

I was invisible then, out there in the dark, the way I am invisible to my characters when I’m in a room with them and they are deciding their fates with little or no help from me. 

Finished with the tedious Chilton at last, Graham and I went on to the Violent Ward and the steel door slammed shut behind us with a terrific noise. 

Will Graham and I, approaching Dr. Lecter’s cell. Graham was tense and I could smell fear on him. I thought Dr. Lecter was asleep and I jumped when he recognized Will Graham by scent without opening his eyes. 

I was enjoying my usual immunity while working, my invisibility to Chilton and Graham and the staff, but I was not comfortable in the presence of Dr. Lecter, not sure at all that the doctor could not see me. 

Like Graham, I found, and find, the scrutiny of Dr. Lecter uncomfortable, intrusive, like the humming in your thoughts when they X-ray your head. 

Graham’s interview with Dr. Lecter went quickly, in real time at the speed of swordplay, me following it, my frantic notes spilling into the margin and over whatever surface was uppermost on my table. 

I was worn out when it was over – the incidental clashes and howls of an asylum rang on in my head, and on the front porch of my cabin in Rich thirteen dogs were singing, seated with the eyes closed, faces upturned to the full moon. Most of them crooned their single vowel between O and U, a few just hummed along. 

I had to revisit Graham’s interview with Dr. Lecter a hundred times to understand it and to get rid of the superfluous static, the jail noises, the screaming of the damned that had made some of the words hard to hear. 

I still didn’t know who was committting the crimes, but I knew for the first time that we would find out, and that we would arrive at him. 

I also knew the knowledge would be terribly, perhaps tragically, expensive to others in the book. 

And so it turned out. 

Years later when I started The Silence of the Lambs, I did not know that Dr. Lecter would return. 

I had always liked the character of Dahlia Lyad in Black Sunday and wanted to do a novel with a strong woman as the central character. So I began with Clarice Starling and, not two pages into the novel, I found she had to go visit The Doctor. 

I admired Clarice Starling enormously and I think I suffered some feelings of jealousy at the ease with which Dr. Lecter saw into her, when it was so difficult for me. 

By the time I undertook to record the events in Hannibal, The Doctor, to my surprise, had taken on a life of his own. You seemed to find him as oddly engaging as I did. 

I dreaded doing Hannibal, dreaded the personal wear and tear, dreaded the choices I would have to watch, feared for Starling. 

In the end I let them go, as you must let characters go, let Dr. Lecter and Clarice Starling decide events according to their natures. 

There is a certain amount of courtesy involved. 

As a sultan once said: I do not keep falcons – they live with me. 

When in the winter of 1979 I entered the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and the great metal door crashed closed behind me, little did I know what waited at the end of the corridor; how seldom we recognize the sounds when the bolt of our fate slides home. 

T.H. Miami, 

January 2000

Hannibal? 

There's someone here 

to see you.

Wants to ask a few questions.

I said you'd probably refuse….

A Young Woman. 

Says she's from The FBI.

Though she's far too pretty, 

if you ask me….

I'll tell her you said, “No.”

Lecter :

…..What is Her Name?

******

Starling!

Starling.

Crawford wants to 

see you in his office.

Thank you, sir.

-Clarice.

-Hey.

Hey, I got right to the end.

So there shouldn't be any problem

if you could ?

-You looking for Crawford?

-Yes, sir.

He should be back 

in a couple minutes.

Why don't you wait 

in his office.

Okay.

Then I think they were over into Flushing.

Starling. Clarice M.

-Good morning.

-Good morning, Mr. Crawford.

Sorry to pull you off the course

on such short notice.

Your instructors tell me you're doing well.

Top quarter of your class.

I hope so.

They haven't posted any grades yet.

A job's come up, and I thought about you.

Not a job really.

More of an interesting errand.

-Sit down.

-Yes, sir.

-I remember you from my seminar at UVA.

-Yeah.

You grilled me pretty hard, as I recall,

on the Bureau's civil rights record

in the Hoover years.

-I gave you an "A."

-A-minus, sir.

Let's see —

Double-Major ? Psych and Criminology.

Graduated magna.

Summer internships at the Reitzinger Clinic.

It says here, when you graduate,

you wanna come to work for me

in behavioral science.

Yes. Very much, sir. 

Very much.

We're interviewing

all the serial killers now in custody

for a psycho-behavioral profile.

Could be a real help 

in unsolved cases.

Most of them have been 

happy to talk to us - 

You spook easily, Starling?

Not yet, sir.

See, the one we want most

refuses to cooperate.

I want you to go after him 

again today in the asylum.

Who's The Subject?

The psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter.

"Hannibal the Cannibal."

I don't expect him to talk to you...

but I have to be able to say we tried.

So, if he won't cooperate, 

I want just straight reporting - 

how's he look, how's his cell look.

Is he sketching, drawing?

If he is, WHAT's he sketching?

Here's a, uh, dossier on Lecter... 

Copy of our questionnaire, 

and a special ID for you.

Have Your Memo on My Desk 

by 0800 Wednesday.

Okay.

Um, excuse me, sir, 

but Why The Urgency?

Lecter's been in Prison 

for so many years now.

Is there some connection between him and Buffalo Bill maybe?

I wish there were.

I want your full attention, Starling.

Yes, sir.

Be VERY careful with 

Hannibal Lecter.

Dr. Chilton at the asylum 

will go over all the 

PHYSICAL Procedures 

used with him —

Do not deviate from them 

for any reason whatsoever :

And you're to tell him 

nothing personal, Starling.

Believe Me, 

You Don't Want 

Hannibal Lecter 

inside Your Head.

Just Do Your Job, 

but never forget 

What He Is.

And What is That?

Oh, He’s A Monster.

Pure Psychopath.

So rare to capture one alive.

From a research point of view, 

Lecter is our most prized asset.

Well. You know, we get a lot of detectives here, 

but, I must say, I can't ever remember one as attractive.

Will you be in Baltimore overnight?

Because this can be quite a Fun Town. 

….if you have The Right Guide.

I'm sure this is a great town, 

Dr. Chilton, but, um, 

My Instructions are 

to Talk to Dr. Lecter 

and report back 

This Afternoon.

I see. Well, let's make 

this quick,  then —

We've tried to study him, of course, 

but he's much too sophisticated 

for the standard tests.

And, oh, My, Does He hate Us.

He thinks I'm His Nemesis.

….Crawford's Very Clever, 

isn't he, using you?

What do you mean, sir?

Pretty, Young Woman 

to Turn Him On.

I don't believe Lecter's even SEEN a Woman in eight years.

And, oh, are you ever to his taste - So to Speak.

I graduated from UVA, Doctor.

It is not a Charm School.

Good. Then you should be able 

to remember The Rules :

Do not touch The Glass,

Do not approach The Glass.

You pass him nothing 

but soft paper.

No pencils or pens.

No staples or paper clips 

in his paper.

Use the sliding food carrier,

No Exceptions.

If he attempts to pass you anything, DO NOT ACCEPT IT.

Do You Understand Me?

Yes, I Understand, sir.

I'm going to show you why we insist on such precautions.

On the afternoon of July 8, 1981, he complained of chest pains and was taken to The Dispensary.

His mouthpiece and restraints were removed for an EKG.

When The Nurse leaned over him, he did THIS to her.

The Doctors managed to reset her jaw, more or less, save ONE of her eyes.

His pulse never got above 85 - Even When He Ate Her Tongue.

I keep him in here.

Dr. Chilton.

Um, if Lecter feels that 

You're His Enemy, 

then, um, well, maybe 

we'll have more luck 

if I go in by myself.

What do you think?

You might have suggested this 

in My Office and saved me 

the time.

Yes, sir, but then I - 

I would have missed 

The Pleasure of Your Company, sir.

When she's Finished, 

Bring Her Out.

Hi. I'm Barney.

He told you don't get 

near The Glass?

Yes, he did. 

Clarice Starling.

Mm-hmm.

Nice to Meet You, Clarice.

You can hang your coat 

up here if you like.

Oh, Thank You. I will.

He's past The Others - 

The Last Cell.

You keep to The Right.

I put out a chair for you.

Oh, yes. That's Very Good. 

Thank You.

I'll Be Watching. 

You'll Do Fine.

Hi.

I can smell your cunt!

Good Morning.

Dr. Lecter, 

My Name is Clarice Starling.

May I Speak with You?