Briefing for a Descent Into Hell (23 page)

Incidentally, about Frederick’s stammer, in case this is of any use to you, he has cured it by letting the “parallel stream” of ideas, or words, that inhibited him from saying the usual things, come out: he listens and then voices it. Aloud. Either to himself, into a tape recorder, or to me. The results are surprising.…

I do look forward to hearing from you,

Sincerely yours,

ROSEMARY BAINES

DEAR MISS BAINES
,

I don’t know when I have felt so flattered. What a large result from what I am afraid I have to tell you was nothing but a routine occurrence for me. For my sins I give quite a number of lectures outside my own field. My wife says that I have too much energy for my own good. Perhaps she is right. The remarks which struck you so disproportionately—if I may be so frank!—I am
afraid are one of my stock ploys. When I run dry or run out of breath, I have a few old standbys to get me started again. Yes of course I do feel that education is not what it ought to be. But few of us do not. I suppose I have to admit that what was once a crusade, a bit of a bee in the bonnet, has cooled rather. As regards your kind remarks about stammering, I am extremely grateful, of course. I have recently been overworking, or so the doctor tells me, and I developed a tendency to stammer. But I don’t seem to remember doing so at that lecture. But you appear to remember it all in such very remarkable detail. Perhaps my making a joke about stammering had a prophylactic effect? I have found this to be the case. As regards Frederick Larson, I do seem to know the name, but that is all. I take his word for it that we have met. I think he is making too much of the stammering. Mine was relieved by remembering to speak very slowly and carefully, particularly when tired, and above all, by not forgetting to take the doctor’s pills. I am sorry I have to disappoint you in replying so churlishly to your quite extraordinarily lengthy letter. But alas, I have not yet retired, with my time to myself. Which must be my excuse for not accepting your extraordinarily kind invitation to meet you and Mr. Larson. I am very seldom in London and when I am my time is taken up with interviews and visits in connection with my work.

Yours truly,

CHARLES WATKINS

DEAR DOCTOR Y
,

Professor Watkins came to consult me in the spring of this year, in connection with stammering. I prescribed Librium and a holiday. I also gave him the address of a speech therapist, when the stammering did not stop. He has been on my books for five years. I took this practice over in 1964. He has not been ill in that time, except for influenza last year. He seemed to me to be in pretty good physical shape in March. He said he had lost weight. When I got your letter I asked his wife to come in and see me. I know her rather better than I know him, because I attend the children. She doesn’t seem able to throw much light. But in her interests, I suggest she see her husband pretty soon. Of course I am only that old-fashioned thing, a family doctor, and I don’t know as much as I should about mental health. But Mrs. Watkins is under heavy strain.

Yours sincerely,

DOCTOR Z

Hello Charles.

  You are …

  I’m your
wife
.

  Would you like to sit down?...........................................

......................................................................................

  I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.

  But Charles it isn’t possible that you don’t know me?

  
I’m sorry.

  But I just can’t …

  Then Felicity …

  How do you know my name is Felicity?

  They told me. They said you might come today.

  You didn’t ask to see me then?

  No………………………………….

  Charles you sit there and you tell me … oh, no, I just can’t believe it. Oh, I’m so sorry.

  Tell me then?

  Tell you
what?

  For instance, how long have we been married?

  Fifteen years.

  ……………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………………

  The doctor says he has had other cases. I’m not the first, by a long chalk. Why are you laughing?

  You always say that, just like that, “by a long chalk.”

  Do I?………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………………

When they told me you were coming, I hoped that if I saw you I’d remember …

  And you don’t?

  
No. You’re so angry. I didn’t expect you to be angry.

  Angry? Of course I’m not angry. What a funny thing to say. It’s not your fault you’ve lost your memory. It happens to people. I’m very sorry for you. I really am.

  No, you are angry.

  Well, if I
were
angry … it’s so like you Charles. All the time, since I knew you had lost your memory I couldn’t help thinking, That’s so like Charles.

  But why is it? Have I lost my memory before?

  No. Well, not so far as I know. You never told me, if so. But you don’t tell me things, do you?

  There, I said you were angry.

  Oh
no
, now I’m in the wrong again.
I simply can’t believe
………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………………

  Don’t cry.

  We’ve lived together for fifteen years. Fifteen years, Charles.

  I’m sorry. I’m really very sorry, Felicity. And now you are angrier still.

  I’m not angry but I can’t help crying. Wouldn’t you?

  Please go. You must go away. I don’t know you, you see, Felicity.

Patient was visited by his wife today. Visit terminated at patient’s request
.

Wife hysterical subject, better kept away from patient for the time being, in my opinion
.

DOCTOR X
.

Doctor X, I simply have to see you.

  Ah, Mrs. Watkins, I thought you had gone back home. Well, sit down, I’m very pleased to see you. Now, what can I do for you?

  What can you do for me! Doctor X, he’s been here now nearly two months.

  Yes, I’m afraid he has. But he is better, we think.

  How do you judge betterness, then? How? You say he didn’t know who he was when he came in here. And he still doesn’t. So why is he better?

  He’s better in himself. More rested.

  Rested? Was he ill when he came in?

  No, he didn’t have flu, or bronchitis.

  I know I am very stupid Doctor. I know that. But it doesn’t help me when you are sarcastic. You say he is better. But I’ve never seen him look so awful. Never. He’s so thin. And he seems shaky and weak.

  It is very understandable that you are upset.

  Oh thanks. Thanks very much.

  Look at it from our point of view. Your husband was brought in here nearly two months ago, by the police, in a
state of shock, having been robbed, without papers, money, or knowledge of who he was. He was talking to himself, hallucinated, he had religious delusions and he was paranoiac. We did what we could to get him better, that’s all.

  And you say he is better?

  In my opinion he is better.

  Can I see Doctor Y?

  Certainly, but he isn’t here today.

  He wasn’t here yesterday either. He wrote to me about my husband, you see.

  He does two days a week at another hospital.

  When will he be here?

  Tomorrow.

  Can I see him then?

  Certainly. Tell the office on your way out that you will be back tomorrow, and ask them to make an appointment.

  Oh please don’t think that I want to be rude, Doctor, I don’t.

  Not at all. We are quite used to it Mrs. Watkins.

Oh Doctor Y, I stayed over in town to see you.

  And I’m very pleased that you did. How do you think your husband is?

  
How do I know? How can I tell? Oh, I think he looks awful, awful … I don’t see how it is possible!

  Oh, believe me, it happens.

  No, no, I don’t mean that. That people don’t lose their memories. But … are you married, Doctor?

  Yes, I am.

  How long have you been married?

  Nine years. No, ten.

  Imagine you walk into your bedroom tonight when you go home, and your wife is there, and she looks at you and talks exactly as she always does and then suddenly she says she doesn’t know who you are.

  Yes, Mrs. Watkins, I have tried to imagine it happening. I really have tried.

  But … I’m not complaining about that. I don’t seem to be able to make myself understood. It is this—how can you say he has lost his memory then?

  Now I don’t understand … cigarette? They are bringing some tea in a minute.

  If he has lost his memory, then why does he speak as he always speaks. The same phrases. Everything the same.

  Ah, now I understand.

  If he had lost his memory, if he really didn’t know who he was, then he’d be like a—newborn baby.

  In some respects I’m afraid that he is.

  
No, I don’t think he is. If what he was before is cancelled out—washed away, then he might just as well come back to us as—oh I don’t know, a South Sea Islander, or a German or a man from Mars or something.

  I see your point. I do, really. Ah, here is the tea.

  Thank you. So it isn’t that he has lost his memory. He is still who he was. He just doesn’t remember—me. And the children.

  He says he doesn’t remember anything at all. Not his childhood. Nor his parents. Nothing.

  Yet, Doctor Y, when you say to him, Do you remember your childhood, he says, No, I don’t remember my childhood. He doesn’t say—oh I don’t know, Gobbledegook, or Worra worra worra worra. Oh I wasn’t making a joke, I assure you. I’m very far from making jokes. Oh, God, I know it is stupid to cry.

  Mrs. Watkins, would you like to see him again—that is, if he agrees. It might help.

  If w
ho
agrees?

  Yes, I do see your point. But don’t you see, I’m as much in the dark as you are. More. You know him well and I don’t. If you talked to him again, let him get used to—and don’t mind my saying this, if you try not to cry …

  Doctor, I took his hand, and he’s my husband, remember, and he looked as if—he looked like a man that a woman is flirting with and he’s not sure he likes it.

  
Look, my dear. I’m going to make a suggestion. You have another cup of tea and a cigarette. Wash your face—there’s a washbasin in there. I’m going to ask him to talk to you again. But don’t come in if you can’t stop yourself crying. Do you understand why? If you are very emotional, it may have the effect of blocking him—try and be easy and relaxed, and things may come back.

I’ll try, doctor.

  Well, Charles, I talked to Doctor Y.

  Yes.

  I like him.

  I can see him.

  See him?

  Some you can’t see at all.

  Oh, yes………………………………………………………………………

  I didn’t understand that, it’s no good pretending I did. But I want to ask you something. This is hard for me Charles. Please don’t be angry.…

  I don’t think I’ve felt anger yet. I haven’t felt. But I can see emotions on your face and on the faces of the doctors and nurses.

  But you asked me to go away. What did you feel then?

  I felt, not that all over again, not that again.

  
What?

  You asked me what I felt. That is what I felt—if that is feeling. I didn’t want that. I don’t want that, you see.

  Now Charles, I’m very calm, and I’m not crying at all. But I want you to look at me, and answer me. When you see me sitting here, am I just the same to you as—oh I don’t know, the nurses, or the doctors?

  The same?

  I mean, don’t you know me any better?

  I know you, I know you very well.