A Little Treachery

11

They had been ready far too soon and had been waiting a long while in the room on the road level, because from there they could keep a watch on the road. At last the car drew up, and this, then, was the consultant psychiatrist from the hospital, this big, florid, youngish man, a Scotsman, as one could guess at a glance. He got out and was met by their own doctor. And then they could watch while the two stood chatting and smiling for a few minutes before turning to the door – and what behaviour could have been more natural? To be fair, it was obligatory.

She said to Clem, raging, ‘Shall I kick them out? Shall I send them packing? I will if you like. Shall I? Shall I? Shall I? After all, they couldn’t do anything about it –’ But could they not? Was that right? Was it in reality too late? Had she the power now? Did it lie with her any more? And what could she do with Clem thereafter – what could she do left alone with one who could not eat, sleep or answer? She had already been warned that the police might be brought into it – for of course Clem had spoken of wishing to be dead, as they always did. The questions cracked like whips, making her brain spin – to not one of them could she supply any sort of answer. ‘What shall I do?’ she cried out helplessly.

But it was not that she was really expecting any decision from the figure which sat there huddled in the chair in the corner, defenceless against anything one might inflict on it, with frightened eyes which seemed to have gone blank and childish, yet fixed themselves on one with that terrible expression, so that one could not but know that the brain behind them was, most fearfully, not incapable of thoughts but only incapable of words, of action. ‘But you cannot go on like this!’ Catherine cried, in a harsh, angry voice, wringing her hands.

She saw that she must open the door. Glowering silently, suddenly finding herself unable to utter a civilized greeting, she let the two in. So perhaps he was justified in asking in that smiling but already somewhat touchy manner, ‘Which is my patient?’ while giving her the famous medical stare which sized her up as another case in the making. Human dislike was in the air and not on her side only. Still, the interview somehow got under way.

‘Now, come, you have nothing to be afraid of,’ he said to Clem, smoothly, the words reassuring, but his tone was charged with menace – it could not be otherwise! And then he compelled brief answers from her, like one who knew how to quell sick wills.

Catherine looked at the man’s smiling face and blazed with hatred, not of him as an individual (him she could almost pity) but of what he represented; and she could barely keep the violent contempt out of her voice.

In this place he proposed for Clem was it possible to have a private room? Yes, such a room was sometimes to be had, he answered ambiguously, still with that air of grim knowledge reserved from them – and suddenly, with terrible emotion, she saw that cell with the high, barred window in which their mother had been placed for a time, and then did not dare to glance at Clem; while he went on to say that it must depend on what he considered best for his patient. But, he said, with the menace doubled, in no case could one expect to be private. Nowhere could one be private in this beautiful institution of his, of which he seemed almost ingenuously proud, speaking of it with sincere satisfaction. But a place where one can never be alone? Ah, but if that strikes you as unbearable, as really hellish, that’s because you look at things in a wrong way, your outlook is gravely wrong, it’s unsocial, the greatest crime in a herd animal. By which he meant no wiser a thing than that it was not his outlook.

Then, stung to fury by this insolent rubbish, and by his too visible enjoyment in giving them their first lesson in submission, Catherine broke into abuse of the hospital, crudely expressed, raw with passion; and at that, very dryly yet smiling, indulging her, like someone very sure of himself who could afford to make the kill at his leisure, he observed that he would much like to hear just what her experience of such places had been. Did she really know anything at all about them? Come, now!

She had thought their doctor would have explained. She gave him the facts in half a dozen words, and, sneering, added, ‘Did you think I had been reading Snake-pit stories?’ But one should never thus cry, in effect, ‘You fraud!’ – it costs too much. Now it appeared that to be caught out and made to feel a bit of a fool was not nothing to this man; his self-importance was visibly wounded; for an instant he was deflated and his anger was plain. He would not forget this trifling wound to his vanity, although he turned it off suavely enough, saying, ‘Your experience may account to some extent for your prejudices.’ And, no, it was not said in irony; damned custom had brassed him so that he was able to make such a comment as that without ironical intention.

But if they felt they knew better than he did, and could do better without the help of trained people of vast experience, by all means let them try.

Nevertheless, what was she to do? How could she deprive Clem of that chance of recovery, however faint, which she was told many new treatments held out?

When the two were gone, she had begun that distracted turning over of their private things, with some frantic idea of escape for them both in her mind. But while she was thus engaged, their own doctor, a pleasant woman, genuinely sympathetic, took the trouble to call again simply to have a kind, encouraging little talk with her. There were wonderful new treatments nowadays, there were many wonderful cures, everything was quite different from what it had been in their mother’s time – even the law more merciful. If Clem did not like it, she could come back – one had only to get the doctor’s permission!

It was unbelievable now, yes, it was unbelievable that a crazy excitement should thereupon have seized on her, that she should have been carried along on a wave of mad hope, hope which was quite wild, throwing her into a state almost of light-heartedness. That she should have had an anticipation of good to come – should have been eager not only to send Clem away but to get her to that fount of healing quickly! That she should have thought, ‘Yes, she will be cured. God has seen and taken into account, even at this eleventh hour, that we have had our share. She will recover – just as they say – even as they say! I must not mind her eyes.’

In short, such trembling, incapable hands could only bungle, she could only see with eyes filmed with terror and judge with a brain temporarily very little sounder than the sick one’s own. So it was done. Arrangements were made, she signed what was put before her. Then all was ready for the morrow, the April morning. But on the last night, the mood collapsed.

The events of that morning had of course prevented her from going with Clem to the hospital to see her settled. She did not know what they had done with her till weeks later. Then she found her lost in a ward of noisy lunatics. And when she protested that there had been a half-promise of a private room, she was told with finality that it was ‘not worth while to move her’. For they had found that Clem was finished, too sick for any treatment, too sick physically; an incurable case, soon to be put into a ward for the hopeless.

Now what could the betrayer, the Judas-sister say to those friends, those reproachful or indignant friends, who later demanded to know why on earth she had put Clem into such hands, she with her experience, she who knew what those places were like and how much hope there really was, she who had not the excuse of ignorance. She who, of all people, should have known what that cheerful chatter about cures amounted to. She who should have known that these poor sick ones eat at last when they are hungry – that there is never any need to panic and lose one’s head because they refuse food. She could only have written, by way of answer, the truth. ‘I did it because I am a despicable, nervous creature and because I was beside myself.’