Authors: John Berryman
Recovery (14 page)
âWell, we have accomplished exactly nothing today,' Keg said, âand you are all one day nearer to the Promised Land, where booze is flowing just as usual and just as desirable as ever and with just as much blood-sludge and brain damage. Let's say the Lord's Prayer.'
They rose without the usual relief and joined hands in a
close circle and some of them prayed the Lord's Prayer and at least two of them wished they had never been born to this unusual fate, common to millions.
close circle and some of them prayed the Lord's Prayer and at least two of them wished they had never been born to this unusual fate, common to millions.
Â
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âWhat are you still doing around?' Severance asked. âDidn't you take your Fifth Step?'
Jasper drew a paper cup from the bottom of the stack and turned the coffee spigot. It was after ten. Severance had been alone in the Snack Room for many dreary minutes.
âSure,' said the poet, âfour days ago. They're whimsical. I still have kinks to straighten out, it seems. I'm in no hurry.'
âNor am I. Christmas is all right with me.'
Jasper sat down across, lighting a cigarette. âTell me, how did you get into this bind?'
âYou mean, being a medical man?'
âYes. Or maybe you didn't know it was a disease? Wasn't it some time rather recently that the AMA recognized it?'
âThat's only the good ole AMA, one generation behind the planet Jupiter. No, I knew it was a disease all right. The edition of the Merck Manual I entertained myself with at P and S, where I trainedâthis was thirty years agoâwas in no doubt about its being a real disease, “not merely” (as they put it) “a bad habit.” I looked it up this summer in my attic. There's one charming sentence: “It is characteristic for an alcoholic to be a veritable museum of pathology and yet to make but little complaint thereof as long as he can secure the relief given him by his accustomed narcotic.” '
âDroll. But what about it?'
âWhat about anything? I did not have the faintest idea I was an alcoholic until my second week at Howarden. It
takes shock, my boy. Tell you a story about one of the lecturers there. He liked flying. Somebody left him some money and he bought a plane and flew about in it. Heavy drinker, long long oldtime heavy drinker. Knew he ought to do something about it (so did I)âsay two weeks after the Second Coming of Our Redeemer. What brought him to was this. One morning he woke up and he was in his own bed
. Goodâ
for he remembered nothing since nothing. Not feeling well, in fact he might die, but he got up and went across to the drapes over the picture-window of his bedroom, drew them apart, and looked out into the bright day. There was his plane in his front yard. “At that point,” he said, “I knew I had a problem.” For me, it was the imposing and uniform and entirely unacceptable world presented to me by the life stories of eight or ten men during my first twenty-four hours after I was taken out of Intensive Care and assigned to a unit at Howarden. Three-quarters, at least, of every story was my story. Mirrors on every side. It was unavoidable. At least I've had no trouble in
that
direction, as so many patients do.'
takes shock, my boy. Tell you a story about one of the lecturers there. He liked flying. Somebody left him some money and he bought a plane and flew about in it. Heavy drinker, long long oldtime heavy drinker. Knew he ought to do something about it (so did I)âsay two weeks after the Second Coming of Our Redeemer. What brought him to was this. One morning he woke up and he was in his own bed
. Goodâ
for he remembered nothing since nothing. Not feeling well, in fact he might die, but he got up and went across to the drapes over the picture-window of his bedroom, drew them apart, and looked out into the bright day. There was his plane in his front yard. “At that point,” he said, “I knew I had a problem.” For me, it was the imposing and uniform and entirely unacceptable world presented to me by the life stories of eight or ten men during my first twenty-four hours after I was taken out of Intensive Care and assigned to a unit at Howarden. Three-quarters, at least, of every story was my story. Mirrors on every side. It was unavoidable. At least I've had no trouble in
that
direction, as so many patients do.'
âWhat
is
the disease picture then?' Jasper asked very seriously.
is
the disease picture then?' Jasper asked very seriously.
âWell.' Severance gulped coffee. âProgressive, fatal, incurable. Worse than cancer in items one and threeâit attacks the moral sense, and spontaneous remission is unknown. There's a symptomatology. But otherwise they're no better off than they were in 1940âI mean my colleagues: it seems to be
loss of control.
Unpredictability. That's all. A social drinker knows when he can stop. Also, in a general way, his life-style does not arrange itself around the chemical, as ours does. For instance, he does not go on the wagonâexcept for a joke like Richard Burton, who bet that homewrecker of his he could stay off it three monthsâthe wager was a kiss, I believeâand when I last saw a gossip column he'd gone five months. Sound alcoholic to you?'
loss of control.
Unpredictability. That's all. A social drinker knows when he can stop. Also, in a general way, his life-style does not arrange itself around the chemical, as ours does. For instance, he does not go on the wagonâexcept for a joke like Richard Burton, who bet that homewrecker of his he could stay off it three monthsâthe wager was a kiss, I believeâand when I last saw a gossip column he'd gone five months. Sound alcoholic to you?'
âIt does not sound alcoholic to me,' and the poet sighed.
They smiled with deep contentment with each other. Comfortable on the ocean-floor. Plenty of special company.
Â
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After two hours Severance did an unusual thing. He quit work and got up and lay down on his bed, shoes on, plumped the pillow once twice and settled back not to try to nap but merely daydream. An image appeared in his mind of The Enemy: a transparent colourless mobile and volatile liquid, having a slight, characteristic odor and a burning taste, about 5'6”, 37+â23â36, with a specific gravity not above ⦠something at 15.56' C. Miscible with water. Decidedly. Inflammable. With amyl alcohol being approximately 6-8 times as toxic as ethyl alcohol. No pharmacologist of course but he could read and home from Howarden in the winter he had looked around a little. Also he read
Time
magazine every week with a vengeance and the skepticism with which he faced a lab report.
They checked,
thoughânot only his brother but friends had worked for them. What killed more young than any other cause? Cars, cars, with âmeasurable alcohol' the critical factor 60% of the time. What was that: five whiskies in one hour. Quite a bit of stuff for kids. Only one-tenth of 1% alcoholic content in the blood, technology, and out. Could happen to the nicest people. Not entirely ignorance, either (an acid-head
knew
he was in trouble), but substantially. One of his ex-mistresses in New York was on marijuana and Librium, and she had the worryâwhat there was of it, for a girl whose black lover (elevator boy she'd just given a car to) wanted her to move in with him and his wifeâupside down: it was the
called
âdrug' she wasn't entirely comfortable about. The other she got on prescription (from one of his orbiting colleagues) so she felt safe,
and the picture he'd given her one afternoon of pill-withdrawal she labelled âscience-fiction'âjust as he had done the contingency of convulsions, and had one, five days later.
Time
magazine every week with a vengeance and the skepticism with which he faced a lab report.
They checked,
thoughânot only his brother but friends had worked for them. What killed more young than any other cause? Cars, cars, with âmeasurable alcohol' the critical factor 60% of the time. What was that: five whiskies in one hour. Quite a bit of stuff for kids. Only one-tenth of 1% alcoholic content in the blood, technology, and out. Could happen to the nicest people. Not entirely ignorance, either (an acid-head
knew
he was in trouble), but substantially. One of his ex-mistresses in New York was on marijuana and Librium, and she had the worryâwhat there was of it, for a girl whose black lover (elevator boy she'd just given a car to) wanted her to move in with him and his wifeâupside down: it was the
called
âdrug' she wasn't entirely comfortable about. The other she got on prescription (from one of his orbiting colleagues) so she felt safe,
and the picture he'd given her one afternoon of pill-withdrawal she labelled âscience-fiction'âjust as he had done the contingency of convulsions, and had one, five days later.
His colleagues. (And the kids.) Or say, since he hadn't gone on into practice, ex-colleagues. He took a dim view of them privately, on stern grounds. Severance enjoyed statistics, but he
believed
narrative, what you had seen happen. One of the medical fraternities asked him to talk to them about Medical Ethics and he agreed. A little reflection told him he knew nothing whatever, he asked two friends and they not only confessed they didn't either, they denied that there was such a subject. At the medical library he drew a very considerable amount of uplift and blank and only as a last resort before withdrawing his acceptance he went across to the new main University library, scrounged around among the usual crud and pap and peptalk until, sticking to itâbonanza! an actual discussion. Not by a medical doctor of course. The old dean of Harvard Divinity, plagued for decades by friends at Mass General with problems, had finally set down his thoughts. Severance made a rapid digest, rearranged and cut it, threw in cases from his own experience, observation, reading, and gave the young men a goddamned serious talk. They listened respectfully and asked many questions afterwardâabout fee-splitting. In vain, with growing outrage and scorn, he waited for one question about either any difficulty that he had proposed or indeed
anything
except fee-splitting! which neither he nor the theologian considered material. Their single topic: kickbacks. Not so good. Besides the ignorance, of drugs especially, and in particular pills and alcohol, the legal killers. No, Severance was not happy with his original profession. He knew marvellous men in it, of his own age. The marvellous men not in it but of it were
kids
âthe kids whom when he wasn't putting them down he marvelled at. Even the Armyâ
the most vicious organization in the country, he thought, not excepting the Air Force and the greediest-of-all so-long-by-him-admired Navy which he hadn't been able to get into in 1942 in the wet-heat Washington summerâknew what the medics were like and had cut their tour in Nam from the usual year down to seven months, because after that long of shared suffering they went freaky. Cut down their water and food to hitch more medical supplies âstole plasma bottles and walked around on patrol with six pounds of glass in their rucksacksâwrote home for medical catalogues to buy their own endotracheal tubes. Wouldn't leave their units when their tour was up. Kids, looking after kids. Somewhere down in his left jaw Severance hurt, behind his eyes bitterness accumulated, he didn't feel good about the world they'd presented to the kids. The
junkies
proved the most dedicated of allâand got off the stuff, incidentally.
believed
narrative, what you had seen happen. One of the medical fraternities asked him to talk to them about Medical Ethics and he agreed. A little reflection told him he knew nothing whatever, he asked two friends and they not only confessed they didn't either, they denied that there was such a subject. At the medical library he drew a very considerable amount of uplift and blank and only as a last resort before withdrawing his acceptance he went across to the new main University library, scrounged around among the usual crud and pap and peptalk until, sticking to itâbonanza! an actual discussion. Not by a medical doctor of course. The old dean of Harvard Divinity, plagued for decades by friends at Mass General with problems, had finally set down his thoughts. Severance made a rapid digest, rearranged and cut it, threw in cases from his own experience, observation, reading, and gave the young men a goddamned serious talk. They listened respectfully and asked many questions afterwardâabout fee-splitting. In vain, with growing outrage and scorn, he waited for one question about either any difficulty that he had proposed or indeed
anything
except fee-splitting! which neither he nor the theologian considered material. Their single topic: kickbacks. Not so good. Besides the ignorance, of drugs especially, and in particular pills and alcohol, the legal killers. No, Severance was not happy with his original profession. He knew marvellous men in it, of his own age. The marvellous men not in it but of it were
kids
âthe kids whom when he wasn't putting them down he marvelled at. Even the Armyâ
the most vicious organization in the country, he thought, not excepting the Air Force and the greediest-of-all so-long-by-him-admired Navy which he hadn't been able to get into in 1942 in the wet-heat Washington summerâknew what the medics were like and had cut their tour in Nam from the usual year down to seven months, because after that long of shared suffering they went freaky. Cut down their water and food to hitch more medical supplies âstole plasma bottles and walked around on patrol with six pounds of glass in their rucksacksâwrote home for medical catalogues to buy their own endotracheal tubes. Wouldn't leave their units when their tour was up. Kids, looking after kids. Somewhere down in his left jaw Severance hurt, behind his eyes bitterness accumulated, he didn't feel good about the world they'd presented to the kids. The
junkies
proved the most dedicated of allâand got off the stuff, incidentally.
He sat bolt upright. He and his fellow-Repeaters were the smashed kids in the paddies; and they were each other's medics too. His own hope was to forget about himself and think about the others. And the Enemy was not alcohol after all, just delusionâthe VC dropping the point on the soldier, shooting not to kill but wound, get him screaming, so they can get the medic too. He'll come.
Delusion was contagious, nothing more powerful. He had been taken in by Luriel's. It took last night listening to the stolid nurse's
not
being taken in by her hallucinating about her overeating to make him look down at her stomach on his left below the tabletop and for Christ's sake it was as flat as a board (if not concave) and always had been and always would be (â400 pounds!') and she did
not
have an eating problem, it was a cop-out (sincere though, real real sincere) from her
drinking
problem and her psychiatrist and the others had been
right
to laugh at her, it was not real, she was unreal and he Severance was unreal with her and things were very bad all over. But not
as bad as he thought last night.
He
had cleared up on that, he had one more ground of self-suspicion, and his motive in trying to help her had been okay, only he hadn't been well enough yet to see through her, as the non-alcoholics (and some of the patients too) did like a flashlight. Okay. Doctors were not so bad, either. The only enemy was Delusion, and her daughters whiskey gin brandy and rum.
not
being taken in by her hallucinating about her overeating to make him look down at her stomach on his left below the tabletop and for Christ's sake it was as flat as a board (if not concave) and always had been and always would be (â400 pounds!') and she did
not
have an eating problem, it was a cop-out (sincere though, real real sincere) from her
drinking
problem and her psychiatrist and the others had been
right
to laugh at her, it was not real, she was unreal and he Severance was unreal with her and things were very bad all over. But not
as bad as he thought last night.
He
had cleared up on that, he had one more ground of self-suspicion, and his motive in trying to help her had been okay, only he hadn't been well enough yet to see through her, as the non-alcoholics (and some of the patients too) did like a flashlight. Okay. Doctors were not so bad, either. The only enemy was Delusion, and her daughters whiskey gin brandy and rum.
Â
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ALAN AND HUTCH made common cause. Each had been accused of being unable to level. âOkay,' Severance said to the big man on the way down to lunch after Group, âmaybe we can help each other. Let's talk after lecture this afternoon.' They agreed on Hutch's room, and picking up a cup of coffee at two-fifteen he went carefully down the hall and knocked on the half-open door, heard a voice, and walked in.
Hutch was standing on the near side of the bed, with a book in his hand, looking as if he had been about to go somewhere. The bed-table had a book and a magazine on it. The bed was neat and empty. The long windowsill, where patients kept things, was empty. No clothes were visible. The top of the bureau was empty. Severance felt odd before he realized why he felt odd: the room was
all right.
That is to say, all wrong. It looked as if nobody lived there.
all right.
That is to say, all wrong. It looked as if nobody lived there.
âHutch,' he said involuntarily, âwhy is your room so damned neat?'
âWhat's neat about it?' very defensively.
âWell, look at it.'
Hutch looked around uneasily. âWhat's wrong with that? I'm just neat, that's all.'
âYou are? You told me the other night your workshop was a shambles.'
âMy office is open to inspection at any moment.' He sounded angry.
âI'm not talking about your office. I'm talking about your workshop at home. You said you could never find anything.'
âThat's a lie!'
âNo kidding, you actually said that,' Alan said sturdily, sorry to be in this, with a pal, but God almightyâ
âI may be a little untidy now and then, but what about you? You live in a pigpen, I've looked in through your open door.'
âI'm not too neat. My point is that
no
other patient's room I've seen in any degree resembles this room. You haven't moved in.'
no
other patient's room I've seen in any degree resembles this room. You haven't moved in.'
âDamn you, Alan, I come back and
I'm
here.
You're making something out of absolutely nothing. Now listen, we'll have to talk later, I haven't read the Big Book yet today, okay?'
I'm
here.
You're making something out of absolutely nothing. Now listen, we'll have to talk later, I haven't read the Big Book yet today, okay?'
Severance was helpless. âWe're supposed to level with each other, you know. In Group and out of Group. You and I have the same trouble, and here it exactly is. You're not levelling with me.'
âI
am
levelling with you, damn it! What about, anyway?'
am
levelling with you, damn it! What about, anyway?'
âYour room! It's too neat. It's not real.'
âI told you, you're out of your mind. Just because I happen to be a neat man, instead of a slob like you, you accuse me of not levelling. Just
how
have I not levelled? Tell me that!' He was as angry as a bull, fists clenched, head lowered.
how
have I not levelled? Tell me that!' He was as angry as a bull, fists clenched, head lowered.
âChrist, I told you,' Severance said, giving up. âYou're as
slippery as an eel. Listen, I hate to do this, but I may have to bring this up in Group. I don't know, I'll think about it.'
slippery as an eel. Listen, I hate to do this, but I may have to bring this up in Group. I don't know, I'll think about it.'
âI'm not afraid of you, you bastard!'
âHutch, that's a lie. Everybody is afraid of being confronted in Group, and
you know it.
Moreover, I'm a friend of yours, and you know that too.'
you know it.
Moreover, I'm a friend of yours, and you know that too.'
âThen why are you making mountains out of nothing?' Hutch sounded aggrieved now.
âI don't think it's nothing. But I'm as sick as you are, so I don't know, maybe you do just
happen
to be sloppy at home and neat hereâ'
happen
to be sloppy at home and neat hereâ'
âIt's a lie,' Hutch shouted. âNow will you get out of here?'
Severance went. Sunk in thought he wandered toward the Snack Room. What the hell was wrong with Hutch? if anything was, or maybe it was just himself? Not bloody likely, he decided irritably. Hutch had not given him
one
straight answer. Confronted again and again, he had taken out his Defence Manual, well-thumbed and utterly familiar, and said, âAh, page 67 will cover that,' and when page 67 was rejected, âAh, page 114,'
and
so on. Screw him, they were right: he couldn't level. Not wouldn'tâAlan saw that Hutch wasn't to blame
âcouldn't:
the truth was not in him, on the topic of his room's unnatural uninhabited state. Why not, then? What delusion hid it from him? The scientist turned into his room and sat down with a cigarette. He might be as deluded as Hutch, but Gene had seen through
him.
The truth lay somewhere around here, available, if he waited. He waited. He heard,
âI'm here,â
blasted at him, the defence total. Well, it was a lie. Hutch had not arrived. On the other hand it was true, in that Hutch was physically present in that deserted room. Ha! and Severance drew in smoke with light breaking. He was just exactly
only
physically presentâgoing through the motionsâhe had not
entered treatment
â
his position was Defiance, and, âI'll take off the minute I don't like it.' That must be itâand wasn't it precisely what Gene had seen in his âbeing unable to buy' the First Step? that is to say,
resistance:
a self-con: I'm here, I'm taking it, but I'm not having any part of it either. Keg and Harley were on the nose: the two of them were brothers, not identical twins but twins in evasion. Only, with Gene's penetration he had cleared up on this basic topic himself; his treatment was proceeding. He was a little less sick than Hutch. Without enthusiasm he saw that it was his job to hit Hutch in Group, just as he had wondered if it might be. Not nice. Hutch would read: Treacheryâand unless he cleared up he would never forgive him. Severance uncrossed his legs and felt bad. They had been through Belsen last Spring together. He saw the unjust resentment call it rage coming. Well he would rather see Hutch sober than friendly and that was a fact. He hoped there was nothing noble about this sentiment. Flat minimal duty was the business. Ugh. â
Cut
, damn it,
cut
,' he heard Vic's senior telling him as the young surgeon stood paralyzed with the scalpel in his hand before his first incision. Okay. One good friend gone. But Group was utterly different from a dyad: unless it supported his confrontation, his suspicion was merely unjust (
as so often
)âmaybe there was some explanation, after all, for what he saw as weirdness. Hutch's behaviour would decide. Unhappily he stood up, jammed cigarettes and matches in his shirt pocket and left for the Snack Room, damning all doubt delusion duty and brotherhood. He had no choice.
one
straight answer. Confronted again and again, he had taken out his Defence Manual, well-thumbed and utterly familiar, and said, âAh, page 67 will cover that,' and when page 67 was rejected, âAh, page 114,'
and
so on. Screw him, they were right: he couldn't level. Not wouldn'tâAlan saw that Hutch wasn't to blame
âcouldn't:
the truth was not in him, on the topic of his room's unnatural uninhabited state. Why not, then? What delusion hid it from him? The scientist turned into his room and sat down with a cigarette. He might be as deluded as Hutch, but Gene had seen through
him.
The truth lay somewhere around here, available, if he waited. He waited. He heard,
âI'm here,â
blasted at him, the defence total. Well, it was a lie. Hutch had not arrived. On the other hand it was true, in that Hutch was physically present in that deserted room. Ha! and Severance drew in smoke with light breaking. He was just exactly
only
physically presentâgoing through the motionsâhe had not
entered treatment
â
his position was Defiance, and, âI'll take off the minute I don't like it.' That must be itâand wasn't it precisely what Gene had seen in his âbeing unable to buy' the First Step? that is to say,
resistance:
a self-con: I'm here, I'm taking it, but I'm not having any part of it either. Keg and Harley were on the nose: the two of them were brothers, not identical twins but twins in evasion. Only, with Gene's penetration he had cleared up on this basic topic himself; his treatment was proceeding. He was a little less sick than Hutch. Without enthusiasm he saw that it was his job to hit Hutch in Group, just as he had wondered if it might be. Not nice. Hutch would read: Treacheryâand unless he cleared up he would never forgive him. Severance uncrossed his legs and felt bad. They had been through Belsen last Spring together. He saw the unjust resentment call it rage coming. Well he would rather see Hutch sober than friendly and that was a fact. He hoped there was nothing noble about this sentiment. Flat minimal duty was the business. Ugh. â
Cut
, damn it,
cut
,' he heard Vic's senior telling him as the young surgeon stood paralyzed with the scalpel in his hand before his first incision. Okay. One good friend gone. But Group was utterly different from a dyad: unless it supported his confrontation, his suspicion was merely unjust (
as so often
)âmaybe there was some explanation, after all, for what he saw as weirdness. Hutch's behaviour would decide. Unhappily he stood up, jammed cigarettes and matches in his shirt pocket and left for the Snack Room, damning all doubt delusion duty and brotherhood. He had no choice.
Charley in high spiritsâdue for his Fifth tomorrow âwas entertaining Mike M, Big Bill and Jeree with his antics at home, midnight, after a grand night out. He stuck his elbows out, miming, broguing. There were two Eskimo Pies left in the freezer and Severance leaned against it munching one and chuckling. He was reminded of a droll tale from Howarden and after Charley had climaxedâ
âyou see? but then I passed out'âhe told it. Jeree's face was brighter than usual.
âyou see? but then I passed out'âhe told it. Jeree's face was brighter than usual.
âA sweet story, friends, and as true as Treatment. Drunk comes home at his regular hour, closing time, and can't find the keyhole. Wife lets him in, embraces him tenderly, says, “Have a good time, dear?” instead of the usual, leads him to his favourite chair, pulls his boots off, asks, “Can I make you a drink?” He can't believe it. She goes to the kitchen and brings back a triple, has one herself, sits at his feet, rubs his knees, cozy cozy, never seen anything like it, pretty soon he gets the message: “Shall we go up to bed, honey?” He thinks it over with his remaining brain-cells. Finally he says: “Well, I might as well. I'm gonna get
hell
for this when I get home anyway.” '
hell
for this when I get home anyway.” '
The afternoon wore away. Hutch was not at their table at dinner, across from him on the right, but two tables off. After dinner and a tiresome thrice-told lecture onâhorrifying to him last Springâthe tiny upper lefthand corner (conscious mind) of the very large blackboard representing the vast Unconscious that says, in terms of
learned
behaviour and with irresistible authority, âI
want alcohol'
âwith only the ittybitty Conscious to make the commitment that may arrest the diseaseâhe groped for The Missing Years and read
Basic Judaism
with four eyes. Around eleven o'clock he came on this: âI cannot respect my fellow excessively. On the contrary, since he contains something of God, his moral worth is infinite.
learned
behaviour and with irresistible authority, âI
want alcohol'
âwith only the ittybitty Conscious to make the commitment that may arrest the diseaseâhe groped for The Missing Years and read
Basic Judaism
with four eyes. Around eleven o'clock he came on this: âI cannot respect my fellow excessively. On the contrary, since he contains something of God, his moral worth is infinite.
âTranslated into concrete terms, this means that I may not use him as a mere tool for my purposes but must always treat him as an end in himself. I may not injure him in any fashion, oppress, exploit, humiliate him, or deprive him of anything to which he is entitled. Nor may I deceive him or withhold the truth from him' (Severance was getting used to these âcoincidences' but he was startled) âsince, as the rabbis pointed out long ago, oppression may be through words as well as deeds. Finally, I may not restrain
or inhibit his self-fulfilment according to his talents, inclinations, and conscience' depending on his
degree of illness
and delusion. Severance said his prayer and crawled onto the bed easier in mind.
or inhibit his self-fulfilment according to his talents, inclinations, and conscience' depending on his
degree of illness
and delusion. Severance said his prayer and crawled onto the bed easier in mind.
He was happy, though, to be taken off the hook when Keg began Group with
Hutch:
âWhat's with you, Hutch?' and getting an incredible, âFine. Fine,' from the closed, resentful face, entered on a fullscale confrontation. Severance was both relieved and pained to watch his old pal in business at the lemonade stand of yesterday:
angry
âand admitting it but minimizing, shifting, contradicting himself âonly not attacking of course, not attackingâpolite, smiling, managing,
hurt, scared,
so Alan read him. He said nothing whatever of their dyad and finally, during a painful silence Severance described it, eyes moving between Keg and Hutch.
Hutch:
âWhat's with you, Hutch?' and getting an incredible, âFine. Fine,' from the closed, resentful face, entered on a fullscale confrontation. Severance was both relieved and pained to watch his old pal in business at the lemonade stand of yesterday:
angry
âand admitting it but minimizing, shifting, contradicting himself âonly not attacking of course, not attackingâpolite, smiling, managing,
hurt, scared,
so Alan read him. He said nothing whatever of their dyad and finally, during a painful silence Severance described it, eyes moving between Keg and Hutch.
âYour room looked odd to me too, last week,' said Keg. It was lovely to Alan to be confirmed. âWhat about it, Hutch? Alan's confronted you.'
âSure! Sure!' Hutch blustered indifference. âHe expects everybody to live in a stye.'
âBut I saw just what he didâoddity.'
âThat was a week ago. I wasn't settled in.'
âHe's talking about yesterday.'
âTo hell with yesterday! We're supposed to live just one day at a time, aren't we? Well, I'm doing it.'
âYou are doing absolutely nothing of any kind whatever about anything. You're on Cloud Nine, with your feet planted firmly in midair. I've
never
given anybody such a hard time before, and you “feel fine,” you see yourself as a “nice guy,” you're “
in
dependent.” Bullshit.'
never
given anybody such a hard time before, and you “feel fine,” you see yourself as a “nice guy,” you're “
in
dependent.” Bullshit.'
Into the stillness that followed, Harley said quietly: âWe're all
dependent
people. Take our chemicals away, we have to find something else to depend on.'
dependent
people. Take our chemicals away, we have to find something else to depend on.'
Nobody else said anything.
Severance took a risk. âHutch,' he said in a neutral voice, âare you a son of a bitch?'
â
No
,' came with the baleful look Alan had once seen in the eyes of a mongoose in the grounds of the famous old British hotel outside Benares just before it attacked and killed a large green snake, while in the same breath
No
,' came with the baleful look Alan had once seen in the eyes of a mongoose in the grounds of the famous old British hotel outside Benares just before it attacked and killed a large green snake, while in the same breath
âMe neither!' Stack sang out from across the room. âI had a wonderful mother!'
Roars of laughter except from Hutch and KegâSeverance couldn't help himself, if Hutch was on Cloud Nine Stack hadn't entered the solar system yetâbut though Keg ignored the old boy, keeping onto Hutch, the pressure was lost, and nothing happened. Group was a complete failure. Severance felt like Stonewall Jackson surviving his try. But more ran underground than over on Ward W, and two nights laterâThursdayâhe saw Hutch seating himself across in the usual place, half-smiling nervous, his face open, and leaning forward to say, âI can't keep my damned room shipshape after all,' and everything was forgotten between them as their treatment proceeded.
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