Briefing for a Descent into Hell Part 12

Sleep dear. That's it, sleep. There's a good boy.

He is Professor Charles Watkins, Cla.s.sics, Cambridge. Married, two sons. Aged 50. A wallet found in the street in Parliament Square with family photograph, the rest of contents missing. Police matched photograph with the photograph taken by them at station the night he was picked up. Wife has been told her husband is here. Spoke to her on telephone. Suggested she should wait until he remembers who he is. Took this sensibly. But, find out why wife did not report him missing? I probed, but I caught something evasive here. Saw patient this morning. He is obviously rested, no longer talking to himself; in short, better. He did not respond to his name. Suggest trial of half a dozen E.C.T.

DOCTOR X.

In view of strong doubt whether treatment has in fact benefitted patient, suggest advisable postpone electric shocks for some days. Have written to Mrs. Watkins. Surely she ought to be told more than can have been possible in a telephone call.

DOCTOR Y.

Well, how are you today?

Is it today?

It is Monday the 15th September.

I should be doing something. I should be.

A lecture? A cla.s.s? An address?

Yes yes yes. That's it. They told me. They said it would be. But I ought-I must get up.

You aren't very strong yet.

Am I ill then?

Not physically.

Then why am I not strong? Am I weak?

Professor Watkins, you lost your memory.

Who is Professor Watkins. Is that the name of the other one?

No, it's your name.

Mine? Oh no!

Yes it is.

What do I profess?

Greek. Latin. That field.

I profess not. Field? That's no word for it! I should be ... I ought to be ... tell me, were you there too?

Where, Professor?

At the lecture? At the briefing?

Ah, you were briefed then?

Yes, yes. I do remember.

Who was there?

I. And He, of course and ... and-who? A lot of us, yes ...

Go on.

The Emanence. Yes. The light. That's it, yes, of course. G.o.d the Father, Amen, Amen, Amen. And we were, yes, that's who we were and that's why I am here, but I lost my way in those fields.

You lost your memory, Professor, and you were found wandering on the edge of the river.

Oh my G.o.d, I hope it has cleansed itself by now, I do hope it is running clean again.

Wasn't it clean?

Full of corpses, you know.

Oh I'm sure it was not. The Thames may not be the cleanest of streams, but it doesn't collect many corpses.

The Thames? The Thames?

Yes, you were on the Embankment. The police found you.

I don't remember anything of that.

Well, I'll help you. You seemed as if you hadn't been in bed for a while- Well, naturally not!

You had eaten, they thought, but you were very tired ...

Eaten, oh my G.o.d yes, oh, oh, no- And the moon was new....

On the contrary, it was full.

Well, well.

The Thames you say. That's a tidal river. Not like that other. The river comes in and out, in and out, a tide, one and two and me makes three. Three. A tidal river is like a breath, breathing, feeding the land with fish and ... Who? Who?

Professor, please. Do think about it. Don't start rambling again. Please try and remember.

G.o.d I think. I gotta use words when I talk to you, Eliot. I gotta use words. But if not G.o.d, what?

So you are G.o.d, too, are you?

You as well.

I don't aim so high, I a.s.sure you.

Stupid. You don't have a choice.

Well, well. Have a nice rest. I'll tell Doctor X that I think you are getting on nicely. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be in charge of you for a few days. Doctor X is going away for a holiday.

Doctor X?

He saw you yesterday. You said you saw him.

You can't see him. I told you. He's not there.

You can see me, can you?

Oh yes, very clear indeed.

But not Doctor X?

No, he's solid all through. He's all animal without light. No light. No G.o.d. No sun.

I wouldn't say that, you know.

Do you know? Can you see? From there, where light is? From there Doctor X would not be at all. Only those with light can be seen from the country of light. You would be seen there, yes. Your light burns, it is a small steady light.

What light?

Star light.

Well, thanks. But I do think you are being hard on poor Doctor X. He tries to help you. According to his lights.

There you are, that's what I said. It doesn't matter what he says or does. He's not in existence. I can't see him if I don't try to very hard.

Ah well, see you tomorrow then.

Patient has religious delusions. Paranoic. Disa.s.sociated. I think he is more coherent however. Have not yet heard from Mrs. Watkins.

DOCTOR Y.

DEAR DOCTOR Y.,.

Thank you for so very kindly writing and explaining to me about my husband. I was rather upset after Doctor X's telephone call because I am rather ignorant about mental health and he didn't tell me very much. But I do understand that if my husband lost his memory there isn't much to tell. I don't know any particular reason why my husband should be "under stress" as you put it. Not any more than usual. But I wouldn't necessarily be the one to know. I don't pry into my husband's affairs. So I wouldn't know if something has upset him very much or anything like that. The reason why I didn't tell the police when I didn't hear from him is that he sometimes does things on his own and he would resent it if I interfered. I think it would be better if you asked Jeremy Thorne of 122 Rose Road, Little Minchener, nr. Cambridge, as he knows much more about my husband's plans than I do. I don't think Mr. Thorne will be back yet, as he has been in Italy for a summer holiday. But they will be back soon.

Yours sincerely, FELICITY WATKINS.

P.S. You asked about my husband and the children. When he is here it is a very happy family. You asked about letters that might have upset my husband. There are letters that came just before he went off to London but unless it is necessary I would rather not read them. I will send them to you if you think they would help.

Well Professor, you are looking very much better. How do you feel?

Why don't you let me go back to sleep. You keep waking me up.

Yesterday you were angry with us for making you sleep.

Was I?

Yes, you called us every kind of name and said we were trying to keep you fuddled.

Fuddled. Fuddddlled. Fudddled. Fudd ... that word sounds like what it says. That's strange. Words ... sounds. A dull heavy word. Fudd. Thud. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud. Fudd, fudd, fudd, fudd. Its colour is. What? I knew. But not now. Sound-that's important ... yes ...

I think you are much better. Your colour is clear, you are obviously much stronger and your eyes are clear.

The azure-eyed. The flashing-eyed. Oh no, I must sleep again, where They are. Awake is asleep.

No, Professor. Sit up. I'm afraid we can't have you going back to sleep again. You've slept enough.

Why do you keep calling me Professor?

Professor Charles Watkins. 15 Acacia Road, Brink. Near Cambridge.

But I don't want that. I won't accept that.

I'm afraid you have no choice Professor. We know that's who you are.

But I know I am not.

Or is it that you are beginning to remember though you don't want to admit it?

Why do you say Or? And is more like it. It's funny, I've just noticed. People say, Either, Or, this or that, because of the thud thud, fudd fudd, in or out, black and white, yes and no, one and two, the either-or comes from that, the beat, the fudd fudd in the blood, but it isn't either or at all, it's and, and, and, and, and, and.

However that may be Professor, you must accept who you are. I am telling you the truth. Accept that-and try to go on from there.

But if I went on, that would mean I had begun. All that means nothing to me. It isn't mine at all. It is a dream.

My dear Professor, it is your life.

A dream life. A life that is a dream. A dream ...

No, I am afraid I am not letting you go back to sleep yet.

Oh I must sleep. I do want to. Not here. There. What I said before isn't what I would have said if I knew what I know now, I can sleep my life away. Yes. We sleep our lives away. Yes. And you.

Professor Watkins, do you realise you have been here a month now? In this hospital? It is the Central Intake Hospital. You were in a state of shock when you came in. You had been wandering about, and the police found you on the Embankment. You were rambling and confused and talking to yourself. We sedated you. Then when you seemed not much better, we tried out a drug to help you remember who you are-it often makes people drowsy, but in your case it made you very sleepy indeed. Whether or not that is a good thing, is a matter of opinion. But the fact is, and I am telling you again so that you don't forget it, is that you have been in the hospital for a month. We have just found out your name, your profession, your address and your circ.u.mstances. We know a little more, if you want to hear it.... Well? Come on, do try.

What you say is only what you know. You tell me it is so. But if I tell you what I know, you disagree.

Then tell me what you know. Now then, why are you laughing? Do you realise you haven't laughed before? This is the first time I have seen you laugh.

Doctor, I can't talk to you. Do you understand that? All these words you say, they fall into a gulf, they're not me or you. Not you at all. I can see you. You are a small light. But a good one. G.o.d is in you doctor. You aren't these words.

Well, well. Rest then. Lie down and rest. But before you go off to sleep try and remember: You are Charles Watkins. You have been living and working in Cambridge for years now. You teach the Cla.s.sics. You give lectures. And you don't live alone-not by any means. I'll see you tomorrow.

And how are you today? Oh-steady now, you've been dreaming, have you?