The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 25

"He has slept most of the day," I replied. "I have not insisted upon my relationship with him, if that is what you mean. Dr. Wallingford felt that might be unwise, at this stage."

"Sehr gut, sehr gut." Schadenfreude rubbed his hands together and showed me a set of perfect white teeth. "I will alone the patient examine. You permit, Frau Professor?" Schadenfreude rubbed his hands together and showed me a set of perfect white teeth. "I will alone the patient examine. You permit, Frau Professor?"

He did not wait for my permission, but flung the door open and vanished within, closing said door with a slam.

"Peculiar little guy, isn't he?" Cyrus said proudly, as if Schadenfreude's eccentricities proved his medical prowess.

"Er- quite. Cyrus, are you certain- "

"My dear, he's a wonder. I'm a living testimonial to his talents."

Schadenfreude was inside quite a long time. Not a sound emerged- not even the shouts I fully expected to hear from Emerson- and I was getting rather fidgety before the door finally opened

"Nein, nein, gnadige Frau Frau" said Schadenfreude, holding me back when I would have entered. "It is a discussion we must have before you speak so much as a single word to the afflicted one. Lead us, Herr Vandergelt, to a place of discussion and supply, bitte bitte, something of refreshment for the lady."

We retired to my sitting room. I refused the brandy the doctor tried to press upon me- the situation was too serious for the temporary consolation of spirits- and he applied himself to the beer he had requested with such gusto that when he emerged from the gla.s.s his mustache was frosted with foam. However, when he began to speak I had no inclination to laugh at him.

Many people at that time were skeptical about the theories of psychotherapy. My own mind is always receptive to new ideas, however repellent they may be, and I had read with interest the works of psychologists such as William James and Wilhelm Wundt. Since some of their axioms- particularly Herbart's concept of the threshold of consciousness- agreed with my own observations of human nature, I was inclined to believe that the discipline, when refined and developed, might offer useful insights. Herr Doktor Schadenfreude's theories were certainly unorthodox, but I found them horribly plausible.

"The immediate cause of your husband's amnesia is physical trauma- a blow on the head. Has he often suffered injury to that region?"

"Why- not to an excessive degree," I began.

"I don't know about that," Cyrus demurred. "I can remember at least two occasions during the few weeks we were together at Baskerville House There's something about my old pal that makes people want to beat him over the head."

"He does not avoid physical encounters when he is defending the helpless or righting a wrong," I declared.

"Also. But the blow was only the catalyst, the immediate cause. It broke not only his head but the invisible membrane of the unconscious mind, and from this rent, this weakened part of the fabric, rushed fears and desires long suppressed by the conscious will. In short- in lay terms, gnadige Frau gnadige Frau und Herr Vandergelt- he has forgotten the things he does not want to remember!"

"You mean," I said painfully, "he does not want to remember ME."

"Not you as yourself, Frau Emerson. It is the symbol he rejects." When a man gets to talking about his own subject he is inclined to be verbose. I will therefore summarize the doctor's lecture. (I must warn the Reader that some of his statements were quite shocking.)

Man and woman, he declared, were natural enemies. Marriage was at best an armed truce between individuals whose basic natures were totally opposed. The need of Woman, the homemaker, was for peace and security. The need of Man, the hunter, was for the freedom to prey upon his fellowmen and upon women (the doctor put this more politely, but I caught his meaning). Society aimed to control these natural desires of man, religion forbade them. But the walls of constraint were constantly under attack by the brute nature of Man, and when there was a rent in the fabric, the brute burst forth

"Good gracious," I murmured, when the doctor paused to wipe his perspiring brow.

Cyrus had gone beet-red and was biting his lip to repress strangled noises of indignation and denial. "Doggone it, Doctor, I have to object to your language in the presence of Mrs. Emerson- and to your slur upon the masculine gender. We aren't all- er- ravening beasts. You did say 'ravening,' didn't you?"

"Ravening and l.u.s.ting," said Schadenfreude happily. "Yes, yes, that is the nature of man. Some of you repress your true natures successfully, mein Freund mein Freund; but beware! The greater the control, the more the pressure builds, and if there is a rent in the fabric of the walls- BOOM!"

Cyrus jumped. "Now see here, Doc- "

"Be calm, Cyrus," I urged "The doctor is not being rude, he is being scientific. I am not offended, and indeed, I find some sense in his diagnosis. However, I am not so much interested in a diagnosis as in a cure. To employ your own metaphor, Doctor (and a striking one it is), how do we force the- er- beast back behind the wall and what kind of plaster do we use to mend it?"

Schadenfreude beamed approvingly at me. "You have an almost masculine directness, Frau Emerson The procedure is obvious. One does not employ brute force against brute force, the ensuing struggle might wound both combatants mortally."

"Striking as the metaphor is, I would prefer a more practical suggestion," I said. "What am I to do?

Would hypnosis- "

Schadenfreude shook a playful finger at me. "Aha, Frau Emerson! You have been reading the works of my more imaginative colleagues. Breuer and Freud are correct in stating that the operative force of the idea which was not abreacted by allowing its strangulated effect to find a way out in speech or action must be relived-brought back, in other words-to its status nascendi. But hypnosis is only a showman's toy that may do more harm than good by subst.i.tuting the pract.i.tioner's own preconceptions for the psychical processes of the patient."

I believe I have rendered accurately the general sense of his discourse. He had to pause for breath at this point-not surprisingly-and when he went on, it was in more specific terms.

"The memory is like a lovely Rower, gnadige gnadige Frau it cannot be brought into existence fully formed, it must grow slowly and naturally from the seed. The seed is there in his mind. Return him to the scenes Frau it cannot be brought into existence fully formed, it must grow slowly and naturally from the seed. The seed is there in his mind. Return him to the scenes he does remember. Do not force memories upon him. Do not insist on facts he honestly, sincerely, believes to be false. This would be disastrous in his case, for if I read his character correctly, he is the sort of man who will insist on doing precisely the opposite of what you have told him to do."

"You've got that right," Cyrus agreed.

"But your suggestions are still too general," I complained. "Are you saying that we ought to take him back to Amarna?"

"Nein, nein! You take him nowhere. He goes where he wishes to go, and you accompany him. Amarna was the place he kept mentioning. An archaeological site, is it?" You take him nowhere. He goes where he wishes to go, and you accompany him. Amarna was the place he kept mentioning. An archaeological site, is it?"

"It's just about the most remote, desolate site in Egypt," Cyrus said slowly. "I don't think it would be such a smart idea for- for various reasons."

The doctor folded his delicate hands across his rounded stomach and smiled placidly at us. "You have no choice, my friend Vandergelt. Short of imprisonment, which is against the law, your only alternative is to have him declared incompetent. No reputable physician would sign such papers. I would not. He is not incompetent. He is not insane, within the legal definition of the word. If it is the unavailability of medical attention at this place- Amarna- that concerns you, do not be concerned. Physically he is on the road to recovery and will soon be himself again. There is no danger of a recurrence."

There was danger, however, though not of the sort of recurrence the good doctor meant After he had departed Cyrus burst out, "I'm sadly disappointed in Schadenfreude. Of all the insulting theories . He never told me I was a ravening beast."

"He is an enthusiast. Enthusiasts tend to exaggerate. But I am forced to agree with some of his theories. What he said about marriage being a truce . . ."

"Hmph. That's not my notion of what the wedded state ought to be, but I guess you know more about the condition than a sorry old bachelor like me. But I'm dead-set against Amarna. You and Emerson would be like ducks in a shooting gallery out in that wilderness."

"I disagree, Cyrus. It is easier to guard oneself in a howling wilderness than in a teeming metropolis."

"In some ways, maybe. But- "

"Now, Cyrus, argument is a waste of time. As the doctor said, we have no choice. It will be good," I mused, "to see dear Amarna again."

Cyrus's stern face softened "You don't fool me, Amelia. You are the bravest little woman I know, and that stiff upper lip of yours is a credit to the whole British nation, but it isn't healthy, my dear, to suppress your feelings this way. I've got a pretty broad shoulder if you want one to cry on "

I declined the offer, with proper expressions of grat.i.tude. But if Cyrus had seen me later that night, he would not have had such a high opinion of my courage. Huddled on the floor of the bath chamber, with the door locked and a towel pressed to my face to m.u.f.fle my sobs, I wept until I could weep no more. It did me good, I suppose. Finally I rose shakily to my feet and went to the window. The first pale streaks of dawn outlined the eastern mountains. Drained and exhausted, I leaned on the sill looking out, and as the light strengthened I felt a slow renewing trickle of the courage and hope that had temporarily abandoned me. My fists clenched, my lips tightened I had won the first battle, against all odds, I had found him and brought him back to me. If other battles had to be fought, I would fight and win them too.

CHAPTER 8.

"When one is striding bravely into the future, one cannot watch one's footing."

Years had pa.s.sed since I last beheld the plain of Amarna, yet in eternal Egypt a decade is no more than the blink of an eye. Nothing had changed- the same wretched villages, the same narrow strip of green along the riverbank, the same empty arid plain behind, enclosed by frowning cliffs like the fingers of a cupped, stony hand.

It might have been only yesterday that my eyes last rested upon the scene, and this impression was further strengthened by the fact that I saw it from the deck of a dahabeeyah-not my beloved Philae, Philae, on which I had traveled during my first visit to Egypt, but an even grander and more luxuriously appointed sailing vessel.

These graceful floating apartments, once the most popular means of travel for well-to-do tourists, were fast disappearing. Cook's steamers plied the river, the railroad offered quick if uncomfortable travel between Cairo and Luxor. The spirit of the new century was already upon us, and although modern devices were no doubt more convenient, it was with a sigh that I contemplated the loss of dignity, leisure, and charm the dahabeeyahs had emplified.

A few traditionalists clung to the old customs. The Reverend Mr. Sayce's boat was still a familiar sight along the river, and Cyrus also preferred the comfort of a dahabeeyah when traveling and when visiting sites where suitable accommodations were lacking. In fact, there was not a clean, much less comfortable, hotel to be found between Cairo and Luxor. Visitors who wished to stay at Amarna overnight had to camp out or request the hospitality of the local magistrate. This individual's house was only a little larger and hardly less filthy than those of the fellahin, so I was extremely pleased when Cyrus announced he had ordered his reis to bring his dahabeeyah to Luxor so that we might travel on it to Amarna.

I had seen The Valley of the Kings The Valley of the Kings, as his boat was named, before, so you may conceive of my surprise when I beheld a new and astonishing sailing vessel awaiting us at the dock the day we left Luxor. Twice the length of the other boat, gleaming with fresh paint, it bore the name Nefert.i.ti Nefert.i.ti in elaborate gilt lettering on the prow. in elaborate gilt lettering on the prow.