Black Diamond (5 page)

A doctor led the way across the room. William followed, keeping pace with Harvey. When they were still several yards away from the three women, William said, ‘No,’ in a low voice. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, why don’t we sit down?’ the doctor suggested. ‘I can tell you something about the work we do here.’

Harvey made a face at William. He saw the propaganda coming:
Our
worthy
cause,
insufficient
funds,
these
unfortunate
people.
William ignored him. He told the doctor he’d be interested to hear what he had to say. Even if Jean wasn’t at Green Mansions, she might be in a similar institution; he wanted to know about anything that could have a bearing on her life.

They sat. Harvey longed for a cigarette. Signs on the walls told him he couldn’t have one. More than any of the hospitals and rest homes they’d seen, Green Mansions reminded him of a school he’d been sent to once. He’d stayed there for a year, and he’d hated every minute. It was one of those schools where they were supposed to straighten you out.

The doctor talked about state funds, federal grants and private subsidies. William nodded and looked out into the center of the floor. It was surprising how many people were just standing there, not talking to anyone – just standing alone, looking like machines that had been switched off: nothing registered on their faces. ‘Do you use drugs?’ he asked.

‘In the case of a violent patient it’s sometimes advisable,’ the doctor answered.

‘But not regular doses as a matter of policy?’

‘No, of course not.’

Harvey turned his head to look at the doctor. Naturally they’d give drugs as a routine. It would make all the supervisory work easier. He was pretty certain that all those places did. If you weren’t loony when you went in, they’d soon mess you up enough to pass for crazy.

William wasn’t looking at the doctor. He was staring at one of the patients standing alone in the middle of the floor: a girl with straight, orange-blonde hair and a pale face that had a sweet, absent-minded look. ‘Jean,’ he whispered suddenly. He grabbed Harvey’s arm. ‘There‚’ he said. ‘It’s her.’

‘It doesn’t look like her,’ Harvey said.

‘It’s Jean.’

‘Doctor, who’s the thin girl with the long hair?’ Harvey asked.

‘That’s Coralee. She’s been here eighteen months now. She’d be about five years younger than the girl you’re looking for.’

‘That’s my girl,’ William said.

‘Her parents –’

Harvey said, ‘She doesn’t look like the photographs, Bill.’

‘Well, she’s changed. It’s been years since those pictures were taken. And as for her name being different, I’d expected that.’

‘Oh?’ the doctor said.

Harvey put his hand on William’s shoulder and told him they’d better talk things over. William agreed. He’d found Jean. Nothing else mattered.

He’d known that when, at last, they found each other, the healing power of love ought to cure her, although in an opera the heroine usually died at the moment of reuniting, having
undergone
too much. This was real life. Jean might never recover her reason, but they could live together as man and wife and be happy. He accepted the fact that she’d been committed under a different name and by people who claimed to be her relatives: naturally, if she were afraid of being sent to jail, she’d have made up a new name for herself. She might even have found a new home for a while. He was willing to marry her under any name at all.

While Harvey wrote down notes about the circumstances of her admission, William put questions about getting her out. He wanted to know what objections there might be from the authorities as well as from her family. He was hoping that both could be bought off: the clinic with money and proof of good intentions, the family with belief in his love.

Her parents – the doctor said – seeing that she seldom recognized them, had quickly found it too painful to continue their visits. They got into financial difficulties, stopped paying for her upkeep and moved away. Coralee was due to go into a state asylum at the end of the month.

‘I know this story may sound unbelievable,’ William said, ‘but to me everything makes sense now that we’re together again. I’d be glad to pay whatever Coralee owes the clinic.’ He spoke for a long time. He was persuasive, partly because the doctor and his staff wanted to be persuaded, but also because his need inspired him. As he dug deeper into his fantasy, until he finally merged with it, his outer actions began to appear more normal and relaxed.

‘I knew her before,’ he said, ‘and lost her. But I’ve been looking for her. And now I’ve found her, I want to take care of her.’

The doctor was favorably impressed by William’s story, his future plans, his wealth and his ability to treat a madwoman with
kindness for the rest of his life. He didn’t consider the possibility that William himself was crazed. He promised to do what he could; and to meet again the next day. He introduced William to Coralee before escorting him and Harvey out of the sanatorium.

William took her hand in his. Her eyes moved back to the world where she was standing and where he stood, his hand touching hers. Her smile reflected the one he showed her. He told her his name, and said that he was going to see her the next day: she might not remember, but he had known her a long time ago. He’d loved her. He’d been looking for her, to rescue her, and he wanted to make her happy.

He talked to her slowly and clearly. For the first time in days she spoke. Her voice was feeble from lack of use. Later it would turn out that part of her disability was caused by deafness, for which she’d never been tested.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘That’s all right,’ he told her. ‘We’ll get to know each other again from the beginning. We’ll have a nice time.’

She smiled again. He let go of her hand. She looked after him as he walked to the door. He turned and waved. She came forward.

She walked up to him and put her hands on his jacket. ‘What did you say your name was?’ she asked.

‘William,’ he told her again. ‘Will.’

The doctor was astounded. She’d never acted that way before.

She said, ‘You come back soon, Will.’

‘Tomorrow,’ he promised.

As soon as they were in the car again Harvey said, ‘Listen, Bill, it isn’t the same one.’

‘This is the happiest day of my life, Harvey. There’s only going to be one happier one, and that’s when Jean and I get married.’

‘She doesn’t look anything like the pictures.’

William smiled. He’d stopped staring strangely or seeming to go off into another dimension. Still smiling, he said, ‘Her sufferings have changed her.’

‘I just – you ought to think it over. You could be making a big mistake.’

‘The mistake I made was to let you talk me into going with whores.’

‘You liked it fine at the time.’

‘I was so lonely, I couldn’t stand it. Now I’ve found her, I’m never going to be lonely again.’

‘Are you sure she’s the same one?’

‘I’m positive. She couldn’t be anyone else.’

‘But she is somebody else. Even if she wasn’t goofy, she just isn’t the right girl. Different age, different name – she’s got a whole different face, man.’

‘Unhappiness can practically destroy people. You don’t know.’

‘It can also prevent them from seeing what’s right in front of them. I can’t let you do it. Just think – maybe the real girl is still somewhere waiting for you. She’d have to wait forever, if you tie yourself up with this one.’

‘I know you’re worried,’ William told him. ‘I don’t believe you’re just thinking about the money and the case coming to an end.’

‘What’s that?’

‘No. I know what worries you. It’s love. It makes you uncomfortable. It isn’t what you’re used to. You see it, and you get scared.’

‘Don’t give me that horseshit.’

‘Harvey, one day it’s going to happen to you. Listen – one day you’re going to find the right one: the only one for you. And then you’ll be happy. Like me.’

‘Christ,’ Harvey muttered. He didn’t trust himself to say anything more without losing his temper. He couldn’t believe that William had ducked out from under so neatly, taken the first opportunity he saw, to escape: in the company of some jerk girl with a dopey smile, who wasn’t even the one he’d been looking for.

William got on the telephone at the motel. He arranged through his lawyers to have people waiting for him at the house. He said that calls would be coming in soon, asking questions about him, but that everything would be all right.

And it was all right. Good credentials, his family’s name, the record of their holdings, their history in the town they’d lived in for four generations, guaranteed William’s fitness to remove a patient from Green Mansions. His money ensured speed.

The girl didn’t mind. She’d taken a liking to William. When he spoke, she leaned into his face. He held her lightly by the hand and – once they were away from the clinic – by the arm. The drive home was made in almost total silence. At the house William helped her out of the car. He said, ‘This is where I live, Coralee. I hope you’ll be happy here.’

She looked pleased. She seemed to be taking in what was happening. ‘Big house,’ she said. William handed her over to the maid, housekeeper and cook he’d hired. That evening he asked her if she’d marry him. She said yes. In the morning he made plans for the wedding. He also asked a doctor to come on a house call to have a look at Coralee.

He phoned the detective agency and he went there, arriving just as Harvey was coming off work for his lunch hour. Harvey had registered a formal, written protest against the ending of the case. If anything were to go wrong with William’s choice, Harvey wasn’t going to be held responsible. Mr McAndrew had taken the matter calmly; he’d been content with a quick result, a large fee and a satisfied client who admitted to over-riding the objections of the agency.

‘You’re really going through with it?’ Harvey asked.

William beamed. ‘She’s accepted me,’ he said. ‘She likes it here.’

‘I bet she does. It’s better than that place she was in.’

‘I’m giving you a bonus. That’s what I’d do anyway. But I also just wanted to say I appreciate the hard work you put in on the case, even when you didn’t believe we were going to get anywhere. Well, you know what it’s meant to me. It’s saved my life. I want to thank you.’ He handed over two checks, one for the firm and one made out to Harvey by name. They shook hands. William walked to the door, went down the steps and got back into his car.

Harvey looked at the amount on his check. He started to think
about William and his search, the girl he’d discovered and the life they’d have together. They were both crazy, so what did it matter? And why should he be thinking about them? They might make out fine. There was no reason to feel that what had happened was such a terrible thing. And the check was for a lot, so what the hell?

Plans for the wedding went forward. Coralee had doctors’ appointments to go to. William was told that she could live a normal life, but her mind would probably never develop. Everything had been left for too long. She didn’t appear to have any mental illnesses – she was, as far as they could tell, just stupid, or – as they phrased it in that part of the world – slow. Of course she’d been sick, but that would leave her as she became accustomed to her new home. Some of her debility had
undoubtedly
been induced by her surroundings: first her family, then the institutions they’d put her in. With kindness and patience there would be some improvement; there always was. She might not become completely well, only enough recovered to believe everything William told her: to adopt his madness in place of her own.

She liked William. She was aquiescent, dreamy, vague. She was like someone asleep. He didn’t mind. He liked her
quietness
. There was nothing to disturb his idea that deep down, under the different face and body, she was Jean.

He told her many times, simply and clearly, how they’d loved each other and been parted. Now that they were together again, their lives were going to be full of joy. He handed her the packet of letters his mother had kept tied with a ribbon. She held the letters to her face and smiled gently. Then she dropped them on the floor. He took her action to mean that as far as she was concerned, the past was over: they would get married and be happy.

The wedding was announced. Coralee was fitted for a wedding dress. The dressmaker called at the house to measure and alter. Coralee delighted in the fitting sessions; she played with the veil, she danced around, holding the partly completed skirt, she tried to sniff the artificial flowers. The dress was made
with plenty of tucks that could be let out easily for extra width; Coralee had gained sixteen pounds since leaving Green Mansions and was still putting on weight. Apparently the inmates had been kept on a meagre diet.

He didn’t try to reunite her with her parents, nor with the people who had had her committed under her new name. He didn’t think they deserved a reconciliation of any kind – in fact, he didn’t even send them an invitation.

The wedding was to be a small affair. Hardly anyone from his old days in the town went on the list of guests. He could have asked men and women he’d been to school with, but he hadn’t kept up with them. He still said hello to people on the street when he ran into them – that was all: he’d made no effort to pick up old friendships again, and when pursued, he declined invitations. He didn’t need anyone except Coralee.

He invited his lawyers, the local doctor, the dressmaker and her family, the women he’d hired to work in the house. He didn’t bother to notify any of his aunts, uncles or cousins; he thought he’d write to them afterwards. As soon as Coralee got used to married life, they might take some trips, meet people; there would be time for everything. And then he’d get back to his job with the law firm. As an afterthought he picked up the phone and issued an informal invitation to Harvey.

Harvey said he’d really like to attend, but he just couldn’t: he had too much work to do. It was nice of William to ask him, he said. His voice sounded right, but the truth was that after he’d banked his check, Harvey had begun to detest William and his love and the misery of it. He hated fools. He thought of them as people who had the sanction of the law to cause more damage than criminals. He didn’t consider them funny or lovable.