Recovery (5 page)
Authors: John Berryman
âWhy?' she said earnestly, leaning even further forward.
âGod knows. It wasn't them. Maybe I just got worn out with the dreadful back-and-forth passage between. I must âI mustn't. Anyway, then I was
really
in despair. The goddamn class met at one-fifteen, it wasn't even clear that I could get my secretary on the phone in time, much less the Director, and besides what could they do?
I sweated.
Meanwhile the tone of the Group had metamorphosed in one second. They were all consolation, advice, sympathy, even praise. I couldn't understand it and did not give two ounces of gerbil-dung. I simply did not know what to do, in my opinion nothing
could
be done. In response to some suggestion from Billie Rome, I said angrily, “We don't even have a Department of Religion, there's no Divinity School as they have at Harvard and Chicago, there's nobody to replace me.” You see the lecture was on the Fourth Gospel, I give a weird course over there sometimes, outside my own College. Somebody suddenly said, “Vin's trained in divinity!” and there was Vin looking hot-faced at me saying, “I'll give your lecture for you.” I felt
stunned. I said, “You're not serious.” “Oh yes I am,” he said. I still couldn't believe himâ
him.
I had hit him very hard two times that morning. “You're not kidding me?” I said, having a sense of about to fall off my chair or just fly out the window backward. “No, no, I'll do itâif necessary, I'll teach it in Greek!” I saw he meant it, Mary-Jane, God Almighty. I said, “I could kiss you!” He saidâhe's a maniacâ“Well, do,” and so help me I leaned across Keg (who, it vaguely and irritably even in that moment came to me, was
laughing)
and Vin and I embraced and kissed cheeks. “Well!” I said sobbing, “Come down to my room, I'll go over my notes with you, it won't take two minutes, they're full and my texts are marked.” Everything was confused, but I heard somebody say as we all stood up, “He really
cares
about his students,” and I thought as if far away, “Damn you so you doubted it.” I thought Keg was going to crush my knuckles during the Lord's Prayer and somebody told me later there wasn't a dry eye in the room and I briefed Vin, who said he was “scared to death”
(Vin
scared). I said, “Some of my kids are marvellous, you'll be completely at ease with them,” and described several in the front seats, with their names, and off he went, in plenty of time, and I went and sat in the Lounge and wept and wept. Everybody was at lunch, but Keg came from somewhere and knelt down by my chair and gripped my knee. “You were so cruel to Phyllis and Amos,” I got out between sobs, “I don't understand.” “We're hard on delusion.” For the first time I saw what treatment was about.'
really
in despair. The goddamn class met at one-fifteen, it wasn't even clear that I could get my secretary on the phone in time, much less the Director, and besides what could they do?
I sweated.
Meanwhile the tone of the Group had metamorphosed in one second. They were all consolation, advice, sympathy, even praise. I couldn't understand it and did not give two ounces of gerbil-dung. I simply did not know what to do, in my opinion nothing
could
be done. In response to some suggestion from Billie Rome, I said angrily, “We don't even have a Department of Religion, there's no Divinity School as they have at Harvard and Chicago, there's nobody to replace me.” You see the lecture was on the Fourth Gospel, I give a weird course over there sometimes, outside my own College. Somebody suddenly said, “Vin's trained in divinity!” and there was Vin looking hot-faced at me saying, “I'll give your lecture for you.” I felt
stunned. I said, “You're not serious.” “Oh yes I am,” he said. I still couldn't believe himâ
him.
I had hit him very hard two times that morning. “You're not kidding me?” I said, having a sense of about to fall off my chair or just fly out the window backward. “No, no, I'll do itâif necessary, I'll teach it in Greek!” I saw he meant it, Mary-Jane, God Almighty. I said, “I could kiss you!” He saidâhe's a maniacâ“Well, do,” and so help me I leaned across Keg (who, it vaguely and irritably even in that moment came to me, was
laughing)
and Vin and I embraced and kissed cheeks. “Well!” I said sobbing, “Come down to my room, I'll go over my notes with you, it won't take two minutes, they're full and my texts are marked.” Everything was confused, but I heard somebody say as we all stood up, “He really
cares
about his students,” and I thought as if far away, “Damn you so you doubted it.” I thought Keg was going to crush my knuckles during the Lord's Prayer and somebody told me later there wasn't a dry eye in the room and I briefed Vin, who said he was “scared to death”
(Vin
scared). I said, “Some of my kids are marvellous, you'll be completely at ease with them,” and described several in the front seats, with their names, and off he went, in plenty of time, and I went and sat in the Lounge and wept and wept. Everybody was at lunch, but Keg came from somewhere and knelt down by my chair and gripped my knee. “You were so cruel to Phyllis and Amos,” I got out between sobs, “I don't understand.” “We're hard on delusion.” For the first time I saw what treatment was about.'
The man and woman sat in silence in the dishevelled room.
âIt's an amazing story, Alan,' she said softly. âI have a feeling you didn't finish it.'
âOh no. I hadn't even reached the point. That afternoon as I thought over what had happened I saw that a direct intervention had taken place and I recovered one particular
sense of God's being I lost as a child. My father shot himself when I was twelve. I didn't blame God for that, I just lost all personal sense of Him. No doubt about the Creator and Maintainer, and later it became quite clear to me that He made Himself available to certain men and women in terms of inspirationâartists, scientists, statesmen, the saints of course, anybody in factâgave them special power or insight or enduranceâI'd felt it myself: some of my best work I can't claim any credit for, it flowed out all by itself, or in fact by His moving. But I couldn't see Him interested in the individual life in the ordinary way. Now I did. Vin was his angel if you likeâemissary, agentâI've never had any trouble with angels. Or what they call “miracles” either. I became a different man.'
sense of God's being I lost as a child. My father shot himself when I was twelve. I didn't blame God for that, I just lost all personal sense of Him. No doubt about the Creator and Maintainer, and later it became quite clear to me that He made Himself available to certain men and women in terms of inspirationâartists, scientists, statesmen, the saints of course, anybody in factâgave them special power or insight or enduranceâI'd felt it myself: some of my best work I can't claim any credit for, it flowed out all by itself, or in fact by His moving. But I couldn't see Him interested in the individual life in the ordinary way. Now I did. Vin was his angel if you likeâemissary, agentâI've never had any trouble with angels. Or what they call “miracles” either. I became a different man.'
After a little, âHow,' she asked, âdid you come to get in trouble again?'
âWell, the First Step,' he said but he felt a strange uncertainty as he heard himself say it.
âI don't see any connexion,' Mary-Jane said. âBut never mind,' and she came up off the edge of the bed and embraced him tenderly.
âThat was the
Second
Step. “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” '
Second
Step. “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” '
âSanity?' he was resentful, âwho was insane? I could have talked to my students and given the lecture easily, I've done it fifty times in worse shape.'
âBut you had a convulsion a few days later?'
âCompletely abnormal, one chance in ten thousand.'
âAnd you think you should have risked your life for your students? Alan, you're a sweet guy but you are still
lost.'
She kissed his cheek. âWe're not supposed to Give Advice in this game, but I'll tell you the score. Maybe, anyway. Your trouble is the Third Step.'
lost.'
She kissed his cheek. âWe're not supposed to Give Advice in this game, but I'll tell you the score. Maybe, anyway. Your trouble is the Third Step.'
Â
Extract from Dr Severance's journal
Â
Incredible. Changes everything. I couldn't understand why she hadn't told me before. âI didn't know whether you were going to leave me. Or me you.' Ugh. But it's marvellous. In May, eh? Name up to me again. David or Rachel. Rebecca n.g. Consider.
Funny I can't remember the interview with Dr Rome Tuesday. See him, hear only his word ânumb' at some point and, âYou'll be like this for some time.' That's what
he
thinks.
he
thinks.
God's doing.
Group all on Les's leaving. Him: âdisappointed' and âno progress after six weeks.' Poor show, poor guy. Problems: 1) business, 2) family, 3) sobriety, 4) self-misinterpretation. I wish I had more hope for him.
Will power is nothing. Morals is nothing. Lord, this is illness.
Â
Â
SEVERANCE HOPED everyone else was as well prepared as he was. He looked around the room eagerly. Maybe they could pop through this in fifteen minutes at the outsideâit wasn't likely that anybody else would have a list of disciplines as long as his, after allâand get down to business
at last. He burned to level and confront, be confronted, learn, suffer, and break through.
at last. He burned to level and confront, be confronted, learn, suffer, and break through.
Keg at the blackboard held a piece of chalk in the air and said, âWe'll go around the room. What have you decided you have to do to get better, Wilbur?'
Wilbur looked up surprised at the tall rather grim figure standing almost over him, hesitated until the atmosphere was tense with exasperation, began to say something, began again, and Keg wrote.
Severance picked up something about his fellows as the master-list of disciplines lengthened down the board and started a second column and started the third column. Both in Wilbur's long, defensive face and whited eyes under the bald dome, and in the hunched-over elbows-on-knees defeated ingrown posture, he read: Self-pity. He was pleased to hear anticipated, confirmed, some of his own disciplines, though not many. Mary-Jane was extremely definite: (1) Accepting Ward responsibilities (Severance uncomfortably could see her sitting on his unmade bed yesterdayâin fact he hadn't made it today either), (2) After the day's page in the 24-Hour Book, read 20â30 pages in the Big Book, (3) Seek people, (4) JUST FOR TODAY (she told Grant to put it in caps, and he grinned) I will have a Programme. Severance was impressed, against his will; his opinion of his own great list weakened. Only Jeree was diffident and vague. âTry to think good about people,' she said, and, ânot to eat too much at meals or between meals.' Several patients laughed at the second, Severance among them, for Jeree was hardly over-weight, but he was touched, even in some way humbled by her first proposal. So this mild creature had been sitting across from him in the Snack Room bristling with criticism. Of him? He was suddenly aware of a great distance between himself and her, of her independent existence, with problems he didn't know of and making efforts he ought to make himself, for she could
hardly be as censorious as he was, and yet there was nothing of the sort on his list. Nothing like Letty's either: âTell myself three times a day I am not a bitch, though I know I am.'
hardly be as censorious as he was, and yet there was nothing of the sort on his list. Nothing like Letty's either: âTell myself three times a day I am not a bitch, though I know I am.'
Severance's list, when Keg got to him, was grandiose and tyrannical. Four hours' reading a day, thirteen physical exercises every morning (seven isometric, four barbell, hopping, running in place), and so on. Eleven in all (and he had omitted many more). He was rather proud of it, to tell the truth, though he tried not to feel pride in anything. It covered everything. A man would have to be Jack London to drink with disciplines like that!
âI don't suppose, Alan, you expect everybody to keep up with all these?' said Keg sweetly, as he turned back from the board finally. âGod no, it's just for myself,' Severance said with some insincerity, since that had been exactly what he did expect. He didn't want to
lead
anything at all but he had his duty to the Group as well as to his recovery.
lead
anything at all but he had his duty to the Group as well as to his recovery.
Keg wound up at last with Marge, who snapped out her ideas as if she hated him and everybody. Then he stood back and considered the columns. So did they all.
âLet's get rid,' he said suddenly, âof everything we can. St Francis and Napoleon put together couldn't run such a Programme, or he'd go bats on the third day trying to. You are suffering alcoholics. Some of you are still in deep withdrawal, without even knowing it. None of you has been dry a month. All of you are hospital patients in treatment for at least the second time. Almost the only thing I do
not
see on the board is, “TAKE IT EASY.” In fact the whole preposterous accumulation
attacks
that primary law by merely filling the wall the way it does. I'll begin with “thinking good about people.” Do it if you can, JereeâI personally can'tâit may get you to Heaven; but in my worthless opinion it will not help keep you sober. Well,
help
maybe. But what happens? Say you succeed even,
then somebody slobbers on you or wipes you outâas does occur in this worldâyou're back to booze. We've got to lower our sights, all of you, except Mary-Jane. Alan, you are the most deluded person in this room. Eleven disciplines, eh? Some with many parts each. Perhaps you think you are pitching for the Nobel Prize? You are only trying to create a minimal possibility, my friend, that you won't be drunk ten days after you leave hospital this time. You were drinking by the end of the first week, last Spring, weren't you. Can't you see that you'd simply fail at all this noble crap, grow discouraged with yourself, despair of the Programme, andâguess what.'
not
see on the board is, “TAKE IT EASY.” In fact the whole preposterous accumulation
attacks
that primary law by merely filling the wall the way it does. I'll begin with “thinking good about people.” Do it if you can, JereeâI personally can'tâit may get you to Heaven; but in my worthless opinion it will not help keep you sober. Well,
help
maybe. But what happens? Say you succeed even,
then somebody slobbers on you or wipes you outâas does occur in this worldâyou're back to booze. We've got to lower our sights, all of you, except Mary-Jane. Alan, you are the most deluded person in this room. Eleven disciplines, eh? Some with many parts each. Perhaps you think you are pitching for the Nobel Prize? You are only trying to create a minimal possibility, my friend, that you won't be drunk ten days after you leave hospital this time. You were drinking by the end of the first week, last Spring, weren't you. Can't you see that you'd simply fail at all this noble crap, grow discouraged with yourself, despair of the Programme, andâguess what.'
Severance, who had aged somewhat during this speech, stared at his terrible demands flashing and rocking on the board. He wished he was elsewhere, and did not hear anything for a while. Then he took in that Keg had prefaced Mary-Jane's âJUST FOR TODAY' to groupings from other patients' items and was calling for comment. He heard intermittently, âI will do at least two things I don't want to do âjust for exercise,' and, âI will do somebody a good turn and not get found out; if anybody learns, it will not count,' and, âI will have a quiet half hour all by myself, and relax,' and âask for help,' and âtrust my impulses,' and ânot tackle my whole life problem at once,' and, âself-forgetfulness.' The more he heard, the more uncomfortable he felt; at one moment he wondered dazedly whether he had somehow wandered into the wrong room. He seemed to have nothing in common with these sensible and aspiring people. Then Letty, the wide-eyed Jewish young-looking grandmother on his left, leaned over and patted his knee, murmuring, âNever mind, dear.' His pained eyes met Mary-Jane's quiet eyes and she winked. By twelve-ten when they rose to say the Lord's Prayer, he was able to seize Letty's hand with a feeling that the unusual comfortless morning had not after all been wasted. There was plenty of time after all. Glad it wasn't worse.
Â
Â
Extract from Dr Severance's journal
Â
Â
Thurs.
Interested, happy.
Interested, happy.
1st Step: Gus and Mike alike:
Humility
Humility
Must be: I am at the end of
my
resources:
Help me.
my
resources:
Help me.
R with all my mailâPride! letter from V, R. Cantor's letter, Heisen's.
My job is somehow to conquer my Pride. I have been
getting away with murder
all my lifeânot only
allowed
to but vehemently
encouraged
to. (making up for my lost childhood?? irresponsible, counting on
over
love??) Only here's a subject, liquor, where I can't.
getting away with murder
all my lifeânot only
allowed
to but vehemently
encouraged
to. (making up for my lost childhood?? irresponsible, counting on
over
love??) Only here's a subject, liquor, where I can't.
Â
Â
Friday afternoon found him writing laboriously.
âComment:
If this statement has literary merit, that I think is not a con, only the product of the fact that a lifelong effort to put things shortly and forcibly is unbreakable, and harmless, except insofar as it may persuade others to share the patient's delusion and so support his illness (any writer's, or even scientist's permanent message perhaps is really just this:
come and share my delusion
, and we will be happy or miserable
together
) THIS ATTEMPT
is right here. Otherwise
I have made no conscious effort to impress you, only to
tell you how I see myself with the First Step
at this
moment.
I am certain to improve that relation as every morning I include it with the 5 to 30 min. I spend (with whatever courage and every trace of humility I can summon) on the 24-Hour Book.
That,
at any rate, does lie within the power of my eroded but surviving will: I am almost bound to skip some mornings at first, but I hope to notice it and gradually make the habit instinctiveâwake up, out of bed,
book &
1st
Step
âI've done it four mornings anyway, deluded as I am. Every now and then, lately, a few scales seem to fall from my eyes. Maybe, with your help and God's, I will some time see something as it is, then something else, and finally enough to keep me sober.' He stopped there, too tired to select any more from the wealth of observations and conclusions that were roaring in his mind, and it was twenty-four hours before, looking at it again with a view to going on, he was horrified to find that it was
crap
âmere evasionâdelusion, in short, pretending to recognize itself but actually having its feet planted firmly in mid-air, as one of the counsellors had once said about somebody. Atrociously written too, and that mattered.
âComment:
If this statement has literary merit, that I think is not a con, only the product of the fact that a lifelong effort to put things shortly and forcibly is unbreakable, and harmless, except insofar as it may persuade others to share the patient's delusion and so support his illness (any writer's, or even scientist's permanent message perhaps is really just this:
come and share my delusion
, and we will be happy or miserable
together
) THIS ATTEMPT
is right here. Otherwise
I have made no conscious effort to impress you, only to
tell you how I see myself with the First Step
at this
moment.
I am certain to improve that relation as every morning I include it with the 5 to 30 min. I spend (with whatever courage and every trace of humility I can summon) on the 24-Hour Book.
That,
at any rate, does lie within the power of my eroded but surviving will: I am almost bound to skip some mornings at first, but I hope to notice it and gradually make the habit instinctiveâwake up, out of bed,
book &
1st
Step
âI've done it four mornings anyway, deluded as I am. Every now and then, lately, a few scales seem to fall from my eyes. Maybe, with your help and God's, I will some time see something as it is, then something else, and finally enough to keep me sober.' He stopped there, too tired to select any more from the wealth of observations and conclusions that were roaring in his mind, and it was twenty-four hours before, looking at it again with a view to going on, he was horrified to find that it was
crap
âmere evasionâdelusion, in short, pretending to recognize itself but actually having its feet planted firmly in mid-air, as one of the counsellors had once said about somebody. Atrociously written too, and that mattered.
âThis is my last chance,' he said grimly to Ruth that Saturday evening. âIf I don't make it this time, I'll just relax and drink myself to death. There's no better treatment available, I couldn't be in better condition. That would be
it.
' Fanatical determination.
it.
' Fanatical determination.
âI don't agree.' She looked solidly at him. âThere's hope until you're dead.' And he didn't buy that either, but it made him feel better, and after she left, when the gong went for visitors out, he slaved on.
At half past ten he jotted down, âI seem to be moving with the speed of light but I also seem to be standing stockstill,' and went off to the Snack Room for coffee. Eddie was jittering by the freezer, Jeree looked softly up, Jasper and Mike were arguing. Eddie had come in about
four o'clock, in frightful shape, and driven everybody crazy by trying to hold conversations when he could hardly stand up or jabber intelligibly. His white face was spectral and lopsided, thin lips working, shoulders shaking in a torn light blue dressing-gown, hands twitching, knees tottering. He was not in DT's but otherwise he reminded Severance of a cadaverous lawyer he had seen on the locked ward at Werewolf Hills, jiggling back and forth along an imaginary tenfoot runway gibbering to his imaginary wife. Asking the orderly about him, with dismay, he was told carelessly, âOh he comes in two or three times a year like this. In three days he'll be back in his office giving orders.' It was hard to see Eddie back anywhere in three days. Somebody had gathered, and reported at dinner, that Eddie had drunk most of a case of Scotch since Tuesday. Charley Boyle, in whose room he had been put, came in now and persuaded him back. Everybody sighed.
four o'clock, in frightful shape, and driven everybody crazy by trying to hold conversations when he could hardly stand up or jabber intelligibly. His white face was spectral and lopsided, thin lips working, shoulders shaking in a torn light blue dressing-gown, hands twitching, knees tottering. He was not in DT's but otherwise he reminded Severance of a cadaverous lawyer he had seen on the locked ward at Werewolf Hills, jiggling back and forth along an imaginary tenfoot runway gibbering to his imaginary wife. Asking the orderly about him, with dismay, he was told carelessly, âOh he comes in two or three times a year like this. In three days he'll be back in his office giving orders.' It was hard to see Eddie back anywhere in three days. Somebody had gathered, and reported at dinner, that Eddie had drunk most of a case of Scotch since Tuesday. Charley Boyle, in whose room he had been put, came in now and persuaded him back. Everybody sighed.
âStill, it doesn't seem to be the
amount
you drink,' said Mike. âA woman in my Group was minimizing as usual, yesterday, and Sandy couldn't get through to her. She thought: no bottle-a-day, no Skid Row: no alcoholic, she. It's pathetic. But what is the story?'
amount
you drink,' said Mike. âA woman in my Group was minimizing as usual, yesterday, and Sandy couldn't get through to her. She thought: no bottle-a-day, no Skid Row: no alcoholic, she. It's pathetic. But what is the story?'
âIntake has nothing to do with it,' Severance declared out of his lore acquired from a hundred and twenty lectures at Howarden and Northeast, and much dogged reading, âso far as they can tell. It seems to be Loss of Control. That's the only pinpoint difference between your heavy social drinker, as I thought I was until a year ago, and the alcoholic, like me and I suppose all of you. There's a marvellous Churchill story to this effect.' He was happy not to be slogging away at the goddamned First Step. Truth in wit. âThe great man was introduced to a big audience over here, after the War, as a great brandy-man. “Yes,” the jerk concluded, indicating with his arm a point halfway up the sidewall of the auditorium, “it is estimated that if all the brandy bottles Sir Winston has emptied were collected in
this hall, they would fill it halfway full!” Churchill rolled to the lecternâhis son's biography says he had a natural sailor's gait that made him look intoxicated, along with his slurâanyway, he studied the audience, then shifted his gaze to the indicated point on the wall, studied it, lifted his eyes slowly to the juncture of the wall and the ceiling, and rumbled into the mike: “So much to do. So little time left to do it in.” '
this hall, they would fill it halfway full!” Churchill rolled to the lecternâhis son's biography says he had a natural sailor's gait that made him look intoxicated, along with his slurâanyway, he studied the audience, then shifted his gaze to the indicated point on the wall, studied it, lifted his eyes slowly to the juncture of the wall and the ceiling, and rumbled into the mike: “So much to do. So little time left to do it in.” '
But in the midst of their laughterâeven Jeree smiled âa strange thought came to him. Or did it? What was it? He steadied and looked. It was
lack of control. That
characterized the alcoholic. As an alcoholic he had no control over the First Step. He had been wasting his time, without ever even
reaching
the Step itself. Put-ons, nailed by himself a day or so afterward. Three of them, with all his (deluded) strength. Clearly this matter was beyond him at this time. The thing to do was
admit
it. He felt lurched by his guardian angel into business. With his head on fire he said goodnight abruptly, patting Jeree's shoulder, and went out down the corridor.
lack of control. That
characterized the alcoholic. As an alcoholic he had no control over the First Step. He had been wasting his time, without ever even
reaching
the Step itself. Put-ons, nailed by himself a day or so afterward. Three of them, with all his (deluded) strength. Clearly this matter was beyond him at this time. The thing to do was
admit
it. He felt lurched by his guardian angel into business. With his head on fire he said goodnight abruptly, patting Jeree's shoulder, and went out down the corridor.
âI doubt' (he wrote hurriedly) âif this will be an acceptable First Step; and I don't care. I doubt if any man can exactly “take” the 1st Step; maybe some can, but I know I tried hard and failed. Last Spring I wrote one which Gus Larsonâa severe judgeârecently called one of the best he had ever seen (it was a comprehensive account of twenty-three years of alcoholic chaos, lost wives, public disgrace, a night in jail and a lost job, injuries and hospitalizations, a blacked-out call to a girl student threatening to kill her, involuntary defecation in a public building, DT's once, convulsion once, etc., and it was completely sincere); and a month later I had a slip, four or five more over two months, two months' sobriety, six days drinking, and here I am againâin spite of dead seriousness, never missing either an AA meeting or Dr Rome's Encounter-Group, always confessing all, and every sort of other help, including
daily prayer and the 24-Hour Book.' He struck out the last phrase, as being not quite true. So screw
that
First Step.
daily prayer and the 24-Hour Book.' He struck out the last phrase, as being not quite true. So screw
that
First Step.
âThis is only a short true account of my
present
thinking on the subject.
present
thinking on the subject.
âIt seems that the memory of experience will not keep me sober; and determination will not; and reliance on God, and all the other helps available will not. But what else is there? So my case seems hopeless. But I refuse to submit to the view that it is, because I do not wish to die insane and in fact I even desire the remainder of my life to be very different from the last twenty years.
âOn Riverside'
But somehow there he lost heart and broke off, took a new sheet and scribbled at the bottom: âAs you comb your hair in the morning, say to the mirror, “Severance, you are going to have to make out today, as usual, with one arm. You are lucky to have it. God is interested in you, and conscious of your struggle and your services. Good luck.” '
His elation had faded, and he couldn't understand it, because he seemed to have reached terra firma at last. Hardly happy ground, admittedly, but real. His week of failures hadn't been wasted after all. He was making progress. Mike had said to him last night, âYou're too ambitious, Doctor. I figure if you pick up just one thing a day, really get it, say you're in treatment the average four to five weeks, that's thirty-odd things: you're in business.' He expected to shock Gus etc. but he was doing his duty. Okay. Free now to concentrate, amid the gruelling ward routine, on his Contract with Lineânothing had happened there âand on the new (old) problem increasingly worrying him and threatening his treatment.
Going down at midnight for an Eskimo Pie, only that pig Herb had cleaned them out, he learned that Eddie had had a seizure. âIn and out of bed ten times he was,' Charley grumped amiably, âstaggering over to the window, as if
there was anything to see. Get him back down in, up again. Arita looked in presently with the news that he had had another seizure and been taken across to Intensive Care, âGod bless the sinner.'
there was anything to see. Get him back down in, up again. Arita looked in presently with the news that he had had another seizure and been taken across to Intensive Care, âGod bless the sinner.'
Severance slept like the dead for a change and only Buck and Delores were still eating when he drifted down for breakfastâad lib on Sunday, eight to ten. âDo I look as if I self-destructed at 3:18 a.m.?' he asked them gloomily. âEddie died,' said Buck, âabout then.'
âSo he made it,' said Severance.
âGod damn it,' angrily, âI said the nurse said he
didn't
make it.'
didn't
make it.'
âExactly. What we're all up to, aren't we? Suicide.'
Then the softboiled eggs were cold and hard. He made it, all right.
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