Rebel Without a Cause (39 page)

I don’t remember much about it. I don’t know whether my father disliked me more, or whether I disliked him more. I just couldn’t stand being in the same house with him. That was one reason why
I’d leave home and do a lot of things to get away from everything. But I don’t know … When I got arrested for stealing once it got into the newspapers and my mother destroyed the page it was on so he wouldn’t see it. Somebody stopped my father on the street and told him about it. When he came home he talked about it with my mother and she said she knew nothing of it. She said she thought it was just that I had by some way violated a probation. He really gave me a beating that time. When I came out of jail after eight months and came home he gave me another beating for going around and stealing things. He was mad. He hollered at me, “Get a job or get the hell out of the house!” So I went up to my aunt’s.

L: ‘Was that when you conceived the plan of doing away with your father?’

Yes. I forgot. I even forgot about this plan. I don’t even know how old I was when I had it. It was the time after I got out of a jail and got a beating for it. I stayed around home for a while and then went up to my aunt’s place.

L: ‘That must have been around the time your accident occurred.’

Yes. I guess it was about that time. I don’t know … About two weeks after I got out of jail that time everything was upside down. I didn’t know why I was there, what I was doing there, at home, in the whole world, everywhere. Everything was wrong. To please my mother—she was asking me to stay at home nights—I stayed at home. My father was home and he saw me. And he’d blame her, start a lot of those arguments. Two weeks after I got out I thought I just couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t control myself. I hated him. I wanted to get rid of him. Then I started thinking, after all he … I hated him enough to get rid of him, still I liked my mother and my sisters. My sister was working but the little one was going to school. Even though he picked on me … The reason he picked on me was that I didn’t want to work. I started stealing things. But I don’t know … If he was somebody else then maybe I would have carried out my plan …

L: ‘As a matter of fact, Harold, you did carry out your plan, didn’t you?’

Nooo … My father is still living. I never shot anybody with a rifle. I don’t know what … I—then—I—started drinking. I—I forgot everything. He—he called me a—a lying mother–f——r.
For no reason. I started to agitate myself. It agitated me, but I could have stopped it if I wanted to. It just—just happened. I didn’t see …

L: ‘Why should what the man called you have agitated you so much?’

Why—I—told you. You have me in a funny position here. I—I don’t know what to say.

L: ‘Why?’

I don’t know … I—I—why—when I was outside sometimes when I used to feel like I do now I would want to forget about everything so I’d go away for two or three weeks—but—here—I can’t go away from here. I have to stay here. I—I feel—so—uncomfortable. I guess I am afraid.

L: ‘Afraid of what?’

I don’t know. Afraid of myself I guess. You can say anything you want to. I’m more afraid of you than you are … O, I won’t hurt you. I’ll never tell anybody. I’ll never even admit to myself that I told you this. I wanted to change something and I changed it: I went away. Here I can’t change it. I was going to forget about it as quickly as possible. But now I’ll go through with it. This fellow; I guess I hit him accidently, with a cue stick. We were playing pool and I drew the stick back real quick and hit him in the elbow. He turned around and started cursing me. I said I was sorry. There was no reason for cursing me. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. Then I got started thinking about it. My father used to curse me out; even when I said I was sorry when I did something he’d still curse me. Maybe he appeared to me—O—O … Yes; the fellow reminded me of my father in many ways. Yes; he did. I see … If he said what he said and then told me he was sorry I wouldn’t have … My father did things like that. One time I called him to eat. He wanted to hit me with a hammer. I don’t know what I said to make him mad. I said I was sorry. He started cursing me. I didn’t know what to do. I just went away. He went home and told my mother about it. He told her something or other—and—when this fellow—he … When this fellow started cursing me I imagined that it was like when my father … I don’t blame my father for this. If he had stopped when I said I was sorry … If my father hadn’t … It would have been all right. He cursed me even after I said I was sorry. My father used to jump on me that
way because I didn’t have a job. “Get work, you bum!” He would call me a blind bum and a liar. I don’t know why I did it. I couldn’t help myself I guess. I had forgotten about this plan. The plan came back to me …

L: ‘To dispose of this fellow in the same way?’

I came in here and I settled down and everything quieted down. I seemed to forget everything, even in here. I know you would never say anything to anybody without consulting me, Doc. If something happened to you …

L: ‘Do you want something to happen to me?’

No. No; but I’m worrying what’s going to happen to you.

L: ‘Now, Harold; you have already demonstrated to yourself how, in disposing of this man, you were in reality doing away with your father. The name he called you; why should it have made you feel that way? The reason, Harold, is the same reason why you hate your father. And why did you hate your father? Let us go back to B——. What was the origin of your hate for your father?

I—I … You know. That—what—I saw … My mother and my father … He was—hurting—her.

L: ‘You saw him having intercourse with your mother. He was hurting your mother. You knew he was hurting your mother. Now this man was accusing you of doing the same thing your father had done, of hurting your mother, accusing you of wanting your mother. The man reminded you of your father, whom you wished to get rid of, put out of the way, so that you could have your mother to yourself. Even his looks reminded you of your father. Is the picture beginning to clear?’

Yes; it is. I see now …

L: ‘I think you will find that this theme has been running through everything you have ever done, through your whole life.’

I see it does. I can’t say anything … I want to do—something I haven’t done for a long time—and that’s—cry. I—I—don’t know—why …

L: ‘Do you feel better now?’

I feel like a better person. I know so, in fact. I really don’t hate my father now. Maybe I still dislike him, but I understand the whole
thing. I love my mother. That’s one reason why I didn’t carry out my plan. And I didn’t want the responsibility of supporting my mother and my sisters. If I carried out my plan I would have to do that. I used to tell myself that there were cases in the world where the son killed the father. I cared too much for my mother and I disliked my father. This is the first time I—I faced the facts; the first time in my life. It’s true. It goes all the way back …

L: ‘We are going to go on facing facts, facing them!’

You know, Doc … This is the first time in a long time, in a long time, since the accident happened, that I feel relieved. My shoulders are not so heavy: my arms are lighter. Maybe I just imagine they are … but they feel lots lighter …

L: ‘I think we have now reached a place where I can explain to you the meanings of all the things you have told me, as well as the things you tell me, as they come up. You will tell me, for instance, of the dreams you may have or, in fact, anything that comes into your head, and at the proper place I’ll give you the necessary explanations. By the way, I am very well pleased with the improved condition of your eyes.’

Yes. That’s true. When I look at a book I still have to hold it close to my eyes sometimes. I guess it must be a habit, because the other day when I was sitting down with a book I held it about ten or more inches away from my eyes, and I could read fine. But after a while it started to swing back: it started swinging back to my eyes, close to my face.

L: ‘You mean your arms swung the book back, don’t you?’

Yes; yes …

L: ‘That is because over many years you have formed the habit of holding books and anything you wish to look at close to your eyes. Now you must break that habit. There is a simple way to start breaking it. Do you usually read in bed?’

Yes. A good deal of the time I lie on my back in bed and hold the book.

L: ‘Well, one good way of starting to break that habit is this; if you are reading in bed, prop the book up on the pillow. In that way the book remains fixed. You see, your hands have developed the habit, they are used to bringing the reading material close to your eyes. These
habits of manipulation go along with seeing. Holding your books close to your eyes was all right when your eyes were very bad. Now that they are somewhat better you’ll want to change your habits.

Yesterday something hit me. Last night, I mean. I haven’t had a feeling like that for more than two years. It’s something like a mood. I used to get them on the outside. I remember back when I was twelve or thirteen when I was in one of these moods I’d run away from home, see? To illustrate—the one I had yesterday … I was walking in the mess hall and the sun was shining in through the windows, and the sunlight, it started to move or something, move from one place to another; and I knew I was going to have a—a spell. I didn’t eat nothing. I just sat at the table and I closed my eyes because they were burning. And then I had like a day dream. I imagined that I was in a big room, with about three or four hundred people. They were all in the room. They all had tin cans or something and they were making a lot of noise. Some of them seemed to be jumping up and down, and some of them were sitting at the tables, a few at each table. They were the kind of tables people have in homes, round tables, with only four people sitting at each one; and on one table, the one where I was sitting, there were only three people. I was sweating all over, just sweating.

L: ‘Was there anything more?’

Once in a while I imagine different things. Sometimes I imagine I’m watching a big cage of monkeys, and I get madder and madder, because they make an awful clatter and noise, and I feel like throwing my food at them.

L: ‘Now let’s look at all this closely. First of all you saw lights shifting. We’ll start with that, when the sun came through the windows.’

Yes; the sun came in through the windows, shifting.

L: ‘And you immediately began to feel frustrated, to have that feeling of frustration. Do you remember now an incident in your life, when practically the same thing happened? Do you remember one morning when you saw your father and your mother having intercourse?’

That—was—a long time, a long time back …

L: ‘Now then; after that your mother took you into another room and there were three of you sitting at the table. You had just come through an extremely crucial experience. You practically reproduced that incident yesterday.

‘You were afraid of your father, of his penis, and the light in his eyes. You recall the times you moved to get out of the way of the lights in your father’s eyes? You recapitulated the same thing again yesterday, the whole incident. Then, after that, you were sitting at the table with two other people, your mother and your father. And you felt this very frustrating experience, the origin of which goes way back to that time. Do you get the connection?’

Yes; yes. I get it. Everything seemed to be going so fast I couldn’t make anything out. I know the floor was rushing by me so fast. I was walking slowly, but the floor was going by like anything, so fast.

L: ‘Let’s start tracing the pattern of your life, from the earliest memories we have brought up. The first is that of a crucial, bitter experience: A child, waking up in the morning, and seeing his father and mother in the act of having intercourse. Something strange, new. The mother seems to express, by her face, by her eyes, by her general expression, that there is something wrong; something she presumably does not like. She pushed the father away. And how did the child see this? How did he interpret it? He thought the father was hurting the mother, and she pushed him away. And when she did, the child saw his penis. The early memory, then, is not of the sexual act itself, but of the instrument with which it is performed. That was a sight hard to bear. It was not only new and strange. There was something else about it. You yourself, Harold, expressed it. You thought it was an animal. Your mother’s eyes, as you said, were soft and
(
I think you called them
)
pitiful; almost as if it hurt her. Your father’s eyes were hard. And so you, the child, became frightened. You were seeing something hurtful, and something forbidden. Perhaps in you there was something, some dim sense that you were present at some forbidden rite; and all this was coupled naturally with fear, with the fear of your father.

‘Now let’s get back to the breakfast table. You sat at the breakfast table and your father came in and sat down with you. Your mother was busy. She stood at the stove with her pots and pans. She was rattling them. There is a rattling noise, and she is cooking. You are with your father and your father is offering you some food. You reject it. And the reason you reject it is that you are afraid of your father. You fear that he is intending to harm you. Is that right?’

O, yes; yes …

L: ‘And you saw the light in his eyes. There may be something else here which we’ll get at later. But you were, as you said, afraid of his penis and his eyes, and you had seen something forbidden. This, afterwards, became transposed. It became a feeling of guilt.’

From seeing, watching …

L: ‘Yes. And it first made you close your eyes, having seen something forbidden. Later this feeling of fear of your father became more and more deeply imbedded as time passed. First because of what had happened, and second because of the intrinsic character of your father, because of the kind of person he was. Now when you got a little older, your father did two things. First he threatened you with the loss of your penis; and secondly he rejected you. He didn’t want you around him; he preferred your sister. He himself stated that your sister, a girl, should have been the boy. He even suggested that she should change places with you; and remember, she is a person without a penis. That was a suggestion pretty hard for you to bear up under because he had already threatened to deprive you of your penis. In addition to this, there was a perfectly good reason why you should credit him with the ability to do this to you: that was his business; he made his living changing bodies. Do you understand?’