The Mind of Mr Soames (12 page)

‘What possible grounds could there be for preventing a mother from seeing her son?’

‘The fact that Mr Soames is under sexual segregation as a matter of therapeutic policy,’ Breuer suggested.

‘I doubt if the judiciary would regard a mother and sister as a serious threat to any policy of sexual segregation, and I can’t help feeling that such a policy would prove rather difficult to defend in law, anyway. Have you thought what the newspapers might make of it—the Courier in particular? What with all the present controversy about homosexuality...’

Dr Breuer groaned mentally. He could visualise the headlines only to well.

‘Is there no chance at all?’ he asked.

‘Personally, I would say no,’ the solicitor answered, ‘but I’ll think about it. There may be a loophole of some kind. Meanwhile there would seem to be no alternative but to co-operate with the Courier. After all, it may bring some good publicity for the Institute, and that’s better than hostility and criticism.’

‘Well, thank you anyway,’ Breuer said.

He hung up dejectedly, and buzzed for Dr Mortimer. There ought to be a law against newspapers, he thought—a law to prevent them from exploiting human tragedy in terms of tear-jerking sensationalism. The trouble was that the public liked it that way. There was poor Mr Soames, unconscious from birth, brought back to life, as it were, by a miracle of surgical science after an interval of thirty years. And now here was his dear old mother and his beautiful young sister, brought all the way from Peru to see their beloved boy by the benevolent courtesy of the National Daily Courier. He could almost visualise the pictures printed on rough newsprint, taken by flash in the annexe—the angled sentiment, the sickly pseudo-charm, the moist eyes (even if the moisture had to be applied by means of a glycerine spray), and somewhere a bold headline caption that would be bound to declare: HAPPY REUNION.

Dr Mortimer arrived in record time; he had sensed a certain urgency in his superior’s voice. He sat down on invitation and folded his arms attentively while Dr Breuer paced restlessly about the floor.

‘What is the position with Soames?’ Breuer enquired.

‘I’m afraid he’s continuing to be hostile,’ Mortimer said. ‘He doesn’t seem to mind being confined to his room. In fact, he resents any intrusion whatever. On a number of occasions he has thrown his food at the male nurse.’

Dr Breuer sighed forlornly. ‘What do you suppose is behind this present attitude?’

‘I think it’s a simple infantile reaction. What I can’t have I don’t want. It may be only a phase.’

‘I don’t like it,’ Breuer said. ‘One would know how to deal with such an attitude in a child, but with an adult...’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘I suppose the instruction programme has ceased temporarily.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Precisely what restrictive disciplinary measures have been taken?’

‘The ones you prescribed, Dr Breuer, No exercise in the ground, no clothes apart from standard hospital pyjamas, no games or amusements such as jigsaws, films, picture books and so on, and certain changes in diet—no sweets such as pineapple, or cakes, or anything like that. If I may say so, I disapproved of this procedure when it was first suggested.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Breuer said shortly. ‘The question of approval or disapproval doesn’t really enter into it. The fact is that Soames was becoming unmanageable by orthodox methods, and the present punishment has merely served to accelerate the process. It seems to me that he is pitting his own defiant will against authority, and in the long run he can’t win. Once the surrender takes place there will be no further trouble.’

‘I wish I could be sure of that,’ Mortimer said dubiously.

‘A far more serious situation has arisen,’ Breuer announced sombrely. ‘The National Daily Courier has succeeded in finding Soames’s mother and sister somewhere in South America, and has brought them to London. The editor telephoned me a short time ago. He is demanding that they should be allowed access to Soames, not forgetting a reporter and cameraman.’

Mortimer put his hands to his cheeks in a slightly shocked fashion. ‘That would be most undesirable as things are at present.’

‘I’m afraid there seems to be no alternative. The law is on the side of the Courier, unfortunately.’

‘But, Dr Breuer, these woman can mean absolutely nothing to Mr Soames, any more than he can mean anything to them. I mean, after an interval of thirty years...’

‘That is my view too. The thing is a cheap newspaper stunt but I fear there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. I’ve discussed the matter with my solicitor, and he is unable to offer any hope at all.’

A shrewd look glistened in Dr Mortimer’s eyes. ‘One might anticipate the event, of course,’ he said in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘I mean, there are cerebral drugs which would reduce the patient’s perception, as it were, and afterwards he would remember virtually nothing.’

‘That is a possibility which had occurred to me,’ Breuer admitted. ‘On the other hand it has certain disadvantages. If such drugs were administered in sufficient dosage to produce that effect, it would immediately be apparent to any observer that Soames was doped, to put it crudely. He would be in a trance-like unresponsive condition, although apparently still conscious. I can’t help feeling it might arouse adverse comment.’

‘Well, then—tranquillisers?’

‘Not potent enough to neutralise the basic sex reaction.’

‘But Mr Soames is hardly likely to realise that these women are in fact female.’

‘No—not in so many words. Nevertheless, there is bound to be a reaction of some kind, even if he only regards them as oddly shaped and quaintly dressed men. It complicates a psychotherapeutic programme that is already complicated enough, I am inclined to the view that we shall in fact be committed to the introduction of sex in practical terms into the educational programme. Anything else would be a false subterfuge, and might ultimately result in some kind of undesirable orientation, or even perversion.’

Mortimer nodded glumly, but said nothing.

‘I thought it advisable to warn you as to what is likely to happen,’ Breuer said. ‘Under the circumstances it may even be a good thing if we temporarily abandon the present attempt to enforce discipline.’

‘I agree,’ Dr Mortimer murmured.

‘As I understand the position, Soames’s mother and sister are likely to arrive within the next two or three days—even tomorrow, for that matter. I think perhaps we should, for the time being, restore full amenities—exercise, clothing, games, food and so on. I would also recommend the use of tranquil-lising drugs, in moderation, of course. We want Mr Soames to be as pleasant and as cordial as possible.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Dr Mortimer said. ‘I do approve. But isn’t there a slight danger that he might regard a sudden restoration of privilege as unconditional surrender on the part of authority?’ Dr Breuer smiled bleakly. ‘He might, indeed, but in due course we shall have our way with him, never fear.’

The interview was over. Dr Mortimer left the office consumed with doubts and misgivings.

❖

It was Conway who, the next morning, was required to announce the unconditional surrender to Mr Soames, though, naturally, he chose his words carefully to convey the opposite impression. Mr Soames had been very naughty and had consequently been punished, he stated. The punishment had come to an end, and Mr Soames would now be allowed to enjoy the things he liked once more. If however, there was any further bad behaviour, the punishment would be repeated—perhaps for a longer period.

Mr Soames, sitting hunched on the bed in his shapeless grey pyjamas with his hands tightly locked round his drawn up knees, simply stared at Conway. His eyes were dark and expressionless, betraying no reaction or even interest in his reprieve.

Conway repeated his statement, using simple words which he knew were within the patient’s limited vocabulary, but Mr Soames’s lack of interest was, if anything, more marked than before.

‘To begin with, you may now have your clothes and put them on,’ Conway added He made a sign to the orderly, who left the room and returned a few seconds later with a bundle of neatly folded clothing which he placed on the small table.

Surprisingly Mr Soames laughed, but it was a cold, terse laugh devoid of humour. He continued to clasp his knees, staring almost unblinkingly at the doctor.

‘We must give him time to adapt himself to the change of policy,’ Conway said quietly to the male nurse. ‘His mind is not flexible enough to switch its attitude with sufficient degree of reorientation, and that may be a rather slow process for him. I suggest we leave him alone with his clothes for a while and see what happens.’

To Mr Soames he said, by way of incentive: ‘You can put your clothes on when you want to. As soon as you are dressed, we shall take you for a walk by the lake. You would like that, wouldn’t you?’

Mr Soames stubbornly refused to offer any indication of response, so they left him to ponder the new situation, locking the door of the annexe, but keeping him under observation through a small window in the adjacent room which overlooked the annexe via the meshed rectangular front of what was superficially a ventilation grille.

After a while, as Mr Soames showed no inclination to move and did not even bother to glance in the direction of his clothes, Conway went off to attend to other assignments in the psychiatric wards. He returned more than an hour later to discover that there had been no change in the situation. Mr Soames apparently didn’t want to know that his liberty, such as it was, had been restored.

‘I think,’ Conway said to the male nurse, ‘that perhaps we ought to intervene. It could be that he’s accepted the fact of restriction and acquired it as a habit. Obviously, in such a case, we must make a positive effort to establish a new attitude. Would you please help him to dress, and then we can take him into the grounds?’

The orderly nodded, and went off on his mission. Conway lit a cigarette, spending a few minutes in idle and rather gloomy thought, then decided to catch up with his written report on the Soames case. He had covered no more than a page when a muffled shout broke the silence from the next room. An instant later Mr Soames laughed in his icy, impersonal way. Before Conway could reach the observation window the door crashed open and the male nurse rushed into the room, blood streaming down the side of his face.

‘For God’s sake...’ Conway began, astounded.

‘I was trying to force him to dress,’ the orderly explained, gasping for breath, ‘and then, suddenly, while my back was turned, he picked up the steel chair and struck me over the head with it...’

‘Did you say or do anything to annoy him?’

‘Nothing at all—just pushed him around a little to get his pyjamas off.’

‘You didn’t hurt him at all—physically, I mean?’

‘Of course not, but he bloody well hurt me.’

‘Mm,’ Conway murmured thoughtfully. ‘It was probably just a spontaneous outburst rather than a positive change of attitude. The trouble is that Mr Soames rather has the whip hand at the moment, and he seems to rate independence higher than liberty. You’d better clean yourself up while I go and talk to him.’

‘I should watch out, Dr Conway,’ the orderly warned. ‘He’s in a nasty mood.’

Conway went into the annexe and found the patient already dressed. He was standing by the window, staring pensively at the surrounding parkland, and of the nasty mood there seemed to be no further trace.

‘Mr Soames,’ Conway said sharply.

Soames turned slowly, his lips curved in an apologetic half smile.

‘That was a bad thing to do,’ Conway admonished.

For a moment Soames looked bewildered and slightly resentful, as if he had been unjustly accused of a heinous offence, and then the smile brightened his swarthy face again.

‘I dress myself,’ he announced uncompromisingly.

‘You had every chance to dress yourself,’ Conway accused. ‘We left your clothes on the table for over an hour, but you did nothing.’

‘I think about what you say. I think slowly, and I take a long time.’

‘All right,’ Conway agreed, ‘but when the orderly tried to help you, why did you hit him with the chair?’

‘I did not,’ Mr Soames said blandly. ‘He hit himself with chair to make me laugh...’

That proved something of a stopper for Conway. A new phenomenon had emerged: Mr Soames telling infantile lies. Not surprising, perhaps. After all, his mind was presumably following the normal evolutionary process, and the point had to come when he would lie to avoid punishment just as any child might he. But the problem was how to deal with the situation in an adult. To accept the he implied surrender once more, and would encourage further and more ambitious efforts in distorting the truth. To reject it would precipitate a behaviour which might well retard the patient’s mental development and certainly introduce difficulties so far as the imminent visit of his mother and half-sister were concerned. For a while there seemed to be no possible compromise, until abruptly the solution came to him—the ploy-counter-ploy, resulting in the awareness, if Soames were shrewd enough, of conditioned triumph and disguised failure.

‘Mr Soames,’ Conway said firmly, ‘that is not exactly what happened, but perhaps you do not remember. If you were thinking so much about what I said, perhaps you do not remember what took place when the orderly came into your room to help you to dress.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Mr Soames said eagerly. ‘He hit himself on head with chair to make me laugh.’

‘That is not true,’ Conway said patiently. ‘Either you do not remember or you are telling an untruth.’

‘But I did laugh.’

‘Yes, so you did. On the other hand, the orderly did not hit himself on the head.’

‘He did.’

Conway shook his head. ‘No he didn’t, but perhaps you
thought
he did. Perhaps you do not properly remember what happened.’

‘I remember. He hit himself...’

‘No!’ Conway shouted impatiently. ‘It is not true.’

‘It
is
true!’ Mr Soames stated vehemently. ‘He hit himself on the head—like this...’ An instant later, with immense strength and dexterity, he picked up the steel-tube chair and hurled it at Conway, who ducked wildly. The chair caught his shoulder, spinning him round, then crashed to the floor. The air of the room quivered with Mr Soames’s raucous laughter.