Dead Writers in Rehab. Paul Bassett Davies
say this, but to be honest I find you … no, never mind. But there’s something about you that really makes me feel … that I can trust you. And I know you can help me.
She shook hands with me again, and flashed me another smile, which revealed a tiny fleck of lipstick on one of her teeth, and then she was tapitty-tap-tapping away along the corridor. I waited until she turned another corner but she didn’t look back. Nice legs.
So that was Dr Bassett. And she said I was dead. And so is everyone else here, possibly including her and Hatchjaw. So the little nutcase who thinks he’s Wilkie Collins actually is Wilkie Collins. And now I know why I thought I recognised the grumpy geezer with the beard. It’s Hemingway. And a few minutes ago a tall man wearing sunglasses and a hat loped past my window, and he definitely looks familiar. It’ll come to me. I’m also pretty sure I recognise the quiet little woman with the big eyes. And I can easily find out who she is, because we’re all in this together and we’re all dead. What fun.
Actually, it could be fun, in a horrible, post-mortem way. The quiet woman hardly looked at me but there was something about her, and something that passed between us, that tells me she’s up for it. The lurking beast is stirring yet again. And the great thing is that I can try anything. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s already happened. I’m dead. We’re all dead.
In a way. Bassett said I’m dead ‘in a way’. Does that mean there’s a hope I may still be alive? Or perhaps dead but eligible for resurrection? I don’t think so. I think she means I’m in a process, not a state. I’m dead, but that’s not the end of the matter. It can’t be, otherwise I wouldn’t be in this place, whatever this place is. And the best chance I’ve got of finding out is going to the ‘communal meeting’. And I know what that means. It means the dreary, balls-aching orgy of solipsistic navel-gazing, petulant resentment, impotent rage, whimpering guilt, denial, and lachrymose self-pity that is the wonderful healing miracle of group fucking therapy.
Patient EH
Recovery Diary 18
I feel hollow sick inside and I am a damned fool.
From my doorway I heard the staccato pattering of her high-heeled shoes and my blood quickened. I felt the energy and the courage to break through the thing that stood between us and although I was her patient by God I would talk to her as a man.
I wanted to talk to her about places we could be together and the fun we would have. I would make her understand I would not drink and I was all through with that. She is a woman you can talk to and I have some stories I have told to no one, and I wanted very much to tell them to her but now I will never tell them.
When I came out of my room she was in my line of sight. She had stopped and was speaking with the new British man. I knew he had accosted her in the way that men like him will accost a woman and bring them trouble, although they may not see it at first because the man ingratiates himself in a way that women like. There was a nauseating unction in his voice and he looked at her as one who considers the utility of a thing to him, and it is the way a worthless man or a pimp regards a woman.
I stepped back into my room without thinking what I did, or why I retreated. And when I had a grip on myself I knew I had been in a funk and gone all to pieces and that is about as bad as it can be for a man.
It is all gone now.
That lousy bastard. I will know him anywhere. The hell with him. The utter complete hell with him.
From the desk of Dr Bassett.
Memo to Dr Hatchjaw.
Wallace, I’m truly sorry. I bumped into FJ in the corridor. I could hardly ignore him, could I? He was very persistent and there were certain questions I couldn’t answer, as usual, and so it seemed quite natural to refer to Group as a way of giving him some hope of further enlightenment. I seemed to recall that you had already decided to get him into Group anyway, and looking back over your Patient Notes I see that you did, in fact, say as much. However, I understand that strictly speaking you should be the one to keep a patient informed of these things. Once again, I’m sorry. To be quite honest I really don’t see why you have to get so upset about it but I’ll try not to do it again and, as you ask, to act with more consideration in the future.
With apologies, Eudora
Transcript
Latent Group 3
Collective Encounter 05; Blue Annexe.
Present:
Dr WH – Facilitator.
Patients: DP; EH; FJ; HST; PW; STC; WC.
| Dr WH: | Hello, everyone, and just before we begin sharing I’d like us to welcome a new member to our group. This is Foster. |
| OMNES: | Inaudible muttering. |
| Dr WH: | Foster, would you like to say anything? |
| FJ: | No. |
| Dr WH: | Very well. Who would like to share something? |
| PW: | I’d just like to say it’s lovely to see you, Jim. |
| DP: | Why do you call him Jim? |
| PW: | Oh, sorry. Confidentiality. Have I blown it, Jim? I mean, Foster. Sorry. |
| FJ: |
I don’t care.
|