The Girl Who Couldn't Read

by John Harding

  ‘Well, I am in the madhouse, so I suppose I must be. Although you are here too and you no doubt consider yourself sane.’

  ‘That’s because I’m a doctor. You’re a patient. We’re here for different reasons.’

  She looked at me knowingly. ‘Are we, sir? Are we really?’

  Once again I had the feeling she saw right through me and her stare made me uncomfortable enough to lower my eyes to my papers and begin shuffling them again. Our little talk was not going at all the way I’d planned and I needed to bring it back on course. ‘Now,’ I said, all businesslike to enable me to ignore her question, ‘you’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here.’

  ‘Not at all, sir. I have long since ceased to wonder about anything that is done in this place. It all seems crazy to me.’

  ‘All right, well, anyway, Dr Morgan and I have chosen you to take part in a trial of a different sort of treatment. You will no longer sit with the other women during the day but will be on your own, in your room. I have made certain alterations to it, to make it more comfortable, so you may use it as a sitting room as well as a bedroom. You will take your exercise separately, too, and mostly your walks will be with me, so that we can talk –’

  ‘And what will we talk about, sir?’

  ‘Oh, well, I haven’t thought yet.’ A nervous giggle trickled from my lips, making me feel foolish. ‘Just, you know, anything that comes to mind. Anything you want to discuss.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She considered this a little. ‘I will try to think of some things to talk about then, sir.’

  I began to be exasperated by her manner. The way she took everything so literally. It frustrated me. I suppose I had expected gratitude that she was to be freed from the dulling daily routine of the place and that she would be flattered by my attention. Instead, I almost had the feeling she was making fun of me, teasing me for wanting her to be pleased.

  ‘It’s not another test,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to have a list of topics prepared in advance. Just say whatever comes naturally.’

  ‘And if nothing does, sir?’

  ‘Why then, say nothing!’

  She nodded to herself, considering this.

  ‘You will also eat on your own, in a little room off the main dining hall. And you will be given better food, the same food as the attendants have, which is altogether more wholesome.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘Why do you not comment on what I’ve just told you?’

  ‘You said to say nothing if I have nothing to say.’

  I could not help a sigh of exasperation escaping from me and yet I wanted to laugh too. I tried again. ‘Does it not excite you, the idea of proper food?’

  ‘I have always had the appetite of a bird, sir. A little bird, that is, not one of the bad black ones, the rooks and the crows. Although now I shall eat all alone, like a crow.’

  ‘I’m not sure I know the difference between rooks and crows.’ I was glad of the opportunity to turn the conversation in the direction of light inconsequential chat.

  ‘Oh, it’s easy, sir. If you see a lot of crows together then they are rooks. And if you see a rook on its own, it’s a crow.’

  My laughter was genuine this time, for the joke was a good one, and she could not help smiling, her eyes sparkling, as if saying, You see, I’m a whole lot smarter than you thought, and possibly smarter than you.

  ‘Oh, and so you will not be bored sitting on your own, I shall arrange for you to have some books.’

  ‘That will be useless, sir, unless they contain plenty of pictures. Didn’t they tell you? I cannot read.’

  ‘You don’t know how to read? Were you never taught? Really?’

  She leaned forward slightly, confidential. ‘It’s the truth, sir, I promise you.’

  ‘Well then, perhaps that will be part of our therapy.’

  She recoiled. ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  ‘I will teach you to read. It’s not difficult. You will pick it up in no time.’

  She began to shake her head from side to side. The movement was so violent I feared she might injure herself. ‘Oh no, no, sir, that impossibles. It’s unpermitted. I am unallowed to learn to read.’

  I was getting used to her strange manner of speech. ‘Not allowed? How so? Who has said so?’

  She didn’t answer but looked sullenly at her hands, which were wrestling with each other in her lap. She began picking at the edges of the nails on one hand with those of the other. She was agitated in the extreme and it was as if all the bravado she’d displayed up to now had drained out of her. I did not push her. We sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. Finally she looked up at me from beneath her brows and said quietly, ‘If you don’t mind, sir, I think I should like to go now. I should like to alone in my room.’

  I rang the bell and, after a couple of minutes, which we spent in silence, with the girl gazing intently at her fingers, Eva Carlsen reappeared. I told her to take the girl to her room and wait outside until the bell announced it was dinnertime. I explained where the girl would be eating, apart from the other patients. As they were leaving, I said to Eva, ‘I would like you, whenever your other duties permit, to be responsible for looking after this young woman. She is not to be treated as the other patients. With her everything is to be softly, softly. No matter what her behaviour, it is to be met wherever possible with kindness, do you understand?’

  She smiled and bobbed a little curtsy. ‘Sir, I hope I am always kind to everyone.’

  I laid a hand on her shoulder and returned her smile. ‘I can see that. It’s why I am asking you rather than someone else. I will speak to Mrs O’Reilly about it.’

  9

  Some days later I found myself sitting at breakfast, having just put myself on the outside of a fair meal of ham and eggs, and feeling pretty happy with life. Here I was, growing into my new role and with every prospect of a long run. I was comfortable; the lodgings and food were more than satisfactory; you could not call my duties onerous.

  At first I feared my ignorance and complete lack of medical training would betray me, but I soon relaxed because it was not long before it became apparent to me that for all Morgan’s bombast about scientific methods and his lectures on brain abnormalities, he didn’t actually know much more about mental illness than the next man, even when the next man was me.

  Although I could see that much of the work would rapidly become routine, like a popular play whose superficial appeal soon begins to wear thin, I had my Moral Treatment experiment to keep me amused and offer me some intellectual interest. I was pleased, too, with the character I had established for myself here. I could see I was respected and liked by everyone, except perhaps O’Reilly, a bully whose contempt for the patients naturally made her annoyed by what she saw as softness in the way I handled them. But I could tell Morgan liked me and appreciated the obvious sincerity of my beliefs, even though he didn’t agree with them. I was my own man, everyone could see, with my own ideas, and not just some docile lapdog.

  So everything was going swimmingly and, provided I kept a lid on things and stopped my old nature from resurfacing and sabotaging me, I figured I could easily remain here until it was safe to leave. What could possibly go wrong?

  The answer arrived a moment later when a servant came in with the morning post, which she handed to Morgan. He flicked through the envelopes without opening them and then said, ‘Ah, here’s one for you.’

  My mouth was half open to say that was impossible – it impossibles – and wave the proffered missive away when I caught sight of the writing on the envelope and read the words ‘Dr John Shepherd’. I took the letter from him and sat staring at it as Morgan opened one of his own and began reading the contents.

  What an imbecile I was! Congratulating myself on my cleverness in making myself so comfortable here and overlooking something so obvious, something moreover that was now burning my fingers. Why had I not thought things through? Why had I imagined myself springing from the train
wreck like a newborn? To let myself think that my life commenced here, with no preamble!

  Morgan looked up from his reading. ‘Well, go on, man. Aren’t you going to open it?’

  ‘What? Oh yes, yes of course.’ I picked up his paper knife and slit open the envelope. Inside were a couple of sheets of writing paper, densely written in a neat, feminine hand. There was an Ohio address at the top of the page.

  My Dearest John,

  What is happening? Why have you not written? You promised to do so as soon as you were settled in your new position but it has now been nearly two weeks and not a word has reached me. My mind is a whirlwind of worry. Please, please write back the instant you read this and let me know you are alive and well. I am going out of my mind here with the worry of it all.

  You will think me the very model of a silly wittering woman, I know, but my first thought was that it was out of sight out of mind. That once removed from your orbit I have ceased to matter in your life and am as little in your thoughts as you are the opposite in mine, that is to say, always, for I have no one else in the world but you. If such is the case, I must lose all hope for the future, for if after just leaving me you ceased to think of me, then what hope would I have after a month, or three, or six?

  I could not account otherwise for your silence, until today, when we first had news in the Bugle of the recent railroad disaster. As soon as I saw the paper, my heart began to beat so fast I thought it would explode out of my chest and my head to pound, so that I had to sit down, on a bench right outside Mr Applegate’s store, where I’d bought the paper after seeing the headline. It was several minutes before I could calm myself sufficiently to read the article. It was with my heart in my mouth that I commenced it, and when I came to the details of those killed and injured I could scarcely breathe, expecting as I went down the page to see the name John Shepherd jump out at me. I nearly fainted at the sight of ‘John’ followed by an ‘S’, but then found it was some other name starting with that letter. I finished it relieved not to see your name among the victims but then saw the note at the foot of the column that the list was incomplete because many of the dead and injured had not yet been identified. I immediately put on my cloak and set off to the railroad depot, where I consulted the stationmaster, Mr Wickets. He had no more information concerning the casualties than was in the paper, so I questioned him as to the possibility of your having been on the wrecked train, because naturally I have no idea of the different lines and routes of the railroad system. To my alarm, he informed me that the line in question was the one you would have taken from Columbus, although of course I had no way of knowing at what time and on which train you left that city. You had told me you had some purchases to make there before commencing your new employment and any one of a number of trains in the timetable was possible.

  Please forgive the rambling nature of this letter. I am distraught with worry and cannot think clearly. I do not know how accurate the newspaper report was, if you are one of the unidentified bodies or among the injured taken to the hospital, or if you were even on the train at all. I pray God that you are safe and if so please will you wire me immediately to put me out of my misery, or if that is not practical – I know, at least I hope and pray, you are on the island and may not be able to telegraph – will you write back by express letter?

  If I have not heard from you by Saturday, then I shall take the train east and come out to the island to find out for myself.

  Please, please write and tell me you are safe. Even if my first foolish fears are realised and it is simply that you no longer love me, at least, my darling, tell me that you live, that your heart still beats in this world, even if not for me?

  I love you and always will, dead or alive.

  Your ever-loving fiancée

  Caroline Adams

  ‘Bad news?’

  Morgan’s voice came to me from far off, as when someone wakes you and interrupts a dream. ‘What?’ I said, looking up, half delirious.

  ‘I said, is it bad news, old man? You’re as white as a ghost.’

  My head was swimming. I couldn’t speak. This was a thunderbolt, striking out of the blue, that could ruin everything and even destroy me. My first thought was to jump up from the table, run to my room, throw a few things into my valise and hurry down to the jetty before the morning boat left and return with it to the city. And I almost did it, until reason took over and I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, the way I always do with stage fright. Do not panic, I told myself; there will be a way to handle this. There must be.

  I felt a hand on my arm and opened my eyes, to find Morgan peering at me. ‘What’s wrong, old man? You don’t look at all well.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, ‘it’s nothing. Just a bit of food went down the wrong way. Couldn’t get my breath for a moment there.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, you do tend to bolt your food like a man who’s been starved for a month. You need to slow down a little.’ He pulled out his watch. ‘Although not too much: it’s seven minutes after eight and we really should be making our rounds in another eight minutes.’

  I stuffed the letter in my jacket pocket and wiped my mouth with a napkin. ‘Yes, of course. Shall we go now?’

  10

  It was a difficult morning with the letter burning a hole in my pocket. It was all I could think about. I longed to take it out and read it through again. I needed to find an answer to the problem or plan my flight; I could not simply sit and do nothing and wait for this woman to arrive.

  Once or twice I was wrenched from my anxiety by Morgan speaking to me impatiently and realised he was repeating himself because I’d not heard him the first time. It was obvious he was growing frustrated with my distractedness and I had to force myself to concentrate on my tasks. But halfway through the morning he wanted to consult something in his office and while he was busy there I asked his secretary, who sat outside, when I would have to have a letter ready by if I wanted it to go next day. She said the daily boat left at nine and I would need to have it in the mailbox on the wall in the hall before eight thirty, which was when the letters were collected. I asked her some more about the postal service and worked out that provided my letter was in the box next day it would reach Ohio in time to forestall Caroline Adams’s visit.

  It was in this agitated state that, after the morning round, I slipped away to see Jane Dove in her room. There was no response when I knocked on the door, so I opened it tentatively, thinking she might be asleep. Instead I found she had moved one of the armchairs so that it faced the window and was sitting watching the mist rolling off the river and across the lawns. She appeared to be in a trance and seemed not to register my presence.

  I cleared my throat. She jumped and turned and stared at me. It was as if it took her a moment to swim to the surface from her immersion in her reverie.

  I gave her a smile. ‘Where were you?’ I asked gently.

  Her brow furrowed, like one trying to grasp something, to identify some distant memory, as if attempting to decipher what was written on the missing page of a notebook from the impression the pencil has left upon the page beneath it.

  ‘I – I was by a lake but I could not see the water on account of the mist. I could hear the rooks cawing.’

  And indeed, as she said this, I realised I could hear that very sound from outside now. It was obvious the two things, the mist and the sound of the birds, had triggered some recollection in her, presumably of her home. Sensing this might be an opportunity to lift the curtain of her amnesia, I pulled the other armchair over and sat down facing her, our knees almost touching. She wasn’t looking at me but was once again gazing out the window, and I understood she was seeing not the hospital grounds but that other unknown place.

  ‘What else?’ I asked softly. ‘Can you tell me anything more about what you saw in your mind’s eye?’

  She made no answer and we sat like that for a good minute until finally she shook her head and came out of her trance completely and
looked straight at me, seeing me properly at last. ‘It’s gone. I can’t see it any more. I don’t know if it was real. It feels like a dream.’

  I had a sudden inspiration. ‘Perhaps it was the lake upon which you skated?’

  She considered this a moment. ‘Or perhaps I dreamed that too.’

  We sat in silence once more and then I said, ‘What have you been doing with yourself all morning? Are you not bored?’

  ‘It is better than day-rooming it with the others.’

  ‘You prefer being alone?’

  She smiled. ‘I prefer armchairing to benching.’

  There it was again, that strange use of English, that verbing of nouns, but once again it made perfect sense. It communicated, which is surely all words are meant to do.

  ‘I think it is not good for you to have nothing to do,’ I said. ‘My feeling is you are more likely to recover your past by some stimulus that reminds you of it, as the mist and the rooks did just now. But sitting here struggling to do so strikes me as not being the best way to do it. You need more ideas put into your mind to provoke recollection.’

  She looked at me blankly.

  ‘I’ve decided I will teach you to read.’

  Immediately she shrank back into her chair, clasping its arms so tightly with her hands that her knuckles showed white. Her expression was one of horror. ‘Oh, no, no, sir. Not that. I have alreadied you about that. It is strictly unallowed.’

  ‘Who unallowed it? Who?’

  Her grip loosened as she thought about this. She bit her lip and finally shook her head. ‘I unremember that. I only know it is.’

  I pondered this a little. She seemed so terrified by the very thought of learning to read I decided it would serve no purpose to push the matter. ‘Very well, we’ll leave that for now. I will say only one thing. Books and reading are good for the human mind. They are the very bedrock upon which all education is founded. They are the fount of culture. Whoever has told you otherwise, whoever has forbidden you these benefits, cannot be a good person. Think it over; you may come to change your mind.’