Rebel Without a Cause

by Robert M. Lindner

  L: ‘Now continue from where you saw your father’s eyes shining.’

  I could see the sunlight, the daylight, in the next room next to the kitchen where I was sitting. The darkness just seems to vanish into the floor. The lights are still there. I can feel them on me. My mother—she seems to be eating. The lights are still there and he looks at my mother. It’s hard to see the lights because there is daylight in the room, but I can make them out a little bit; they haven’t disappeared. I guess he is paying no attention to me. I was crying then. My mother and father seemed to be talking. The lights are between my mother and my father, between them, in the center. They are disappearing, going into daylight. They disappear. There’s just beams of light. My father’s eyes seem to be getting smaller, smaller. They seem to be going away. The blackness is coming, blackness with a very small bit of light in the middle. I guess that’s his eyes. There is a very small light, then it goes away. It goes away. I see a saucer on my board, a spoon in it; a saucer on the board that folds over the highchair. I don’t remember seeing it there before. I don’t know where—how the saucer got there, how the spoon and the saucer got there. There is some liquid in the saucer, the spoon is turned toward my left hand, as if I was going to pick it up with my left hand. I don’t remember seeing the saucer before. I see the sun in the other room, the rays coming in, coming in at an angle; and the sun on the floor seems to be just splattered all over. I can’t see the window, just the floor. I’m afraid to look at him. I’m afraid to see that light. I’m not eating. The saucer has a spoon in it and there is a liquid in it. I don’t look at my father; I’m afraid of his eyes. He’s got black eyes, like coal. I—I know—I must have been seven or eight months old. I couldn’t feed myself. I could just about sit up. I can see the saucer and the spoon because that’s in the liquid and all I can see is the handle of the spoon sticking out of the saucer. There—there seems to be a calendar over my father’s head. A calendar is there, with a picture of a—a big ship on it. I can see over his head but I am afraid to look at him because when I look at him I see the lights. I’m just looking at the steamship. It seems to be coming towards me. It’s a front view. I can’t see the numbers on the calendar: it’s all jumbled up, the months, all jumbled and mixed. It’s a big calendar. The numbers are big. I can see my mother now. I can see all the dishes, the cups in front of her, and her hair … I know she is staring at me but her eyes are not cruel. When I can look quick I see they are soft. I look at the table and see the dishes. I feel that my mother is looking at me. I can see the salt and pepper shakers and they look to me like they’re penises, two penises standing up on small round discs, small round glass discs. One is real white and I can see the white stuff in it. The other one is different-colored. I see the tin caps on them, round tin caps. I don’t know why they should remind me of penises; but they look like them standing on two discs. These salt and pepper shakers are just standing there. I just can’t seem to get them out of my vision. I’m looking at them and they are standing there. They’re just standing there. I can’t get them out of my mind …

  THE FORTY-SECOND HOUR

  L: ‘Harold, today I want you to go back again to the things you were telling me about yesterday. There is no more darkness. You are sitting in your highchair; the spoon in the saucer is immersed in the liquid, its handle pointed toward the left. You are sitting near your mother. As you look into the next room you see the sunlight on the floor, thick, heavy, splattered. Over your father’s head you notice a calendar with the picture of a ship on it. Now you continue.’

  The handle of the spoon is towards my mother. On the table there are other dishes. I can still see the salt and pepper shakers. They keep reminding me of two penises. I seem to be sitting just a few inches, maybe a foot, above the level of the table. I look down sort of and see the salt and pepper shakers at an angle with the table. I’m not sitting as high as my mother and father. They are sitting higher than I am and their heads are higher. My mother looks at me. She says something but I can’t understand. My father is sitting there. Nothing wrong with him. It’s light. I can see he’s got a white shirt on. There are a lot of dishes on the table. I don’t know how they got there or what. The sun is real bright, very bright. It’s hitting on the shiny floor; it looks like smeared over the floor. When I was sitting in the show … I know … My mother is holding me on her lap. I’m held in her right arm. I can look up and back a little bit and I can see flashes of rays from the projecting room. I know when I used to go out in my baby carriage the sun would shine; but my eyes were alright—in the carriage. The sun is shining; nothing seems wrong. I guess I was about six or seven months old then. I know I could sit up just a little bit. I see a lot of different things, housetops, trees, poles and wires. Now I see the baby carriage … It—everything—seems—jumbled up …

  Here Harold was again placed in a deep hypnotic sleep. The following instructions were administered after tests for depth of trance were concluded.

  L: ‘Now you can remember things very clearly, so clearly that you can act them out. You are going to act just as you did when all this happened. You are getting smaller, smaller. You are a little baby again. You are going to behave just as you behaved when all this happened. Now you are a little baby. You are wrapped in a blanket, all around. You are with your mother and father in a moving picture theatre. Your mother is holding you in her right arm; you are lying in her arm. Now you are going to tell me about it. It’s dark. Through the darkness you see the lights from the projector. Now you are going to behave just as you behaved then; and you are going to tell me about it, tell me about it completely. Go ahead!’

  I can see the screen—and the big hats on it. I can see a big man. He is laughing. I can see his face a little bit. He turns his head and I can see his hat. He is laughing. I can hear music—soft organ music. It’s dark. I can make out figures around me, people’s heads and … My mother seems to be watching everything. When I touch her she puts my hand down. She seems to be watching the picture closely. In my mother’s arms—it’s soft—real soft—like … I move my feet a little bit. I can hear some music. I can look up and see back a little. I see flashes of light going by. I see the lights from the projector room in the back and—my father—he looks at me … He is talking to my mother in whispers. I can see his face.

  From here on Harold actually performed as his words suggest, accompanying with gestures, tears, moans and movements of the body the spirit of his utterances.

  It’s got some light on it. My mother, when I touch her—she pushes my hand down. She is more interested in the picture than in me. I see the picture, people’s heads in front and on the side of me. All I see is the shape of the heads. I can’t see the features of the faces and the heads, just the shapes. I see the screen lit up. I see a horse. I don’t hear the horse. I see it walking by. It looks so soft and smooth. The horse opens its mouth. Its mouth has big teeth in it, big teeth. I see his face. He’s all—laughing, laughing at something. Another—fellow—falls off—a horse into the—water. That’s what he’s laughing at. The screen is moving, it’s jumping, jerking, moving … I can’t see the rays from the projection room very much when they are close to the screen. I see the light where it is real small. It looks almost like a circular light. I can’t hear anything much except the music. My father is talking to my mother; they are whispering something. I—I see horses on the screen. No noise. I see—like dust—clouds of dust. It’s settling now. There seems to be a noise. I’m in a comfortable position. I want to go to sleep I guess. I don’t know what it is that I’m playing with. It’s—beads—or … It’s something circular, rough, big. I put it in my mouth. My mother looks pretty and young: she has long brown hair. My father has black hair. I can see it; it’s all lying down on his head real nice. Nothing is wrong with him. He looks well built, not thick, not fat. But far—far off in the back—why—I can look back and see over my mother’s shoulder or arm. I see—in the blackness—this light, a lot of rays coming out of it. They
all seem to be shooting at me. It—it scares me. I am afraid. I see the lights in my father’s face and I am afraid. I remember how we came in. We came in on the—left—side. There was a carriage. It’s not a big theatre. We came in and they carried me through the lobby in the back. We went towards the—left side, down the aisle; and we sit on the left side of the screen. When we came to the show it wasn’t dark, not dark. It was in the summertime. I can see people running up and down. There seem to be—trucks and automobiles. I can hear the noise of some truck as it goes by. It just goes by and … We went across the street in the carriage with my mother. The noise didn’t bother me very much. The big truck, it shook me a little bit but it didn’t frighten me. We’re going along the street. My mother is pushing the carriage. My father isn’t pushing it. My father is walking on the—left side. The belt feels tight around me. About eight months old. I can sit up in the carriage a little but this belt is on me all the time. I can’t move past the belt. I see the tops of houses and buildings going by. Once in a while I get a look at some person, get a look at somebody walking by. It’s daylight but the sun isn’t shining brightly. It just feels nice to be riding, riding, except I hate to go over bumps, gutters. When we walk in the show my father puts his hand on my chest. He wants to look at me. I don’t like him to put his hand on me. It makes it hard to breathe. That morning, when I’m sitting in my highchair I see the lights. Those lights from my father seem to be piercing. The lights … It’s hot. The lights … I remember them from the show.

  L: ‘Harold, this is the day after you were taken to the show, isn’t it?’

  I … I got up late that morning. My father and mother were in bed late. I never saw them both in bed before. I guess they … I don’t know … When I was sitting in my mother’s arms in the show … I can still hear the music.

  L: ‘Did you awaken in the show or when you came out?’

  My mother sat up and shook me a little bit. We went out and she—put—me in the—carriage. She covers me up in it. We start going home. There’s a—lot—of people in the street. It’s dark when we are going home. The stores must have been open late. I—it—is—Saturday night …

  L: ‘Harold, the morning of which you have been speaking was a Sunday morning, was it not?’

  Yes. It was last night. It was last night when we went to the show, wasn’t it? My father was never in bed late with my mother before. I never saw him before …

  When I’m sitting in the kitchen, the darkness … I see two lights. They’re—together—like in the show. I—I’m crying when it gets dark. She didn’t seem to pay much attention to me. I didn’t cry before it got dark, only when his face started getting all cut up. I was afraid of him. I was crying. I know I was afraid of him. I was crying when my aunt rushed into the room. This—man—I could look through … I could see him standing there. He didn’t seem to do anything. When he spoke to me I started crying, yelling. My aunt rushed in. Her face was funny; her head was funny and she was dressed funny. O! O! I see a picture … It’s got an outline of a man, completely black, just a shape, a silhouette, on the screen. That’s it! O! O! This is the afternoon, the afternoon after that morning. The shape was in the show last night. That’s where I saw the figure. I remember it and it scares me. I’m afraid. I cry. My aunt rushes in … My aunt’s face is funny. My father’s face is funny too. I don’t know whether … Before it started to change, before the lights started coming the last time I can remember his face was all—fading out, the darkness coming over it, the whites showing—and—something was wrong. I saw a face like that before. It looked so vicious. It might have been the face of a dog … O! O! O! I see—a picture—in the movie house! I see the picture of something like a dog, a wolf, something … A wolf! They show a picture of him. He runs away. His face … His eyes are shiny, his face looks cut up, sunken in, covered with hair. My father looks like the wolf! His nose got bigger, thinner; it stuck way out; his ears got bigger, pointy just like the wolf …

  I—I—my mother starts feeding me. It tastes like—sour milk—coffee without sugar. I can hear my father talking to my mother. I can’t understand what they are saying. My father is talking to her. I don’t know what he is saying. I—she—is feeding me and I don’t want it. I see my mother take a cup away. She puts it behind me somewhere. The saucer is still in front of me with the spoon in it. My mother sits down. She wants to feed me—whatever it is. I feel—my cheeks—are wet. I don’t remember … I was crying very hard. The knuckles of my hands are wet. I—my father looks alright and he—he hands me something. I don’t want it from him. I start to cry again when he hands me something. It looks like a piece of bread. Crying—crying again. She picks me up and holds me in her arms. It’s nice. She’s patting me on the head. She’s holding me. I’m crying. I—she’s talking smoothly to me. I just want to forget about everything—about the wolf, the lights, my father in bed—hurting my mother. She is just standing there rocking me in her arms. She’s got my head on her shoulders, on her left shoulder. I’m looking at my father. I’m looking at the stove. I can see the stove. It’s got four—four fireplaces on it. It looks black. I see a … My mother starts walking up and down. I—my head—my head is right in front of her, in front of her, almost to her neck. I’m leaning on my ear, my right ear. Once in a while when she moves I can see the sun in back of her. I can see my father a little bit. I know I’m crying, crying. My hands are all wet …

  Before Harold was awakened, he was instructed to remember all that he had said during this hour.

  THE FORTY-THIRD HOUR

  I don’t seem to remember much what we were talking about yesterday. O! it’s coming back now. I saw yesterday these salt and pepper shakers. I don’t remember now seeing any salt and pepper shakers like that in all my life. I don’t see how they could be on the breakfast table. I thought I was sitting in the highchair and I thought I saw them. They reminded me of two penises. Just why, I don’t know. I don’t use much salt in my food and I don’t use any pepper at all. Do you think that’s perhaps why I don’t use any salt or pepper? I don’t like pepper now because it burns and makes me sneeze. Even when somebody else at the table is using it I don’t like the smell. Yet I use salt occasionally. C—— and I were talking about Dobriski today. He doesn’t use salt and pepper either. There was a fellow from Chicago, a tough little kid, who used a lot of pepper. When he threw that pepper around at the table everybody would sneeze. I hated that.

  When I was about ten, Benny carried knives. He’d play with them all the time, even worse than me. He’d draw bull’s eyes and pictures of animals and throw his knives at them.

  When I was twelve or thirteen I used to play cards with the fellows, not for money, for match covers and things like that. One time another fellow and I stole about a thousand of these from a kid. My sister found mine and turned them over to this kid again. When she told my mother that she gave them to this fellow she got a licking. The reason was that she shouldn’t have given those things to the kid: she should have turned them over to my mother first.

  L: ‘Have you ever thought about why you steal?’

  When I want something, I take it: I steal it. I never stole any large amount of money—if that’s what you mean. I stole a few dollars here and there but I never went into the higher hundreds or thousands. I always seemed to take just a few dollars; enough to get along on was what I wanted. I guess I used to steal to prove to myself that I could do it; to prove to myself that I could do anything I wanted to do. Sometimes when I was in swimming, or when we’d jump off trestles into coal piles on the tracks, I jumped off the highest places. I did it just to show myself and the other fellows that I could do it. I liked to dive into the water, never mind from what height. But when I’d steal something I must admit I was afraid.

  L: ‘Afraid of what?’

  I don’t know. I guess I was kind of shaky and nervous. I wasn’t cool and calm. But later on I got used to it and didn’t mind it very much. I was still a little shaky even after I got the han
g of the thing, but not very much.

  L: ‘What, specifically, were you afraid of?’

  I don’t know …

  L: ‘Were you afraid of being discovered in the act?’

  Yes.

  L: ‘Or were you more afraid of being punished?’

  Well, I don’t know what it was. I guess I was afraid of both of those things. I don’t know which I was most afraid of most.

  L: ‘Why were you afraid of both of them?’

  Well, if I was discovered in the act I knew I’d be punished …

  L: ‘How would you be punished?’

  O, by a prison sentence. And I was afraid I’d get a beating up with a club or a rubber hose down at police headquarters. I was always afraid of that rubber hose. I always used to think that if they got hold of somebody they’d always beat him up—with a rubber hose. I didn’t like being hit by a policeman or a detective. I didn’t like the idea of their—hurting me. I always thought that policemen were like my father. That’s all they do when they got somebody that can’t get back at them.

  L: ‘The same way your father used to beat you?’

  I guess so. But I always felt different when I had a gun on me. I never felt afraid of a detective or a policeman then. When I had a gun …

  L: ‘You were just as strong as they were then?’

  Yes. And sometimes when we played cards I’d put the gun on the table beside me and it would make me feel stronger.

  L: ‘And you needed that feeling of strength?’

  I did.

  L: ‘Because without that feeling of strength, you were just … Harold?’

  Yes. I used to commit other crimes without using my gun. I broke into houses, stores, lunch-wagons …