‘Attempts have been made,’ she said. ‘Professor Townshend brought in a psychiatrist. I was not permitted to be present, and I do not know what methods he used. They were not successful.’
‘Have you tried calling her back, yourself?’
‘Of course I have,’ she snapped. ‘I could not count the hours that I have spent questioning and cajoling, and trying to find the key to the gate that was closed on her. There has been no response whatever.’ She sounded angry with Karen, but now Tom knew better.
His voice was gentle. ‘There may not be a key. Then again, you may not have found the right one. Would you be willing for me to try?’
She turned her pale eyes on him and used them like searchlights. He felt as if the most secret fears and desires of his heart had been pulled out, examined and judged by the time she gave a little nod, and withdrew that uncomfortable gaze back to Karen’s still face. ‘You have my permission.’
‘Thank you.’
They sat in silence for a time. Traffic noises were distant and muted through the double-glazed windows, and the coming darkness seemed to press around the softly-lit room, creating a well of intimacy, a cocoon for three souls connected by the strands of loving concern. Then Billie began to talk.
At first the words came slowly, almost unwillingly; then they increased in pace as she was caught in the rush of a cathartic release.
‘She is all I have. The war took most of them, long ago. There is no one left but Karen.’ Her tone did not ask for pity. She was speaking to herself, Tom realised, and allowing him to listen if he wanted to.
He settled back and waited.
‘I do not deserve to keep her, I know. Once I threw away my chance to earn her love, then tried to buy it back, too late.’ She sighed, leaning forward to smooth the sheet under the sleeping girl’s chin. ‘My sister was very beautiful, but the man she married was not. He gave their child her straight dark hair with straight dark brows that frown. He also gave her quickness of mind. They both bequeathed their creativity to that grave little scrap of a thing. I do not know where she found her eyes. They are magnificent, amber, like a tiger’s eyes. Also, she has the proud temperament of just such a jungle creature. I have discovered it, to my cost.’
She looked up at Tom. ‘Have you ever done something you so regret that you would give all you possessed to recall the act, knowing that nothing can ease your guilt?’ Her voice remained steady, yet Tom recognized a question loaded with deep-core emotion.
‘Yes, I have. I imagine we all have at some time done something we have to bear with us all our lives. We can only admit it and then go on.’
Billie laughed harshly. ‘How profound! Do all human beings talk in platitudes?’
Tom shrugged. He knew she was nowhere near finished.
Billie relapsed into silence for awhile, then resumed her monologue.
‘Her father, an American, came here to occupy the Chair of History at one of your great universities. He was supposedly of good family, but they had died out. I could not see why my sister should love him. I did not believe she would leave me to marry him and set up house in some drab English town and become a drab little menagere. I kept myself apart. I would not even answer her letters. And then…then she died. My lovely gifted Fleur, so young, so vivante.’
Her voice broke at last. She could not continue for a time. ‘I could not take the child. I was too desolate. And there were other reasons. No matter. When I finally came to look for her, ten years later, she was a young woman formed. She did not easily forget the barren years without family; and how she longed for love! Like a dried out sponge, she thirsted for it. Her nature was meant to be tender. It is a surface thing, this brittleness she has fashioned for her protection. She wanted to give me her trust, even when I had failed her before, so badly. But helas, I have not the way of expressing the emotions easily. When that pig she married dragged her through hell, I could not show what I felt. It is my cross that I must bear.’
Tom stamped on the inward spark of anger that had flared. Here was another self-absorbed woman, just like Valerie. How much hurt they inflicted on others.
‘What happened to her father? Surely he didn’t abandon his child.’
She said, indifferently, ‘Oh, he too died in the caravan fire.’
‘Fire! Was Karen burned?’
‘No. The first blast threw her aside. She was badly shocked, how badly we did not realize at the time.’
‘She was traumatized by fire,’ Tom said slowly, recalling Theo Sampson’s version of her flight from the gallery. ‘Then flung into a strange world amongst strangers. Poor mite.’
A faint color stained Billie’s cheeks. She looked away.
‘Karen will one day be a great artist,’ Tom said, with emphasis. ‘Whatever life has done to her, it has formed a spiritual basis for her creativity that is very powerful. I believe she will grow into one of the most profound exponents of artistic expression this country has seen.’
‘You really think so?’ Billie’s interest quickened. ‘I, too, have thought it possible. That is why I asked Theo Sampson to give her a showing.’ The light died out of her face. ‘But no. It is too much to hope.’ She gestured despairingly at the pillow. ‘Look at her face. It has been wiped clean of all living.’
‘You are not to give up on her, do you hear!’ Tom spoke sharply, with all his authority. ‘Her greatest need is for people who believe in her, who will fight for her, day and night, hour by hour.’
She looked at him. ‘Show me how, and I will fight. How I will fight!’
‘You could start by not being so hard on yourself. Negativity is catching. We need to create a positive atmosphere in this room, and carry it into everything that concerns Karen. When you touch her, speak to her as though she were listening to you. Brush her hair and tell her how much you love her. Massage the muscles of her hands and talk about the work those hands will soon be doing. She will be having plenty of physiotherapy, I know. Why not combine it with a…a cornucopia of verbal reassurance, pouring out all over her. Is there anyone she particularly cares about – someone whose presence might penetrate through to her consciousness?’
‘Adele! Mon Dieu! Why did I not think of that?’
‘Who is Adele?’
‘Her child.’
‘It might be traumatic for a child to see her mother in such a condition. But if all else fails… What about her husband? Is he really as bad as all that?’
Billie’s teeth snapped together vicious. ‘Cette espece de cochon. To call him a pig is to flatter him. If he came it would be to gloat.’
Tom paled. ‘What kind of a bastard is he?’
‘The worst kind. I cannot begin to tell you the things he made my niece suffer. When she thought she had escaped he tied her to him with a cord about her neck, her own baby. It is an exquisite torment he has devised. Adele is dangled before her eyes and withdrawn. He makes a promise and revokes it at the last moment. How she suffers.’
Tom felt it was fortunate that he’d had so much practice in keeping his emotions in check. He said mildly, ‘No court would keep a mother from her child unless she was unfit; and I refuse to believe that anyone could say such a thing about Karen.’
‘You have not met Humphrey. He is unique. Yet Karen has learned to fight. There was to be a big court case soon after Christmas. She had a very good chance of gaining custody. You see, during the divorce she was too upset, and still very ill. Overwork and malnutrition are poor preparation for giving birth. She gave a bad impression, and Humphrey Doran capitalized on this. He is also extremely wealthy, and could hire the most skilled counsel. We were not well advised, and she lost her right to bring up her own baby. The court gave Adele to that pig.’
‘I see. And if Karen cannot appear the case will go by default. What rotten luck.’ Inwardly he jeered at himself. What a time in life to discover the instincts of a knight errant. All the same, he felt that Karen needed a champion. There had been few enough in her life.
&n
bsp; Billie was studying him. ‘What are you, Tom Levy?’
He understood what she meant. ‘I am a psychotherapist. I practice in London, mainly in the East End, although I have rooms near my apartment in Camden Town. I also see patients at clinics and, if necessary, in hospital.’
‘Karen did not…’
‘No, she didn’t seek my help. I attended the opening of her exhibition at Theo Sampson’s gallery and met her there.’
‘Then you have known her… Tiens! You have met only the one time.’
‘Yes.’
‘You spoke of her with feeling. Do you have something of hers?’
‘I bought a mystical painting that has had a very strange effect on me. It’s had an effect on nearly every person who has seen it. There is meaning and truth in it, and a passionate belief in the beauty of existence. That’s why I say she has a future in the art world. She’s going to set it alight.’
He looked down at the sleeping girl. ‘You will do it. I swear you’ll have the chance.’
He turned back to Billie. ‘I must go. Think about what I’ve said, about positive thoughts and actions around her all the time. Pass it on to the relevant staff. I’m sure there will be no opposition. If you do meet it, insist that the staff member be replaced.’ He smiled. ‘I do not suggest that you apply this rule to Professor Townshend himself. In any case, he is one of the most positive men I’ve met. Goodbye, Miss Carnot.’
She took his hand. ‘You are an original, but I like you. You may address me as Billie.’
‘Thank you.’ He gave his odd little bow, a heritage of his courteous, European-born father. ‘I’ll begin my own program of positive action tomorrow evening. Please, if you can, arrange to keep other visitors away.’
She nodded. ‘Au revoir, Tom Levy. Sleep well tonight.
*
From the start, Tom refused to treat Karen as a patient. Not for her the detachment and strict protocol of the therapist-patient relationship. Whenever he sat down at her bedside he told her how lovely she looked, and how happy he was to be there with her. He talked about himself and his interests, about rock scrambling in Wales and hiking in the Cotswolds; about his books, his music, his cat. Billie Carnot listened for the first session, then gave her tacit approval by not appearing for the next and following ones. He felt she had understood that his interest was personal, although platonic, and she was prepared to use any means of reaching through to her niece.
With Karen’s limp hand in his, Tom sat by the bed and talked into the night hours, injecting his deep voice with humor and the love of life that formed his character. He read to her from his favorite novels and short stories, and played music from his collection on a portable player he brought with him. He also went in for storytelling. The stories had to have meaning for him, to convey genuine feeling. He really believed that. It was a strong emotion that would forge the key to Karen’s gate and open the way to whatever land she now lived in.
First he painted for her a word picture of his growing up, a Jewish child in a background of semi-poverty, but totally unaware that he was deprived. He told of his mother’s gentle strength and his father’s code of moral teachings, lived daily as an example to his children. His sisters, Rosa and Rachel, were children again, little mothers tyrannizing their baby brother, Tom. His grandparents, bewildered, uprooted by the war, their hearts left behind in Lithuanian soil, but slaving into old age to give their children a foothold in the new land.
Karen lay unresponsive. But Tom was ready for a long siege.
The next night he asked questions about her painting, and supplied the answers himself. He discussed the techniques she used and the subjects she chose, being deliberately provocative. On Theo and his ambitions he waxed positively libelous.
Adele was a fruitful topic. He reminded Karen of her love for her child, and her responsibility to see that she grew up in a caring atmosphere. He played shamelessly on this theme, although with great delicacy. The snapshot Billie had brought in from Karen’s apartment gave him the cherubic likeness on which to embroider. Then he told of his own love for children, how he helped them professionally and hoped one day to have some of his own.
It all flowed over Karen without leaving a trace.
Billie came the next evening and he cut short his visit, acknowledging her prior rights. He thought she looked tired. It didn’t make her any happier to hear there had been no progress made.
‘Dr. Levy, I have been making enquiries about you. It seems you are well thought of by your peers. But I do question your expertise in the case of my niece.’
‘I claim no such expertise,’ he said mildly, noting his swift demotion to the distancing ‘Doctor’. ‘But I do believe in constant stimulation of the coma patient. I work with words, Miss Carnot, and with emotions. To each his own tools and methods. If we are to penetrate beyond the barrier to Karen’s present reality, I believe it will be done with those tools.’
Was she going to forbid him to see Karen? She was capable of it, and within her rights. He held his breath.
Billie smiled. Her face was transformed. Cold grey eyes became limpid and sparkling. An entirely natural, but well banked-down charm was allowed to pour forth like warming flood to bathe his stunned senses.
‘It is still “Billie”, Tom Levy. Do not look so surprised. I have my own methods of testing people. It is my business to do so. Now, you will sit down and tell me something of yourself.’
Amused, yet annoyed at her tactics, Tom decided his own interests would be best served if he let himself be charmed. All the same, he would tailor his life-story, or whatever it was she wanted, to suit her volatile temperament.
‘What would you like to know?’
She eyed him speculatively. ‘Tell me about your failed marriage.’
He didn’t gasp, or retort that it was none of her business, but looked steadily back at her. ‘It was doomed from the start, as any marriage must be when husband and wife have a basic ignorance of each other’s needs. Our little illusion of compatibility soon shattered when I found that I needed freedom, and had tied myself to a strangler vine. Poor Cherry. She couldn’t help being the over-indulged child of a social-climbing Papa. There is no one so jealous of his status as the self-made man, let me tell you. Papa Bell of Bell’s Better Biscuits just about fell down in a foaming fit when the daughter of his bosom went out slumming with a Jew-boy and ended up marrying him.’ He could laugh now, but at the time he’d been furiously hurt.
Billie put her finger right on the point. ‘You must have been willful children with your eyes only half-open.’
Tom spread his hands in acknowledgement. ‘We rushed into rebellion against our respective backgrounds, and we paid the price. Cherry hadn’t a thought in her head beyond dancing and clothes and having a good time. I, as a partner and fellow party-goer, turned out to be an A-grade flop. All I wanted was a fire, a cat and a corner with a good book, plus several hours’ sleep to keep me going at work. The whole thing now seems so clichéd and inevitable. But I was sorry to hurt my parents.’
He sat in silence for a time, remembering. Absently, he lifted a piece of black silk from the pillow and wound it around his finger, stroking the smooth strands. ‘I turned against my too rigid religion, then I married a gentile and renounced my faith altogether. The divorce was one blow too many. I could see in my mother’s eyes that she blamed for my grandfather’s death. That made me more angry and guilty.’ He sighed. ‘And that, too, is a cliché. This is a boring story, Billie. I think that tomorrow I shall bring some poetry and read to our Sleeping Beauty.’ He got up and leaned over the still figure in the bed.
‘Good night, Karen.’
Karen made no answer.
*
Valerie came daily to Tom’s rooms for what he could only describe as her performance before witnesses. Phil came along, too. Clearly he was enthralled by his busman’s holiday, and it would take radical surgery to detach him.
In one way Tom welcomed the presence of another
observer. An additional trained mind on the job, not to mention a strong restraining physical presence, gave him comfort. He’d got over his guilt at his inability to control and thereby help his patient when she regressed. There was nothing he could to about it. She slipped away of her own accord. Surely it was better for her to do so under supervision. He had to accept this as the price they paid for continuing investigation.
Lately, however, he’d begun to doubt the value of their reward. Nothing much had changed since the first startling episodes. A lot had come to light in the way of historical footnotes, especially as they concerned Valerie. More importantly, Tom felt they had glimpsed a part of a grand design in the universe, something like a blueprint for all living matter. It had sneaked up on Tom and changed his thinking forever. Yet now it seemed they had stuck – as if they were being told to stop going over the same ground and get on with the rest of it themselves.
But Valerie was adamant. They must go on. So Tom shelved his private nightmare, of her slipping into regression in front of a semi-trailer. He tried not to think about her failing to return from the past and becoming trapped between two worlds. Again, there was nothing he could do. Valerie sat in the driver’s seat. He just went along for the ride.
Her obvious enjoyment baffled him. One morning, before Phil arrived, Tom allowed his lack of enthusiasm for the approaching session to peak and overflow.
‘Valerie, how can you want to go on? The first two lives were, admittedly, the worst so far. But you know that at the very least you’re likely to experience a violent death at the end of each incarnation, and often the life itself is pretty unpleasant. Why keep putting yourself through it?’ He thought her composure assumed, the studied way she arranged herself against the desk, elegantly relaxed, white hands disposed to display her rings. Light trembled and flashed. Had the fingers twitched?
‘I’ve been giving it thought, Tom. Part of the answer is plain curiosity. I can’t bear to miss anything. It’s all so fascinating, learning about different facets of myself, especially as a male. I hadn’t realised how much there is of both sexes in each of us. It isn’t so very different, after all, being in a man’s skin.’
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