Read Online Mind Games by William Deverell - Free Book Online Page B

Munich. You told her about this dream before she left?
    Yes, she thought it was uproarious.
    And she sent you this card as a joke. And it prompted another dream. End of analysis.
    Yes, but look at her note.
    Above the illustration, a paragraph about beer halls and alpine meadows and rain, and it ended:
Hurrying off for dinner. Love you (I do). Sally.
    What do you find odd about her message?
    Dinner with whom? Hans, the polka player?
    Tim, tell me, what best describes your feelings about Sally right now?
    Okay, I’ll say it. Resentment. I’ll acknowledge that. I’m going through hell while she’s traipsing through the Alps. I know that’s unworthy, I just … I
want
her to be happy, I just want a little piece of the action.
    How do you deal with her when she’s distressed?
    Try to pin down the cause.
    Atypical male reaction. Men fix, women listen. Instead of looking for a quick solution, you may find that allowing Sally to unburden herself helps the worries come tumbling out. Ever buy her flowers?
    What?
    Buy her flowers, chocolates.
    On special occasions …
    And if there were no occasion?
    I guess … not often.
    What would you say to her if she were here right now?
    He stalled, and a sadness came over him
.
    I love you.
    What else?
    Don’t get tangled up with someone who will hurt you.
    That seems less self-referential.
    This second brief excerpt relates to Sally’s oft-expressed concern that, according to Tim, she believes he tries to read her thoughts
.
    It was just a game.
    A game that you constantly practised on her?
    Well, yes …
    How do you think she felt? Invaded?
    She might not have had much of a sense of privacy, Tim.

    I was Rasputin, the mad monk, in control of her every mood and whim. She had no place to hide, no secret door to a cozy, private place away from the needy, grasping neurotic. Had I been possessive to the point of obsession?
    So all right, Sally, flutter away on your flight of freedom, enjoy your dinner with Hans, have your little affair, take two of them, buy a supply of condoms. I’ll take my punishment like a man. I should have more incisively interpreted the emailed picture: after all, what does the horn symbolize? And this one seemed ten feet long.
    She’d accused me of being, to use a polite word, inattentive in bed. Yet lately she’d shown little fervour herself. So maybe our love life had become platitudinous, a routine. Maybe I should have an affair. (And how close I’ve come to having one foisted on me.)
    In my dream, however, Huff was hornless. He came in the form of a census taker. He didn’t want to count me, and I feltforced to explain my existence. He didn’t believe me, wanted proof. Was my father alive? I wasn’t sure. Where does he live? I don’t know. Somehow, I found myself in an Alpine village, where that same ridiculous band was playing. The banjo player looked like me, except older and scraggy.
    Why this recurrent musical motif? Was I attacked by a banjo while an infant? I have some musical ability, but I play a respectable instrument, the clarinet. I hear you speculate -”He has suppressed fears he’ll learn his father is a wastrel or a scoundrel – the banjo, an instrument he abhors, represents that fear.”
    I had another nightmare: I was in a courtroom. Herman Schulter was sentencing me to a hundred lashes. Wait – that wasn’t a dream. That was Monday. Let me unscramble my thoughts, as I try to do each evening after my fevered rambles in your consulting room. I’ll start with blue Monday.
    I was late arriving at the hearing, which was being held in the Broadway Medical Building, a location obscure enough not to excite the curiosity of the media.
    The room was closed to all but the three members of the panel and one witness, Dr. Irwin Connelly, my mentor, who has volunteered to scrutinize the state of my practice. This was the third in a series of time-squandering sessions – presumably an exercise in reforming me, so to speak, but the panel has the