Briefing for a Descent Into Hell - Doris May Lessing [62]
Yours sincerely,
FELICITY WATKINS
P.S. You asked about my husband and the children. When he is here it is a very happy family. You asked about letters that might have upset my husband. There are letters that came just before he went off to London but unless it is necessary I would rather not read them. I will send them to you if you think they would help.
Well Professor, you are looking very much better. How do you feel?
Why don’t you let me go back to sleep. You keep waking me up.
Yesterday you were angry with us for making you sleep.
Was I?
Yes, you called us every kind of name and said we were trying to keep you fuddled.
Fuddled. Fuddddlled. Fudddled. Fudd … that word sounds like what it says. That’s strange. Words … sounds. A dull heavy word. Fudd. Thud. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud. Fudd, fudd, fudd, fudd. Its colour is. What? I knew. But not now. Sound—that’s important … yes …
I think you are much better. Your colour is clear, you are obviously much stronger and your eyes are clear.
The azure-eyed. The flashing-eyed. Oh no, I must sleep again, where They are. Awake is asleep.
No, Professor. Sit up. I’m afraid we can’t have you going back to sleep again. You’ve slept enough.
Why do you keep calling me Professor?
Professor Charles Watkins. 15 Acacia Road, Brink. Near Cambridge.
But I don’t want that. I won’t accept that.
I’m afraid you have no choice Professor. We know that’s who you are.
But I know I am not.
Or is it that you are beginning to remember though you don’t want to admit it?
Why do you say Or? And is more like it. It’s funny, I’ve just noticed. People say, Either, Or, this or that, because of the thud thud, fudd fudd, in or out, black and white, yes and no, one and two, the either-or comes from that, the beat, the fudd fudd in the blood, but it isn’t either or at all, it’s and, and, and, and, and, and.
However that may be Professor, you must accept who you are. I am telling you the truth. Accept that—and try to go on from there.
But if I went on, that would mean I had begun. All that means nothing to me. It isn’t mine at all. It is a dream.
My dear Professor, it is your life.
A dream life. A life that is a dream. A dream …
No, I am afraid I am not letting you go back to sleep yet.
Oh I must sleep. I do want to. Not here. There. What I said before isn’t what I would have said if I knew what I know now, I can sleep my life away. Yes. We sleep our lives away. Yes. And you.
Professor Watkins, do you realise you have been here a month now? In this hospital? It is the Central Intake Hospital. You were in a state of shock when you came in. You had been wandering about, and the police found you on the Embankment. You were rambling and confused and talking to yourself. We sedated you. Then when you seemed not much better, we tried out a drug to help you remember who you are—it often makes people drowsy, but in your case it made you very sleepy indeed. Whether or not that is a good thing, is a matter of opinion. But the fact is, and I am telling you again so that you don’t forget it, is that you have been in the hospital for a month. We have just found out your name, your profession, your address and your circumstances. We know a little more, if you want to hear it.… Well? Come on, do try.
What you say is only what you know. You tell me it is so. But if I tell you what I know, you disagree.
Then tell me what you know. Now then, why are you laughing? Do you realise you haven’t laughed before? This is the first time I have seen you laugh.
Doctor, I can’t talk to you. Do you understand that? All these words you say, they fall into a gulf, they’re not me or you. Not you at all. I can see you. You are a small light. But a good one. God is in you doctor. You aren’t these words.
Well, well. Rest then. Lie down and rest. But before you go off to sleep try and remember: You are Charles Watkins. You have been living and working in Cambridge for years now. You teach the