Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [114]
Bertie sat in the waiting room while his mother went in to speak to Dr Fairbairn. Although he knew that he was meant to have an hour of therapy, he never really had more than ten minutes, as his mother would go in and talk to Dr Fairbairn for at least fifty minutes before she came out. What could they be talking about? he wondered. Surely one could not go on about Melanie Klein for fifty minutes twice a week? But that’s what they seemed to be doing.
Ink and the Imagination
239
Inside the consulting room, Irene sat in the chair recently vacated by Bertie and listened to Dr Fairbairn.
“I did a bit of Rorschach work with him this morning,” Dr Fairbairn said. “We didn’t get very good results. He came up with very literal interpretations. I saw nothing of the subconscious processes. No light on the object relations issue.”
“Oh well,” said Irene. “We must persist. There’s still a lot of aggression there, I’m afraid. He wanted to go bowling the other day. That’s very aggressive.”
“Maybe,” said Dr Fairbairn, noting something down on a pad. “Maybe not.”
“And then there’s some sign of knife fantasies,” went on Irene.
“He keeps asking for a penknife.”
“Worrying, that,” said Dr Fairbairn. “Of course, boys do like that sort of thing, you know.”
Irene looked at him. “Some boys may,” she said. “Some males need knives. Some don’t.”
Dr Fairbairn thought for a while. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a bit about Bertie, and I’m beginning to have a sense of what’s going on. The dynamics. The splitting process. The good mother/bad mother schizoid bifurcation.”
Irene leant forward eagerly. “Oh yes?” she said. “And what do you think is the problem?”
Dr Fairbairn rose to his feet. He looked down at the crumpled pieces of paper in his wastepaper basket and, on a sudden impulse, picked one out, uncrumpled it and showed it to Irene.
“What do you see there?” he asked.
Irene took the inkblot of Scotland and frowned. “A cloud of guilt?” she suggested. “Yes, a cloud of guilt.”
“Hah!” exclaimed Dr Fairbairn. “That is Scotland!”
“Nonsense!” cried Irene. “That’s a cloud of guilt.”
Dr Fairbairn bent down and retrieved the inkblot of the Queen. “And this?” he asked, thrusting it into Irene’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“Mother,” said Irene, without hesitation.
Dr Fairbairn snatched the paper back from her. Then he turned to face her and spoke very quietly but firmly. 240 Wee Fraser Again
“You know something?” he said. “You know something? I’ve decided what the problem is. It’s you! ”
73. Wee Fraser Again
Bertie knew that something was wrong the moment that he heard shouting issuing from Dr Fairbairn’s consulting room. He had been engrossed in a copy of Scottish Field and the time had passed rather quickly. But now the normal sedate silence of the waiting room was disturbed by voices raised in discord. Dr Fairbairn and his mother were having a row! Indeed, it might be even worse. Perhaps Dr Fairbairn had finally got out of control and might even now be assaulting his mother, possibly even throwing ink at her! Bertie dropped the magazine and sprang to his feet. He was not sure what to do; if he burst into the consulting room, then that might just make matters worse; if he stayed where he was then his mother could meet some terrible fate at the hands of the psychotherapist, all the while unaided by her son.
Bertie moved over and put an ear to the door of the consulting room. The sound of shouting had dropped, and now there seemed to be silence within the room. That was a very bad sign, he thought. Perhaps Dr Fairbairn was even now lowering his mother’s body from the window, on a rope, with a view to hiding it in the Queen Street Gardens. But then, there was a voice, and another – voices which were no longer raised and seemed to be making casual conversation. Bertie heaved a sigh of relief. The row was over. They had got back to talking about Melanie Klein.
Inside the consulting room, Dr Fairbairn