Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [115]
“I don’t know what came over me,” he said remorsefully. “It was all so sudden. I don’t know why I said it.”
Irene looked at him. She understood how stress could affect people. Dr Fairbairn’s job was undoubtedly stressful, dealing Wee Fraser Again
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with all sorts of harrowing personal problems. It would be easy in such circumstances to say something rash and, as in this case, completely unjustified.
“I understand,” she said gently. “I really do. You mustn’t reproach yourself unduly.”
She looked at him as he continued to stare down at the surface of his desk. Of course this might be an opportunity to probe a bit; there was a great deal she would like to know about Dr Fairbairn and now might be the time to do that probing.
“Of course, it might be better if you talked to me about it,”
she said.
Dr Fairbairn looked up. “About what?” he asked.
“About all the things that you’re so obviously repressing,”
Irene said quietly. “About the guilt.”
Dr Fairbairn was silent for a few moments. “Is my guilt that obvious?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so,” said Irene, trying to sound as sympathetic as she could. “It’s written very clearly. I’ve always sensed it.”
“Oh,” said Dr Fairbairn. It was like being told that one’s deodorant was less than effective. It was very deflating.
“Guilt has such a characteristic signature,” went on Irene. “I find that I can always tell.”
She watched Dr Fairbairn from the corner of her eye. She was not sure what his guilt was based on, but it was bound to be something interesting.
“You can tell me, you know,” she urged. “You’d feel much relieved.”
“Do you think so?” asked Dr Fairbairn.
Irene nodded. It was a time for non-verbal signs.
“I feel so awful,” said Dr Fairbairn. “I’ve been carrying this burden of guilt for so long. And I’ve tried to convince myself that it’s not there, but my denial has only made things worse.”
“Denial always does,” said Irene. “Denial is a sticking tape with very little sticking power.” She paused and reflected on the adage that she had just coined. It was really rather apt, she thought.
242 Wee Fraser Again
“And yet it’s so difficult to confront one’s sense of shame,”
said Dr Fairbairn. “That’s not easy.”
Irene was beginning to feel impatient. She glanced at her watch. What if the next patient arrived now? She might be prevented from hearing Dr Fairbairn’s revelations, and by the time that they next met he might be more composed and less inclined to confess his guilt. “So?” she said. “What lies at the heart of your guilt?” She paused. “What did you actually do?”
Dr Fairbairn looked away from her, as if embarrassed by what he was about to say.
“I suppose at the heart of my guilt lies my professional failure,”
he said. “I’ve tried to tell myself that it was no failure, but it was. It really was.”
Irene leaned forward. “How did you fail?” she asked. “Tell me. Let me be your catharsis.”
“You’ve heard of my famous case?” asked Dr Fairbairn. “The study of Wee Fraser?”
“Of course I have,” said Irene. “It’s almost as famous as Freud’s case of Little Hans or Melanie Klein’s Richard.”
The Wolf Man, Neds, Motherwell
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Dr Fairbairn smiled, a smile that surrendered shortly to pain.
“I’m flattered, of course,” he said, “but in a curious way that makes what I did even worse.”
Irene looked at him in astonishment. Had he falsified the case? Did Wee Fraser actually exist, or was he a fraudulent creation upon which Dr Fairbairn’s entire scientific reputation had been built? If the latter were the case, then it would amount to a major scandal. It was easy to understand why the author of such an act of deception would feel a crushing burden of guilt.
“What exactly did you do?” Irene asked. “Did you invent Wee Fraser?”
Dr Fairbairn looked at her blankly. “Invent him? Why on earth would I have invented him?” He paused. “No. I didn’t invent him. I hit him.”
Irene gasped. “You hit Wee Fraser? Actually hit him?”
Dr Fairbairn closed his eyes. “I hit him,” he said. “He bit me and I hit him. And do you know what? You know what? After