The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [219]
When at length he was admitted, he stated his needs. The doctor did not attempt any physical investigation. It was a plain case.
“To refrain from technical language you complain of speechlessness, a sense of heat and strangulation, dizziness and subsequent trembling?” said this man of science.
“I feel I’m going to burst,” said Basil.
“Exactly. And these symptoms only occur when you meet young men?”
“Hairy young men especially.”
“Ah.”
“Young puppies.”
“And with puppies too? That is very significant. How do you react to kittens?”
“I mean the young men are puppies.”
“Ah. And are you fond of puppies, Mr. Seal?”
“Reasonably.”
“Ah.” The man of science studied the paper on his desk. “Have you always been conscious of this preference for your own sex?”
“I’m not conscious of it now.”
“You are fifty-eight years and ten months. That is often a crucial age, one of change, when repressed and unsuspected inclinations emerge and take control. I should strongly recommend your putting yourself under a psychoanalyst. We do not give treatment of that kind here.”
“I just want to be cured of feeling I’m going to burst.”
“I’ve no doubt our régime will relieve the symptoms. You will not find many young men here to disturb you. Our patients are mostly mature women. There is a markedly virile young physical training instructor. His hair is quite short but you had better keep away from the gym. Ah, I see from your paper that you are handicapped by war-wounds. I will take out all physical exercise from your timetable and substitute extra periods of manipulation by one of the female staff. Here is your diet sheet. You will notice that for the first forty-eight hours you are restricted to turnip juice. At the end of that period you embark on the carrots. At the end of the fortnight, if all goes well, we will have you on raw eggs and barley. Don’t hesitate to come and see me again if you have any problem to discuss.”
The sleeping quarters of male and female inmates were separated by the length of the house. Basil found Angela in the drawing room. They compared their diet sheets.
“Rum that it should be exactly the same treatment for insomnia and apoplexy.”
“That booby thought I was a pansy.”
“It takes a medical man to find out a thing like that. All these years and I never knew. They’re always right, you know. So that’s why you’re always going to that odd club.”
“This is no time for humour. This is going to be a very grim fortnight.”
“Not for me,” said Angela. “I came well provisioned. I’m only here to keep you company. And there’s a Mrs. Somebody next door to me who I used to know. She’s got a private cache of all the sleeping pills in the world. I’ve made great friends with her already. I shall be all right.”
On the third day of his ordeal, the worst according to habitués of the establishment, there came a telephone call from Barbara.
“Pobble, I want to go back to London. I’m bored.”
“Bored with Aunt Barbara?”
“Not with her, with here.”
“You stay where you’re put, chattel.”
“No. Please, I want to go home.”
“Your home is where I am. You can’t come here.”
“No. I want to go to London.”
“You can’t. I sent the servants away for a fortnight.”
“Most of my friends live without servants.”
“You’ve sunk into a very low world, Babs.”
“Don’t be such an ass. Sonia Trumpington hasn’t any servants.”
“Well, she won’t want you.”
“Pobble, you sound awfully feeble.”
“Who wouldn’t who’s only had one carrot in the last three days.”
“Oh, you are brave.”
“Yes.”
“How’s mummy?”
“Your mother is not keeping the régime as strictly as I am.”
“I bet she isn’t. Anyway, please, can I go back to London?”
“No.”
“You mean ‘No’?”
“Yes.”
“Fiend.”
Basil had gone hungry before. From time to time in his varied youth, in desert, tundra, glacier and jungle, in garrets and cellars, he had briefly endured extremities of privation. Now in the periods of repose and solitude, after the steam bath and the smarting deluge of the showers, after the long thumping and twisting by the huge masseuse,