The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides [65]
A line from Barthes she remembered: Every lover is mad, we are told. But can we imagine a madman in love?
“Leonard’s concerned they’re going to keep him in here indefinitely, which I don’t think is the case.” Henry was talking again. “You’re fine, Leonard. Just tell the doctor what you told me. They’re just keeping you in here for observation.”
“The doctor’s supposed to call in a minute,” Leonard informed Madeleine.
“You manufactured a little mental illness to get in here and get some help,” Henry repeated once more. “And now you feel better and you’re ready to go home.”
Leonard leaned forward, all ears. “I just want to get out of here,” he said. “I had to take three incompletes. I just want to finish up those classes and graduate.”
Madeleine had never seen Leonard on such good behavior. The willing schoolboy, the star patient.
“That’s a good thing,” Henry said. “That’s a healthy thing. You want your life back.”
Leonard looked from Henry to Madeleine and robotically repeated, “I want my life back. I want to get out of here and finish my incompletes and graduate.”
A nurse stuck her head into the dayroom.
“Leonard? Dr. Shieu’s on the phone for you.”
As eagerly as someone interviewing for a job, Leonard stood up. “Here goes,” he said.
“Tell the doctor what you told me,” said Henry.
When Leonard had left, they both remained silent. Finally Henry spoke.
“I’m guessing you’re Leonard’s girlfriend,” he said.
“Unclear at this point,” Madeleine replied.
“He’s in a fugue state.” Henry rotated his index finger in the air. “Just a tape loop, going around and around.”
“But you just told him he was fine.”
“Well, that’s what Leonard needs to hear.”
“You’re not a doctor, though,” she said.
“No,” Henry said. “But I am a psych major. Which means I’ve read a lot of Freud.” He broke into a big, awkward, flirtatious Cheshire cat grin.
“And here we are,” Madeleine tartly replied, “living in post-Freudian times.”
Henry bore this dig with something like pleasure. “If you are Leonard’s girlfriend,” he said, “or if you’re thinking of becoming Leonard’s girlfriend, or if you’re thinking of getting back together with him, my advice would be not to do that.”
“Who are you, anyway?”
“Just someone who knows, from personal experience, how attractive it can be to think you can save somebody else by loving them.”
“I could have sworn we just met,” Madeleine said. “And that you don’t know anything about me.”
Henry stood up. With a slightly offended air but undiminished confidence, he said, “People don’t save other people. People save themselves.”
He left her with that to think about.
The woman with the uncombed hair was staring up at the TV, tying and untying the belt of her robe. A young black woman, college-age herself, was sitting at a table with what looked to be her parents. They seemed used to the surroundings.
After a few more minutes, Leonard returned. The woman with the uncombed hair called out, “Hey, Leonard. Did you see any lunch out there?”
“I didn’t,” Leonard said. “Not yet.”
“I could use some lunch.”
“Another half hour, it’ll be here,” Leonard said helpfully.
He had the air more of a doctor than of a patient. The woman seemed to trust him. She nodded and turned away.
Leonard sat in the chair and leaned forward, jiggling his knee.
Madeleine was trying to think of something to say, but everything she thought of sounded like an attack. How long have you been in here? Why didn’t you tell me? Is it true you were diagnosed