The Wooden Chair (32 page)

He returned to reading the form. Leini took a quivering breath of air.

“You indicate ‘random’ for source of referral. What do you mean by random.”

“I picked two names by chance from the phone book. You drew the longer straw.”

His warm laughter made her smile, some of her tension evaporating.

“I always tell new patients the same thing. We’ll work together for three months. If you’re not satisfied, you’re free to stop seeing me at any time. If you wish, I’ll even give you a couple of referrals.”

Leini uncrossed her legs, then crossed them the other way.

“The same goes for you. If you feel I can’t help you, I’ll refer you to a colleague.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I was going to propose something along those lines.” The cramped muscles in her neck loosened somewhat.

He grinned. “I have a feeling working with you is going to be both interesting and a challenge, as you’re a psychologist yourself. Let’s get to the point,” he said, leaning against the back of his chair. “What prompts you to see a psychiatrist?”

This is it. I must identify the problems and explain what I expect as the result of this therapy.
Suddenly, relief flooded her that she came prepared for this session. Not needing the notes she brought with her, she stuck the papers in her handbag.

“To summarize—I’m pregnant—our baby’s due in May. My own mother wasn’t a warm and loving parent. I want to learn to be a good mother.” She spread her hands. “It’s that simple…and that complicated.” Sighing, she added, “I have nightmares.”

It seemed barely minutes passed by when Doctor Morgenthaler glanced at the desk clock and announced their time was up.

Leini was drenched in anxious sweat. Her thin blouse was wet in the back and perspiration ran between her breasts.

By the door, he shook her hand, holding it in his for a moment.

“We’ve touched on the conflicting relationship between you and your mother. I’ll need to understand much more about the dynamics. Would you try to remember a couple of things your mother did to you that were painful? What did she say, what were the things she did that hurt the most?”

About to open the door, Leini stopped. She bit her lip to hold in the question burning her tongue—was this really right for her? Was she quite prepared to dredge up the past?

* * *

Fiddling with the key, always a bit stiff in the lock, it finally turned. Leini pushed open the front door and rushed to the phone. She placed a call to Helsinki. While she waited for the connection, she sat by the phone, twining a lock of hair. The phone rang, the call went through.

“Grandma Britta!” Leini shouted from excitement. “This is Leini. Can you hear me?”

“I hear you. Don’t shout. How are you, my dove?”

“Great. Grandma Britta, Bill and I are going to have a baby!”

A short pause. “That’s wonderful news. I’m very happy for you.”

“Please come visit us in Geneva after the baby’s born. Please, say yes,” she begged, heart fluttering like a bird’s wing. “This is your first great-grandchild, grandma.”

Over the line, Leini heard a sob or a sharp breath. “Dear child, we will have to see. I haven’t been feeling well lately. Nothing you need to worry about. I have a bit of pain in the side and I’m tired.”

Leini’s midriff cramped; her hand holding the receiver was slick with sweat. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. Please take care, Grandma.”

“Easy does it, Leini. Make sure to take care of yourself. I’m very happy for you. Give Bill my best regards.” True to herself, Grandma Britta broke the connection before Leini could inflict another word.

Leini remained seated by the phone.
Life. Birth and death. But, no, Grandma Britta can’t leave, not before she’s seen…

That night after dinner, she called Papi and Mira, talking first to Mira. After greetings, without preamble, because she didn’t know how else to do it, Leini blurted out the news.

“I’m pregnant.” Thinking it was too abrupt, wishing she’d planned how to say if before Mira came on the line.

“Oh, you are?”

Leini waited for something more.

“Yes,” Leini said to break the growing silence. “Bill and I are going to have a baby.” She rolled her eyes at Bill in the armchair by the desk.

“Isn’t it very soon?”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Mira.”

“Well, you haven’t been married for long, and you’re still so young.”

“Nonsense, we’ve been married long enough. We’re both ecstatic about this baby.” She inhaled to calm the rapid flutter of her heart. “As to being too young, I want to be a young mother.”

“In that case, all I can say is good luck. When’s the baby due?”

“Early in May.”

Another silence, then Mira said in a firm voice, “Good. A spring baby is always hardier. I’ll come to Geneva end of April, look after you, help you during the early times after you’re home with a new child.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m your mother.”

Leini’s heart almost stood still. Closing her eyes, she groped for Bill’s hand.
A bit late in the game to remember such a detail.

“What is it?” he whispered.

Shaking her head, she said into the phone, “Thanks for offering, Mira. There’s still time to talk about it.” She exhaled, shoulders sagging. “If Papi’s there, I’d like a word with him.”

A short pause, then Papi’s warm voice. “Hello, my Leini. What’s going on?”

“Papi. I’m so glad to hear your voice. I’m calling—Bill, too, right next to me—we have great news. We’re expecting a baby.” She waited a beat. “Come May, you’re going to be a grandfather. How do you like that!”

“A baby! Leini, it’s absolutely wonderful. Congratulations to both of you. Ah, my little girl, I can hardly grasp it. Are you happy? Is Bill happy?”

“Yes, we’re both so happy.”

“All I can think of saying is, my, oh my! God bless, my Leini. I’ll call you in a day or two after I’ve digested this. It’s wonderful you’re both happy. Now let me talk to Bill.”

She handed him the receiver. “Papi wants to talk to you.”

Leaving Bill to his conversation, Leini stretched on the couch, tears pooling in her eyes. Papi always knew to say the right words. The generous expression of his pure and unreserved love of her was a precious gift she wanted to imprint on her mind and emotions. Mira may not have been a good nurturer and role model, but Papi’s unstinting love and unquestioning acceptance of Leini were priceless treasures. She was determined to carry those gifts into motherhood, to use them in abundant measure with this baby and any future children they had.

Chapter 33

Geneva, Late Fall 1960

The deeper into her childhood Leini journeyed, the more painful the therapy sessions with Doctor Morgenthaler became. She expressed a growing concern about a possible danger to her baby from the emotional upheaval. “With no apparent reason I often burst into tears. I have nightmares, and my sleep is restless. Can this be harmful to the baby?”

The doctor seemed to take her concern seriously. “I don’t think therapy is harmful to the baby. To be really sure, I suggest we call your obstetrician together. He’s better placed to put your mind to rest.” He reached for the phone. “Should he advise against therapy at this stage of your pregnancy we’ll stop immediately. It’s not too late to resume our work after you’ve had your baby.”

Shifting in the chair, more like a wide, deep lap than a piece of furniture, Leini’s lips stretched into a huge smile from relief and gratitude. When Dr. Dutoit came on the line, Dr. Morgenthaler explained her qualms.

“Madame Gardet is in my office right now. You’d better explain this to her directly.”

She took the receiver, engrossed in his explanation. To her relief, he confirmed what Dr. Morgenthaler already told her.

On the line, Dr. Dutoit chuckled. “You’ll be all right to pursue therapy throughout your pregnancy.” Another throaty laughter. “I’ll let you in on a little secret; the life you’re carrying is much tougher than you think.”

Handing the receiver to Dr. Morgenthaler, she sagged in her chair. “Oh, I’m relieved.” And liked him immensely for his consideration and understanding.

“I’m glad your reservations are gone. We’ll focus our work on what your mother did and how it affected you. I hope you’ll discover some of her reasons.”

Leini giggled. “‘The truth shall set you free.’ But first it takes you through the wringer, huh?”

He laughed low in his throat, something he didn’t do often. “Joking apart, Mrs. Gardet, understanding of her motives will gradually bring forgiveness.”

As if a light was snuffed out, all merriment left her. “What?! Forgiveness? You must be joking.” The room spun in front of her eyes.
Forgive Mira. Me?

Dr. Morgenthaler fixed her with an intent look. “I’m dead serious.” His voice was firm. “Make no mistake about it—you won’t find real peace of mind before you forgive your mother. And be sincere about it, as well.”

“Do you realize, Doctor, that my visual handicap is a constant reminder of what Mira’s done to me? Every time I have trouble judging distance—which is a lot of the time—when I have a headache because of too much strain on my good eye, I’m reminded of how she blackmailed me into having the operation, promising she’d love me if I was beautiful.” Her voice broke on a sob. “I was a child, only eight years old, so of course I believed her.”

“Take it easy. I understand this isn’t easy. Coming to forgive Mira will take time. There’s no rush—we’ll work at a pace that suits you.” He glanced at her. “Some time ago I asked you to tell me the worst Mira did to you. What hurt you the most? Are you ready to talk about it now?”

Eyes closed, Leini breathed in and out a couple of times to quell the roaring motor inside. She opened her eyes to gaze at him. “I’m ready, I guess. It’s been on my mind since you first asked me. It’s the ongoing theme of my nightmares. The setting may change, but essentially it’s always the same terrible, belittling dream.” Images flashed in her mind’s eye. She was almost panting from a mounting distress.

The doctor handed her a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”

She took a few sips and placed the tumbler on the small table next to her chair. When she resumed talking her voice burned like fire in her throat. “What hurt me the most—still does—are the things she didn’t do. Mira never looks straight at me; she makes every effort to avoid eye contact. She looks past me, to the left or right or above me, as if by avoiding seeing me she doesn’t have to acknowledge me. And I can’t remember her ever calling me Leini. She always says either ‘you’ or ‘the miss.’ Sometimes ‘girl.’”

Leini blinked to scatter the images. “Mira would enter a room pretending she didn’t see me. Even if I spoke to her or somebody drew attention to me, she continued to ignore me.” Leini shut her eyes against the memories.
Gawd, how I wish this was over. I’m going to shatter into atoms from this pain.

“What’s going on, Leini? Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

“I hurt. Here.” She placed a hand flat on her chest, between her breasts, just above the bulge of her swollen abdomen. “I’m afraid. Talking about this makes it so real. And it’s not over, everything is still going on. It’s as if I were unreal. I can’t hide from this. I can’t pretend it never happened. I’ve only spoken to Bill about these things.”

Leini sighed. “Whether she had reason or not, Mira found cause to get angry at me. Then she’d play the deaf-mute…she wouldn’t talk to me other than through other people, Papi or Samy or Tatta, our live-in help.” The tears trickling down her cheeks were cold, and a chill froze her to the core. Groping, she found a box of tissues on the table, pulled a thick wad and cried with heavy sobs.

“Are you all right to carry on?” the doctor asked. “If you want, we could stop now, continue from here next time.”

“No!” she almost shouted. “No! I want to say it all now, finish it.”

“That’s good. You’re my last patient for the day…take all the time you want.”

When she could, she continued. “This mutism was the worst punishment—without any provocation, for reasons I never understood, Mira stopped talking to me. She didn’t respond when I talked to her. I felt so guilty, so totally at fault. I never understood what I’d done wrong to bring on this silent scorn.”

“You’re doing great. Is there more?”

“Yes, there is. She treated me like a non-person. When she wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t call me by name, not talk to me, it was as if I didn’t exist, as if I became invisible. It surprised me that other people didn’t walk through me, because I was without substance.”

“You haven’t lived with Mira for a while. How do you feel about her behavior now?”

“The same as before. I only need to be with her for a day at the most, and the sensation of shrinking and vanishing returns. Even talking to her on the phone has that effect on me. Mira did a lot of painful, hurtful things. This is the worst because it went on during all my growing up years. It still goes on. It was…it’s cruel, it’s relentless.”

“What would you need to protect yourself against this behavior? What would help you to stop feeling you’re insignificant and nonexistent?”

With a sharp movement of her head she stared at the doctor as he leaned arms against thighs, head tilted toward her.

“Don’t ask me—if I knew, I wouldn’t be here. You tell me. What’s in your box of tricks that you can give me so I can better protect myself against her?”

“What did you used to do?”

She shrugged.
Typical of a psychiatrist. Always answer a question with a question.

“When I still lived at home, I tried to avoid being alone with her—I stayed out of her way as much as possible. I really didn’t have a shield.”

“Care to tell me about the nightmares?”

“Usually I’m in a room crowded with people. Most of the time they’re my family, sometimes friends. People don’t see me. When I talk to them, they can’t hear me. Nobody looks at me. They pass by me so close they touch me, but don’t acknowledge my presence. I start vanishing. When I no longer can see my own shadow I know I don’t exist.