Doctors of Philosophy (7 page)

M
RS
S. Say yes, Leonora.

LEONORA.
Perhaps it would be more practical’ for reading.

CHARLIE B.
That’s right, for reading. But you’re in my shoes. Suppose when it comes to the push you don’t like the book? You put it down and you pick up the other and you don’t like that one either. A couple a days later you meet the lady of your inmost desires. Where’s the desk lamp going to get you? It won’t get you anywhere, will it? You be better off with the Chinese style vase, cone-shaped shade, pale-green glow. It would form the beginnings of a home on any mantelpiece.

M
RS.
S. Try saying no, Leonora.

L
EONORA.
Yes, in the circumstances I would choose that, Charlie.

CHARLIE B.
You’re sure? You’re not me now, you’re the doctor. Suppose I did like the first book, and suppose I liked the second. I might become a reader, isn’t that so, doctor?

L
EONORA.
It’s quite a problem, Charlie.

CHARLIE B.
Let me run over the symptoms again. Thirty-six. Unmarried. Good job in transport …

A
NNIE
comes in dressed ‘for boating on the Canal’.

ANNIE.
Leonora darling! — Oh, you’ve got the tape recorder, shall I put it back in the broom cupboard?

She makes a swift exit with tape
recorder.

C
HARLIE B.
Plenty of time both ends of the journey

M
RS.
S. That’ll be all for today, Charlie, much obliged.

CHARLIE B.
I haven’t finished consulting the doctor.

M
RS.
S. You better go before you catch any more symptoms.
(CHARLIE
hesitates.) Mrs. D. will be in presently. L
EONORA.
Sit down, Charlie. I’ll try to give you some definite advice.

Enter
ANNIE
.

ANNIE.
Well, good afternoon, Charlie. Lovely day for the canal, isn’t it?

C
HARLIE B.
A perfect day, ma’am.

A
NNIE.
You’re always so encouraging, Charlie.

M
RS.
S. That’s exactly what the neighbours say when he stands on the bank and yells ‘Good old Annie. Go to it, Annie.’

A
NNIE.
I hope the neighbours notice the improvement in my style. Rowing isn’t easy, it’s an art. You have to give yourself up to it. I’ve discovered that there’s no use whatsoever in making a determined effort. You’ve got to relax into a sort of rhythmic trance, like this.
(Sits on the floor and makes trance-like rowing movements.)
In, out …

CHARLIE B.
Three cheers for Annie.

A
NNIE
(getting up).
You’ll see what I mean much better when I take out the actual boat after tea.

M
RS.
S. You going out on the canal in that garb?

A
NNIE.
Yes, I changed. All things considered, Mrs. S., my boudoir wrap would have been unsuitable and too conspicuous, one has to think of the neighbours.

M
RS.
S. It’s too tight round the bottom for sportswear, that’s point number one. Point number two, you got to remember that this is the household of a distinguished economist and he don’t want to get his name in the papers in any connection that would throw a shadow of doubt on his balanced judgment. Balance is the keynote of this house, Annie. Balance is all.

A
NNIE
(makes a few rowing movements).
Am I unbalanced, Leonora?

LEONORA.
I’m no judge, Annie.

M
RS.
S. You better give Charlie your verdict, Leonora, because I’ve got to see him to the door.

A
NNIE.
What is Charlie consulting you about, Leonora?

LEONORA.
A reading lamp.

M
RS.
S. Get up, Charlie.

LEONORA.
Sit down, Charlie.

M
RS.
S. Leonora, they’ll all be coming in soon, and they’ve all been upset by you, and there’s a lot to straighten up in the whole affair. In my opinion the presence of an outsider might further complicate the issue. Come on, Charlie.

L
EONORA.
I would prefer to complicate the issue. Stay here, Charlie. Continue to call me ‘doctor’. Once a doctor, always a doctor.

ANNIE.
Leonora, I think you’re brilliant.

M
RS.
S. Well, myself, I like to see people facing the facts.

LEONORA.
I’ve already faced the facts. Annie has put them in the broom cupboard. A
NNIE.
And I don’t want to hear Daphne advising Leonora to see a psychiatrist on moral grounds. One should only see a psychiatrist out of boredom. Who are these flowers from?

LEONORA.
And I don’t want Catherine to be understanding, and Charlie to pretend that nothing’s happened, all the time watching me out of the corner of his eye.

C
HARLIE B.
We got to show them who’s boss.

A
NNIE.
Charlie, you’re brilliant!

L
EONORA.
Where are they?

M
RS.
S. Behind locked doors, I dare say, having a conference about you. Hold on, I’ll investigate.

Exit.
A
NNIE
(unwrapping flowers).
Arum lilies. I call that a very pure idea to send. Arum lilies. Very bridal.

C
HARLIE B.
That brings back a lot of memories.

L
EONORA.
Why, Charlie? — Were you ever married?

C
HARLIE B.
No. But there was two Lily’s in my life, Lily Donelly and Lily Pearson. I never got them out of my system, not properly. Makes me feel bad to think of them, doctor, I feel shaken.

L
EONORA.
I’d better analyse you immediately, Charlie.
(Charlie stretches out on the sofa.)
That’s right.

ANNIE.
That’s brilliant!

L
EONORA.
Relax and go on about Lily.

CHARLIE B.
Lilys. Plural. They both met one night in the ladies’ cloakroom of the Hammersmith Palais and started to compare what you might call notes. Well, to cut a long story short …

Enter
MRS. S
.

M
RS.
S. I can’t turn my back a minute to listen-in without everyone taking liberties in the home. Get up, Charlie.

L
EONORA.
Lie down, Charlie. Mrs. S., I’ve got to think of my timing. Timing is very important. Are they coming ?

M
RS.
S. Any minute now. Daphne says she knows a clinic where they’ll do you free. Mrs. D. says she’s glad she chose marriage after all. Charlie says that if the tape recorder isn’t found, how much will he have to pay for a replacement?

A
NNIE.
Put him out of his misery right away, Mrs. S. Tell him the machine is in the broom cupboard.

M
RS.
S.
(shouts upstairs).
Mrs. D., I got the instrument. It’s in the broom cupboard. Don’t worry, Charlie. I say I got the machine.

Enter
Catherine.

CATHERINE.
Where. … Oh Leonora, I didn’t know you were in, I thought you were out. … What’s the matter, has he fainted?

M
RS.
S. No noise, please. Take your seat quietly. The patient is just going under.

L
EONORA.
It’s most important, Charlie, that I should know a little more about your childhood in Bermondsey.

C
HARLIE
B. Yes, doctor, well of course we wasn’t in Bermondsey for long. We were always on the move, my dad believed in it. Seven mouths to feed, he had to keep on the credit side of things.

LEONORA.
The family moves were profitable, then?

C
HARLIE B.
Well, we got new credit every time.

LEONORA.
Just relax and go on about Lily.

C
HARLIE B.
Well, that would be a story, that would.

C
ATHERINE.
Well, it’s nearly tea-time and I’m sure Charlie has had enough for one session. I must say, Charlie, you seem all right to me.

C
HARLIE B.
No, ma’am, that’s where you’re wrong. You can’t judge by appearances.

ANNIE.
Charlie has been visited by a trauma in the last few days. He is very perplexed about a reading lamp, not to mention a couple of Lilys. I think Leonora’s doing a fine job of work on Charlie.

C
HARLIE B.
Hear, hear. I feel better already.

L
EONORA.
Tomorrow at three, then, Charlie. Don’t forget to make a note first thing in the morning of anything you may have dreamt in the course of the night.

CATHERINE.
Do you intend Charlie to come here for daily interviews, Leonora? Because—

L
EONORA.
We could rig something up on the terrace if it’s a fine day and if you feel we’re intruding.

CATHERINE.
If you wish to use your room for professional purposes, Leonora, I have no objection. The terrace is rather public.

L
EONORA.
My room is rather private. And really I think we had better not discuss this problem in front of my patient. He has problems enough already. Tomorrow at three, then, Charlie. Goodbye, and whatever you do, don’t worry.

CHARLIE B.
Au revoir and thank you, doctor.
(Turns to
ANNIE
at door.)
I’ll be watching out for you on the canal.

ANNIE.
Don’t forget to make a note of any points of style that you may feel need improvement, Charlie.

CHARLIE B.
Yes. I got a lot a notes to make. Ta ta.
(Goes out.)

CATHERINE
(dusting sofa where
CHARLIE B.’S
feet have been).
Why are you doing this, Leonora?

L
EONORA.
It’s an exercise in compassion.

CATHERINE.
That lorry driver doesn’t need your help, Leonora. He’s tough. That kind doesn’t suffer from nerves.

L
EONORA.
I mean it’s an exercise in compassion for him.

CATHERINE.
Well, if that’s what you mean, I don’t know what you mean.

L
EONORA.
I mean he was sorry for me to the extent that he desired to help me.

CATHERINE.
Well it seemed to me you were doing all the exercise of compassion, solving his problem. You seemed very interested in him.

L
EONORA.
Interest is not the same thing as compassion, you gross, crude, vulgar, bloated intellectual.

Enter
CHARLIE.

CATHERINE.
I am not gross, crude, vulgar and bloated.

L
EONORA.
What do you know of compassion?

C
HARLIE.
We’re sorry for you, Leonora, if that’s what you mean.

L
EONORA.
You experience the emotion of pity for me?

CHARLIE.
Well, yes, if you want pity.

LEONORA.
You don’t seem to approve of the word.

C
HARLIE.
Well, pity’s an embarrassing word.

LEONORA.
Because it’s an embarrassing emotion. Anything one has neglected is embarrassing. One hesitates to show one’s pity in the same way that one would be slow to display an under-nourished animal. People would notice there was something wrong with it and that would be embarrassing.

CATHERINE.
Leonora, we would like to help you somehow, and to exercise pity as you call it.

L
EONORA.
But you don’t know how to do so.

CATHERINE.
Well, no. It’s a difficult problem.

L
EONORA.
Why? You’ve had twenty years to study the subject. When your marriage prevented you from continuing your studies why didn’t you turn to studying the only other subject conveniently to hand? Why have you not given the same attention to the quality of your own emotions as you would have given to the quality of the handwriting of the ancient Assyrians?

CATHERINE.
What have you done about your emotions, Leonora?

L
EONORA.
Nothing. I’m a professional scholar and I am not supposed to do anything about my emotions. You, on the other hand, have been under an obligation to do so for the past twenty years. What have you done with your time?

CATHERINE.
I love my husband and my daughter, naturally.

L
EONORA.
So does any married woman without any intellectual distinction. Why do you find it so difficult to know what to do about me? If you had spent your time cultivating an understanding of compassion you would find it easy. What you call pity is not pity at all. Your pity is a word existing in the mind like your broom cupboard, it

ANNIE.
Would you try one of my pills, Leonora? It’s got something in it that lifts you up and another thing that calms you down. It won’t have any effect whatsoever. I can’t do without them.

CATHERINE.
I’ll try one, Annie, if you don’t mind.

ANNIE.
You take it with water.

CHARLIE.
Water, Leonora — behind you in the jug.

CATHERINE.
To hell with you, Leonora, for sitting there lecturing us and putting us in the wrong.

C
HARLIE.
Attack is a usual form of defence.

CATHERINE.
Charlie hasn’t been sleeping. What pity have you got for Charlie?

L
EONORA.
A certain amount. But I’m not sure what kind of pity it is.