let me go he’d take me home. So I don’t see any reason why I can’t go.”
“It’s not a simple decision, Peter. It’s not just the chaplain’s decision.”
Hardwicke opened the psychometry file, made a pretense of studying it. Thurlow sighed, shook his head.
What was that thing I saw? Thurlow wondered. Was it real there beside Murphey’s window? Was it illusion? The question had been plaguing him for two days.
“Well, he said he’d take me,” Peter said.
Whelye stared at Hardwicke, disapproval on his face. “Did you say you’d take him down to Mariposa?”
“If he were discharged,” Hardwicke said. “I said I’d be glad to give him the trip down there.”
Whelye faced Peter, said: “Well, we have to do some more looking into this matter, generally to find out if your mother wants you and if the chaplain’s schedule will allow him to take you down there. If all these things work out, we’ll let you go.”
Peter was sitting very still now, no emotion on his face, his gaze intent upon his hands. “Thank you.”
“That’s all, Peter,” Whelye said. “You can go now.”
Mrs. Norman signaled an attendant waiting at the screened window to the Common Room. The attendant opened the door. Peter got up and hurried out.
Thurlow sat for a moment, the realization growing in him that Peter had taken away what amounted to a promise to be released, but that because of the way he had conducted the conference, Dr. Whelye wasn’t aware of this. Whelye would be thinking that all the “ifs” involved made this a hypothetical case.
“Well, Dr. Whelye,” Thurlow said, “you’ve made a definite commitment to this patient to discharge him—promptly.”
“Oh, no—I didn’t promise I’d discharge him.”
“Well, the patient certainly understood he’d be home in short order—and the only qualifications are Chaplain Hardwicke’s schedule and confirmation of the mother’s letter.”
“Call the patient back and we’ll settle this with him right now.” Whelye said. He looked angry.
Mrs. Norman sighed, went to the Common Room door, signaled an attendant. Peter was brought back and returned to his chair. The boy kept his eyes down, shoulders bent, unmoving.
“You understand, don’t you, Peter,” Whelye asked, “that we haven’t made any definite promise to discharge you? We’re going to look into your home situation and see if everything is all right and if you can get a job. We’d also like to look into the possibility of you returning to school for a year or so. Perhaps you could get a better job. You understand, don’t you, that we aren’t making any definite commitment?”
“Yeah, I understand.” Peter looked at Chaplain Hardwicke who refused to meet the boy’s gaze.
“What’s this about school?” Thurlow asked.
“The boy hasn’t finished high school,” Whelye said. He faced Peter. “Wouldn’t you like to go back and finish high school?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like to go to school?” Whelye asked.
“Yeah.”
“Wouldn’t you like to finish your education and get a job where you could pay your own way and save money and get married?”
“Yeah.”
Whelye glanced triumphantly at Thurlow. “Anybody got any questions?”
Thurlow had slowly been building up in his mind the analogy of a stud poker game. Peter was in the position of a player who didn’t believe anything happening here, nor did he disbelieve anything. He was waiting to see the rest of the cards.
“Isn’t it true, Peter,” Thurlow asked, “that you’d rather be hungry than on a full stomach?”
“Yeah.” The boy had turned his attention to Whelye now.
“Isn’t it true, Peter,” Thurlow asked, “that you’d rather eat a dry crust of bread than have a nice juicy piece of meat on your dinner plate?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all,” Thurlow said.
At Mrs. Norman’s signal, the attendant took Peter once more from the room.
“I think when we get to the next patient,” Thurlow said,
“It’s not a simple decision, Peter. It’s not just the chaplain’s decision.”
Hardwicke opened the psychometry file, made a pretense of studying it. Thurlow sighed, shook his head.
What was that thing I saw? Thurlow wondered. Was it real there beside Murphey’s window? Was it illusion? The question had been plaguing him for two days.
“Well, he said he’d take me,” Peter said.
Whelye stared at Hardwicke, disapproval on his face. “Did you say you’d take him down to Mariposa?”
“If he were discharged,” Hardwicke said. “I said I’d be glad to give him the trip down there.”
Whelye faced Peter, said: “Well, we have to do some more looking into this matter, generally to find out if your mother wants you and if the chaplain’s schedule will allow him to take you down there. If all these things work out, we’ll let you go.”
Peter was sitting very still now, no emotion on his face, his gaze intent upon his hands. “Thank you.”
“That’s all, Peter,” Whelye said. “You can go now.”
Mrs. Norman signaled an attendant waiting at the screened window to the Common Room. The attendant opened the door. Peter got up and hurried out.
Thurlow sat for a moment, the realization growing in him that Peter had taken away what amounted to a promise to be released, but that because of the way he had conducted the conference, Dr. Whelye wasn’t aware of this. Whelye would be thinking that all the “ifs” involved made this a hypothetical case.
“Well, Dr. Whelye,” Thurlow said, “you’ve made a definite commitment to this patient to discharge him—promptly.”
“Oh, no—I didn’t promise I’d discharge him.”
“Well, the patient certainly understood he’d be home in short order—and the only qualifications are Chaplain Hardwicke’s schedule and confirmation of the mother’s letter.”
“Call the patient back and we’ll settle this with him right now.” Whelye said. He looked angry.
Mrs. Norman sighed, went to the Common Room door, signaled an attendant. Peter was brought back and returned to his chair. The boy kept his eyes down, shoulders bent, unmoving.
“You understand, don’t you, Peter,” Whelye asked, “that we haven’t made any definite promise to discharge you? We’re going to look into your home situation and see if everything is all right and if you can get a job. We’d also like to look into the possibility of you returning to school for a year or so. Perhaps you could get a better job. You understand, don’t you, that we aren’t making any definite commitment?”
“Yeah, I understand.” Peter looked at Chaplain Hardwicke who refused to meet the boy’s gaze.
“What’s this about school?” Thurlow asked.
“The boy hasn’t finished high school,” Whelye said. He faced Peter. “Wouldn’t you like to go back and finish high school?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like to go to school?” Whelye asked.
“Yeah.”
“Wouldn’t you like to finish your education and get a job where you could pay your own way and save money and get married?”
“Yeah.”
Whelye glanced triumphantly at Thurlow. “Anybody got any questions?”
Thurlow had slowly been building up in his mind the analogy of a stud poker game. Peter was in the position of a player who didn’t believe anything happening here, nor did he disbelieve anything. He was waiting to see the rest of the cards.
“Isn’t it true, Peter,” Thurlow asked, “that you’d rather be hungry than on a full stomach?”
“Yeah.” The boy had turned his attention to Whelye now.
“Isn’t it true, Peter,” Thurlow asked, “that you’d rather eat a dry crust of bread than have a nice juicy piece of meat on your dinner plate?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all,” Thurlow said.
At Mrs. Norman’s signal, the attendant took Peter once more from the room.
“I think when we get to the next patient,” Thurlow said,
Similar Books
