“I wasn’t hungry.”
“But we can’t have that. You’ll get weak, and then I won’t be able to get you well completely. Now get up and get your clothes on and I’ll order an eggnog for you. Come on, that’s a good fellow!”
Unwilling, but still less willing at that moment to enter into any conflict of wills, he got out of bed and slipped on his bathrobe. “That’s better,” Hayward approved. “Have a cigarette?”
“No, thank you.”
The doctor shook his head in a puzzled fashion. “Darned if I can figure you out. Loss of interest in physical pleasures does not fit your type of case.”
“What is my type of case?” he inquired in flat tones.
“Tut! Tut!” Hayward tried to appear roguish. “If medicos told their professional secrets, they might have to work for a living.”
“What is my type of case?”
“Well-the label doesn’t matter, does it? Suppose you tell me. I really know nothing about your case as yet. Don’t you think it is about time you talked?”
“I’ll play chess with you.”
“All right, all right.” Hayward made a gesture of impatient concession. “We’ve played chess every day for a week. If you will talk, I’ll play chess.”
What could it matter? If he was right, they already understood perfectly that he had discovered their plot; there was nothing to be gained by concealing the obvious. Let them try to argue him out of it. Let the tail go with the hide! To hell with it!
He got out the chessmen and commenced setting them up. “What do you know of my case so far?”
“Very little. Physical examination, negative. Past history, negative. High intelligence, as shown by your record in school and your success in your profession. Occasional fits of moodiness, but nothing exceptional. The only positive information was the incident that caused you to come here for treatment.”
“To be brought here, you mean. Why should it cause comment?”
“Well, good gracious, man-if you barricade yourself in your room and insist that your wife is plotting against you, don’t you expect people to notice?”
“But she was plotting against me-and so are you. White, or black?”
“Black-it’s your turn to attack. Why do you think we are plotting against you?”
“It’s an involved story, and goes way back into my early childhood. There was an immediate incident, however-” He opened by advancing the white king’s knight to KB3. Hayward’s eyebrows raised.
“You make a piano attack?”
“Why not? You know that it is not safe for me to risk a gambit with you.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders and answered the opening. “Suppose we start with your early childhood. It may shed more light than more recent incidents. Did you feel that you were being persecuted as a child?”
“No!” He half rose from his chair. “When I was a child I was sure of myself. I knew then, I tell you; I knew! Life was worth while, and I knew it. I was at peace with myself and my surroundings. Life was good and I assumed that the creatures around me were like myself.”
“And weren’t they?”
“Not at all! Particularly the children. I didn’t know what viciousness was until I was turned loose with other children. The little devils! And I was expected to be like them and play with them.”
The doctor nodded. “I know. The herd compulsion. Children can be pretty savage at times.”
“You’ve missed the point. This wasn’t any healthy roughness; these creatures were different-not like myself at all. They looked like me, but they were not like me. If I tried to say anything to one of them about anything that mattered to me, all I could get was a stare and a scornful laugh. Then they would find some way to punish me for having said it.”
Hayward nodded. “I see what you mean. How about grown-ups?”
“That is somewhat different. Adults don’t matter to children at first-or, rather they did not matter to me. They were too big, and they did not bother me, and they were busy with things that did not enter into my considerations. It was only when I noticed that my presence affected them that I began to wonder about them.”