Read Rebel Without a Cause Online
Authors: Robert M. Lindner
I don’t cry much. When I was eighteen and my father hit me I didn’t cry. Sometimes he would say something to me and I’d go away somewhere. Usually when I’d cry I’d go in a dark room where the light wasn’t strong and everything was soft. That way I would hear something.
When I was about three or four, when we lived on F—— Street, I know my mother used to play the victrola a lot. It was about four feet high. She would play mostly Polish records. Some sounded very nice to me. I think Polish is the first language I understood. I understand it and speak it fairly well now. I guess I know it for one
reason, that I listened to my father. My mother used to make us pray in Polish. I’ve forgotten how to pray.
My sister used to like to listen to the victrola. She used to sit in the cradle when she was about one or two and sometimes I would look at her and she would smile sort of funny. I used to have the same cradle. I guess my mother didn’t want me to be around my sister very much—because—I used to pat her on the head—and—one time I put my finger in her eye.
This type of aggression and its significance is clear to the analytical observer.
L: ‘When did you put your finger in her eye?’
When she was in the cradle. She was about a year and a half old and I was standing by the cradle patting her on the head and the cheek and I guess I must have put my finger in her eye. She started crying and my mother came and told me to keep away from her. She hollered at me because I made my sister cry.
L: ‘When that occurred, Harold, do you remember whether your eyes were open?’
I don’t know. This was when I was three or four and my mother tells me that my eyes were closed when I was about two. But I know that when we lived in P—— the house—the store—the machine. I remember when the sun was shining I put up my arm. I couldn’t see through the sun. Now I can see a little bit but then I couldn’t see anything.
L: ‘Since when can you see through the sun?’
When we lived in P——, when I was about two, I used to stand in the sunlight and I couldn’t see anything, the same as it is occasionally now. I can’t see very far. The snow reflects the sunlight right in my eyes. I can see alright when I look down to watch which way I am going …
Immediately following upon this hour, the patient was placed in a deep hypnotic trance in order to facilitate the recovery of subliminal memorial material. It was evident from the foregoing that, although quite early memories were recovered, the nature of further repressed material forbade their expression under routine conditions. Accordingly, Harold was placed in a deep sleep, and after ascertaining the depth of the hypnosis by the usual techniques, the recovery of early memories continued as follows:
L: ‘I want you to listen very carefully to what I am going to say. We are going back through the years. We are going back first to yesterday. Do you remember yesterday? Where were you at fifteen minutes after two yesterday afternoon?’
In the Hospital …
L: ‘Where in the Hospital?’
In the Psychology Clinic, talking to C——.
L: ‘Now we are going back further. We are going back to when you were in L—— with your cousin, sitting on the lawn, looking up at the stars. Do you remember that?’
Ye—yes.
L: ‘Do you see the stars? Describe them to me.’
They look like—stones—on velvet—glass, glass on velvet cloth. The light—is shining on them. They’re reflecting the light. There are hundreds of them, reflecting the light. They seem to be reflecting the light. They look like glass stones on velvet cloth.
L: ‘Now you are getting smaller, much smaller, younger, much younger. Your hands are smaller, your feet are smaller, your whole body is smaller. You are going back to the time when you were quite young; the time you and Benny went to the movies and Benny dropped his knife. Do you remember that?’
Yes—yes.
L: ‘Now listen carefully. Do you remember the name of the moving picture you saw at that time? Do you remember?’
It was about boats, war-boats, warships. It had an
Our Gang
comedy and there was some vaudeville. The other picture was about wars, about church-steeples falling down and everything being shot-up. The picture was—was
Man’s Enemies.
There also was—it was—the name was
U-Boat 11
or
15
—no
11.
It was the story about a German submarine. They went after the submarine in an old schooner. The submarine captain, he was a German, he went up to see some old friends of his at the front. They were shooting—shooting everything. The U-Boat …
L: ‘How old were you then?’
I was nine—nine.
L: ‘Now I want you to go back to a time earlier than that. You are getting smaller and younger. You must listen carefully to what I tell
you. You are a little child now. We are back to the time when your aunt Louise took you to school with her. Do you remember that?’
Yes—yes.
L: ‘Now listen to me. Remember now when your aunt Louise took you to school with her. How were you dressed? How was she dressed?’
It was in the summer. She had on a light-colored dress.
L: ‘What color?’
I can see her. I can see her. What color? It looks like yellow. No; it’s pink, pink …
L: ‘What were you wearing?’
I have a pair of shorts on—and a shirt—with a white collar on it.
L: ‘How old were you then, exactly?’
Four. I was four years and—and …
L: ‘We are going back to an earlier time now. You are very small now, a very small baby. You are in your mother’s arms now …
‘That’s a nice feeling, isn’t it? Your mother is holding you. Your mother is young. She is holding you. She is standing, holding you, in a very bright room. This is in B——. Do you remember?’
Here the subject evidenced profound pleasure, a beatific smile appearing slowly.
Yes—yes.
L: ‘What room is she standing in?’
The sun is shining. It’s the sun porch—the sun porch.
L: ‘What is your mother saying? Your mother is talking. What is she saying?’
She is saying that I got measles. I got measles—and she doesn’t know what they are,—doesn’t know what they are. She is looking at my face. She is saying, “Poor little baby!” She must be saying she is going to see a doctor—about the sores in my face. I’ve got measles. She doesn’t know what they are.
L: ‘Now, Harold; you are in your mother’s arms. She is holding you. You have the measles. There are spots on your hands. Are your eyes open?’
Yes—no—no. They are blinking. The sun is too strong. I have to blink. The sun is too strong. It’s hot—everything is hot. My clothes on—my blankets make it too hot. The sun is hot—the sun is—shining, and the walls are bright, everything is bright. Bright. I can’t look at it for a long time. I have to blink my eyes.
Here perspiration accumulated on Harold’s face and he lifted his hands to pull his clothing away from his body.
L: ‘Now you are even younger, Harold, smaller. You are very small, just a little baby. You are sitting in your high-chair. You have a spoon in your hand. What are you doing with the spoon?’
I am hitting something with the spoon …
L: ‘What are you hitting?’
I’m hitting—a bowl—with—the cereal I’m eating—in the high-chair. I’m hitting—some—beads—beads, colored beads—on the high-chair.
Here Harold’s hands beat convulsively in the manner of a child pounding with a spoon.
L: ‘Are your eyes open? Look carefully. Are your eyes open or are they blinking?’
The sun is coming in. They are blinking …
L: ‘Are you sure?’
When I look at anything steady. When I look at the ceiling—or the floor. Everything—is—coming up from the—floor. It makes my eyes blink. I can see it. It’s coming up from the floor. It sort of gives me—my eyes hurt. It hurts me. There. It comes up. I hit it with the spoon. It’s still coming up from the floor—but—the windows are in back of me. I am sitting with my back toward the windows—at the table. It has a white table cloth on it—and a lot of dishes and things. Everything is so bright. It is early in the morning. The sun is shining in …
L: ‘Now listen to me, Harold. I am going to ask you a question. Listen carefully. Why did you first start to blink your eyes? What made you blink your eyes the first time? Now you are very small, very small. This is very long ago, when you were in the cradle.’
I am in the cradle, right next to my father’s bed. I see him. I see—I can see—it—way up. My mother—I see my father on top of her. I’m in the cradle—and I see him. I—it is early in the morning—not very dark—not light—and—I’m in—the cradle. My mother’s nightgown is—up—over her hips, and—she—is on her back. My father is on her—and they—Oooo—the … He gets off her—and I—see—his—I see my—mother. The light is coming in. The
Harold was extremely agitated throughout this period. He moaned continually and tossed himself about. His breath came fast and his whispered words came from between dry lips.
shades on the windows are drawn. I can see plain—the covers are off. My mother’s nightgown is over her hips. I can see the—thing—all the way up. My father—is on her. I can see—see—his—penis. I can see—my mother’s—vagina. There is—hair—hair—all over her … I’m lying in the cradle. I cry. My mother—I can see—my father up. She takes her nightgown and—puts—it down—over her knees. My father puts the covers—over his—himself. She starts over to the cradle. She is talking to me, tickling me under the chin. I just woke up. It’s hot. Then I’m playing in my bed—with my hands.… I’m moving them—up and down—like they … My mother is talking to me. She’s—saying—something. I—I—don’t I don’t understand her. I’m crying. I’m putting my fingers—up in my—mouth. In a little while my mother gets up. She gets up—her knees—I see them. She stands up and the nightgown falls—falls down to her ankles. She picks me up from the cradle—and—is—kissing me. She takes me into another room. It’s the kitchen. She lights the stove, the gas stove, and puts the coffee pot on. She puts me in the high-chair. She must be fixing breakfast. She calls my father. I know—my father—father.… Mother is—she’s hollering. Get off—her. Don’t be so rough …
L: ‘Now, Harold, listen. You saw your mother and father having intercourse when you were a little baby. How old were you then?’
I am about a—year—old.
L: ‘And until then your eyes were wide open? That experience was something you wanted to forget?’
O yes—yes.
L: ‘Is that the secret you are hiding? Is that why your eyes are closed?’
I—My mother tells me—it’s from the—measles. I don’t know. Ooooo, I don’t know. The sun—the sun is too—bright.
Here the evidence of intense suffering increased.
L: ‘Was it bright when your mother lifted you from the cradle? What do you hear?’
Here Harold seemed to be straining to hear something.
I can hear you talking and —I—O—I can hear a lot of talking. I can hear
them
talking. My mother is telling him I think—my mother is telling my father—he is hurting—hurting her—get off. O, the sun is so bright!
L: ‘Now listen very carefully, Harold. I am going to ask you to do something. I want you to forget everything that happened since you fell asleep. You can’t remember. Just forget …’
It was obvious when Harold entered the room that he was very upset.
Doctor, I have something on my mind that I’ve got to tell you. You told me when we first started, you told me that I would have to tell you everything, if I wanted to get straightened around. But—I can’t tell you everything. There is something on my mind that I can’t tell anyone who is living, even if he
is
a psychologist.…
When I was about eighteen years old I—I killed a man.
I can’t tell anybody about it. I should have told you a long time ago. I didn’t think it would matter much. Nobody knows about it except myself and—you.
For many and obvious reasons, prolonged consideration had to be given to the question as to whether it was justifiable to include this matter in the manuscript. On the one hand, there were of course ethical and professional scruples arguing for its elimination; on the other hand, it was recognized that scientific integrity categorically demanded its inclusion. The factors which proved decisive as well as important are set forth in the note on
this page
.
I don’t know. I feel—like—uncomfortable—about telling you. It’s a funny place about telling you something like that. I trust you more than anybody else in the world, still—the idea—a man is a man regardless how he is, and I want—to live, live outside these walls someday. I can’t tell you anything about it. I should have told you in the beginning.
Nothing ever happened to me like that and nothing ever will. Nobody else knows I …
You see, I don’t know whether I should have … I have been thinking for about three weeks about explaining—telling you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You see, I have the feeling that if I want to be fixed I’ve got to tell you everything—and somehow—it feels as if we are right on the verge of—fixing my eyes … I don’t know. What do you think?
L: ‘Well, Harold, let us see. You feel that we are on the verge of something and any information you withhold from me would damage what we
have done. And in the second place, you are not quite sure that you can depend on me.’
I trust you more than anyone else in the world, more than any other human being. But you—you have a position, you have a duty to perform.
L: ‘Now we might as well have an understanding about this. I am not going to make any protestations or promises to you. Let it be this way: if you wish to tell me, you can be sure I won’t betray you; if you don’t want to tell me about it, if that is your preference, we’ll just forget about it.’