Theophilus North (40 page)

I felt no prompting to caress the children about me. I do not like to be touched myself, but children must pet and stroke and tease and even buffet any older person who has gained their confidence. When the shower was over there was a great dragging of me to return to the courts and a great dragging of me to stay and tell one more story because “the grass is still wet.” And one child after another claimed to discover that I had “ 'lectric” hands, that my hands gave off sparks. I took a severe attitude toward this. I forbade such remarks. “That's silly! I don't want to hear any more about that.” Then one day things got out of bounds. In the tumultuous rush to the courts, Ada Nicols, aged nine, was flung to one side; striking her head against a post she lost consciousness. I leaned over her, parting her hair where the bruise seemed to be and repeating her name. She opened her eyes, then closed them again. The whole group was staring down at her anxiously. She pulled my hands to her forehead murmuring, “More! More!” She was smiling vacantly. Finally she said happily, “I'm hypmertized,” and then, “I'm a angel.” I picked her up and carried her to Bill Wentworth's office which was frequently called upon to serve as a first-aid station. From that hour I became a far sterner and more matter-of-fact coach. No more Uncle Theophilus's stories. No more mesmerism.

But Ada's story spread.

I have already told the reader in the first chapter of this book that I knew I possessed a certain faculty and that I wished to ignore it. I had often parted furious dogs; I could calm frantic horses. During the War and elsewhere, in bars and taverns, I had only to lay my hands on the shoulders of quarrelsome men and to murmur a few words in order to establish peace. I take no interest in the irrational, in the inexplicable. I am no mystic. Besides, I had already learned that—whether it was a “real” thing or not—it inevitably led me to a certain amount of imposture and quackery. The reader knows that I'm no stranger to imposture, but I want to practice deceptions when I please to, not when they're forced upon me. I want to engage in life in the spirit of play, not in leading others by the nose, not in rendering others ridiculous in my own eyes.

And here this wretched business of my “electric hands” had raised its head at “The Deer Park” in the presence of that rare and suffering girl and that keenly intelligent boy.

HELL! DAMNATION!

For two afternoons we read the
Fables
and analyzed them by the French method called “
l'explication de texte
.” I stayed up half the night doing my “homework” preparation for the sessions. I brought forward all the professional commonplaces: the art with which homely speech is elevated to poetry; the energy imparted by the insertion of short verses among the long (condemned by a number of La Fontaine's most distinguished contemporaries); the irony conveyed by the heroic alexandrines; the redoubled simplicity when the poet closes the fable with its edifying or instructive moral.

At my arrival for the third session I was met by Galloper who told me that his sister was suffering from a migraine that day and could not come downstairs.

“Well, Galloper, shall we have our class just the same?”

“Sir, when Elspeth isn't well . . . I can't keep my mind on books and things. My mother told me to tell you that we'll pay you as usual.”

I looked at him hard. He was indeed in great distress.

“Galloper, would it be any relief to you if you gave me a half hour of your time now to show me your tidal pool?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Elspeth would like me to do that—sir.” He looked back at the house calculatingly. “We have to go down the cliff behind the caretaker's house. Father's at home and he doesn't like me to be interested in the tidal pool. He . . . he wants me to go into the business, I mean his shipping business.”

We took the roundabout way almost stealthily. On the descent I asked him, “Galloper, do you go to a military school?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why do you feel that you must address me as ‘sir'
every
time you speak to me?”

“Father likes me to do it to him. His father was a count in Denmark. He's not a count because he's an American; but he likes it when important people call him ‘Count.' He wants Elspeth and me to be like his father and mother.”

“Oh, so you must be very much a lady and a gentleman?”

“Oh,
yes
, s- s-”

“Do you ever have headaches? . . . No? . . . Forgive me asking so many questions. In a minute you're going to tell me all about this pool. Is your Aunt Benedikta very much a countess too?”

“Oh, no. She lets us do anything we want to do.”

We knelt over the pool. We saw the anemones opening to welcome the incoming tide; we saw the crayfish lurking ominously in their caves. He showed me the marvels of protective coloration—the waterlogged sticks that were not sticks, the pebbles that were not pebbles. He showed me the fury with which tiny fish, when near their eggs, can fight off predators many times larger than themselves. I, too, was revived by the inflowing tide of wonders. My wonder included the small professor. At the half hour's close I asked him to accompany me to the front door. As we rose I said, “Thank you, sir. I haven't been so filled with the excitement of science since I read
The Voyage of the Beagle
.”

“We think that's the best book in the world.”

As we crossed the lawn the deer gathered about us as though they had been waiting. They bumped me and even pushed me from side to side. I stopped and talked to them in French. Galloper stood apart and watched this. When we moved on he said, “They don't do that to me or even to their keeper—not so much. They only do it to you and to Elspeth. . . . They know you have galvanic hands.”

“Galloper! Galloper! You're a scientist. You know there are no such things.”

“Sir, there are a lot of mysteries in nature, aren't there?”

I made no reply. At the door I asked if he felt that his sister was improving. He looked up at me. He was fighting back tears. “They say she has to go to Boston for an operation soon.”

I shook his hand in goodbye, then put my hand on his shoulder. “Yes . . . Yes . . . There are a lot of mysteries in nature. Thank you for reminding me of that.” I leaned down and said, “You're going to see one. Your sister is going to get better.—Put this in your pipe and smoke it, Dr. Skeel: your sister has no trouble with her eyesight; and she can go down those verandah steps without losing her balance.”

At the next session Elspeth seemed much improved. She volunteered to recite a
Fable
she had newly committed to memory. I cast a glance toward her brother to see if he had caught the significance of this achievement. He had.

She said, “Galloper, will you tell Mr. North what we decided yesterday to ask him?”

“My sister and I decided that we don't want to read any more of the
Fables
. . . . Oh, we like them very much; but we don't want them now. . . . We feel that they're not really about animals; they're about human beings and my sister has always had a strong feeling that animals should not be . . . ?”

He looked at her. She said, “—regarded as persons. We went through ten of the most famous
Fables
and underlined the places where La Fontaine seemed to have his eye really on the fox and the pigeon and the crow . . . and we didn't find very many. Oh, we admire him, but you told Galloper to read Fabre. And Mother ordered the books from New York and we think they're almost the best books we ever read.”

There was a silence.

I said, with a gesture faintly implying withdrawal, “Well, you don't need me to read Fabre with you.”

“Mr. North, we haven't been quite honest with you. Galloper persuaded Mother to invite you to read with us. Galloper wanted me to meet you. We wanted you just to come and talk with us. Won't you do that? We can pretend that we're reading La Fontaine.”

I looked at them gravely, still with the attitude of one about to rise from his chair.

She added, bravely, “And he wanted you to put your hands on my head. He told me about Ada Nicols.—Almost all the time I have such pain. Will you put your hands on my forehead?”

Galloper was staring up at me with an even more intense urgency.

“Miss Elspeth, it is unsuitable that I put my hands on your head without permission from your nurse.”

As before she beckoned to Miss Chalmers who came toward her. I arose and descended some steps of the verandah. I heard Miss Chalmers say something about . . . “most unladylike . . . cannot take the responsibility for such unsuitable behavior. . . . You are my patient and I do not wish you to be agitated. . . . Well, if you insist, you must ask your mother. If she asks me I must tell her that I emphatically disapprove. . . . I think these readings have been most harmful to you, Miss Elspeth.”

Miss Chalmers withdrew, bristling with indignation. Galloper arose and entered the house. His absence was prolonged. I assumed that Mrs. Skeel was being told for the first time of the Ada Nicols incident. While we waited I asked Elspeth where she had attended school and if she had enjoyed it. She named one of the best-known girls' finishing schools.

“Every moment you had to remember what you were supposed to do. It was like being in a cage; you were being trained to be a lady. . . . It was like those horses that they teach to waltz. . . . When I'm at Aunt Benedikta's camp in the Adirondacks, I can see real deer in the wild. A deer jumping is one of the most beautiful sights in the world—these deer have never really leaped over anything. There's no room and no reason for their jumping, is there? . . . Mr. North, do you ever have a nightmare about being in prison?”

“Yes, I have. It's the worst dream a man can have.”

“Next year my father wants me to do what they call ‘come out in society.' I think it's not a coming out but a going in. The girls at school talked about the Christmas and Easter vacations—three dances a night and tea-dances . . . and being stared at by a
wall
of young men all the time. Don't you think that's like animals in the zoo? Whenever I think about it my head begins to ache. —And Father wants me to take the name ‘Countess Skeel.' ”

“Haven't you things to think about to drive away those nightmares?”

“I used to have music . . . and the books Galloper and I read together, but . . .” She put her hand to her forehead.

“Miss Elspeth, I'm not going to wait for your mother's permission. Miss Chalmers lives in a very small cage. I'm going to put my hand on your forehead,” and I rose.

At that moment Galloper returned. He went directly to Miss Chalmers with his message; then came to our table.

“Mother says you may place your hands on Elspeth's forehead for a few minutes.”

What to do?

Play the charlatan.

Elspeth shut her eyes and lowered her head.

I arose and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “Please, look toward the sky, Miss Elspeth, and keep your eyes open. Galloper, will you please place your hands on your sister's right forehead.” I placed my hands lightly on her left forehead. I looked down into her open eyes and smiled. I did two things at once: I concentrated on forcing “some kind of energy” into my finger tips and I spoke to her as unemphatically as I could. “Look up at the cloud. . . . Try to feel the earth slowly turning under us. . . .” Her hands rose to my wrists. She could not keep her eyes open. She was smiling. She murmured, “Is this dying? Am I dying?”

“No. You are feeling the earth turning.—Now say anything that comes into your head. . . . Give me your right hand.” I enclosed it between mine. “Say anything that comes into your head.”

“Oh,
mon professeur
. Let us go away, the three of us. I have some money and some jewels that were given to me. Aunt Benedikta has a camp in the Adirondacks. She has asked me to come at any time. We would have to escape without anyone knowing. Galloper says he does not know how to arrange it, but you and he could together. If I am taken to Boston, they will kill me. I am not afraid to die, but I don't want to die in their way. Mr. North, I want to die in your way. Hasn't everyone a right to die in the way they choose?”

I stopped her by increasing the pressure above and below her hand. “You are going to Boston, but the operation is going to be postponed. Gradually your headaches are going to go away. You are going to spend the rest of the summer at your Aunt Benedikta's camp.” Then I spoke in French, “Please say ‘Yes, professor' very slowly. Remember—the clouds and the ocean and the trees are listening.”

Slowly, “
Oui, monsieur le professeur!
” Then more loudly, “
Oui, monsieur le professeur!
”

We remained motionless for a full minute. An overpowering weakness invaded me. I doubted that my legs could carry me to the front door and to my bicycle. I withdrew my hands. I made a gesture to Galloper to stay where he was and I stumbled and swayed through the house. I caught a glimpse of Miss Chalmers on her feet staring at her patient. The butler and some servants were peering through the drawing-room window. Their heads turned toward me as I hurried by. I fell off my bicycle twice. I had difficulty keeping to the right side of the road.

A weekend elapsed. I rang the bell at “The Deer Park” on the following Monday morning at eleven. I was ready to resign, but I wanted to be dismissed. At the door the butler informed me that Mrs. Skeel wished to see me on the verandah. I bowed to her. She put out her hand, saying, “Will you please sit down, Mr. North?” I sat down and kept my eyes on her face.

“Mr. North, when I first telephoned you I was not quite honest with you. I did not tell you the whole truth. My daughter Elspeth is very ill. For several months we have driven her to Boston twice a month for consultations with Dr. Bosco—examinations and X-rays. The doctor fears that she has a tumor of the brain, but there are many aspects of the case that puzzle him. As you will have noticed she has no difficulty in speaking, though it pains her to raise her voice. She has no impairment in her vision or in her sense of balance. She suffers from lapses of memory but they can be attributed to her difficulty in sleeping and to the medication that she is given.” Her hands were grasping the arms of her chair as though she were clinging to a raft. “Dr. Bosco has decided that he must perform a major operation on her brain next week. He wishes that she enter the hospital on Thursday. . . . My daughter feels that this is all unnecessary. She is convinced that you have the power to heal her. . . . Of course, the doctor's assistant could give her an injection and she could be transported to Boston . . . as . . . as she says, ‘like a mummy.' She says that she would fight him ‘like a dragon.' You can imagine how distressing that would be for the whole household.”