Zia Rahman - In the Light of What We Know

His words seemed so casual that first time, in his office. On the windowsill behind him were photographs. I made out the deck and rigging of a sailboat in one. There was a very fat edition of Boswell’s Life of Johnson next to it. The room gave no sign of its medical use. But then, what exactly is the sign of a psychiatrist or psychoanalyst? What is the sign of the space between mind and brain?

The brain can be traumatized by stressful events, said Villier. It can be wounded by circumstances. Soldiers are the obvious example. But war is not the only venue for that kind of stress. There are other battlefields. Perhaps you think you must have been vulnerable in some way. And perhaps that’s true, but that doesn’t mean you caused your depression any more than an old man’s arthritis caused a tread on the stairs to break. Certainly the man’s injuries are made worse by arthritis. Had he been younger and fitter, perhaps he could have caught his own fall, but the step broke because it was weakened by termites. The broken tread on the stairs is the cause of his fall.

Penelope was in the room sitting in a chair next to mine. Villier glanced at her, a searching look on his face, confirming what I’d thought I’d seen through the corner of my own eye. Her head had sunk forward and she was staring at the clasped hands on her lap.

She stood up and turned to me.

I ought to leave you alone with the doctor. I’ll wait outside with Emily.

I don’t mind you staying, I said.

In fact, I really didn’t care. The whole thing was already quite bizarre. But Penelope insisted. Later, after hearing everything Villier had to say, I understood that her purpose had been fulfilled by being present when he made the statement: You’re here because of Emily. Penelope was there in the room so that Villier could say that in front of her and so that I would know that what he was to go on to tell me, now with her sitting outside, would be divulged with her assent.

Villier’s demeanor appeared to relax after she left.

I’ve known the Hampton-Wyverns for a long time. I first saw Penelope as a patient, he said.

His voice had dropped, but that might only have been my perception because there was now no one else in the room. His formulation raised questions. I first saw Penelope as a patient. Did he mean to say that he knew her now as a friend? And, in that case, could he be trusted to speak impartially, or as impartially as a client has a right to expect of his lawyer or as a patient has of his doctor?

Let me share something with you, he said. Eighteen years ago, Penelope was in hospital with severe depression. In a terrible state, she won’t mind my saying. By the way, she’s happy for me to discuss this with you.

I nodded, though it wasn’t asked for, perhaps to acknowledge the implication of an ethical constraint that would apply to any questions I might have. Eighteen years ago , he had said. Eighteen is a very specific number; not fifteen, not twenty, but eighteen. Had he consulted his files to refresh his memory? Or had Penelope reminded him? If so, why was she so closely keeping count of the years since then? Eighteen years. Emily would have been eleven, possibly ten, James a year younger.

She had been in hospital for three days, continued Villier, before she finally received a visit from her husband.

The children had always had a live-in nanny, I thought, so her husband wouldn’t have been troubled to find a babysitter.

I was present at the time, continued Villier. I was curious to know more about their relationship, so when I was informed that her husband had appeared, I went to her room. In these kinds of hospitals, patient visits are carefully controlled.

What, I wondered, did he mean by these kinds of hospitals ? Psychiatric hospitals or private hospitals?

Do you know her husband — her ex-husband — Robin?

I’ve met him, I replied.

Yes, of course you have. Robin — how shall I say this? — Robin was very cold toward her. One could not fail to be struck by the lack of physical affection. He did not once touch her. Now, I don’t suppose that this is entirely surprising in the ordinary course of things. I can say this to you because I think you’ll understand, but the English — in the Hampton-Wyverns’ seam of society especially — they can be a somewhat reserved lot. I’m English myself, of course, but I rather think we could learn a thing or two from other cultures about the salutary effects of physical contact.

Villier held my eye as if expecting a look of recognition from me. I gave him it.

Robin brought the two children with him, he continued, and the nanny was also there. Penelope was really very demonstrative with the children. James, as I recall, was quite teary. The nanny brought him in, holding his hand, and then quite sensibly left the room, but that made no difference to Robin. There was no show of affection at all, nothing physical. I was standing outside through all this, off to one side, you see. I daresay it comes across as rather devious, but experience has taught me the tremendous value of a few snapshots with a candid camera, so to speak, eavesdropping, as it were. Nothing illegal, I might add — for your lawyerly sensibility.

Villier flashed me a smile before continuing.

I saw them as a group only two or three times during Penelope’s stay in hospital — I mean her first stay. Later, when she came as an outpatient, we arranged a session or two with the family together, while that was still possible.

For whose benefit was his qualification? I asked myself. I mean her first stay , he had said. It added nothing from my vantage point; if he had paused to think about it, he would have seen that. It was a correction to his own internal monologue. Penelope, it seemed, had been in hospital more than once. Furthermore, from what he said, it was unlikely that during her later stay he met them all together, as a group. Presumably, then, the second stay happened after the divorce. Perhaps, I thought, it was precipitated by the divorce.

What has all this to do with me? you may ask, continued Villier. The reason you are where you are now is that Emily put you in this position.

Do you mean in this room? I asked.

If what Penelope tells me is accurate, you’re not firing on all cylinders, are you? But you know that. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise.

I’ve seen better days, I conceded.

I’ve met Emily on a number of occasions, and I also have the benefit of what Penelope has shared over the years. Emily seems to have much of her father’s character in her.

That may be, I replied, but …

Do please go on. You can speak in confidence.

It’s difficult to believe that another person can be responsible for my depression. I don’t mind admitting I carry plenty of baggage of my own.

I’m interested to hear you say you’re depressed. But first to address the point you make, I myself am rather loathe to use the language of responsibility, which is an ethical matter. I much prefer to think in terms of causation, which is not. You’re a bright fellow. Given your background, you didn’t come as far as you did without wit. Do you follow?

Questions about my background Villier didn’t ask, not one. Penelope has shared a good deal with him, I thought— given your background —but since I really hadn’t said much to her about my background, she must have formed her own ideas. She must have read between the lines of things. Evidently, Emily had also relayed to Penelope things I’d said, things that were said without any expectation of confidentiality, I should add. By then I’d known them for over three years.

If mood is like the weather, I said to Villier, I don’t quite see how another human being could affect my mood any more than she could influence the weather.