Peter Carey - Bliss

'It has my name on it,' Harry said. He wasn't meaning to argue. He was simply trying to clarify. He did not wish to argue.

Mrs Dalton sighed. She held her temples again, in the same delicate way, between thumb and middle finger. Harry kept a respectful silence.

'I will not argue, Mr Joy,' she said at last. 'You see, this is a perfect example. How could you possibly know that there are two Mr Joys in this room? You see how silly that makes you look? You thought you knew it all, and now you find you don't. You find there are other factors . Even,' she said, 'if you were healthy you could not know. So,' she said with some attempt at friendliness, 'be a love and get back into your own bed.'

He did not want to argue. He knew it was not politic, but the fact remained:

'But I am Harry Joy.'

'No, you're Mr Joy.'

'Mr Harry Joy.'

'You are not Mr Harry Joy. Kindly do not tell me my own business.'

'I should know my own name.'

She smiled and allowed herself two good seconds before she answered.

'If you knew your own name, Mr Joy, you probably would not be here. I am here because I do know my own name. Not only my own name, but also the names of all my patients. You see, Mr Joy, this is my speciality . It is my business.'

'I am not Harry Joy?'

'No. You are Mr Joy. Now why don't you get out of Mr Harry Joy's bed before he comes back You don't want to start off in his bad books too:

Harry climbed out of the bed which was bigger and more comfortable than the one the horrible Mrs Dalton wished him to sleep in. When he had done that she tucked in the other bed and smoothed it obsessively. Then she came and sat on his bed.

'I'm sorry to growl,' she smiled.

For one horrifying moment he thought she was going to take his hand.

'That's O.K.'

'It's confusing, I know: two Mr Joys in the one room.'

'My name is Harry too.'

'Well you'll have to give it up for a little while,' she said. 'Let him have it for a while. Do you have a second name?'

'Stanthorpe.'

'Alright, Stanthorpe. It's a very aristocratic name.'

Stanthorpe!

'You can be Stanthorpe.'

'I don't want to be Stanthorpe.'

'Then you'll damn well have to be plain Mr Joy,' she said, standing up irritably. 'I can't spend all day arguing. Good afternoon, Mr Joy.'

He wished to be polite but he had forgotten her name already.

'Goodnight,' he said vaguely. The only name that came to mind was Pencil.

When he woke up he was hungry, and later, looking back on all the indignities and irritations in this part of Hell, he was to remember the hunger as the predominant thing, the mel-ancholy gurglings of his empty stomach.

It was night and there was someone else in the room. He heard the sound of a page turning and a loud hearty chuckle.

'Oh dear,' said a familiar voice, 'oh dearie dearie-me.'

He propped himself up on his elbow and saw the person who had been designated as Mr Harry Joy.

'Jesus. Alex.'

Alex was lying on his bed and reading. He did not stop reading just because he had been spoken to. In fact he con-tinued to read for a good thirty seconds before he dropped his book down on to his lap, and then his face showed none of the pleasure his jovial 'dearie me's' might have suggested. His high white forehead was creased up like a piece of rejected writing paper and the beginnings of a moustache accentuated the down-turned line of his mouth.

'Christ, Alex. What a fuck-up. I'm sorry.'

'I thought they told you.'

'No, no. I just found out. I mean, I just found out you were here. Alex, I'm sorry.'

'I thought they told you,' Alex said slowly, 'that my name is Harry Joy.'

There was a long silence and Harry Joy stopped smiling.

'Oh come on, Alex, don't be silly.'

'I am not being silly . If you think I'm being silly , talk to Mrs Dalton.'

'I don't blame you for being mad, Alex. I shouldn't have left you in the Hilton. You're quite right for being angry with me.'

Alex shut his eyes and rubbed his big hand across them. Harry was reminded of Mrs Dalton.

'This is a wonderful place if you are reasonable about it. So don't go around the place saying you're Harry Joy because you'll only get yourself into trouble.'

Harry's stomach gurgled. 'I'm Harry Joy,' he said. His name was his name. His name was more than his name. In short, it was him. It could not be stolen from him.

'You're new here. You don't understand yet.'

'Understand what?'

'You have a primitive attitude towards your name.'

'I don't know what you're talking about. Talk in plain English.'

Alex hesitated, hearing the voice of Alex's employer talking to him, a voice that could no longer be used against him.

'It's a therapy,' he said at last, 'to find the right name. But first you have to give up your old name. You see, when I came here I was really stuck on being Alex. I didn't want to give it up. No damn way was I going to give it up,' he smiled, remembering. 'I didn't want to be Harry Joy. No way was I going to be Harry Joy but, finally, I just stopped fighting. And it worked, you see, the damn thing worked. I'd always hated being Alex.'

'That's not therapy. That's a fuck-up. They called you Harry Joy because they got you by mistake. You're not meant to be here. They meant to get me. They thought you were me.'

Alex smiled and shook his big head. 'Sorry,' he said, 'save your imagination for someone else.'

'It's true.'

'You can’t be destructive with me any more. I'm free of you.'

'You're insane.'

'You can't run my life and pull the strings any more. They've put you in here as a final test, that's obvious. It doesn't fool me. Well, I'm ready for you. You see: you can't affect me.'

'Did they actually tell you it was the final test?'

'Well there'd be no point in telling me would there. No, of course they wouldn't tell me. I don't have to be told .'

'Alex... '

'Please call me Harry.'

'Alright then, Harry. Harry you don't have to be in this hospital. It's not you they wanted. Go home.'

'You want me to go, don't you,' Alex smiled cunningly. 'You don't like having to share a room with Harry Joy,' he laughed. 'Oh, what irony, what irony.'

'Everyone knows you're not Harry Joy,' said Harry, who, in spite of his growing conviction that Alex had been put there to torture him, was rattled.

'Who?'

'Everyone at the office. Your wife. My wife. My children. Aldo... '

'Don't see any of them here.'

'Of course not.'

'All the people here know I'm Harry Joy.' He picked up his book to signal the end of the conversation but after a moment or two he put it down again. 'You know,' he said, gazing at the ceiling, 'I'm not at all surprised to see you end up here. I knew you were crazy. All that bullshit about firing clients and Captives and Actors. You've been crazy for years. You've made everybody else crazy.'

'I've been trying to be Good.'

'How naive,' Alex said. 'The most dangerous thing in the world: an untrained mind deciding to seek salvation. The most astonishing thing about you is that you kept your ignorance as long as you did. It's probably a record.'

'All that business about Hell... '

'We're all in Hell, you silly ding-bat,' said Alex, playing his idea of Harry Joy. 'It's a question of making yourself com-fortable. I mean, if you want to be tortured, you've come to the right place. But look... it's nice here. We can stay here for ever if we want to. They need the money they get in subsidies from the government. They need us, Harry.' He stopped petulantly. 'Fuck it.'

'What?'

'I called you Harry.'

'I didn't hear you.'

'I don't care what you heard. I heard. I called you Harry.'