Locked away, p.12
Locked Away, page 12
“How was it? She came on time? She behaved herself?”
“We had an excellent session,” I couldn’t say another word.
“Duffino,” his voice dropped again. “I need more than that now.”
What did he need? Why was he calling late like this? Pictures of his face when he spoke of Andromeda’s mother suddenly came to me. He’d looked struck by her, haunted. I felt driven to ask him about their relationship. Had he been involved with her, fantasized about her? Was Andromeda a vicarious object for him who had done what he’d dreamed of? He was an extremely powerful, attractive man. Why was he alone? Did he have problems with women? What was his connection to me?
“I’m in the process of coming to a conclusion,” I said. “I can’t say she killed her mother or did not -that she is capable of it or not.” I did not want to declare anything about her.
“You’re paralyzed by indecision,” he murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
“This is getting crazy,” his voice got rougher. “You’re holding out on me.”
“I’m not. I want to be certain. This is a case of murder. She could do it again.”
“Give me what you have, up to this point..”
His jagged voice brought me to reality. “It is possible she could have committed the murder,” I spoke rapidly. “She lives a life of intense fluctuation, her defenses are poor, her fantasies are filled with violence and destruction. She’s also obsessed with the question of God. It’s complicated, Andrew.”
He listened intently.
“But I believe she is a worthy person, she’s resourceful, intelligent, highly spirited and has the capacity to grow. I know she can grow, I believe I can help her.”
“Of course you can help her, but that’s not our concern now,” he answered succinctly.
“About her relationship with her mother - clearly, this was an intensely ambivalent relationship - she loved and hated her and her mother loved and hated her as well. One doesn’t see such intense hatred, unless the individuals are deeply cathected, unless they also care very much.”
“Yes?”
“Although she hated her, Andromeda was fascinated by her mother, wanted everything she had. The mother refused her at every turn”
“There you go,” he murmured.
“There was tremendous rejection and condemnation. Could this lead to murder? Maybe, but also it could not.”
“Good. Let’s focus on that.”
I couldn’t focus upon any one thing at the moment. Like Andromeda, I was rattling on.
“There’s also a question of sexual abuse by the stepfather. Are you aware of that, Andrew?”
“Of course I’m aware. This adds evidence against the stepfather.”
I could see that Andrew was grabbing at everything he could to free Andromeda.
“Well, if this is true about her and her stepfather,” I continued, “Then her motivation for murder would certainly be there, but perhaps murdering him, not her mother.”
“Let’s stay focussed with the mother,” Andrew said.
“Andromeda’s difficulty with impulse control might also be a contributing factor.” I half realized as I spoke that I was giving him all the reasons I thought she could have done it. I could feel him waiting for other results.
“What causes you do doubt that she could have killed her mother, Duffino? What psychological mechanism would point against it?” He was stalwart in his determination.
“The question in my mind is - was she too dependent upon her mother, too intimately involved with her, too symbiotically fused, to be able to kill her? Killing her mother then would be like killing a part of herself, tantamount to suicide really. Would the loss of the object be far more than Andromeda could bear? She has great object hunger, a tremendous need to be seen and known. Patients like this do not kill - they cling and hold all objects to them. In fact, her object hunger is even beginning to manifest with me.”
“Wonderful, brilliant,” Andrew said quickly. “That’s it! I’ll take it! I’ll use it. Well done.”
“It’s just one hypothesis,” I reiterated.
“I only need one.”
“Some would disagree and say Andromeda finally took revenge.”
He grunted. “Ridiculous. Have you ever seen really vengeful personalities? I have. Is she a vengeful personality, or is she pathetic and disturbed?”
“The two often go together,” I answered succinctly. “The desire for revenge causes disturbed personalities, with symptoms that manifest in many ways.”
“Be on my side, Duffino,” Andrew’s voice dropped once again. “I loved what you said before.”
“I worry that she did it.”
“Your personal conclusions don’t matter,” he spoke quickly, breaking into my reverie.
“But if she’s exonerated, the guilt it arouses, the sudden taste of freedom, could be overwhelming. She might not be able to take it. Suicide and homicide are two sides of the same coin.”
“Listen to me carefully. The final conclusion is up to the jury. It’s your psychological expertise I require, that and no more.”
I felt jittery and slightly nauseated. I felt as though I had stepped into a current that had eddies beneath it.
“But we have an agreement that I call it as I see it,” I said, trying to swim above the tides.
“You see it many ways. All I need is one way and that includes the possibility that she could not have done it. That leads to doubt. That, Duffino, is justice. Not your personal response.”
“Where’s the justice?”
“It’s absolute justice to give her a fair defense, to uncover any possibility that she may be innocent. Guilt must be decided beyond any possibility of a doubt that she committed the crime.”
We both grew very silent and I felt him pulling away. It made me lonely. I wanted him close, involved. I wanted to say more to him but knew it would push him further away. I wanted to tell him that in my opinion Andromeda was sane. As much as I liked her, I felt she was accountable for everything that had happened. I wanted her to stand on both feet in the courtroom and take responsibility for what had become of her life.
“What are you thinking?” Andrew asked after the silence between us had lasted too long.
“We destroy the spirit of a person by declaring them insane,” I said, believing that was going to be his defense. “We remove all hope of recovery, enter into their lie. What evidence are you presenting at her trial? Her lists of hospitalizations, reports of previous therapists? Those reports proved nothing.”
“Duffino,” Andrew interrupted, “I am not using the insanity defense.”
That stopped me.
“I am pleading her not guilty.”
“What? She is going to stand trial?”
“Yes, as anyone absolutely sane.”
My heart dropped for Andromeda. She would never make it. How could he decide to do that? She’d be laughed right out of the courtroom.
“How can you?”
“I can.”
“You want to get her off scott free?”
“I do.”
“There’s no chance you may claim her guilty by reason of insanity?” I repeated.
“No,” he said. “She’s innocent.”
I was taken aback at how emphatic he was. “You’re so sure?”
“It’s up to the prosecution to prove her guilty. All their evidence is circumstantial.”
“And Herman?”
“What about him? That’s hearsay, as well and besides, it’s not admissible.”
“Does the prosecution know about Herman?”
Andrew seemed perturbed. “What difference would it make? It’s inadmissible. They don’t know about him. It’s not your place to tell them either.”
Andrew wouldn’t hear what I was saying. He was too determined to win.
“Don’t take this personally,” his voice grew softer once again, “ I find everything about you wonderful.”
My entire body flushed. I needed to hear that. I wanted to reach out to him, put my head on his shoulder, tell him I was very tired, sometimes too sad.
“Thank you,” I said softly, feeling much better, the plight of Andromeda momentarily fading.
*
As I walked up 86th Street I looked forward to going back to case conference. I craved the companionship of colleagues, the ordinariness of going over cases, discussing dynamics and modes of treatment. I wanted to regain my old perspective, even for a little while. It was a warm night out and it felt good to be walking.
As I walked, a young boy passed me on a bike. He looked very happy. I suddenly yearned to turn around and go bike riding too. Where was I heading now? To a closed apartment, filled with doctors who talked too fervently to each other, stared too long into each other's eyes and demanded a pseudo intimacy that was exhausting. Suddenly it felt as though everything about my life had been lived upside down.
Occasionally Mark picked me up after case conference, and we went home together. But tonight he would not be coming as he had to work late again. I’d grown used to his long work hours and to the fact that we were spending less and less time together. I felt him ebbing away, like the tide, pulled by eddies we had no control over. As I did every night, I tried to put him out of my mind and busy myself with thoughts of work. It didn’t work quite as well this night. It was a warm, spring evening and I was alone. For a flashing moment, I wondered where my husband really was, what had driven him away, and why I couldn’t face it. Andromeda would say that I was too much of a weakling to admit it, too much of a coward to go for real love. The lies I told myself about my marriage rose around me, like tiny mosquitoes buzzing in my ear. I’d tried pushing them away, but they circled around me with their tireless hum. Then I wondered if Andrew, too, was going to spend the evening alone?
Tonight the meeting was at Ingrid’s office, in her apartment in the east fifties, the most expensive and fashionable part of town. Her building was tall and narrow, made entirely of glass and chrome. You entered a marble lobby, were greeted by doormen in full dress, who immediately asked you to sign in. Then they called upstairs to see if you were expected and finally nodded grudgingly, allowing you to pass through.
The elevator, lined with dark smoky glass, flew to the twenty second floor in seconds, like an airplane lifting into the sky. Once there, you got out, turned left, and walked down a long, muted, pale green, carpeted hallway, to Ingrid’s apartment which had been professionally divided into living and working space.
You rang, were buzzed in and entered an all blue waiting room with assorted, chrome backed chairs. It usually took about five minutes for Ingrid came out to greet you. She said she preferred giving visitors a chance to unwind. I’d always thought she enjoyed keeping us waiting, making a spectacle of her entrance. When I’d mentioned that once in a case conference, she said I’d enjoyed projecting the worst upon her, that she reminded me of my mother, who I refused to come to peace with. That was her final conclusion. Glib, I had remarked.
I’d arrived early this evening, sat in Ingrid’s waiting room and wondered when the others would arrive. As I’d expected, Helen came in almost immediately. She sat down beside me, leaned over and whispered, “Things are getting better between us. His fear is decreasing.”
I knew she was talking about Leo, but pretended to wonder what she meant.
“Who?”
“Leo. And he’s presenting tonight.”
I wanted to shake her and yell, Wake Up. He doesn’t love you, he never will. I’m sick of hearing your lousy delusion. You’re a therapist, after all. But she was smiling so contentedly that I couldn’t say anything.
I was glad that Leo was presenting. Of all the therapists, I admired him most. He was both strong and kind to his patients, and there was the least amount of counter-transference in his cases. Leo had a tremendous ability to hold onto himself and not get in the way of his patients’ processes. Most of the members of case conference didn’t ask much about his personal life either. They knew he’d had a string of relationships that didn’t quite last, but felt he’d settle down sooner or later.
“The perennial bachelor,” Ted would quip.
“Lucky guy,” said Barney.
Leo smiled demurely.
Whether or not anyone suspected that Leo was gay, no one ever mentioned it. There was a screen of protection around him, a complicity to go along. As far as I knew, I was the only one who knew about his lover.
“How’s it going with the widower you’re dating?” I asked Helen, trying to change the subject and get her to think of something else.
“Ordinary,” Helen replied, as the doorbell rang and others entered. “Barney, Ted, how are you?” She rushed over to them.
Ralph came in right behind them, his arms full of books. He sat down near Barney and looked him over.
“Feeling good today?”
“So, so” said Barney. “Up all night with pain in my side.
He shifted uneasily from foot to foot as he usually did when he came to Ingrid’s office. Barney was in his early forties, short, slender, and fine looking with delicately featured face. He had dirty, blonde hair, which was slicked back carefully, and in the warm weather always wore a linen sports jacket, over navy slacks and a silk bow-tie. Barney and his wife, Eda, had lost one child at childbirth, and she hadn’t yet conceived again He specialized in infertility and menopausal women and published regularly in journals that dealt with the psychological aspects of reproduction. He had a harder time working with men. Leo and Barney had a fondness for one another, though there was clear tension between Barney and Ralph.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you, Duffino,” Barney walked over to me. “You look wonderful. Different, somehow.”
“It’s good to have you back, Barney. All better?”
He pouted a moment. “Getting there.”
Leo walked in a few seconds later with Isabella, who was dressed in a shocking pink linen suit, with a huge golden pin of a pelican on her shoulder. For a second it struck me that we all looked like a portrait out of a strange family album, at a gathering where we’d been thrown together and forced to smile. Whether we wanted to or not, we were destined to stay together, thrashing out the lives of those who came to us for help.
The waiting room was filling up and in a few moments Ingrid walked out dressed in a paisley sheath dress, looking energized. No matter how hard she worked Ingrid never grew tired. She thrived on crisis, came to life during disasters. The more shocking the case, the more her eyes shone. All through the years Ingrid fed off her patients, growing stronger with each case.
“I’m delighted to have you all here tonight,” Ingrid said in a high voice, reminding me of an airline stewardess instructing passengers to fasten their seat belts. “Didn’t think you’d be back, Duffino.”
“Didn’t think you’d be back? What is she talking about?” Helen whispered to me.
We followed her down a long hallway, into the first room on the right, her office, which was entirely decorated in silver and glass. White leather couches lined the wall, with a black, marble coffee table in front of them. There was a black, leather chair for the therapist to sit on and five photographs of wild horses hung the walls.
“It’s Leo’s turn tonight,” Ingrid chirped. “I’m delighted.”
“Thanks.” Leo was especially low key this evening.
“I’m hoping we’re going to hear about Marvin,” Ted remarked.
Leo’s patient Marvin had won all our hearts. Marvin had been seeing Leo for over three years, since a bitter divorce where his wife took everything and Marvin had been unwilling to fight back.
Leo made little headway and Marvin grew immensely heavy. He came for therapy three times a week, and was quite forthright about his suffering, tapping both feet on the floor as he spoke. Soon Leo reported to us that Marvin had started bringing little gifts to him regularly.
“Analyze it,” Ted had demanded.
At first Leo refused the gifts, but then Marvin simply sobbed for the rest of the session and said nothing. I’d urged Leo to accept the gifts, and when he did, not only did Marvin stop sobbing, but the tapping of his feet subsided as well. The gifts, however, kept increasing, agitating the group of us.
“So, let’s hear about the gifts,” Ted said now as we all sat down. “Are they still coming?”
“They are.”
“Not good.” Ted assumed an authoritative stance. “You are playing into his pattern, allowing him to imagine that he finally has someone to love. He hasn’t.”
“Of course, he has.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The group grew silent. A great danger we all were on the alert to, was that of substituting for a real person in the patient’s life, allowing the fantasy relationship they had with us to take the place of the hard work needed to build a real relationship of their own.
“The patient needs to feel that there is someone he can relate to lovingly,” Leo said.
“If you help him face the hurt he’s feeling, he will not have to resort to a substitute object.” said Ted. “Duffino, what do you think?” Ted always turned to me for my opinion.
“Complicated. Marvin still seems unable to deal with the sense of betrayal he feels. Instead he takes solace in Leo. Perhaps it would be a good idea for Leo to gently wean him away.”
Leo looked at me sadly. “Gently is the key word.”
“Still, the weaning must be done. Otherwise the patient could become crippled.”
“No one brings me gifts.” Ted broke in to break the silence. “Not a thing. Not even my wife of six years.”
Everyone laughed.
“Do I detect some feeling there about being left out, or unappreciated?” Helen said.
“Hell no,” said Ted. “I don’t look for that kind of thing from my patients.”
“You don’t?” Isabella spoke in her thin, silvery voice. “It’s my understanding that most therapists needs to be valued. I’m not ashamed to admit that I do.”
All eyes turned to Isabella.
“I receive value from a job well done,” Ted responded in measured tones. “Not from my patients.”
“Please,” Barney objected. “No one can bear to do this continually without seeing them improve.”
