The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 18 May 1916, Page 3

The Storyteller

FROM THE DOCTOR'S DIARY

Of course, it's simply a case of auto-suggestion: it must be auto-suggestion. And yet • Well, even Freudean psychology can't quite explain everything—that is, everything about everything. And in this remarkable case of auto-suggestion, where can we hit upon the adequate original stimuli The girl is manifestly neither morbid nor neurotic; in all other respects, indeed, she seems sane and normal I 'would be willing to vouch for the soundness of every inch of her she is not the sort of person who goes 1 crazy m spots.' I confess it baffles me. I think I'll put these notes into technical German and send them to old Rothberg, of Berlin. Maybe— I say maybe—he. will be able to solve the problem. It is now nearly two o'clock in the morning. Perhaps that is one reason why this seems so much of a problem to me, for I reach my maximum of mental expression at four. Who knows? The whole thing may be as clear as daylight to-morrow afternoon ! But the thing haunts me, all the same; yes, haunts, for there is something uncanny about it all! I know I can't sleep to-night. And I'm glad my wife and little Nellie are at the Springs, for they'd get on my nerves awfully if they tried to talk. Talk ! Why the thing has saddled me so that I couldn't talk to Ralph, my prince of chauffeurs, all the way home from the sanatorium. I saw the, boy was surprised—and chagrined, too—when I climbed into the tonneau instead of taking my customary place at his side. Oh, confound _ all girls, I say—especially girls with transparent skin and steady blue eyes and hair of fine-spun gold ! . -

Well, I know that the only thing for me to do right now is to sit down here by the window in my bathrobe and feel the cool breeze that blows over the sleeping city and scratch down on this pad just what comes into my mind. The whole thing is an obsession, . and I'm determined to get it out of my system. Clara would say I've been drinking again; but, as usual, Clara would be wrong. Drinking, forsooth, at the Krodin Sanatorium! A mere sip at a cocktail and one small glass of light white wine is all I've had to-night. If I'm drunk, O wife of my heart, not alcohol has done the job, but mystery! Here now, let me get the facts in order. The invitation came to attend the nurses' graduation, and I went as a matter of course. They do the thing handsomely at the Krodin Sanatoriumit was a full-dress affair. I dozed a little, a very little, during the valedictorythe girl who read it might be really pretty if she could only manage to secure a little more reserve of manner. I can't see how they ever let her through, anyway; she's too fussy to be a nurse. Then came a lot more musictwo brawny girls beating an inoffensive piano—encores and all. And after that -■

How well I remember. Even before she had spoken a word, I jerked on my glasses and fumbled with the programme. Helen Carmichael. I've always had a prejudice against the surname, and most of the Helens I've met either didn't live up to the standard of beauty set by the Homeric dame, or else more than surpassed her standard of trouble-making. So I was not biased in favor of Helen Carmichael.

But what a queen she looked! I've never found anything particularly effective in the nurses' costume, but this girl was different. Like all the other graduates, she wore a white uniform with a strip of black velvet around the border of the cap. But the others looked— like graduate nurses ; she looked every inch a princess; the nurse's cap, a crown. . Then she spoke. The programme called it a recitation. It was more than a recitation: it was an artistic masterpiece. What do you think she rendered ? Browning's epilogue to ' The Two Poets of Croisic' ! And it was flawless —absolutely flawless. Not a single point

she missed. We saw the poet sitting by the fire; we heard the wife chatting on, sweetly, winsomely. We heard ;the music of the '• competing bards; we saw the chirping cricket win the prize. And then, for encore —and she earned her —Miss Carmichael- showed her astonishing versatility by giving one of Tom Daly's dialect poems. For the time being she was an Italian peanut vendor, deliciously true to life. Oh, that girl is an artist!

The moment she left the stage, I got up and made for the door. In the hallway Miss Nolan, the mistress of nurses, overtook me, Miss Nolan is all angles and antiseptics-and starch and imperialism. How dare I leave so soon—l simply must stay for supper. I fear Miss Nolan considered me rude.

' I have no intention of leaving,' I said. , ' But I want information. Who is that girl, and what on earth does she want to take up nursing for?' Miss Nolan's black eyes, behind her bulging glasses, pierced my immortal soul. But I didn't wince; I had nothing to wince for. I merely wanted to know. ' Miss Carmichael is a girl we are all very proud of, Dr. Farraday. She is just bubbling over with talent. And she will make a splendid nurse.' * Yes, yes; I know. But why ? That girl is an exceptional girll can see that at a glance. She would be a leader in any profession; her artistic endowment amounts to genius—positively genius. Why the mischief does she waste her time in a sanatorium? She's too good for nursing.

That shocked Miss Nolan, of course. As though anybody could be too good for nursing ! The mistress pulled' mouth into a thin, straight line and glared at me politely; that is Miss Nolan's. way. 1 I am glad, Dr. Farraday, that you are so interested in Miss Carmichael. She is much engrossed in her profession. In fact— I think I may tell you this without any breach of confidenceshe intends to make it her life work.'

' Oh, bosh! That's what they all say. The rank and file of our graduate nurses is made up of a mob of mobile maidens meditating matrimony. They live on twenty-five dollars a week, pretending they like the work, until they get hold of an ailing millionaire in a sentimental mood. But Miss Carmichael strikes me well, as not that kind of a girl.'

' Miss Carmichael is not that kind of a girl. I should have been more explicit. She intends to enter the Sisters of Charity, and in that way make nursing her lifework. And I presume,' Miss Nolan continued acidly, • with that fact in mind, you need have no fear for your millionaire in a sentimental mood.' The irony was lost on me for the time. A Sister of Charity ! What the deuce ! Look here,' I said brusquely, gripping Miss Nolan's arm. ' I want to get this thing right. Do you mean to tell me that that girl, that genuine artist, thatthat hang it, that everything that's wonder—is going to shut herself up in a nunnery ?' ' I should hardly put it in just those words,' replied Miss Nolan, frigidly, ' but you appear to have grasped the essential idea.'

' Why, the girl must be crazy !' ' She is quite sane, I assure you, Dr. Farraday. But some of her friends are convinced that she is injudicious.' ' She's old enough to have more sense,' I declared hotly. She's twenty-two; cast her first vote last year—and, so far as I am aware, did not vote the Prohibition ticket straight.' With that parting shot, Miss Nolan glided away; vnd for something like twenty minutes I paced the cor'»dor and wondered. A Sister of Charity ! * I know something of Sisters' hospitals, in a general way. Last fall the offer came to me to act as resi-

dent surgeon at St. Vincent's, but I declined. My motive? Frankly a latent, unmeaning prejudice against.things and persons and institutions Catholic. I had heard of Sisters of Charity, ofvcourse. I've read poetry, and "I've gripped facts. One of my most matter-of-fact colleagues—that old bear, Grayson, who

Mgmm . •"-'■-'■■.^ perfected the typnoid serum—speaks habitually of them as angels on earth. Maybe they are; I don't know, and 1 don't care. But, any how, what do angels want on earth ? And why in the name of everything worth while should a girl like Miss Carmichael want to be an angel ? Isn't womanhood good enough for any woman ? I became thoroughly and unreasonably indignant over it as I invariably do when I see something going wrong and I am forced to stand by and watch for the crash. And this looked like a crash, all right—the crash of a wrecked life. Worse than a wrecked life—a wrecked career! The girl is simply impossible

Down the corridor from the auditorium "came the long string of guests, their voices high pitched, their faces shining. It was hot in that room. I let most of them sweep by me, nodding now and then to a perspiring colleague trying to look human in a clawhammer, bowing awkwardly to the women I knew—so many !■ —in dinner gowns of startling hues and terrifying shapes. « ' They're going to feed the animals,' Garrity whispered in my ear. ' And we have you down for an after dinner talk.'

' I don't want to talk and I don't want to eat. Butand the idea came to me in a flash' I want to get a seat next to one of the graduates; her name's Carmichael, I think. Manage it, will you ?' I could have bitten the stubby finger that Garrity shook under my nose. 'You hoary old reprobate, Farraday ! Carmichael, eh? Well, you certainly show taste. All right, I'll try to fix it.' And the fool did. Ten minutes later, winking so knowingly that I longed to floor him on the spot, he led me to the head of one of the long tables. We all sat down. On my right were a motley collection of —most of them former patients at the sanatorium who looked as though they needed further treatment; and on my left, all in a prim, immaculate row, sat the graduates. And — thrilled like a schoolboy, as I thrill again at the/ memory of nearest to me was Miss Carmichael.

Ordinarily I'm a death's-head at a banquet. Eating is eating and talking is talking, and I don't believe in mixing the two necessary evils. But to-night I spread myself. I went out of my way to dominate that table. And before we had finished our oysters I had dominated it. The little college professor on my right, after telling some fool joke about a bricklayer and an air-gun, lapsed into academic language; and I had "things to myself. Here was a row of young fowls on my left that had to be impressed; and I was old enough to know how to go about it. The girls laughed and talked back and egged me on; and I more than met them half way.

At the supper—that's what they call it at the Krodin Sanatorium —went gaily on. And all the time, at the back of my mind, I was fussing over the case of that tall, golden-haired girl whose hand I could have touched as it rested daintily on the white cloth or toyed delicately with fork and spoon. Toyed Well, yes; but Miss Carmichael didn't precisely toy with the eatables. Like all nurses I have ever met, she displayed an ample appetite. This candidate for the Sisters of Charity didn't intend to specialise on religious starvation. ; A Sister of Charity ! I didn't believe it, really. Why, the girl was a wonder.. She could keep up her end of the conversation, no matter what topic was broached—and I made it a point of introducing more topics than the average graduate nurse usually hears about. Miss Nolan was right. Miss Carmichael was indeed bubbling over with talent. With" the coffee came the speeches, and that brought about a slight change at our table. The college professor excused himself and left —for which may he be pleased to accept my thanks. . Then the girl sitting next to Miss Carmichael got a telephone call and didn't come back— her little heart. The result was that Miss Carmichael and I were isolated from the other diners, and in the rather lengthy in-

tervals between the formal speeches we had a very satisfactory tete-a-tete. » Well, I didn't lose any time. I leaned heavily on the table—there is a good deal of me—and devoted myself to her directly and unsparingly. I got right down to brass tacks.

'Miss Carmichael,' I said, ' Miss Nolan happened to be speaking of you this evening. She said ever so i many nice things, of course. But she said one thing ' that isn't nice at all.'

The girl's eyebrows went up a trifle, though a smile played about her lips. ' Yes,' I went on, 'it sounded not at all nice to me. Is it true that you intend to become a Catholic nun?' '.

' Yes, doctor, that is true,' said Miss Carmichael quietly. 'ls there anything so very remarkable in that

' There is-something mighty remarkable ! What business have you to throw away your life V Miss Carmichael laughed it was a good, round, musical laugh at that. ' Don't be silly, Dr. Farraday.' ' Don't you be silly, young woman.' I pounded the table vigorously with my middle finger. ' You have no right to shut yourself up in a cloister. You owe the world the best that is in you. It's bad enough'— here I discreetly lowered my voice and glanced apprehensively over my shoulder—' that you should go in for nursing at all; but you can get out of that, I fancy, whenever you want to, simply by crooking your little finger at —well, at anybody standing around who happens to take your eye. So we won't bother about that. But this Sister of Charity business is quite

another matter.'

' That is the first sensible thing you've said for some time, doctor.' Though her eyes danced, her voice grew grave. 'lt is, indeed, quite another matter.' 'Go on, go on!' I snapped. 'Explain what you mean by that.' ' That is what I mean, doctor, since you are so good as to wish to know. You said a few moments ago that I owe the best that I have in me to the world. Now, I dispute that statement. I maintain that I owe the best that is in me to God.'

That came on me like a blow between the eyes. This girl .and I were talking two different languages ! God? She meant the Unknowable. And how can

we argue Look here,' I insisted, tersely. 'I know what's the matter with you. You've fallen in love with' an idea. This thing' ' Spiritual ideas, Dr. Farraday, are not bad things to fall in love with.'

' Spiritual grandmothers! Let me tell you something, young woman, even if you do think that I'm an old fogey who ought to be taken out and Oslerized. I'm a specialist on the insides of the human animal. I've cut up more men, women, and children than you could stack in this room. I've found a lot of strange things in them, from gall stones to live rats, but I've never seen any spiritual ideas.' ' That is doubtless because your eyesight is not sufficiently keen, doctor,' she said softly. . I gasped; I had to. The audacity of it! 'I don't mean to be offensive, Dr. Farraday,' she continued, 'but it is so difficult for you to appreciate my point of view. You argue, do you not, that because I appear to possess, — the promise of worldly success —I should strive in some way or other to make , myself a shining mark in the world?' 1 I nodded. Shining markthat golden hair—\phew! ' If I were to tell you that I decided to take" up nursing because I wish to be of service to humanity, you probably would understand me.' 'l'd understand that you're lying,' I snapped, hotly. ' That humanitarianism is all bunk.' I hoped that would rile her ; but she just beamed. • 'I could just love you for saying that!' she exclaimed. 'So very few of us have the courage to acknowledge it. Why, even during the time I've been

here in the sanatorium I've seen enough of humanitv to sicken me with it all. I'm sure I'd be an out and out pessimist—' -

' Like me—'

' Only for one thing.' A burst of applause brought us both to a realisation of the fact that we had talked right on during the oratorical effort of the senior surgeon —hang him! Miss Carmichael, blushing guiltily, began vigorously to clap her hands. I merely shifted about in the direction of the speaker's table and nodded to Grimwaldand curtly enough. Then I turned once more to the girl: • ' That one thing that keeps you from being a pessimist.' I asked, 'what's that?' Slowly, unflinchingly those blue eyes were raised; I felt them scrutinising my mind. The silence was heavy, exasperating.

' I'm afraid to tell you,' she faltered. ' You'll just grunt, or something, and call it all cant. It's nard tor you to —to see.' ' Look here, young woman, I've had about enougr of this. That's the second time to-night you've spokeif disparagingly of my eyesight. You owe me an explanation. In the ordinary course of events, what you intend to do with your life is no concern of mine. You can become a nun or go and drown yourself or elope with a chorus man for all I care. ' But I'm interested in 'you, professionally. You're a case, and I'll be dingbatted, if I know how' to diagnose you. Come, now, what is that "one thing '

Well"} then she spoke. I can hear the melody of her tones still running in my brain. Her words —well, I can't remember her words; they didn't matter. But there was —something elusivebehind them. I was conscious of many things—a girl down the table patting her back hair, an idiot behind her saying something about the fall elections, a burst of laughter at the speaker's table, a carnation being pulled to pieces by thumbs and forefingers that seemed oddly like my own. But, distinctly and unequivocably, I was pre-eminently conscious of something great, and sweet and soothing coming from the girl to me; of an explanation that made her procedure rational, even necessary; of an impulse to get down on my knees and bow my head as in the presence of a sacred thing. And what was it? Ah, that's what puzzles me now, what puzzled me as I shook hands with Miss Carmichael a few minutes later, what puzzled me as I sat in the tonneau during that long, cold ride along the estuary. Fragments of her speech remain with me, but they are of t'hemselves, absurd and unconvincing. 'The love of souls,' 'God's ways,' 'but imitation of Christ, ' His boundless love '—all that seems trivial to me and utterly meaningless, now; but as that girl leaned over the table and spoke. They say there's no fool like an old fool, and I know it's true; but I pride myself that I'm not the sort of man to be bamboozled by a pretty face. No, no; of one thing I'm certain ; it was not a case of my being hypnotised by what is called feminine charm. It was not that sort of appeal at all. It was a totally new sensation—something thrilling, refining, energising. I seemed to be standing on the brow of a high hill and looking over a valley, a wonderful valley fair to the eye and filled with fragrance and with promise. Bah ! this sounds awfully like rot'. It is not as I have set it down. Let me look at it all calmly, professionally. The girl is an enthusiast, a dreamer, in love with an idea! '. , That explanation somehow doesn't explain, She s not the sort of girl to dream dreams—it isn't her temperament at all. She has no quivering at the corners of the mouth, no shifting of the eyes, no fidgeting hands. Her color is natural, her skin is firm. She is in perfect health. ;. ' ■ ' . . Auto-suggestion Of course. But that s only a name, not an explanation. Here is something that seemingly baffles science. Is there an answer? Kothberg must know. Rothberg knows everything in abnormal psychology. But is this_an_instance

of abnormal psychology ?\ I feel that some . factor,, the all-important factor, I have failed to grasp. There must be something in her peculiar condition'that I did not see. Her woman's intuition told her so when she reflected on my eyesight.

That somethingthat nameless, impalpable, elusive something—l experienced as she spoke those forgotten words and looked through me with that unforgettable gaze —will Rothberg grasp that?— Extension.