The main thing is getting this all in the open so it can be defused. The way he’s treating Dad as just another case, maybe an interesting, original one, but nothing to wet your pants about, is probably right.
Delibro gently puts his hand across Dad’s shoulder. He does it nicely, nothing patronizing. He’s the same height as Dad.
‘We’ve talked about this, and your Dad understands it’s all a dream; he has no confusion in this area at all. It’s an ongoing, long dream he’s made up for himself.’
He takes his hand off Dad’s shoulder and looks at me carefully.
‘I’d like to see your father again, soon as possible. We need to work on putting together what’s real and what’s the dream; what’s possible and what isn’t. The important thing is to find ways he can bring into his daily life the best parts of his dream.’
Dad leans toward me; he’s watching carefully to see how I’m taking it. He’s proud of himself; it shows in his stance, his smile: the artist revealed. Delibro is grinning at both of us.
‘There’s no reason why Mr Tremont shouldn’t put this all together. Over the years he hasn’t been getting enough pleasure from his daily life and he’s isolated his greatest joys into a dream. Since his recovery, all that’s changed. In the past weeks he’s been a happy person; the walls broke down and he’s bringing into this everyday life the joy in living he’s kept separate for so long.’
Delibro asks Dad to stay in the waiting room for a few minutes while he talks to me. Dad smiles and backs himself into a chair. The secretary is smiling and I know he’ll be talking to her soon as we leave. I ask Dad if he’ll be OK.
‘Oh, I’m fine. Maybe the doctor can explain things better to you than he can to me. It’s all so complicated I still don’t quite understand what’s going on. You listen to what he’s saying, then tell me.’
We sit and Delibro interlaces his fingers across his chest. He asks if I have any experience with the analytic approach, if I’ve ever consulted a psychiatrist or done much reading on the subject. I figure now there’s no backing out. He seems so reasonable I’m sure it won’t matter.
‘I’m a sort of fall-away psychologist, Doctor. I haven’t practiced in over twenty years, but I did my Ph.D. in educational psychology. I’ve done some reading in analysis but I’ve never been analyzed.’
‘Then I can speak in relatively straight terms. I think your father is a successful schizophrenic. Do you know the work of R. D. Laing?’
I nod. It’s someone I’ve read, at least his Politics of Experience.
‘Well, I subscribe to his idea of schizophrenia as a potential alternate coping system. It’s rare to find such an overt example as your father. Either people can’t keep it together, thereby becoming nonfunctional, or they keep their delusion intact till death, inviolate, unknown. The trauma of your father’s hospital experience apparently surfaced his whole schema.
‘Your dad’s typical of the people who do this successfully. There are several examples in literature where it’s been converted into a shared event; Jonathan Swift or William Faulkner or, more recently, Tolkien. It takes an extremely intelligent, strong-willed and imaginative person.
‘Your father’s used all his tremendous capacities on his dream, totally independent of his daily life. Apparently he could find no use for them there. He’s constructed, created, a personal existence more to his liking. His is a private, complete and apparently satisfying world.’
He leans back farther in his chair and runs his fingers along the arms. A sneak-up smile begins to creep across his face.
‘Sometimes already, I’ve had a difficult time keeping distance listening to your father. His fantasy is so compact, so texturally rich and at the same time idyllic. He’s like a medieval spellbinder explaining the nature of paradise. And he’s constructed this fantasy like a novel; one that fulfills his deepest desires. Most people participate in others’ fantasies through films, books or TV, but he has his own and it’s totally personal; more than that, it’s built into his life. I’m not sure he can ever let go, or even should, totally.’
I don’t know whether to ask or not. But this guy’s a psychiatrist, this is what he’s paid for.
‘Dr Delibro, I know this sounds off the wall, but what’s the chance Dad’s on some other time continuum or slipped gears somehow and is really experiencing all this?’
Delibro looks at me carefully. I’m already wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. In one sentence I’ve blown whatever credibility I had.
‘I know; it’s hard to believe he’s made it all up. I’ve had the eerie feeling he’s only drawing back a curtain, letting me see something visible to him, something real.’
He stops, stares at his fingertips.
‘But we can’t work on that hypothesis, Mr Tremont. We must work within what we know if we’re going to help. It doesn’t matter much in terms of his immediate problem whether this is a dream construct or some time-warp phenomenon. Let’s not turn your Dad into another Bridey Murphy, OK?’
He looks up at me and smiles. He’s right.
‘As I see it, the first thing we want to discover is what’s wrong with his daily life so he feels the need to build this other world.’
He’s getting to the core of things fast. I try not to show much.
‘At first, I wasn’t sure if this mightn’t be only a short-duration delusion resulting from the trauma of his hospital experience, his coma and his fear of cancer.’
‘Has he ever told you about his abnormal fear of cancer? He actually has images of this disease, feelings verging on the psychotic. My background is Catholic and I recognize some of his projections as evil, the devil. He personalizes cancer as an enemy intent on removing him, devouring all he loves.’
Wow, Dad didn’t hold back much. This Delibro’s good if he got him to talk about cancer.
‘But I’m convinced now his “dream” has been going on a long time, perhaps thirty years or more. It’s become the mainspring of his inner life. And his inner life has been totally isolated from his outer life. That’s dangerous business, Mr Tremont; it’s amazing he’s been able to function at all. It’s no wonder his wife’s illness, the shock of the operation, being removed from a stable environment, the news of his cancer caused him to retreat into his available “other” world.’
I’m beginning to worry about Dad out there alone. I’m still carrying in my mind all those disappearances.
‘Your father’s a charming man. It’s rare finding anyone over seventy with such a boylike quality, an interest and curiosity in things. I see many old people, and a good part of being old is increased rigidity, loss of vitality and a general decline in curiosity and humor. But with your father this isn’t true. What concerns me most is what forced him to develop his fantasy? What could be so wrong in his life?’
‘Doctor, I wish you’d talk to my mother. I think it will help you understand Dad better.’
‘I was going to ask if that could be possible. In listening to your father, I sensed theirs has been a close union and she might be able to give me some insights.’
Should I tell him? Would he rather find out for himself? I should at least warn him.
‘Dr Delibro, my mother’s a very difficult woman. I’m not sure I can get her to come.’
He leans forward in the chair. Sherlock Holmes hearing the dog that didn’t bark.
‘Please tell me anything about her you think I should know.’
What a great way to put it. That must be a straight textbook phrase. It’s so encouraging and yet so ambiguous. What the hell, anything to help.
‘Dr Delibro, Mom’s already had two severe