Fishing for Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

was, I am being punished for it in this one.
    ‘Oh, by the way, your prostate is fixed as well,’ she sniffs.
    As it turns out Dr Freeman seems a decent sort of a cove, not at all as I’d imagined: in his early fifties I’d say, lean as a whippet, easy manner, no Sigmund Freud, very Australian. We’re seated facing each other in two club chairs, a large glass-topped coffee table between us. To one side, so as not to obscure his seated patient, is a vase of Easter lilies. Several competent watercolours and a large oil painting by Ken Johnson of a wild cliff-top and low cloud hang on the surrounding walls.
    His receptionist enters with a flat white for me, straight black for him, brought up from the coffee shop downstairs. I point to a framed photograph of a helicopter on his desk to my left. It shows him as a young army captain standing under the motionless rotor blades with four medics and the pilot. ‘Vietnam?’ I ask. He nods. ‘What – evacuating wounded from the jungle?’
    With a dismissive flap of the hand, he grins. ‘Yeah, long time ago.’
    ‘That’s scary stuff,’ I remark. He doesn’t reply. ‘I’ve done a fair bit of that myself,’ I volunteer.
    ‘What, flying helicopters?’
    ‘No, no, jungle work. Solomon Islands, Guadalcanal, then New Britain.’ I feel I’m talking too much. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to compete. You know –  my war was harder than your war, so stop whinging, son. Vietnam vets have had enough of that old-fart RSL bullshit.
    ‘Mr Duncan . . . ’ he begins.
    ‘Nick,’ I interject. ‘Call me Nick, doctor.’ I’m a tad more nervous than I thought I’d be. It’s a great many years since I’ve been nervous during an interview. Having money breeds a certain self-confidence.
    He grins. ‘Ah, thank you, Nick. Please call me Tony.’ He looks directly at me. ‘Nick, why have you come to see me?’
    Somehow I’d expected him to know why I am here. Of course, his is an obvious opening question, yet I’m thrown by its directness. I stall for time, take a measured sip of coffee, put the cup down slowly. ‘I’m not sure where to start,’ I say guardedly, my tongue brushing the coffee from my top lip.
    Tony Freeman grins sympathetically. ‘That’s always the hard part.’
    What the hell , I think to myself. Psychiatrists are supposed to be interested in dreams . ‘I’ve started to have bad dreams, Tony.’
    He nods. ‘As we age, a lot of stuff may bob up. These dreams, what are they about?’
    I’m not going to tell him about Anna. ‘The war, fighting the Japs.’
    ‘You said started  – you’ve not had them before?’
    ‘No, only in the past few months.’ I’m still not going to tell him about Anna. I don’t want to be hit with any of the grief shit people like him carry on about.
    ‘Ah, this can be true of older war veterans who have functioned normally, never had problems for most of their adult lives, then during retirement things start to unravel.’ Tony Freeman pauses. ‘Frankly, we’re not sure why.’
    ‘Unravel?’ I repeat. ‘You’ve got the wrong bloke, Tony. I think that’s highly unlikely in my case. Strictly speaking I’m not retired; as chairman of an inter-island shipping company I’m still busy and interested. Until four months ago the war was simply something that happened to me almost half a century ago. I occasionally talk about it over a few beers, but certainly not because I find it stressful. I was young and at the time I guess I regarded it as a rite of passage.’
    ‘You said four months ago that changed?’
    Bastard’s got me! ‘Well . . . yes, Anna died . . . passed away.’
    ‘Anna . . . your wife?’
    ‘Personal partner, but much, much more than that.’
    ‘I see. Then what happened?’
    ‘Well, that’s when I started to dream, have nightmares.’
    ‘Combat nightmares?’
    ‘Yes, you could call them that, other things as well.’
    ‘Such as?’
    I find myself becoming