Psycho Read Online Free PDF Page A

apologetic note returned. "I guess it's my fault. I'm not too good at taking care of her."
    "You live here all alone, the two of you?"
    "Yes. There's never been anybody else. Never."
    "It must be pretty hard on you."
    "I'm not complaining. Don't misunderstand." He adjusted the rimless spectacles. "My father went away when I was still a baby. Mother took care of me all alone. There was enough money on her side of the family to keep us going, I guess, until I grew up. Then she mortgaged the house, sold the farm, and built this motel. We ran it together, and it was a good thing--until the new highway cut us off.
    "Actually, of course, she started failing long before then. And it was my turn to take care of her. But sometimes it isn't so easy."
    "There are no other relatives?"
    "None."
    "And you've never married?"
    His face reddened and he glanced down at the checkered tablecloth.
    Mary bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask personal questions."
    "That's all right." His voice was faint. "I've never married. Mother was--funny---about those things. I--I've never even sat at a table with a girl like this before."
    "But --"
    "Sounds odd, doesn't it, in this day and age? I know that. But it has to be. I tell myself that she'd be lost without me, now--maybe the real truth is that _I'd_ be even more lost without _her_."
    Mary finished her coffee, fished in her purse for cigarettes, and offered the package to Mr. Bates.
    "No, thank you. I don't smoke."
    "Mind if I do?"
    "Not at all. Go right ahead." He hesitated. "I'd like to offer you a drink but--you see-- Mother doesn't approve of liquor in the house."
    Mary leaned back, inhaling. Suddenly she felt expansive. Funny what a little warmth, a little rest, a little food could do. An hour ago she'd been lonely, wretched, and fearfully unsure of herself. Now everything had changed. Perhaps it was listening to Mr. Bates which had altered her mood this way. _He_ was the lonely, wretched, and fearful one, really. In contrast, she felt seven feet tall. It was this realization which prompted her to speak.
    "You aren't allowed to smoke. You aren't allowed to drink. You aren't allowed to see any girls. Just what _do_ you do, besides run the motel and attend to your mother?"
    Apparently he was unconscious of her tone of voice. "Oh, I've got lots of things to do, really. I read quite a lot. And there are other hobbies." He glanced up at a wall shelf and she followed his gaze. A stuffed squirrel peered down at them.
    "Hunting?"
    "Well, no. Just taxidermy. George Blount gave me that squirrel to stuff. He shot it. Mother doesn't want me to handle firearms."
    "Mr. Bates, you'll pardon me for saying this but how long do you intend to go on this way? You're a grown man. You certainly must realize that you can't be expected to act like a little boy all the rest of your life. I don't mean to be rude, but --"
    "I understand. I'm well aware of the situation. As I told you, I've done a bit of reading. I know what the psychologists say about such things. But I have a duty toward my mother."
    "Wouldn't you perhaps be fuffilling that duty to her, and to yourself as well, if you arranged to put her in an--institution?"
    "_She's not crazy!_"
    The voice wasn't soft and apologetic any longer; it was high and shrill. And the pudgy man was on his feet, his hands sweeping a cup from the table. It shattered on the floor, but Mary didn't look at it; she could only stare into the shattered face.
    "She's not crazy," he repeated. "No matter what you think, or anybody thinks. No matter what the books say, or what those doctors would say out at the asylum. I know all about that. They'd certify her in a hurry and lock her away if they could--all I'd have to do is give them the word. But I wouldn't, because I _know_. Don't you understand that? I _know_, and they don't know. They don't know how she took care of me all those years, when there was nobody else who cared, how she worked for me and suffered because of me, the