The Centre of the Green Read Online Free PDF Page A

depression.”
    “What’s your job?”
    “Journalist.”
    “Sounds interesting.”
    “I work for a trade paper. It’s mostly advertisements and reports of conferences. The University Appointments ’ Board put me on to it after the Foreign Office had turned me down. Does that answer your question?”
    “I’m sorry. You live on your own?”
    “Yes.”
    “Parents far away? I hope you don’t mind my asking all these questions.”
    “That’s your job, isn’t it? My parents live in Devonshire on the edge of Dartmoor. My father’s retired. He was in the Army. I have two brothers. One works in an advertising agency. I don’t see him often because I don’t like his wife. The other’s in a bank in Bombay.”
    “How did you get hold of the pills?”
    “Hay fever.”
    “Of course. Have you got any more? You won’t need them. It’s late in the season.”
    “I took them all.”
    “Good. Of course there’s always the gas. We can’t have that cut off. And we can’t take away your braces and razor blades or blunt the edges of your kitchen knives. We can’t isolate you from high buildings or buses or railway trains or the river Thames. You’re quite free to make a better job of it next time if you want to.
Do
you want to?”
    “What do you expect me to answer?”
    “You could tell the truth, if you know what it is in this case. Even if you say ‘Yes’ we shall have to discharge you, now you’re well again.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What about going home to Devon for a bit? Think things over. Would that be a good idea? We’ll give you a bit of paper to show to your boss.”
    “You won’t tell them?”
    “No, of course not. A minor breakdown. You need a week in the country to get over it. You should even get paid while you’re away. It’s only actors and builders’ labourers nowadays who don’t get paid when they’re sick.”
    “I
could
go home,” Charles said.
    “If you get on well with your father and mother. Some don’t.”
    “About as well as most people do, I suppose.”
    “Well, we haven’t got time to go into that now.” The doctor sighed. He was so brown in his white coat, so middle-aged and secure, smelling so pleasantly of antiseptics and tobacco, that suddenly Charles felt the urge to be rude to him. “I suppose this is all part of the routine,” he said, “even the sigh.”
    “More or less,” the doctor said equably, “after all you are a patient, you know.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “No need to be. I’m glad to see you taking an interest.” The doctor stood up. “Of course, if while you’re home you should decide to talk things over with your parents— or just with one of them—father?—mother?— whichever ’s easiest, you might find that would help you to work things out a bit. But I’ll leave it to you. After all, you know them much better than I do.”
    Charles smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t think…. Well, it’d be a bit much for my father. He’s getting on and all that.”
    “Perhaps you’d rather talk to one of us about it when you get back. Ring me up, and we’ll make an appointment . All right? Better still—we’ll make one now.” He produced a white card from the pocket of his doctor’s coat, scribbled on it, and put it on top of Charles’ locker. Then off he went, purposefully down the ward, followed by Sister who had materialized suddenly when he rose to go.
    Charles watched him go. Then, since there didn’t seem to be much else to do, he listened to Music While You Work for half an hour, and then to another half hour of some Reg or Stan or Steve on the cinema organ, and then to a record programme of requests by people in the armed services, and then, just as the News came on, so did lunch, which was poached white fish, boiled potatoes, and cabbage rather over-steamed in a pressure cooker.“Can I buy a postcard?” Charles said to the nurse who brought it, and she replied, “Well, really! You’ll be discharged this