That evening two psychiatrists came to talk with him. One, his own doctor, young and solemn; the other, the consulting physician, mature, shrewd, Olympian. Martin explained his fears, bringing up the residue of his experiences. During his story he caught fragments of remarks from the older man. Suggestive words such as masochism and sadism set fire to his imagination. When they left him without comment he was more lonely and fearful than before. In desperation he entered deeper into his mind, finding new horror with each analysis. By night the momentum had grown to such an active fear that the nurse did not dare leave the room. Martin followed her with his eyes.
The special night nurse came on duty, fresh, buxom and cheerful. Martin drew new hope out of her vitality. As he watched her straightening his bed he felt resentment at his own weakness. What was he?—to be fussed over and coddled like an old dog. He watched the strong shanks of the girl move steadily around the room. A curious thought entered his mind and he laughed. The nurse turned and looked at him, fearing new hallucinations.
“No,” said Martin, “I’m not hysterical. Come here and sit on the bed.”
“I can’t,” said the girl.
“Well, then,” said Martin, “pull that chair closer and sit here.”
She did as he requested, and Martin reached out for her hand. It was soft and warm. He pressed it tightly, looking into her eyes. The girl’s cheeks flushed but she did not pull away. Martin looked up at the ceiling, each fresh thought bringing anger—the keen, strong happiness of anger. This young animal beside him had given him a new perspective. He turned again to the nurse and held her hand more tightly, stroking it, and explaining his movements with his eyes. He reached out for her waist and smiled to see her pull away. She was afraid. Not he. What did he have to be afraid of? Phobiaphobia? How foolish! This complex, that complex——
“Listen, nurse,” he said. “I’m cured.”
“Yes. You seem to be much better.”
“Better nothing!” cried Martin. “I’m well. There isn’t anything wrong with me. I was drunk.”
The girl stared at him for a moment, then put her hand on his shoulder.