“I spoke to McConnell.”
“Who?”
“The man who runs the church.”
“Oh him,” Tetrazzini looked unimpressed. “Sadly some people do cling to superstition, that’s true. None more so than that opium addict.”
“Opium?”
“Yes. Years back, when I first arrived, he was quite messed up, had been ever since the early days. A traumatic journey here, it is rumoured. I offered to cure him of his addiction, but he turned his back on me. Foolish man. Said he preferred abstinence. Idiot.”
“Did he cure himself?”
“How should I know? We haven’t spoken since.”
Tetrazzini picked up a pile of notes and started flicking through, eager to get the session onto more positive ground. “Would it surprise you to learn I’ve spent all morning thinking about your case?”
The Mariner shrugged.
“Seeing as how you’re in something of a… confrontational mood, we’ll be direct. I want to discuss what happened to you and Rebecca.”
The Mariner stiffened in his chair. They’d been over that. What now? “I told you what happened, just as I’m sure Rebecca told you—”
“Rebecca hasn’t said much of anything since, I don’t think she will speak again for months. If ever. She’s sunk into a traumatised silence.”
“That’s sad, but I don’t see—”
“You haven’t told me everything.”
“I have!”
“No,” Tetrazzini said with menacing patience. “You have not.”
The Mariner sat in silence, wishing the conversation to end, feeling vulnerable under Tetrazzini’s scrutiny.
The doctor spoke again. “You said you woke up whilst the rape was taking place—”
Shut up!
“And intervened as soon as you came to your senses.”
Please don’t say it!
“But that’s not true is it? You woke up sooner.”
He knew. Tetrazzini knew the Mariner’s secret! Did that mean Rebecca had known? Had they all known he’d sat in the dark and watched?
The Mariner could only whisper his response. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” To his surprise, the warmth in Tetrazzini was back. Now that he had broken the lie, he moved swiftly to reassure him. “This stays between us, no-one will know. I’m your doctor, it is my duty to help you as best I can.”
The Mariner nodded, ashamed and wary.
“Your alcoholism isn’t the only addiction you have, is it?”
The Marine shook his head. No.
“Tell me about it.”
When the Mariner finally spoke his words tumbled from his mouth like maggots from an infected wound. “I’ve done terrible things. To women. I’ve hurt them.”
“Sexually?”
“Yes. I only remember doing it once, and even then it’s hazy, but I’m sure I must have done so before. And when I saw it happening to Rebecca, I couldn’t move. I had to witness it. I had to.”
“Because you’re addicted to this destructive behavioural pattern. Do you remember me asking you about your male relationships?”
“You said I was seeking out a father figure.”
“Do you think it curious that any female relationship you have ends in disaster? Could it be this hate you feel for women also stems from this memory of your mother?”
“I don’t hate women.”
“Allowing a rape to take place shows a desire to degrade, a yearning to feel powerful. Perhaps because inside you feel powerless?”
“I didn’t allow it, I stopped it.”
“Only when your guilt got too hard to bear. Or perhaps you acted purely to make yourself feel even more powerful? First you watched the rape, then you stopped it, showing you were the one in control at all times. You, and not your mother.”
The Mariner was dumbfounded. There it was, the answer to why he was so flawed. How could it come down to something so small? “Can I be cured?”
Tetrazzini smiled. “My friend, my life-affirming theory treats all ills. First lets address your long term plans. Once we have dealt with your addictions I think you should stay here in Sighisoara. You have been living alone for far too long, you need human interaction. We evolved from social creatures and without communication the brain degrades.”
The Mariner began to protest, but Tetrazzini carried on regardless. “I know you are a man of the sea and will want to continue on your way as soon as possible, but let me put this to you: get yourself a crew.”
“I have a crew.”
“What? Those man-eating animals of yours? Can’t you see they only serve to drive away any possible friendship you may form? All because of this lingering feeling you have inside that you’re not worthy of a relationship in any form other than bestial.”
The Mariner remembered Absinth and the fate he’d sentenced the man to. Had he killed him out of fear of getting too close? Had his actions really been that selfish?
“Once you’re better we’ll have them put down.”
Despite his reservations about the devils, the words shocked him. “No!”
“They need to be taken care of.”
“Can’t we find that zoo and drop them off there?”
Tetrazzini laughed. “What zoo?”
“Grace said—”
“My daughter is prone to flights of fancy, there’s no zoo. But if you like we’ll try to find someone to look after them, if you’re so inclined.”
The Mariner doubted anyone would be able to tend to the devils without losing their fingers, but kept silent. In fact, getting rid of the devils sounded like a fantastic idea. What use were they anyway? They hated him and he hated them. Perhaps their death would bring some relief.
“With them and your addictions gone, you’ll finally be able to maintain normal healthy relationships. And if, once you’ve achieved those goals, you choose to leave, well that’s fine, but until then you should stay here and embrace this course of action. Do we have a deal?”
Relief made the Mariner’s voice wobble. He’d admitted his sin and instead of being turned out, he was embraced. Nurtured. “We do.”
“Excellent. Now let’s address the tricky process of curing you.” Tetrazzini pulled his chair closer to the Mariner, lowering his voice once in close proximity. “Do you understand the principles of our treatment for your alcoholism?”
“Yes,” he replied and continued at the doctor’s prompting. “Every time I drink, the pill tells my brain not to enjoy it.”
“Something like that,” agreed Tetrazzini. “More like it stops the brain making an association between the act and the feeling of reward; that way we erode the strength of the addiction until it no longer exists.”
The Mariner understood well and approved. It was a gloriously simple process.
Tetrazzini glanced at his hands which he rubbed together, either through enthusiasm or nerves. “Do you think it would work if you didn’t drink alcohol?”
“How so?”
“Let’s say you conjured into your mind the image, the thought, the memory of drinking alcohol whilst you took the pill. Would that work as well?”
“You’re the doctor, you tell me.”
“It’d be nice wouldn’t it? To cure addiction by imagination? But sadly there are limits to my beta-blockers. When you conjure something in your mind you are accessing neural pathways that are already there, not being written. Beta-blockers modify neural connections as they’re made, not after. If the pill is to work, you have to be indulging the addiction, not just evoking it.”
Tetrazzini shifted closer to the Mariner, so much so he could smell coffee on the man’s breath.