“That it was part of what was wrong with you before?”
“Yes. And in a way it was. They made me the way was, until I learned discipline and concentration. Discipline and concentration bring control, you know.”
“I know.”
“Oh, God, Petey, I’m so relieved. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I thought — I can’t even say it.”
“That I was in on it.”
She nodded furiously. “Yes, yes, yes. I couldn’t make myself believe that, though. I knew it was what they wanted me to believe and I knew you loved me. But I thought they might have found a way to turn you against me. They’re very clever. I thought they might have duped you.”
“They almost did.”
“We have so much to talk about now. Christ, I haven’t been able to relax in ages.” Her face clouded for a moment. “I still can’t relax, can I? That’s what they wait for. But at least there’s one person on earth I can trust. Oh, we have so much to tell each other.”
“You know more than I do. And I’ll want to hear all of it. But it had better wait. I think Robin’s waking up.”
“You don’t mean—”
“No. God, no. She’s part of their scheme, though. In fact I think it’s aimed at her almost more than at either of us.”
“The thoughts they’ve made me have about her—”
“But we can control our thoughts now, can’t we?” She nodded, beaming, and he felt like a pupil who had come up with the right answer. He took hold of her and kissed her again, and she clung to him with a fierce grip.
He said, “We’d better not talk right now. For Robin’s sake.”
“You’re right. Are you hungry, Petey?”
If he could have had an appetite, the Dexedrine had banished it. “I’m starving,” he said, and read her face just in time. He glanced toward the window, cupped a hand to his ear, put his forefinger to his lips. Then he put his arm around her waist and led her into the bathroom, closed the door, turned on the sink taps and the shower.
He whispered, “I have no appetite but I didn’t want to say it.”
“I should have thought of that. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to think of everything.”
“Well, at least there are two of us working on it now.”
“You’ll be able to eat. It’s a matter of will.”
“I know.”
“That’s the most important thing.”
“The will?”
“Eating. That’s how they get to you. They starved me to death. It’s taking forever for me to get weight back. But there’s a trick. If you concentrate, you don’t even taste the food. It goes right down and you don’t have to taste it.”
“It’s the taste that’s so awful.”
“I know. But you’ll get past that in no time, Petey, Trust me.”
“I do.”
He washed his face and brushed his teeth before turning off the sink and shower. They left the bathroom together. Robin was standing by the side of her bed rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Breakfast time!” Gretchen sang out gaily. “Hungry, Robin baby?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So’s Mommy. Mommy could eat a horse,” she said, winking at Peter.
Robin said, “Eat a horse!” and burst into giggles.
For breakfast, Peter and Gretchen between them ate nine eggs, five pancakes with syrup, a half pound of bacon, and three English muffins with butter and jam. They drank several cups of coffee with cream and sugar.
David Loewenstein took as much time cleaning his pipe as it had taken him to smoke it. He separated the bowl and stem, knocked the dottle into an ashtray, twisted pipe cleaners into various shapes and employed them in various stages of the operation. Warren watched, fascinated. It was a shame, in a way, that Loewenstein’s most obvious idiosyncrasy was one any fourth-rate actor would have invented on his own; all psychiatrists smoked pipes and they all made a ritual of it.
Loewenstein was a tall man, a little taller and a little leaner than Warren. His dark-brown beard was bushy, his hair neatly combed but shaggy in the back. Pipe ashes had burned several holes in his shirt and tie.
When he was done with the pipe he said, “I have to tell you I don’t like a single bit of this.”
“I know what you have to tell me, David.”
“A figure of speech. I am serious, Warren. I disapprove.”
“It’s not your approval I require, David.”
“Merely my cooperation.”
“I rather prefer acquiescence.”
“And I in turn could prefer a phrase like accessory before the fact. Cooperation seemed a neutral meeting place. You require my cooperation. I don’t see how I can give it.”
“Will it work, David?”
The psychiatrist made a tent of his fingertips. “Yes, of course it will work,” he said at length. “Your objective is so easily attained. It is criminally easy.” He smiled without humor. “What you are planning to do, that too is criminal.”
“It was criminal for us to make love, David.”
“You must know that there is a limit to what you can draw from that particular account.”
“I wasn’t doing that. I was merely putting the concept of criminality into some perspective.”
“And perhaps telling me at the same time that I am not a stickler for the law?”
“You’ve always been too clever for me, David.”
“Oh? And for so many years I’ve thought it was the other way around. Let it go. I grant that laws do not demand devotion. Laws are one thing. Ethics another.”
Warren rolled his eyes.
“I am not scoring debating points, my good friend. I take ethics seriously.”
“I’m not asking you to violate them.”
“But that is precisely what—”
“Merely to bend them.”
“I am afraid they are not that flexible.”
“Oh?” He noted that he’d unconsciously given the word the same inflection Loewenstein used. “Bend them and they snap?”
“I am afraid so.”
“David, there is no place for ethics in relations between friends. Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true. Ethics exist to codify behavior between persons who are otherwise not obligated to one another. And I am not asking you to violate the Hippocratic oath. I am merely — what is it?”
“I was remembering the language of the oath. Let me think a moment. You know, I believe you are correct.”
“I know I am. I read the oath last night after I spoke with you.”
He went on, making points, countering objections, taking more time than he wanted to take. The psychiatric liked to take arguments apart with the same thoroughness with which he cleaned his pipes.
Finally Warren broke in. “David, let’s shorten this. There’s only one question that applies. Is there another way of doing what has to be done?”
“Speaking as a psychiatrist—”
“No. Speak as yourself.”
“I am a psychiatrist. It’s difficult not to speak as one.”
“It’s easier if you don’t attach that preface to your speech.”
“Hell. Shit. I could commit her.”
“With no firsthand knowledge of the case?”
“Yes. It is improper but I would go that far with you. It would not stand up. But it would not have to stand up. Once she’s in there long enough for them to look at her—”
“Your colleagues are not universally competent. I’m only repeating what you’ve said to me. And simply committing her leaves too many loose ends. We have been over them, David. You are stalling.”
Loewenstein picked up his pipe, took it apart, put it back together again.
Warren said, “It’s a lovely briar, David.”
“Mmmm. Hell.” He put the-pipe down and glared at it, then heaved a sigh. “Go over it again,” he said. “Not the situation. Just what you expect of me.” And after Warren had finished he said, “Not my car.”