[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
really been dreaming about: analysis is one thing, but shame is quite another.
The doctor, all in grey as usual, eyes glittering like splinters of ancient
ice, looks at me expectantly. 'Well,'
I say apologetically, 'there were three dreams, or one dream in three parts.'
Dr Joyce nods, makes a note. 'Mm-hmm. Carry on.'
'The first is very short. I'm in a huge, palatial house, looking across a dark
corridor to a black wall.
Everything is monochrome. A man appears from one side; he walks slowly and
heavily. He is bald, and his cheeks seem puffed out. I can't hear any sound.
He walks from left to right, but as he walks past where
I'm looking, I see that the wall on the far side of him is actually a huge
mirror, and his image is repeated and repeated in it, by another mirror which
must be somewhere to one side of me. So I see all these thick, heavy-looking
men, in a great row, marching more precisely in step than any line of soldiers
...' I look up at the doctor's eyes. Deep breath.
'The ridiculous thing is, the reflection nearest the man, the first one,
doesn't mimic his actions; for a second, just for a moment, it turns and looks
at him - it doesn't break step, only the head and the arms move - and it puts
both its hands to its head, spread out like this - ' (I show the doctor) 'and
waggles them and then immediately jerks back into position. The reflected line
of fat men walk out of view. The real man, the original one, doesn't notice
what has happened. And ... well, that's all.'
The doctor purses his lips and clasps his pink stubby fingers together.
'Did you also identify with the man in the sea at any point? As well as being
the man in the robes who was
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html (57 of 201)
[5/21/03 1:50:43 AM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html watching
from the shore, was there at any time a sensation of being the other one? Who,
after all, was the more real? The man on the shore seems to have disappeared
at some point; the man with the chain-lash stopped seeing him. Well; don't
answer that now. Think about it, and the fact that the man you were had no
shadow. Carry on, please; what is the next dream?'
I sit and stare at Dr Joyce. My mouth hangs open.
What did he just say? Did I hear that? What did say? My God, this is worse
than last night.
I
I am dreaming and you are something from within myself
.
'Wh-I - I'm sorry? Wh- what? What - how did you ...?'
Dr Joyce looks puzzled. 'I beg your pardon?'
'What you just said ..." I say, my tongue stumbling over the words.
Page 44
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
'I'm sorry,' Dr Joyce says, and takes off his spectacles. 'I don't know what
you mean Mr Orr. All I said was, "Carry on please."'.
God, am I still asleep? No, no, definitely not, no point trying to pretend
this is a dream. Press on, keep going. Maybe it's just a temporary lapse; I
still feel odd, fevered; that's all it is, that's all it can be. Fog on the
brain. Don't let it disturb you; maintain; the show must go on.
'Yes I - I beg your pardon; I'm not concentrating very well today. Didn't
sleep well last night; probably why I didn't dream.' I smile bravely.
'Of course,' the good doctor says, putting his spectacles back on his nose.
'Do you feel well enough to continue?'
'Oh yes.'
'Good.' The doctor actually smiles, if a little artificially, like a man
trying on a loud tie he knows doesn't really suit him. 'Please continue when
your ready.'
I have no choice. I have already told him there were three dreams.
'In the next dream, in monochrome again, I'm watching a couple in a garden,
perhaps a maze. They're on a bench, kissing. There's a hedge behind them, and
a statue of... well, a statue, a figure on a pedestal, nearby. The woman is
young, attractive, the man T- who is wearing some sort of formal suit - is
older; he looks distinguished. They are embracing quite passionately.' I have
avoided the doctor's eyes; it takes a considerable act of will to bring my
head up and face him again. 'And then a servant appears; a butler or footman.
He says something like, "Ambassador, the telephone," as the old distinguished
man and the file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html
(58 of 201) [5/21/03 1:50:43 AM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks,%20Iain%20-%20The%20Bridge.html young woman
look round. The young woman gets up from the bench, smooths down her dress and
says something like "Damn. Duty calls. Sorry, darling," and follows the
servant away. The old man, frustrated, goes over to the statue, gazes at one
of the figure's marble feet, then pulls out a large hammer and brings it
smashing down on the big toe.'
Dr Joyce nods, makes some notes, and says, 'I would be interested in what you
think the dialect signifies.
But carry on.' He looks up.
I swallow. There is a strange, high whine in my ears.
'The last dream, or the last part of the single dream, takes place during the
day, on some cliffs above a river inside a beautiful valley. A young boy
sitting eating a piece of bread with some other children, and a beautiful
young teacher ... they're all having lunch, I think, and there's a cave behind
... no, there isn't a cave ... anyway, the young boy is holding his sandwich,
and I'm looking at it too, from very close up, and a big splash suddenly
appears on it, then another, and the boy looks up, puzzled, at the cliff
above; and there's a hand hanging over the edge of the cliff top, and it's
holding a bottle of tomato sauce, which is dripping onto the boy's bread.
That's all.'
What now?
'Mm-hmm,' the doctor says. 'Was this a wet-dream?'
I stare at him. It is asked reasonably enough, and of course what is said here
is completely confidential. I
clear my throat. 'No, it was not.'
'I see,' the doctor says, and spends some time making half a page of
microscopically neat notes. My hands are shaking, I am sweating.
'Well.' the doctor says, 'I feel we've come to a ... fulcrum in this case,
don't you?'
A fulcrum? what does the good doctor mean?
'I don't know what you're talking about,' I say.
'We have to go on to another stage of the treatment,' Dr Joyce tells me. I
don't like the sound of this.
Page 45
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The doctor issues a precisely weighted professional sigh. 'While I think we
might have a ... well, quite a good deal of material here,' he looks back
through several pages of notes, 'I don't feel we're getting any closer to the
core of the problem. We're circling around it, that's all. You see,' he looks
up at the ceiling, 'if we regard the human mind as - say - like a castle -'
Oh-oh, my doctor believes in metaphors.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]