Before I was eleven I didn’t like to read books or do anything like that. When I belonged to the Boy Scouts I used to read a few books on sports, then I got interested and switched from sports to detective stories and crime stories and things like that. I used to think of myself as a brave criminal, a smart man, hard with everybody.
I was never interested in stealing anything before I was twelve years old; O, I guess I stole a few pennies. When my mother sent me out to get something I told her that the price was higher than it was, so I’d buy a few candies or something.
I don’t remember if I got into any fights at H—— Street school. I was a pretty quiet kid; I didn’t bother anybody. I didn’t think I knew very much. I used to sit in the back of the class, away from the teacher and everything that was going on.
I can’t seem to remember very much. Everything seems as if I’ve told you already.…
L: ‘You see, Harold, the only reason it seems to you that you have told me all of this, is that you have developed guilt feelings about not having told me.’
A feeling of guilt?
L: ‘Yes. You feel just a little bit sorry that you did tell me as much as you did as well. Now let me put you at ease by considering with you my own position, the position you placed me in by telling me what you did. You can see, if you think a little, that your telling me is a potential source of danger to me—not only to you, but to me. Now that I am possessed of this information, if it ever got out you would naturally think I did it. No don’t interrupt me! You must realize that it constitutes a potential source of danger to me. We both understand those things. Now the reason you feel that there is something standing in the way of your telling me things, that you have told me all this before, is merely a manifestation of that resistance. You are sure you see that?’
Yes; I am.
L: ‘Well, what do you think of it?’
I should have never said anything …
L: ‘Why not?’
I don’t know. I know there’s nothing you can do about it. There is no way the courts could convict me or anything.
L: ‘There is no way that anybody could harm you?’
No; even if you did say anything I could still deny it. I am not afraid of you or anyone else saying anything, but it’s …
L: ‘What are you afraid of?’
I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s just somebody else knowing this, that’s what it is I guess.
L: ‘You think somebody else knowing it might worry you?’
No: I don’t think so …
L: ‘Well, then, what special feature bothers you?’
I don’t know. I—I even had the feeling that—if I said anything to anybody else … I firmly believed that I would never say anything to anybody about it. I don’t mind you knowing it; knowing it you might be able to form a—more definite conclusion about me. And even knowing it, you can’t do anything about it.
L: ‘Let’s put it this way: perhaps you are sorry you told, perhaps you regret telling me, because it might make some difference in my attitude toward you?’
Yes. That’s it!
L: ‘Now let’s look at it closely. What is the relationship between us?’
Psychologist and patient …
L: ‘And what else?’
Well, I guess a slight friendship.
L: ‘Is there anything more than that?’
Well, more than just a slight friendship …
L: ‘Yes. You see, Harold; there is and there has to be complete trust between us; my trust in you, which helps me to do my job, and your trust in me. And, you see, there can’t be any question about a change in my attitude first because, as you have rightly said, there is no danger to you in what I now know. It can’t be proved. It happened many years ago. Right?’
Yes; that’s right.
L: ‘And secondly; even if I did say anything about it, there would be a tremendous difficulty about producing even a shred of evidence.’
Yes.
L: ‘And thirdly there can’t be any change in attitude on my part because, to me, what you have told me is the same thing, in the same category, as what you told me about putting your finger in your sister’s eye. Do you see that?’
I understand what you mean, Doc …
L: I want you to understand the basic mechanism of this thing. There is one process with which you are already familiar; resistance. I have explained that to you. Now there is another process which is not quite as familiar to you; the process we call transference. That is the name for the “more than friendship” relation which we have. It means that because of mutual respect and confidence, we can depend upon each other, we feel warmly about each other. Now when one of us resents the other, mistrusts him, or dislikes him, that state is called negative transference. We must try to preserve the positive type of transference, because with this type of accord our work here becomes easier. Since you told me about that incident, you have been in a state of negative transference, resentful, suspicious, mistrustful. I am trying to make you understand what happened to you. Now if you understand, you may go on.’
I made a lot of mistakes in my life but the greatest mistake I ever made, I feel now, was reading the wrong material, the wrong books, things that have no value. O, I can catch up on those years: I have to catch up. All I was thinking about was getting drunk and laying around; all I wanted to do was drink. When I had no money I’d go out and steal some. In the beginning when I’d steal I’d feel nervous, but after a while I’d cool down and everything began to seem natural. Even when I pulled my first hold-up I almost shot the person, I was so nervous. I had an old gun, and somehow it went off, right through the windshield. I was so afraid I didn’t know what to do, drop the gun and run away or what. Finally I managed to stay. They didn’t have any money. After that everything was more natural. I held up a few insurance salesmen. I felt right at home with it: it seemed right in its place.
I never want to pick up a gun or any other weapon again. I never want to look at any.
Somebody shot at me one time. I don’t know whether the bullet went over a house or where it went. I know I lost my wrist-watch that time and it had my fingerprints on it, but I was never accused of that crime.
I had several guns in my time. They weren’t really good guns, they were cheap. I had a lot of brass knuckles, blackjacks and so on. My mother found a blackjack one time that belonged to me.
My mother would search for things all over the house. It finally got so I had to put my gun in back of a bureau and fasten it to the wall with adhesive tape. She never looked back there. Whenever I had money she accused me of stealing it. I’d tell her I won it in a crap game or a card game. She didn’t believe me.
Everything seemed unimportant to me. Everything seemed to vary, seemed to cover up for something else. I’d stay out of the house so I didn’t have to listen to my father. I guess he didn’t like me very much. I used to get drunk and he’d see me drunk once in a while. It made him mad so I would stay away two or three weeks. That way it would agitate him more.
When I was broke it was hard for me to ask my mother for money. So I’d steal it, in any way, just to get it. People used to say, ‘Gold is where you find it,’ even if you find it in other peoples’ pockets, so I’d steal the gold. I pulled quite a few hold-ups and burglaries; that’s the only thing I ever did, I mean in that way, of course. I tried my best to curb my desire to get money. Only a small amount should be sufficient for anybody. I just want to fish, and write. That’s all the things I want to do. I don’t want any money, I mean accumulate money in a bank, in stocks or bonds.
I don’t know: when I look back everything seems all kind of funny. I can’t really believe it. I know its going to be the exact opposite from what it has been in the past. It was really bad but I can’t change it now. Just let it go by and forget about everything, pass everything up. I don’t want to bother much with making money when I get out. I don’t want to tie myself down in one place. I didn’t like it when I was
a kid and I don’t like it now that I am a man. I always liked boats. I used to have a lot of fun when I stayed out at L——, just sailing around the bay. There are a lot of islands with cabins on them and I slept in a different one every night. There were no fish to speak of but there were a lot of crabs and we went crabbing a lot too. I didn’t wear many clothes, just a pair of shorts through the day. When I look back … I should have stayed like that.
When I was about eighteen or nineteen I used to like to leave home when it was raining and walk around, stay out about four or five hours and then go home and go to bed. I didn’t like to say anything to anybody. The next morning my suit would be all wrinkled up and I’d have to press my pants. I used to press my pants almost every day, just to have something to do I guess. I’d go over to the park to see if there were any girls I knew, see if I could have a little fun. I dressed up as best I could. My clothes were always neat. They weren’t good clothes, but they were always neat and very clean …
THE THIRTY-FIFTH HOUR
I notice my eyes are open a little more than they used to be. Sometimes the sun is too bright and then I can’t see very far.
Before I can remember they used to remain open all the time, and when they were open in the sunlight I couldn’t see anything: I had to close them. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of me. Now I can see a good deal more clearly, even when they are open in the sunlight. I can’t see very clearly yet, but in the future I’ll be able to see more distinctly.
One time I ran right into a pole. I didn’t see it. The sun was shining right in my eyes, everything was so hot, shiny; the street was reflecting the sunlight right into my eyes. I was running across the street and I hit my head right into the pole. I learned a lesson then: that I shouldn’t run, walk slowly, watch all around me and see that no cars are coming. I really hurt my head then. I was about ten and I was coming back from my grandmother’s house.
I know the sun was always too bright for me and I never liked to go out in it. When there was some place to walk besides in the sunlight I would walk there. I prefer the night to the day.
I think my vision is improving since I began to come to you. I don’t know if there was anything wrong with my eyes in the first place, but I can say that my vision is really improving.
When I was younger everybody used to feel sorry for me because my eyes were that way. My aunts, my grandmother, everybody. My grandmother never said anything about it, neither did my aunt Louise, but my aunt Vanya did. When I was younger everybody used to pet me too. My aunt Louise, I think she liked me most. When we lived on B—— Street she would bring toys home for me, and when I was at her house she always had some cake. I used to eat a lot of cake when I was out. My grandmother always treated me fine too.
I don’t think we lived in P—— very long. I was still small when we moved. My father had a brother or a cousin or some sort of relative there, and I guess that’s one reason we went there. He was in the business of reconditioning tires. This was about twenty years ago. I don’t know what happened. He didn’t like me in the shop where he was working because I used to get in his way. The sun was shining through the big windows and I’d walk in the sunlight and I couldn’t see anything. When I was in the sunlight I’d cover my eyes and then bang into something or other and he’d get angry with me. At that age my sister was very young and my mother was still nursing her, nursing her at the breast. My sister had the measles when we were living at F—— Street. I can remember that because the doctor—he was a tall, thin doctor and he wore a dark suit—he said that I wouldn’t get them because I’d had them once. My sister was only about three or four months old when we lived in P——. She was born when we lived in B——. We lived in a two-story house with another family. They had two children, the girl about four and the boy around two, a little older than me. They had a little wagon or something and they were aways arguing about it. I was about two when my sister was born and I don’t remember much about it. I know we had a big—a big sunporch, and the sun used to shine. There was linoleum on the floor, of a real light color, and the sun would reflect off that. When I’d sit in my highchair the sun seemed to come up right in my eyes. The windows on the side had shades on them and sometimes my mother would draw the shades.
We didn’t have a car then, but I know my father must have had a good job because he would need a pretty good income to afford the home like we had. Something must have happened; he must have lost his job. This was in nineteen-twenty or twenty-one.
L: ‘Harold, where did you sleep?’
I don’t know. I—I—only remember the—highchair—the highchair. There were—big windows and when I had the measles I used to sit out on the porch to have my meals there. I know we had a large pantry off the kitchen right next to the porch. O, I don’t know: I can’t seem to remember.
L: ‘Do you remember where you slept?’
I guess I had a cradle. I slept in a cradle with squared wooden bars on it. On one side of it was my mother’s bed, on the other side was a big bureau. There were wheels on the cradle, and sometimes my mother would push it over to open a drawer in the bureau when she wanted something. A big mirror. We had a gas stove. It was real light in color; it looked like yellow, real light. We had a kitchen and a bedroom where my mother and my father and I slept, and dining room. There was a big funny-like chandelier, with glass on it. It used to shine when the lights were on, and tinkle when the wind blew through the rooms. And in the parlor we had funny furniture, old, very old-fashioned. The dining room—there were I guess eight chairs in the dining room, and a big table in the center of the room. The chandelier hung right above the table. In my mother’s bedroom there was the bed and the cradle was between the bed and the bureau, and there were two other bureaus in the room and a closet.
L: ‘On whose side of the bed was the cradle placed?’
On my mother’s side. O … I used to sleep on my mother’s right. My father on the left. Sometimes I would sleep in the bed; they would have me in when I couldn’t sleep or something was bothering me. Sometimes when I would cry or something my mother would—reach—out through the bars and—pat me and quiet me. And often, in the morning, when my father would leave for work, I would be sleeping and—she—would take me out of the cradle and put me in the—bed—with her. There were two big windows in the room, both with curtains and shades. Every morning, around mid-morning, the sun would come in and shine on the linoleum on the floor. The linoleum was real shiny. Sometimes when the shades were drawn it seemed as if the sun still was coming in, but most of the time they were up. O, we lived on the second story—because—when you looked out the window—there—wasn’t anything for a long way, and then there was another house.…
L: ‘Do you remember anything that happened when you were in the cradle next to the bed?’
I know—my father used to holler at my mother when I cried—when I couldn’t sleep or something. It makes me feel as if I—can still hear—it makes me—feel as though he—was—always hollering at me—when he—something—when he was saying something to my mother about me crying. I can’t remember much about it. The beads on the highchair always seem to come up. I spent a lot of time in that highchair.
L: ‘Do you remember anything that happened, early in the morning, when you were in the cradle?… It was a little dark, the sun was just coming up, and you were in the cradle?’
It seems to me that I was old enough to—stand up—in the cradle and—hold on—to the sides. When I looked—in the mirror—on the floor—the sun seemed to shine from the windows and everything seemed to be coming—right—into my eyes. They always got up about the same time, and every time they’d get up the room filled with sunlight. The sun seemed to be glancing off the walls, the floor, everything.…
There was one time, I guess I woke up around the regular hour. Every time I woke up I’d look at my mother’s bed—to—see—if they—if she—was in bed. I’d never see my father in bed with her because he already went to work. Either my
mother was in the kitchen or in bed, and as soon as I woke up I’d look over there to see her. I guess I just got into the habit to just wake up and look right over there.
The recall of this episode was accompanied by much overt expression of pain and suffering.
I—I—remember my father … I know—at night—sometimes he would—holler at my mother—I guess to quiet me when I was crying and—he wanted to—sleep.
I saw him in bed—one morning—I woke up—and—I saw something. I saw my—mother and father—in bed. I guess I must have been looking at them for about a minute there. My mother—looked—naked—to me; my father had his—underwear—or something—on him. I saw—I saw—them—having—having intercourse. It was a Sunday morning, I guess, because he never used to be in bed in the morning—and—one morning—he was there. Then—they were having—intercourse—and my mother was—I remember—my mother saw my—saw me looking at them. She was saying something to my father—and then—she—turned around. I guess my father was—on top—of her, and he—I don’t know—I … When my mother saw me looking at them she—must have—told my father—and my father looked at me. I got scared—but—when he picked himself up—I—I saw—his genitals—and—I saw my—Oooo … But I know—my mother—she pulled the nightgown down over her knees and she got up and started talking to me. She went in the kitchen—and sat me in the high-chair and started to make breakfast for my father. I was sitting in the highchair playing with the beads. My mother was talking to me. I don’t know what she was saying. She was fixing the table. Then she called my father and he came out and got dressed and sat down at the table. I don’t know … I—he—started talking to me I guess. I don’t know what he said. I don’t know. I don’t know. Everything seems blurred to me.…
L: ‘Try to go back to that scene and reconstruct it as fully as you can.’
I know I used to wake up every morning and the sun was shining in the room, and I never used to see my father in bed. I usually could see my mother. Every day when I got up I’d look at my mother’s bed to see if she was up. If she was in—bed—I’d make—a noise so she’d hear me and talk to me. One time I woke up—and—I looked—at the bed. I saw my mother. I could see all the ways up to her hips. She was naked. I could see—my father—on top of her—my—father—on top. They were—having intercourse. I—they—were saying something, I didn’t understand what. I looked at it for a little while. It seemed like a year. Then I guess my mother looked over at me. She pushed my father and—and I guess she said I was up. He—picked himself up. When he did I—saw—his—genitals—and my mother’s. My father’s genitals were—big, so big. I don’t know. I don’t know. I—I was frightened. He just looked at me. I was scared of him when I saw his genitals. My mother … I was scared of something. My mother jumped out of bed. My father put his back towards us. My mother pulled down her nightgown. She came and picked me up and took me to the other room. My father pulled the covers over him. I—I—it—seemed queer to me. The sun was shining—shining into the room.
Rebel Without a Cause Page 26
