Rebel Without a Cause

by Robert M. Lindner

  L: ‘Do you remember if, when he hit when you were a small child, the phonograph was playing?’

  I don’t know. One time I had—I don’t know what you would call it—I was imagining something like a big wheel. I’ve tried to place it. I’d refer it to—the thing—the round disc or wheel they have in a clutch in an automobile, only this was real big. It was kind of greasy, oily. When it would turn it would screech and scratch, kind of rumble. One time I had a feeling like that …

  L: ‘Do you remember …? Your father had a machine …’

  He had a kind of a machine, a sewing machine. He used to cut wood. It had big round wheels, discs, on it. He used to cut the wood for things he wanted to make. It was a real big machine. Sometimes he used a real big blade, three or four feet across. He used to attach it to the truck to run it. That’s it! Now I know … The singing … The truck …

  L: ‘Now I want to make sure, Harold, that you understand all these things we have been talking about.’

  I understand alright …

  And the funny part of it is that it’s true. I can remember back—instances, places, just vaguely. But every time you asked whether it was true or not I could remember everything. It’s all true. I didn’t kill my father because I knew he was better than I was, because I knew that he could care for my mother and my sisters better than I could. I disliked him enough so that I had to kill him though; there was enough behind it so that I had to kill him. I hated my father enough so I killed the other fellow in his place. That did the job. He reminded me of my father …

  THE FORTIETH HOUR

  I have been thinking hard since yesterday and I find that what you have been telling me is true …

  L: ‘I want you to think carefully. Can you remember anything about a light that seemed to come from your father’s eyes when you were sitting at the table that morning?’

  I—I don’t remember—seeing any lights. But now when I picture my father his eyes are shining; they look like lights …

  L: ‘Let’s re-trace the scene. Early in the morning you wake up. You are lying in the crib. You look over at your mother’s bed. You see your father and your mother; your mother’s night gown is drawn up over her hips, your father is in his underwear. He is lying on top of your mother. Your mother looks over at the crib. She sees you watching. She pushes your father away. You look at her. Her eyes are soft and pitiful. And then you look at your father. His eyes are shining brightly; they are hard. As your mother pushes your father away, you see his penis; it is big, fat; it looks like an animal, brutal and vicious. A little while later your mother comes over to the crib; you see her get out of the bed, and you note her nightgown as it falls down over her legs. She takes you in her arms, holds you close. She takes you into the next room and she starts getting breakfast. She places you in your highchair and sits you close to the table. Now you are at the table, your mother close to you on one side, your father on the other side. Now you go ahead!’

  My father hands me something to eat. It looks like bread or cake. I don’t want to take it. Then my mother starts feeding me, giving me a drink of milk or something but … I was sitting closer to my mother than to my father. She is sitting right alongside of me. She is about two feet away; my father, at the other side of the table, is about six feet away. I don’t know … All of a sudden I see his face change. It changes: it is getting thinner, the nose is bigger, the ears are sticking out, the hair …, the eyes get shiny. All of a sudden the light pierces out, sort of jumps out at me, long rays. And, I don’t know … I—it seemed as if—the way my father kept looking at me—his eyes … They don’t look like eyes, just like lights, the heads of flashlights, rays of lights coming out of them, coming out at me. He looks at my mother. My mother’s eyes have holes in them. The lights—the lights are right on her. They shined right in her eyes, one in each eye. The rays go from one end of the table to the other. I see the lights in my mother’s eyes. Then my father looked at me. The light was hurting me. Then I was—I remember I was trying to dodge it. It’s funny: everything is black. I couldn’t see my father. I couldn’t see my father. I couldn’t see anything. I can look down and see the—the flat board you fit over a baby on a high chair, and the beads. I can see the beads on the high chair. The two lights are piercing right through the darkness, just like two powerful lights shining there. There—they seem to be coming from where my father is sitting. I could see them when it wasn’t dark, when I could see everything. They are right on me all the time. If I moved my head a little ways one would catch me in the left eye. I tried to duck away, but everywhere I turn there is one on me, one piercing, piercing at me. It was all I could see. From one end of the table to the other was the light rays shining on … But it was dark. I don’t know if it came from my father. When it was not dark I could see the lights going right in my mother’s eyes, and they stayed in there. They seemed to be going in there from my father right to my mother’s eyes—and stay—inside of her—somewhere. When he would look at me both the lights couldn’t get at my eyes at the same time. One on each eye.… One would shine. I would close my eyes to it but I’d feel it through my eyelids like a strong and powerful light shining right through my eyelashes. I would duck as much as I could. But I couldn’t dodge; every place I moved one ray would hit me. I tried to get in a lot of different positions, close my eyes, move my head, but I couldn’t do it. It came from where my father was sitting before I saw his face change. Then his face became all cut up. I couldn’t see him because everything was—black—dark. I couldn’t even see the doorway that led to the other room. It was like a dark room with two flashlights almost held together, shining at something …

  L: ‘Why should your father’s face be ‘cut up’?’

  I—I can’t seem—to …

  L: ‘Did it remind you of someone? something?’

  It—it—it looked like the—picture—of—a devil, or a dog—a dog … His face was thin; the ears were sticking up and out; his hair stuck up, his eyes were shiny—like—bulbs. The light came out of them, piercing the darkness …

  At this point, Harold was placed in a deep hypnotic sleep. Routine tests for depth were conducted as usual.

  L: ‘Now we are going back to the morning you were telling me about. Do you recall what you were telling me about?’

  Yes. About the darkness—and the—lights …

  L: ‘We are going back, going back. You are getting smaller, smaller. You are a little baby. Now you are in your highchair. The board is over you, the beads are in front of you. How many beads are there?’

  There is a bunch of them, twenty or thirty of them. They aren’t very big, as big as marbles. There is a wire running through them. There are several rows of them. They’re a lot of different colors. Each row is one color … I hear—a noise—in my right ear. It is coming from where my mother is. She is cooking something. I can hear the gas burning. It smells like—like coffee percolating. My mother is rattling pots and pans. She is stirring something—oatmeal. She is hitting a pot with a spoon, hitting it real hard to get the oatmeal off it. I can hear the water faucet running. My father is saying something to my mother. She is walking over with a cup of something. There is steam coming from the cup. Coffee? My father puts milk in it from a bottle. It looks so—black. My mother walks over: she has a cup too. She sits down and—and puts milk in her cup from the milk bottle; then sugar; then she stirs it. My father gives me something; it’s a piece of bread with butter on it. The butter looks greasy and I don’t want it. Then my mother gives me something to eat. She pours some—some coffee only lighter—in a saucer and puts it on my board. I have my spoon in my left hand. I can’t eat it. My father looks at me. My mother talks to me: I don’t know what she is saying; her voice seems far away, far away. Now my father and my mother are talking. It seems far away. I’m looking at my father’s face. It starts changing. It gets cut up, like dried up—sunken in. His ears seem to stick way out. Then the lights … They’re small, dim lights at first. They get bigge
r and bigger and bigger. His face is changing. His hair is sticking up. It looks real thin. He looks at my mother. I am afraid of him …

  L: ‘Why are you afraid of him?’

  I don’t know … His face, his eyes … I am so afraid he might hit me with—with that penis, with his big—hands. They look real vicious. They could pull me apart. He looks so cruel, so mean. His cheeks are cut up: his ears are flopped over now: his chin is—is—O—pointed …

  L: ‘On which side of your father are you sitting?’

  I am sitting on my mother’s right, almost directly in front of my father. My mother is sitting in front of my father. My mother and I are on one side: my father is on the other side. We are facing him. I am sitting right next to my mother so she can feed me. He looks at my mother. I can see everything getting black, from the corner of the room behind my father to myself. It starts coming in like a cloud. I can’t see anything except the beads. The lights are shining in my eyes …

  L: ‘Whom does your father look like?’

  I—he looks like—I don’t know—he looks like an animal—or—a devil, a dog.

  L: ‘Does he look like anyone you know? anyone you saw as a baby?’

  No …

  L: ‘Do you remember ever seeing him like that before this time?’

  No …

  L: ‘Do you recall anything that happened before that morning—way back?’

  Before that morning? I see—faces going past me. They don’t look like my father’s face. All these faces look kind and gentle: they look like they were all smiling. They don’t want to hurt me. Only one time—I see my mother—pushing the carriage. My father is on the left side. He is looking at me.

  L: ‘Is this before or after that morning?’

  It is before … Because I … Oooo, I remember—remember my mother—feeding me with—her—breasts—through—her—breasts … Oooo—I—I—can’t see much but when I—sometimes … Now I see my aunt Louise. She is saying something. I’m in bed, going to sleep. I can’t hear it. It seems somebody is standing next to her. A man. I can see right through him. He looks like a—shadow. I can see—he looks like … Right through I can see him. He walks around. My aunt goes out of the room with him. When he walks I can see right through him. I’m lying in a bed. It is before that morning. There is a man standing there. It looks like a man. I can’t make out the features of his face. I can look right through him. I can’t see through my aunt. She is small; only about twelve or thirteen. She went out first, then he went out. She closed the door. I don’t know what he is, an outline, a shape. I fell asleep. I had a dream, I think. Somebody was singing, a person—standing there—talking to me—singing—real soft. I can see the mirrors in the room, and the table … The table—something—on it. A basket with things in it. And I can see right through him and see the table. I don’t know who he is. I can’t see his face. I can’t see anything except the outline of his face, his hands, his body. After he goes out with my aunt I fall asleep. I see him standing there, saying something. I can see right through him. Then he isn’t there. I think I am falling asleep, falling asleep. Then I heard somebody rush in, somebody rush, rush in. Somebody opened the door, opened the door. It was a woman. I don’t know who it was. It was a woman. She had a big bunch of hair, bobbed hair. She is rushing at me. Her face is funny. She comes running to pick me up. She comes so fast at me, so fast. Her cheeks are sunken in; her face is all … She looks like my Aunt Louise. She is reaching at me fast. Her face looks funny; her nose is big, thin, sticking out. The man—I can still look through him. I’m afraid of my aunt. When my aunt comes running I’m crying. My aunt is rushing in the room. I’m in my—mother’s—bed. When my aunt comes rushing in she … I remember I was crying. He seems to be saying, “Go to sleep, little baby.” I remember … I was crying. When I was crying my aunt came rushing in. Her hair was kind of—floating behind her. When she starts to pick me up I see her teeth. Her teeth are funny. Her mouth is open. She looks as if she is gritting her teeth. She picks me up. Oooo … I try to push her away. My mother—she comes in and takes me. She starts rocking me in her arms. I closed my eyes. I tried to stop seeing this man. He seemed to be there. He seemed to be just looking at me. He wasn’t saying anything. My mother is singing to me. She wants me to stop crying. Then … Then—I am in—the kitchen. I am sitting on my mother’s lap. She is sitting in a chair. She starts feeding me … soup—with things in it. When my mother feeds me she wants my aunt to take me. I didn’t see him that morning. I didn’t see him that morning. Only my—mother and my father—they—in bed … Darkness came over the lights. I don’t know where the darkness came from. O! O! A tunnel! A small tunnel. I see a man with a black hat on. I see his face, all chunked in. His eyes are soft and tender though, but he—his face and cheeks are all … I’m sitting and I see him walking towards the carriage. There is nobody there; my mother is not there. I can feel the belt on me; I can feel the belt holding me down. It looks like her … It looks like he has a black hat, a felt hat; but his eyes are soft. I can see his eyes under the hat; they’re soft, tender. His cheeks and nose are cut like that. He has a black heavy coat on. I can’t see his hands but I can see every line of his face. I don’t know who he is. I don’t recognize him. I just see him for the first time. Then my mother comes and starts pushing me. He was standing there and then my mother came and started pushing me. I don’t get frightened of him. I can see he is not going to hurt me. My eyes are wide open … They are not closing at all, at all. His eyes were so soft. They—like a cat’s eyes they were soft. He has a black hat—a black hat. O! O! I see! We’re in a movie house! My mother and my father … I’m in my mother’s lap. I’m wrapped in a blanket. It’s so hot, hot, hot. I’m so small … I hear—music playing and I can look up and see—people—talking on the—the screen. I don’t hear anybody. Just music. I see—words—letters. I don’t know what it is. What does it mean? I see men in big hats, big black hats, with guns, shooting. They have big, shiny guns. O! When I look up I can see rays of light from a little opening, a little opening like an eye. The rays of light piercing through the darkness, through the darkness. In front, when I turn my head, I see big men with big hats, big hats, and shiny guns, guns with bright handles. It’s dark. I can see people in front of me but I can’t make them out. The man with the black hat had kindly eyes. His face was cut up, his nose was sticking out, but his eyes were soft. I don’t know who he was. I can hear the squeaking, scratching, that the carriage makes while it rolls, rolls …

  L: ‘Harold, you will awaken when I tell you to. When you awaken you will remember all you have told me; and when you come tomorrow you will know more about it. You will awaken refreshed and remembering all you have said.’

  THE FORTY-FIRST HOUR

  L: ‘Harold, you have some things to tell me today, do you not?’

  What I remember from yesterday is all … You wanted me to know—to remember—if I’d seen anyone my father resembled. I still don’t know who or what. But I can … From what I do remember I don’t know yet who or what my father resembled. I can’t seem to explain myself saying some of the things I said, like about my aunt, like about the time when my aunt rushed into the room. She seemed quite agitated and excited. I was crying because I saw a man. I guess that’s why I was afraid. I think he said something to me, whoever it was. I think I saw right through him, the walls of the room and the small table behind him with the basket on it.

  L: ‘You were crying then?’

  I know I was crying and my aunt rushed in so fast I was afraid of her too.

  L: ‘Do you remember if he touched you?’

  No; he was standing at the foot of the bed. He didn’t reach over; he didn’t touch me …

  L: ‘Do you remember what his face was like?’

  I couldn’t see his face: I could just see an outline; his face wasn’t on it. Like a shadow, I could see right through him.

  L: ‘But did you see his outline?’

  An outline, just an outline. It w
as in the daytime. They must have put me to sleep early in the afternoon or maybe in the morning. He wasn’t there when I fell asleep; he went out with my aunt before I slept but he was there when I woke up.

  L: ‘Do you remember having gone to a moving picture with your mother and your father? How old were you then?’

  I was real small. I wasn’t older than six or eight months.

  L: ‘Do you remember what you saw?’

  Men—with big hats—real big hats, cowboys. It was a cowboy picture I think. I think it was the first show I ever went to.

  L: ‘Tell what you remember about it.’

  It’s hard to think. All I remember about it … In the show it was dark. I could see the bright rays of light coming from the projector room flashing on the screen. It was a cowboy picture, big hats, guns. O, I know! It was dark. The rays from the projector room—they—were—the lights that—that—I saw coming from my father’s eyes! When we went to the show I wasn’t even sitting in my mother’s lap, just sort of lying in—her—arms, half-lying, half-sitting; and I remember the rays of light going to the screen. My father … Whether I imagine the man who was—when I was in the baby carriage, I don’t know. I—I thought I saw a man—with a black hat and a dark overcoat. His face was sunken in and dried up. His eyes were soft. I wasn’t crying, just looking at him, looking at him—and he looked at me too, for a moment or so. But I don’t know why when I was sitting in my high chair with my father and mother at the table, why it started getting dark all of a sudden. I can’t explain that. I remember my father’s face looking at me, then changing, the lights getting brighter and brighter, the rays seeming to shoot from his eyes; then it started getting dark, but it didn’t just get real dark, everything at once. It was like a cloud of—smoke—or gas, so I couldn’t see; like real black smoke coming rolling in, covering everything, filling in all the air around …