Vanishing Point

by Morris West

  “For months now, Larry has been a weekend parent who came home stressed from a Concorde flight and left in a flurry of business preparations. The children had only one set of grandparents—again the Strassberger family! Larry was acutely, sometimes morbidly, conscious that there were no Lucas grandparents to counterbalance their influence. Finally, there was you, Carl. You are the son of the house, the crown prince. You abdicated. Larry became the heir presumptive. The challenge to him was enormous. The burden was enormous too. Your father made it no secret of his high expectations. He made no secret, either, that the rewards had to be earned. Larry did not shrink from the task, but he was haunted always by the specter of recurrent depression and the mania of near genius which drove him.

  “In this illness, there is always some element of paranoia. There has to be an enemy, to justify the fear in the downtime and the exaltation of victory in the uptime. As a therapist, I had to be aware always of the poison ivy in the garden of his mind. The ivy is harmless to look at, but it is poisonous to touch. In Larry’s case, the poison ivy was a sense of desperation, of injustice in the scheme of things, of tribal forces in the family tipping the balance against him. It was this which tempted him always, if not to outright revenge, to some outrageous act which might balance the loaded scales.”

  Suddenly, the absurdity which Rubens had noted began to make sense; the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into a more rational pattern. Rubens had been telling me the truth. Larry’s act of revenge had been plotted a long time ago.

  “I’ve lost you, Carl, come back to earth!” Alma Levy commanded me abruptly. “Tell me what’s on your mind!”

  I told her of my last night in Milan and the session with Liliane Prévost and Sibilla. She was angry and let me know it. She called it an abuse and an invasion and much else besides. Then I told her of my session with Dr. Rubens in Geneva and his claim that ‘once the Suez deal was disposed of’ he and Larry had agreed to mount a takeover of Strassberger. I described, as well as I was able, Rubens’s relationship with Larry: his analysis of Larry’s need for respect, more than love, his conviction that Larry could be stabilized enough to function as resident genius in a new coalition of interest.

  To my surprise, Alma agreed.

  “Of course he could! He will recover from this breakdown. He was already halfway to it before he went to Paris to begin the Suez negotiations.”

  “But he is still ready to embark on a Judas bargain with Rubens!”

  “I would put it another way.” Alma was somber. “What you call a Judas bargain was the manic folly which finally broke him. I told you about this when we first talked in New York. In the manic mood, every extravagance is possible, every gamble is a sure winner, the credit card is a horn of plenty which pours out a never-ending stream of goodies. It is only when the bills come in that sanity reasserts itself and the guilt begins. In Larry’s case, the burden of guilt was too much to bear. Dr. Langer told me that when he brought Larry to the Burgholzli for treatment, he listed him as an acute suicide risk.”

  “And now?”

  “Langer tells me he’s on the mend. We’re seeing him together tomorrow morning. If our first encounter goes well, Langer will leave me alone with him. After that, we’ll compare notes and decide the question of family access.”

  “What are you going to tell Madi?”

  “Only that I have confidence in Langer and that I’ll be seeing Larry tomorrow. I’d like you to tell her the same thing—no more, no less.”

  “Whatever you say. You’re the therapist.”

  “After that scandalous episode in Milan, I think you need therapy yourself.” She finished her drink and set down the glass with a clatter. “Now you may take me to dinner and entertain me. I need a complete break from mind medicine!”

  * * *

  Madi did not join us at the dinner table. The meal was over by ten. I said good night to Alma Levy and went to my own room to call my father. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, New York time. My father was in his office. The news he gave me was not good.

  “The operation was a technical success. The orthopedic surgeon did a first-class job. However, your mother is very weak. There is fluid in the lungs. She is still in the intensive care unit. We wait and we pray.”

  “Would you like me to come home and bring Madi with me?”

  “Not yet.” He was firm. “Finish what you have to do in Zurich. That will be one less problem to deal with. If there’s any drastic change in your mother’s condition, I’ll let you know. You can be back here in eight hours or less.”

  “What’s happening in the market?”

  “Nothing to make us happy. Two larger institutions—a mutual fund and an insurance group—unloaded a lot of shares today. That stretched us tighter than I like.”

  “I hope you’re not buying on margin.”

  “Not yet. But it could come to that. The problem is that if we don’t support our own stock, there’ll be a drastic fall. We have to maintain market confidence. You know that. I’ll tell you something, Carl. I wish you were here right now—and I’d even be glad to see that scalliwag, Larry. He’d be flying kites all over the campus, just to confuse the opposition.”

  “Do you know yet who’s masterminded the raid?”

  “Corsec has come up with some indicators but no proof. Do you think Larry is involved?”

  “Possibly. I’ll know better in forty-eight hours.”

  “That’s a hell of a long time on the trading floor.”

  “Trust me, Father, please!”

  “I do, believe me. I’m just beginning to understand how much I’ve depended on your mother. So long as she was there at the dinner table, I felt secure. Now I hate the thought of going home.”

  “She’ll be back, Father, sooner than you know.”

  “I hope so. Without her, I see little point in the battle we’re fighting now. All of a sudden, I’m feeling old and tired.”

  “Have you seen your doctor?”

  “He’s been shouting for me to see him. I’ll get around to it, once your mother’s on the mend.”

  “Just remember that she’ll need a healthy husband to care for her.”

  “Carl?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I never thought I’d ask this. Even now, I’m not sure I have the right words for it. With Larry gone, I need you at my side, at least while we organize our battle lines. The shareholders—those who have a continuing loyalty to us—have the right to reassurance. Larry’s defection is an open secret now, even though there is no question of malfeasance. We have to demonstrate family confidence in the business. I know it’s a lot to ask, but to be honest I’m not sure I’m up to the role of Lone Ranger. I don’t want it anymore. I’m very tempted to go to auction, cash in my chips, and spend what good time we’ve got left with your mother. There, it’s said. Think about it. I’ll accept whatever you decide.”

  What do you do with a man like that? The roof trees of his world were falling about him, but he still had the grace to offer me a choice and the integrity to face me squarely with the interests of the shareholders. The least I could do was deliver a swift answer.

  “As soon as I’m finished here, I’ll come.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  “There may be things to tidy in Paris and London, before I leave.”

  “Do whatever is needed. I’ll put the word about that you’re back.”

  “Give my love to Mother.”

  “I will.”

  “And do something for me.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Call your doctor now and make an appointment for a full checkup. Deal?”

  “Deal,” said my father, in a tone I knew of old. He had not only struck a bargain, he was convinced he had the best of it. For myself, I had done what Strassbergers had been taught for generations. I had eaten the bread of righteousness. I found it dry as dust in the mouth, tasteless on the tongue. I understood why it had given Larry Lucas such violent indigest
ion.

  Next day, the children were better, but Madi and the nanny were out of action. Alma Levy had a midmorning conference with Dr. Langer at the Burgholzli Clinic. I had time to kill, so I offered to take the children for a ferry ride on the lakes and feed them lunch somewhere in the old town. My life was on hold now. I might just as well make myself useful as a nursemaid to two very puzzled youngsters who were eager to see their father again but dazed by the long-drawn-out approach to him.

  I am known as an agreeable uncle, but I am not exactly a creative one. I will happily indulge the whims of children, but I am sadly deficient in an entertainer’s talent. I cannot juggle oranges or do card tricks or make coins disappear. I do not know where clowns and strolling minstrels and museums of natural wonder are to be found. I am slow of access to chocolate factories or makers of children’s toys or exhibitions of dolls or ancient firearms.

  So a boat ride on the lake seemed a safe bet. At best, I could improvise local legends and draw sketches on postcards for their friends at home; at worst, I could feed them soft drinks and sweets and make them sick all over again.

  As it turned out, I found myself under inquisition from two very intelligent and very troubled young people. We had completed half the circuit of the lake and were homing down the northern shore when the tour guide pointed out the buildings and the surrounding meadows of the Burgholzli Clinic and gave his little lecture about the famous people who had done research there. Laurence Emil, seven years old, asked what he was talking about. Obligingly, he rendered the talk into English, explaining that this was a place where people who were “sick in the head” were brought for treatment. When he had turned away, the questions were addressed to me.

  “Uncle Carl, is that where Daddy is?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Will we go there to see him?”

  “I don’t know. Dr. Levy will be able to tell us that this afternoon. She’s up there now, talking with your daddy’s doctor and with your daddy too.”

  “Why did she get to see him first, instead of Mom and us?”

  “Because the doctors have to decide whether he’s well enough to see visitors.”

  “But we’re not visitors. We’re his family. Doesn’t he want to see us?”

  “Of course he does. But sometimes when people are sick, they are too tired or too confused to cope even with people they love.”

  “Is Daddy confused?”

  “That’s why he’s in the hospital. The people up there have a great reputation as healers, all around the world.”

  “And they’re sure to make Daddy better?”

  This was Marianne’s question.

  “They’re working on it right now, sweetheart.”

  “Why can’t Daddy come home and get better with us?”

  My nephew was back in the discussion now. I caught the querulous, mistrustful tone of the young misogynist. This was a question I had to deal with very carefully. It went to the heart of the problem, not only for this seven-year-old but for all of us. I began with a question of my own.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course I do, Uncle Carl.”

  “Good. Because the first thing I have to tell you is that it’s not a disgrace to be sick. It wasn’t a disgrace for you to vomit and make a mess that Nanny and your mom had to clean up. You were sick; you couldn’t help yourself. Yet you still felt ashamed. You were angry with yourself and angry with people around you.”

  “Sort of, I guess.”

  “It’s even worse with a sickness of the mind. Conversation is very difficult. Even though people use the same words, the meaning for each one is different. Imagine yourself in the middle of China, all alone, trying to tell people what’s wrong with you—or even something simple, like asking for a drink of water. That’s the way your daddy feels. He gets frustrated and angry and afraid, too, because he loves you very dearly but he knows he’s not making sense to you. He doesn’t blame you for not understanding: but until he’s cured it’s better for you to be apart. The doctors and nurses are trained to deal with sick people; you’re not. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “I understand—but I don’t understand why Daddy and Mommy had to be cruel to each other.”

  “People are often cruel because they’re frightened and helpless. It’s like a puppy biting you when you’re trying to take a piece of glass out of his paw. He’s hurting. The only way he can let you know is by snapping at you.”

  “Then why is Mom getting a divorce?”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “I heard her talking about it on the phone to Grandma.”

  “Did you ask your mother to explain it to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said that was what our father wanted. He loved us, but he was never coming back. But she’s brought us all this way to see him. Does that mean he’s changed his mind? If he hasn’t, what’s the point?”

  Marianne added her own wise little-woman postscript: “I don’t want to kiss him and just have him walk away for always.”

  To which Uncle Carl, the all-wise, the all-knowing, who had never begotten a child, who had not committed to either fatherhood or marriage, could manage only a weaselling answer.

  “Listen, my loves! Nothing is fixed, nothing can be fixed until your daddy is better. Then everything will change, because your father will be changed and your mother will be changed, and maybe they’ll be able to be happy together again.”

  “But we haven’t changed at all,” said Laurence Emil stubbornly. “What will happen to us?”

  12

  BY SIX THAT EVENING, Nanny was sufficiently recovered to supervise the children at supper. Madi, still poorly, was in bed, propped up with pillows, while Alma Levy told us both about her visit to the clinic.

  “I met Larry, first in company with Dr. Langer, and then we had a long session alone. We walked in the garden, we sat under the trees and had coffee. He was pleased to see me. We embraced. He offered me his arm as we walked.”

  “How does he look?” Madi asked. “How does he seem in himself?”

  “He is still depressed; but he has reached a plateau of calm. He is able to contemplate himself and his situation rationally and without desperation. He has the look of a man who has just recovered from a long illness—as indeed he has. He is prepared to acknowledge need and dependence, but you must understand that this is not a surrender. He is not beating his breast in penitence for the trouble he has caused. He still has the need to explain and defend himself.”

  “And where does that leave us, me and the children?”

  “Better off, I believe, than you were before.”

  “You’ll have to explain that.”

  “He explained it himself when I told him you had done what he asked and filed for divorce. And, by the way, he’s happy to sign the papers you’ve brought. What he actually said was, ‘Good! That means I can approach her like a civilized being, because we won’t have anything to argue about. I can show love to my children when I have love to offer. I can stay away at the loveless times, when my heart is empty!’”

  “Oh, God!” Madi’s fists were clenched in frustration. “Why didn’t I understand before?”

  “Because he never said it and you wouldn’t have believed it if he had. You’ve both traveled a long way in a short time.”

  “And now the children need help.”

  They both stared at me, shocked by the sharpness of my tone. I told them what the children had said to me during our boat ride and I leaned on young Laurence’s last pregnant comment. We haven’t changed. What’s going to happen to us? Then I asked my own question of Alma Levy.

  “Larry has consented to see Madi and the children?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow morning. If you’ll order a car for us, Carl, I’ll drive out with them, leave them with Larry, and drive back with them when they’re ready to leave.”

  “I’m dreading this,” said Madi.


  “There is nothing to dread,” said Alma Levy. “You still have love for him.”

  “I’m not sure I have.” Madi was on edge. Alma Levy was short with her.

  “Then show him gentleness, at least. Let the children see that and let them show their own love. He will respond, just as he responded to me. But no arguments! No talk of tomorrow! And you do not say good-bye but au revoir. You tell him the door is open whenever he wants to walk through it to visit you or the children.”

  “That’s the point.” Madi was angry now. “It may not always be open. I can’t promise that. I won’t.”

  “Then change the metaphor, for Christ’s sake!” I was irritated now. “This is a read-through with improvisations, not the first night of Rigoletto!”

  “She understands.” Alma was more gentle. “She’ll be ready.”

  “I wish I could be as sure as you are, Alma!” Madi was not convinced. “We have this nice loving get-together. What happens at the end of it?”

  “So far as you are concerned, nothing. You take the children back to New York.”

  “And that’s the end of it with Larry?”

  “It’s as far as any of us can look.” Her answer was cryptic. “Langer and I both agree that Larry is coping on a day-to-day basis in a protected situation. As his confidence grows, the prospects for both of you may enlarge. Tomorrow is, perhaps, more important for him and the children than it is for you. You are the strong one.”

  “Why do we have to see him at the clinic? Why can’t we take him out for a picnic somewhere?”

  “Because, again in our medical view, it is important that the children understand that their father is ill, that he is not to blame for his erratic behavior, and, most importantly, neither are they! Also, if the meeting doesn’t work as well as we hope, Larry can retreat and so can you.”

  “And for this”—Madi was weary and bitter—“we’ve dragged ourselves thousands of miles across the Atlantic. My mother’s dangerously ill. My father’s vastly overworked and worried. He is a natural candidate for a stroke or a coronary, but here we are doing three verses and a chorus of “J’attendrai” for that husband and father of the year, Mr. Laurence Lucas! I think I’m going to be sick!”