Читаем The Mariner полностью

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO TALK about what happened last night?” asked Tetrazzini as he and the Mariner settled down for another therapeutic chat.

After returning from McConnell’s church, the Mariner had slept through the morning and well into the afternoon, awaking feeling sick and desperate for alcohol. Tetrazzini had brought him a large glass of wine and another of his sour pills. The Mariner had enjoyed both.

Now they sat together, just as they had done the day before. Tetrazzini tried to start on a positive note, emphasising the progress made the previous day, but the Mariner had a grudge to settle.

“You allowed her to try to burn the Neptune into the sea!”

“I didn’t allow her to do anything,” rebutted the doctor. “This isn’t a prison. We don’t lock anyone up, everyone attends of their own volition.”

The Mariner felt anger growing inside. “Did she burn down the bar? The night you found me?”

“Yes. I told you that a patient of mine started the fire. I have not lied.”

“I didn’t realise you sanctioned it!”

“Stop saying that! I did no such thing.” Tetrazzini himself had grown vexed and flustered by the exchange. “But I’ll have you know that Donna is on the path to recovery. A few more fires and she’ll have lost the compulsion completely. She won’t need to do it. She’ll be the master, not the other way around. Is that worth the burning of a couple of buildings? I think so. They’re just bricks and beams after all.”

“And my ship?”

“An unfortunate hiccup.”

The Mariner twisted in his seat, though the action hurt his joints terribly.

“Still,” Tetrazzini tried to repair the fractured relationship, “once again I owe you my thanks. You put it out and brought Donna back unharmed. That… was quite something. Plus, she still got the thrill from setting the fire and was able to take her medication, so opportunity wasn’t lost.” The Mariner gave a sour grimace at the silver-lining. “Let’s put it behind us, we made excellent progress yesterday, we shouldn’t waste that.”

“I spoke to McConnell.”

“Who?”

“The man who runs the church.”

“Oh him,” Tetrazzini looked unimpressed. “Sadly some people do cling to superstition, that’s true. None more so than that opium addict.”

“Opium?”

“Yes. Years back, when I first arrived, he was quite messed up, had been ever since the early days. A traumatic journey here, it is rumoured. I offered to cure him of his addiction, but he turned his back on me. Foolish man. Said he preferred abstinence. Idiot.”

“Did he cure himself?”

“How should I know? We haven’t spoken since.”

Tetrazzini picked up a pile of notes and started flicking through, eager to get the session onto more positive ground. “Would it surprise you to learn I’ve spent all morning thinking about your case?”

The Mariner shrugged.

“Seeing as how you’re in something of a… confrontational mood, we’ll be direct. I want to discuss what happened to you and Rebecca.”

The Mariner stiffened in his chair. They’d been over that. What now? “I told you what happened, just as I’m sure Rebecca told you—”

“Rebecca hasn’t said much of anything since, I don’t think she will speak again for months. If ever. She’s sunk into a traumatised silence.”

“That’s sad, but I don’t see—”

“You haven’t told me everything.”

“I have!”

“No,” Tetrazzini said with menacing patience. “You have not.”

The Mariner sat in silence, wishing the conversation to end, feeling vulnerable under Tetrazzini’s scrutiny.

The doctor spoke again. “You said you woke up whilst the rape was taking place—”

Shut up!

“And intervened as soon as you came to your senses.”

Please don’t say it!

“But that’s not true is it? You woke up sooner.”

He knew. Tetrazzini knew the Mariner’s secret! Did that mean Rebecca had known? Had they all known he’d sat in the dark and watched?

The Mariner could only whisper his response. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” To his surprise, the warmth in Tetrazzini was back. Now that he had broken the lie, he moved swiftly to reassure him. “This stays between us, no-one will know. I’m your doctor, it is my duty to help you as best I can.”

The Mariner nodded, ashamed and wary.

“Your alcoholism isn’t the only addiction you have, is it?”

The Marine shook his head. No.

“Tell me about it.”

When the Mariner finally spoke his words tumbled from his mouth like maggots from an infected wound. “I’ve done terrible things. To women. I’ve hurt them.”

“Sexually?”

“Yes. I only remember doing it once, and even then it’s hazy, but I’m sure I must have done so before. And when I saw it happening to Rebecca, I couldn’t move. I had to witness it. I had to.”

“Because you’re addicted to this destructive behavioural pattern. Do you remember me asking you about your male relationships?”

“You said I was seeking out a father figure.”

“Do you think it curious that any female relationship you have ends in disaster? Could it be this hate you feel for women also stems from this memory of your mother?”

“I don’t hate women.”

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