The Bird’s Nest by Shirley Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

his hand. “Mandalay,” he said in confirmation. “I’ve heard Vergil do Mandalay,” he added.
    â€œI didn’t,” Elizabeth said. “I mean, I didn’t say anything.”
    Aunt Morgen and Doctor Ryan both turned their heads to look at her, both soberly interested.
    â€œThat’s it,” Aunt Morgen said. “I really don’t think she
remembers.
”
    Doctor Ryan nodded. “Physically, of course,” he said, shrugging, “all you can do is check the things you
know
about. I can tell you she’s overtired, or nervous, or some such nonsense, but then you can come right back at me with something you and I both know is impossible, and we’re right back where we started. Tell you what
I
think we ought to do,” Doctor Ryan said, suddenly determined, and reaching across his desk for a prescription pad, “there’s an old friend of mine, fellow named Wright, Victor Wright.
You
know, Morgen, and
I
know, that I’d be the last person in the world to send Elizabeth to one of these psychoanalysts, knowing her the way I do; no telling
what
they might say. But I
do
want you to run over and see Wright, Elizabeth, and have him take a look at you. He’s an odd duck,” Doctor Ryan said to Aunt Morgen, “always been kind of interested in this kind of problem. No . . .” Doctor Ryan gestured, reassuringly. “No
couch
or anything, Morgen, you understand.”
    â€œYou’re a dirty old man, Harold,” Aunt Morgen said agreeably.
    Doctor Ryan looked up and grinned. “Aren’t I?” he asked, pleased.
    â€œDo you think if there’s anything wrong this fellow will find it?” Aunt Morgen asked.
    â€œThere’s nothing
wrong
with Elizabeth,” Doctor Ryan said. “I think she’s worried about something. Boys, maybe. You ever ask her about boy friends?”
    Aunt Morgen shook her head. “I can’t get her to talk to me at all.”
    â€œWell,” Doctor Ryan said, rising, “if anyone can get it out of her, it’s Wright.”
    Aunt Morgen got up and turned to Elizabeth, and then yelped. “Harold Ryan,” she said, “I’ve been telling you to cut that out for twenty-five years.”
    â€œStill the best pinching surface in town,” Doctor Ryan said, and winked at Elizabeth.

2
DOCTOR WRIGHT
    I believe I am an honest man. Not one of your namby-pamby modern doctors, with all kinds of names for nothing, and all kinds of cures for ailments that don’t exist, and none of them able to look a patient in the eye for shame—no, I believe I am an honest man, and there are not many of us left. The young flashy fellows just starting out, who do everything except put their names in neon lights and run bingo games in the waiting room, are my particular detestation, and that is largely why I am putting my notes on the case of Miss R. into some coherent form; perhaps some one of your young fellows may read them and be instructed, perhaps not. I can remember joking with my late wife about a patient a doctor could get his teeth into—although that, too, I suppose, will be liable to misconstruction by your head doctors with their dreams and their Freuds; boys I brought into the world, too, some of them. It is gratifying to know that the extraordinary case of Miss R. was taken and solved and lies transcribed here for all the world to read, by an honest man; gratifying, at any rate, to myself. I make no excuses or apologies for my medical views, although perhaps my literary style will leave something to be desired, and I preface this account by saying, as I have said for forty years or more, that an honest doctor is an honest man, and considers his patient’s welfare before the bills are sent in. My own practice has dwindled because most of my patients are dead—(that is another of my little jokes, and we’ll have to get used to them, reader, before you and I can