Part 5 (2/2)
”Expecting someone else, were you?” the man muttered. ”Well, I'll get out of your way.”
”That's not necessary. I was really just daydreaming, I guess. I don't know what made me think--” Harry felt his flush deepen, and he lowered his eyes and his voice as he tried to improvise some excuse.
”You're a lousy liar,” the man said, stepping forward and seating himself on the bank next to Harry. ”But it doesn't really matter. I don't think your girl friend is going to show up today, anyway.”
”What do you mean? What do you know about--”
”I mean just what I said,” the man told him. ”And I know everything I need to know, about you and about her and about the situation in general. That's why I'm here, Collins.”
He paused, watching the play of emotions in Harry's eyes.
”I know what you're thinking right now,” the gray-haired man continued. ”At first you wondered how I knew your name. Then you realized that if I was on the staff in the wards I'd naturally be able to identify the patients. Now it occurs to you that you've never seen me in the wards, so you're speculating as to whether or not I'm working out of the administration offices with that psychiatric no good Manschoff. But if I were, I wouldn't be calling him names, would I? Which means you're really getting confused, aren't you, Collins?
Good!”
The man chuckled, but there was neither mockery, malice, nor genuine mirth in the sound. And his eyes were sober, intent.
”Who are you?” Harry asked. ”What are you doing here?”
”The name is Ritchie, Arnold Ritchie. At least, that's the name they know me by around here, and you can call me that. As to what I'm doing, it's a long story. Let's just say that right now I'm here to give you a little advanced therapy.”
”Then Manschoff did send you?”
The chuckle came again, and Ritchie shook his head. ”He did not. And if he even suspected I was here, there'd be h.e.l.l to pay.”
”Then what do you want with me?”
”It isn't a question of what I want. It's a question of what _you need_. Which is, like I said, advanced therapy. The sort that dear old kindly permissive Father-Image Manschoff doesn't intend you to get.”
Harry stood up. ”What's this all about?”
Ritchie rose with him, smiling for the first time. ”I'm glad you asked that question, Collins. It's about time you did, you know. Everything has been so carefully planned to keep you from asking it. But you _were_ beginning to wonder just a bit anyway, weren't you?”
”I don't see what you're driving at.”
”You don't see what anyone is driving at, Collins. You've been blinded by a spectacular display of kindness, misdirected by self-indulgence.
I told you I knew everything I needed to know about you, and I do. Now I'm going to ask you to remember these things for yourself; the things you've avoided considering all this while.
”I'm going to ask you to remember that you're twenty-eight years old, and that for almost seven years you were an agency man and a good one.
You worked hard, you did a conscientious job, you stayed in line, obeyed the rules, never rebelled. Am I correct in my summary of the situation?”
”Yes, I guess so.”
”So what was your reward for all this unceasing effort and eternal conformity? A one-room apartment and a one-week vacation, once a year.
Count your blessings, Collins. Am I right?”
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