Story of a Sociopath

  “Grandpa, why don’t we go out sailing tomorrow? I’ve been looking at Aunt Emma’s little sailboat and it’s in good condition. We could—”

  “Of course it’s in good condition—I don’t sail often but from time to time I enjoy the solitude of the sea,” said Aunt Emma, reminding us that she knew how to sail unaided.

  But my grandfather didn’t give in and ignored Jaime and Aunt Emma.

  “You have to work, Thomas. There’s a lot of competition out there. Kids willing and able to take on the world. You can’t wait around,” he insisted.

  “The truth is, I have no desire to work,” I said, to provoke them.

  “What? So what do you want to do?” asked my grandfather angrily.

  “Nothing. I honestly want to do nothing.”

  “But you have to do something.” My mother’s voice carried that note of hysteria that always came up when she was talking about me.

  “And he has to decide tonight? Come on, James, leave the boy alone. He’s on vacation. When he gets back to New York he’ll have no choice but to decide what to do, but for now he has the right to relax like the rest of us.” Grandma Dorothy had aligned herself with me to avoid an argument at the dinner table. She detested scenes.

  Suddenly Aunt Emma intervened. She looked at me as if an idea was coming to her.

  “And why does he have to work right away? In England it’s common for young people leaving college to take a gap year. They travel, see the world, get their heads straight, and then when they get back they return to reality, which means finding a job and a nice girl to marry.”

  “I suppose this gap year is within the reach of all English kids,” said my grandfather bad-temperedly.

  “But in Thomas’s case…If he decided to do it I don’t think he’d have any problem, right, John?”

  My father didn’t know how to respond, but my grandfather did, saying that Emma’s idea was utter nonsense. I saw that my mother was about to say something but I cut in.

  “You know, Auntie, you’ve given me a great idea. I’ll take a gap year. I’d like to spend some time traveling through Europe. I want to get to know London and Berlin.”

  “But…” My mother’s surprise was evident.

  “Well, we’ll have to talk about it.” My father seemed uncomfortable.

  “Well, it seems like a good idea to me.” That day Grandma Dorothy had become my greatest ally.

  My grandfather looked at her with disgust. He didn’t like my grandmother to take the opposing view, least of all in public. But she pretended as if she hadn’t noticed my grandfather’s consternation.

  “In any case, it’ll be Thomas who decides what he wants to do. We can advise him, but we can do no more than that,” said my father, who seemed to want to change the conversation as much as Grandma Dorothy did.

  “So if Thomas decides to do nothing you will abstain from interfering,” my grandfather reproached my father.

  “Come on, Dad, it’s not like that. But I do think we must all seek out our own paths, and however hard it is we must allow our children to choose their own way. Thomas will decide what he believes is right for him, and of course he knows he has to do something: he can’t just sit there twiddling his thumbs. Now what do you say, Dad, shall we play some chess after dinner? You beat me yesterday and you owe me a rematch.” My father wasn’t prepared to continue an argument with his own father.

  —

  That night, thinking about Aunt Emma’s crazy idea, I could hardly sleep. Yes, why not go? I felt no particular attachment to my family, except to my father. And New York’s advertising agencies weren’t going to fall over themselves to hire me. The question was whether my father would be willing to help me financially so that I could go off on a journey with no practical purpose. Would he? Would my mother let him?

  I decided to talk to him once we returned to the city and could be alone. I didn’t want any intrusion from anyone else.

  As I couldn’t sleep I went down for breakfast shortly after dawn. Aunt Emma was the only other person awake.

  “Where are you going so early?” she asked.

  “If you lend me the boat I could go out sailing for a while.”

  “Your brother said last night that he’d like to go out on the boat today. Why not wait for him and go together?”

  “Because I like to be alone and Jaime never stops talking.”

  “Poor thing, he’s always trying to figure out how to please you but you’re immune to his attempts. You’re lucky to have him as a brother.”

  “Even an idiot would know by now that I’m lucky to have Jaime as a brother. You all won’t stop telling me,” I protested grumpily.

  “So, are you really thinking about leaving?” My aunt changed the subject to avoid clashing with me.

  “Yes, that was a good idea you gave me. After all, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “It’ll do you good to grow up and appreciate what you have.”

  “Huh, so you think I’m immature!”

  “Of course you are—same as any boy your age. You’re still confused by life.”

  “That’s textbook psychology.”

  “I don’t need to read a textbook. This is how it is with many young people. You’re nothing special.”

  “I’d like to go to London. What do you think?”

  “You’d like London, but if you want to do something new, something surprising, go to France, or even farther south, to Italy, Greece, Spain…That’s if you do want a change in your life. London is good too, and you’ll find it easier because of the language.”

  “Do you know Europe well?”

  “No, not that well. But when I married we went there. We spent a whole summer traveling from place to place and I fell in love with Italy. Perhaps I’ll go back one day. Oh! By the way, the Fergusons arrived yesterday. Their daughter, that friend of yours, Lisa—she looks like a ghost.”

  So Lisa was in Newport. I wasn’t too surprised because I had spent more than one weekend at the house the Fergusons owned, not very far from Aunt Emma’s. Of course, the Fergusons’ house was a three-story mansion, with a Carrara marble floor in the ballroom and a Versailles-style garden that extended down to the beach.

  “It’s a shame that a girl who has everything should waste her life on drugs. She could turn up dead any day,” said my aunt.

  “And how do you know she’s on drugs? You don’t have to listen to people’s gossip,” I snapped.

  “It’s not gossip, Thomas. Everybody knows it. Her poor mother is desperate. She doesn’t know what to do with her.”

  “Well, if she wants to do drugs then let her. Why not?”

  “You’re too young to be so cynical. I can’t believe that you’d be so indifferent to what’s happening to Lisa. That girl liked you and you liked her. You were inseparable, though I’m not surprised that you don’t see her anymore.”

  Aunt Emma never ceased to surprise me. It wasn’t like her to parrot gossip. She annoyed me too. Yes, she annoyed me with her insinuation that Lisa had ditched me. I must be the talk of the town for the idle ladies of Newport.

  “There was never anything serious between us. We were just friends, no commitment, so she didn’t leave me and I didn’t leave her. If she wants to destroy herself I won’t be the one to stop her.”

  “If you say so…Anyway, I’m late. I’m going to go with the cook to buy everything we need for the get-together tonight.”

  “I didn’t know you were throwing a party.”

  “Well, it’s not a party exactly. A few friends are coming by to have drinks and something to eat, but it will be an informal gathering, just to have a good time. And I want no excuses: you must be ready by six.”

  “Are the Fergusons coming?”

  “I haven’t invited them. Your parents wouldn’t feel comfortable after what happened at your graduation. And I imagine you wouldn’t either. Anyway, they’re not my friends, only acquaintances.”

  “It makes no difference to me. I??
?ll go and see Lisa in a little while.”

  —

  I actually had no desire to see Lisa, but it was a good way to unnerve all those stuck-up types among Newport’s high society. If they saw us together they’d have something to talk about.

  I waited until ten to go to the Fergusons’ house. By then my father and grandfather had gone to play golf and Jaime had convinced Aunt Emma to lend him the boat to go sailing with a couple of friends. My mother had said she was going to the hairdresser’s, not trusting that the night would be as informal as Aunt Emma claimed.

  The maid who opened the door told me that Lisa was sleeping. I was about to leave when Mrs. Ferguson saw me.

  “Thomas, what are you doing here? Come in, come in…Lisa is sleeping. She’s not well.”

  She invited me to stay for coffee as she explained that she was trying to convince Lisa to be admitted into a detox center. She refused, but perhaps I could help them to convince her.

  “The doctor says that Lisa is very ill. She has…well, she has…she has AIDS. You know, the needles…She wasn’t careful enough and that horrible man, that Mike, he didn’t even try to protect her. He could have stopped her from injecting herself with any old needle.

  “Why, Thomas? Tell me why Lisa felt the need to resort to drugs. What did we do wrong? What is it that we haven’t given her?”

  I was tempted to tell her the truth: that her daughter was a bad person, just like me. That that was why we were friends, because we recognized the evil in each other, and she shouldn’t look for anyone to blame. There wasn’t anyone else to blame—other people weren’t the problem. If it hadn’t been Mike, Lisa would have found some other way to destroy herself. The truth was, the only thing that differentiated Lisa from me was that I didn’t care about destroying other people as long as I saved myself, while she had no problem throwing her lot in with others as they destroyed themselves.

  But I didn’t tell her mother that. I just listened and nodded. I think what Mrs. Ferguson really needed was to vent her anguish by talking freely with someone who wouldn’t judge Lisa. And I would not.

  “She’s taking methadone. The doctor says that’ll stop her from suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Above all he recommended that we remove her from…well…the circles she was moving in in New York. You know…but…she’s so on edge…she says horrible things. I hope that here she can get a little better. Miss Harris seems very efficient and she’s taken care of patients in similar circumstances.”

  “Miss Harris?” I asked.

  “The nurse. She was recommended by the doctor who treats Lisa. She controls the dosage of methadone Lisa gets each day, as well as the AIDS medication. My God, I don’t know what we can do!”

  “She’ll be all right,” I said, just to say something, and got up to leave.

  “No, don’t go…I’m sure Lisa will want to see you. I’ll ask Miss Harris if Lisa has woken up yet. Wait here.”

  I didn’t want to sit down and make conversation with an invalid, and that was what Lisa was, if I’d correctly understood what her mother had told me.

  Mrs. Ferguson came back, accompanied by a tall, heavyset woman with short hair and a patronizing smile.

  “So this is Mr. Spencer.” She shook my hand. “Lisa has talked to me about you. It’ll do her good to see you. If you’d be so kind as to wait a little, in twenty minutes she’ll be ready to go down to the garden. It’s the best place to sit and talk. And she’ll get a bit of fresh air. But I have to warn you: she’ll try to convince you to help get her some drugs. It doesn’t matter what she says; you, Mr. Spencer, must be firm and help us make her understand that she’s playing with her precious life. You could be of great help to us. She trusts you.”

  Mrs. Ferguson took me by the arm and led me to the garden, where Mr. Ferguson was currently engrossed in reading the papers.

  “Benjamin…Thomas has come to see Lisa. Miss Harris will be down with her in a few minutes. It’ll do her good to be with Thomas.”

  From his expression I could see that my presence made him uncomfortable. He got up to shake my hand. The last time we’d seen each other had been the day of the graduation. The scene Lisa made had shamed her father, and he knew that his daughter and I had stirred up other trouble together as friends.

  We made small talk. Mrs. Ferguson tried to focus the conversation on Lisa’s condition but her husband was too reserved to talk about it.

  Miss Harris appeared with Lisa. She was holding her arm, seeming to support her.

  Lisa’s face showed signs of her sickness. Of AIDS, and the drugs too. She looked at me angrily, as if my presence displeased her.

  “What are you doing here? Get out” were her first words.

  I didn’t even reply. I got up to leave. I nodded slightly at Lisa’s parents.

  “What manners!” exclaimed Miss Harris. “That’s no way to greet a guest. Mr. Spencer will stay awhile. I’m sure you’ll enjoy talking about things…It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, hasn’t it?”

  The Fergusons and Miss Harris left the garden, leaving me alone with Lisa, whom they had sat in an easy chair beneath a sunshade.

  Lisa looked at me defiantly. She was waiting for me to obey her, to leave without protest, which is what I was intending to do. But a second later she changed her mind.

  “Well…maybe you can be useful for something,” she said as if she were talking to herself.

  “Don’t believe it—I haven’t changed. I’m still good for nothing,” I told her.

  “Can you get me coke, speed, heroin? Anything…They want me to give up the drugs. But I don’t want to. Now…well, I don’t feel good, but I’ll get better and I’ll leave. I’m sick of the condescending way they treat me. And that Miss Harris is awful. She won’t let me out of her sight. She brags that none of her patients have ever managed to slip past her to score. She gives me methadone like you’d give candy to kids, if they behave themselves. She’s a bitch.”

  I stayed standing, looking at her. It was hard to recognize Lisa in that drawn, jaundiced face and that cartoonishly skinny body. She still had the same defiant look, but her eyes seemed to belong to a person who had already lived many lives and was closer to death than life.

  “You look bad—seriously bad. Have they told you how long you’ve got?”

  “You son of a bitch! You think I’m going to die? Well, so what? If it doesn’t matter to me then there’s no reason it should matter to anyone else.”

  “You don’t care if you die?”

  “I don’t know…I don’t think so…Why should I die? They’re all idiots. If you control what you take, if you don’t go too far, you don’t have to die.”

  “It doesn’t exactly seem like you’ve been able to control it.”

  “I’m worn out.”

  “Yes, you really are.”

  “Get me something. I managed to talk to Mike before they brought me here. He has a friend who works at a bar—it’s not far from Newport…You could go and bring something back for me. Oh, and buy syringes.”

  “And Miss Harris? I don’t think she’ll fail to notice that you’ve started using again.”

  “I go to the bathroom alone.”

  “Right.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “No. I don’t want to get mixed up with Mike’s friends. He and his buddies are scum.”

  “And you think you’re so much better?”

  “I’m not that level of scum. And I’m not going to take my chances on you, Lisa. I don’t want anything to do with drugs. You already knew that.”

  “You’re a coward.”

  “Maybe, but one thing I am sure of is that I don’t want to depend on anything that I’m not able to control.”

  We fell silent. Lisa looked at me angrily while considering how to wear down my resistance. I raised my eyes to the house and saw Mrs. Ferguson and Miss Harris peering out the living-room windows.

  “I’m leaving, Lisa. Be well.”

  “You could a
t least take me to that bar. I’d go in to pick up. You’d just take me there and bring me back. That doesn’t commit you to anything.”

  “It depends.”

  “Depends? Depends on what?”

  “If you shoot up too much and die. Then I’ll be accused of having taken you to that bar. No, I don’t want to get mixed up with drugs. You figure it out yourself.”

  “You’re a son of a bitch.”

  “You already told me that. Goodbye, Lisa, and good luck.”

  She didn’t try to stop me. She sunk back into the chair and looked away as if I weren’t there.

  Mrs. Ferguson and Miss Harris wanted to know what had happened, why I was leaving so quickly. I hadn’t even sat down next to Lisa.

  “She’s not in a good mood and she doesn’t want visitors,” I explained.

  “But you’ll come back? You’ll really come back to see her? She values you so much…” Mrs. Ferguson was like a castaway swimming toward a mirage.

  I left, followed by the severe gaze of Miss Harris, without saying whether I would return.

  —

  I stopped thinking about Lisa. Well, I stopped thinking about her until four days later, when I unexpectedly found her hitchhiking along the highway.

  She looked awful. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but she was so skinny it looked like they were about to fall off her body. Even the sneakers she was wearing seemed too big. I stopped the car when I saw her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where do you think? I climbed out the window once Miss Harris dozed off—thanks to the Valium I dissolved in her milk. So, will you take me?”

  “It depends.”

  “You only have to take me just over a mile from here. Leave me on the road and I’ll find my own way back.”

  “It doesn’t seem like you’re having much luck hitchhiking.”

  “People in Newport are stupid. They don’t trust anyone.”

  “It’s probably because you look like a drug addict, which you are.”

  “Are you taking me or not?”

  “You’re going to Mike’s friend’s bar?”