The Memory of Eva Ryker by Donald Stanwood

Author:Donald Stanwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497697300
Publisher: Open Road Distribution

20

May 7, 1962

Dr. Margaret Sanford’s Tokyo office is on Nakasando Avenue, not far from the Koishkawa Botanical Gardens. Her chauffeur wheeled Eva and me into an underground garage, then up an elevator, and down a lush carpeted corridor to the third door on the right.

Implanted behind a desk stacked with disheveled files and reports, Margaret glanced up over the top of her reading glasses and rose to greet us.

“Norman!” She pecked me somewhere behind the left ear. “How are you?”

“Coping.”

“And Janice?”

“Fine. She indulges me shamelessly.”

“Everyone does, my dear.” She patted my hand, turning her attention to Eva.

I made introductions and tried to interpret Eva’s reaction to Dr. Sanford. Most people initially see her in a well-meaning, befuddled light. Good-hearted but not terribly bright. But it didn’t take long to taste gristle beneath the Eleanor Roosevelt mush.

She shuffled behind the desk and shut drapes across the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, then picked forlornly at the clutter on the desk top. “You must forgive all this,” she muttered. “People ask me for a psychological definition of Homo sapiens, and I sometimes think ‘a paper-wasting animal’ would be as good as any.” She settled into the chair and folded both hands in front of her. “Now, Eva, what has Norman said about me? Or perhaps, knowing his talent for gossip, I should ask what he left out?”

“Well …”

“… Freudian Wonder Woman, adept at untying all the knots that bind, etc., etc …?”

Eva blushed, smiling wanly. “Something like that.”

“Yes, Norman was always full of testimonials.” She leaned back with a deep sigh. “But I may be a little rusty for this sort of thing. One of the hazards of specialization is that it constipates you when something new turns up. I’ve spent nearly ten years in Japan, up to here in the problems of these people. First the Etas, and later studying the impulses behind their dreadful suicide mystique.” She gestured at the files and shook her head. “Page after page of learned conclusions backed up by years of meticulous research. And I sometimes still have the feeling I’m talking through my hat.”

“What are you trying to say?” Eva asked.

“I think Margaret is trying to scale herself down from Olympian heights.”

“Nicely, if sarcastically put, Norman.” She removed the glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I myself prefer the allusion of cards on the table.” She polished the lenses with a stray Kleenex. “Now, Norman explained your background in some detail, including the events in Spain. I’m afraid his … stratagem of showing you that old film was unorthodox, brutal, perhaps, but it certainly jarred the mental defenses you’ve set up against your experiences aboard the Titanic.” Margaret resettled the glasses on her nose. “Do you remember anything about the ship?”

Eva shook her head.

“You recall the film, don’t you?”

She squirmed in the chair. “I remember watching it. Then I blanked out, I guess. Next thing I knew, Norman was slapping me.”

Margaret made a face as she stood and paced slowly behind the desk. “I understand that you want to undergo hypnosis.

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