Silent Treatment

Dr. Bream’s new client, Alfred, entered the office. The psychiatrist sensed his nervous energy. He seemed to vibrate like a wind-up doll. His eyes darted.

They shook hands and sat.

Alfred didn’t wait. Words poured out like from an open floodgate. “Doctor, I don’t know, can you do anything for me? Does this happen all the time? Only to me? Never happened to me before. Stuff always happens to me. But never… My life… My wife. My job… Agnes, nagging Agnes… and Smiley… Spinning out of control. I mean my marriage… Wife’s not spinning. She doesn’t even sew. My marriage is… I don’t know where to begin. And my job… You’ve gotta help me, Doc. I can’t stand this.”

Dr. Bream failed to break in several times.

When he saw his chance, he said, “Alfred… I detect pressured speech from you. Have you ever had a manic episode?”

“Me? No. Never. That’s not me, Doc. I’m cool as cucumber. They make pickles out of cucumbers. I’m in a pickle, Doc.”

“Tell me about your marriage…”

“I love her, Doc. Agnes. My wife… But something’s wrong. Is it me? She’s dreaming about Smiley. Talks in her sleep. Keeps me awake… I…”

“Smiley?”

“Thought we were friends. Work together. But Agnes…”

“What is your work?”

Alfred gave Dr. Bream a cold look. Finally, he said, “I’m a mime.”

He pointed at his face, masked in white make-up.

“Oh, I get it. The make-up. I wondered. Makes sense now.”

“Yeah. Got to work a shift when I leave here. Tight schedule.”

Dr. Bream nodded.

“Anyway, I confronted Smiley. But he won’t talk to me. Just smiles and walks away…”

“Tell me more about your wife, Agnes?”

“She used to complain that we, or I, never talked. But now she holds her ears and tells me to ‘shut up…’”

“She says that?”

“Well, she says ‘please shut up…’ But whenever I mention Smiley, she gives me the old silent treatment. Makes me suspicious…”

Dr. Bream made a note.

“We tried couple’s therapy. But the therapist fell asleep.”

“Hmmmm…”

“I had nothing to say…”

“But you…”

“My work. It’s a tough job. People hate me. Who knew mimes got so much hostility…? Sometimes I get shoved. One guy gave me a black eye.”

“Oh, no…”

“Luckily the make-up covers it. I mean, who would beat up a mime?”

Dr. Bream said nothing.

“Look, I’m a mime. I imitate, copy people. Right?”

The doctor nodded.

“If someone shoves me, I shove back. I mean, what else would you expect from a mime?”

“I get what you’re saying… But at some point…”

“Then, when I was at the ER, they saw I was a mime. Took forever to get treated. Is it me? Or mimes in general? Should I stay silent? Feel like a target. Need to defend myself. I thought mimes were loveable. Used to be.”

The doctor stared, trying to maintain his objectivity.

“Should I take martial arts? Even Agnes turned on me…”

“If you need to protect yourself…”

“If I got good, I could start my own school. Martial arts for mimes… Shadow boxing…”

“Or karate for clowns…”

Alfred balked. “No, no… You don’t get it. Mimes and clowns don’t mix. It’s like the Hatfields and McCoys… Big unspoken rule... No one talks about...”

“But…”

He shook his head. “Doc, no.”

The doctor changed his tone. “Has your wife become violent…?”

“What? Attacked me? Oh, no… not physically, anyway. But if looks could kill…”

“Tell me more about this Smiley… What’s his…?”

“Oh, Smiley? Don’t get me started. If the walls could talk. You know?”

The doctor nodded.

“We used to hang out. But now he plays dumb. What a two-faced son of a… Sorry… Gives mimes a bad name. Won’t return my calls. He ghosted me.”

“But your wife?”

“Oh, her. They’re two of a kind. She has a type… Strong, silent… Can’t get a straight answer from either of them. What do I do, Doc? Am I in an invisible prison?” He leaned in. “Do I look like Marcel Marceau?”

Dr. Bream frowned and shook his head. “Have you seen them together?”

“No. But sometimes I work late and I come home and she’s not there. Of course, when she does show her face, it’s all blank stares and bland smiles. Or I’ll come home and she’s on the phone… Laughing and giggling like some I don’t know what. Like she used to be with me… Then she’ll see me and cut it short. Never says a word about who she’s talking to. I’m shut out. I’d be less lonely in a house of mirrors.”

“Hmmmm…” The doctor made a note. “Tell me… How would people respond if the mask came off?”

Alfred looked confused. “Mask?”

“The make-up… If you revealed your true self…?”

Sitting back in his chair, Alfred shook his head dismissively. “This is my job. Not who I am… Don’t wear it twenty-four, seven, Doc… My work, not for kicks… Agnes sees the real me. For what it’s worth…”

Dr. Bream nodded.

Alfred almost jumped up. “Oh! Hey! I could hire a private detective to shadow them… It would be a twofer, for sure…”

The doctor picked up a prescription pad and wrote. “Let’s treat your manic tendencies first and see how that affects your other issues.” He handed the paper to Alfred. “Take this and let’s talk again in a week.”

Alfred examined it and folded it into his pocket.

He said, “What’ll this do? Gotta work you know…”

“Will reduce your stress and the pressured speech. It shouldn’t affect your work. We’ll consult in a week and adjust as needed.”

“Okay, thanks, Doc. Worth a shot. Right?”

Dr. Bream nodded. They shook hands and Alfred left. The doctor wrote up his notes on the visit.

A week later, Alfred returned for his appointment. He was different. Entering Dr. Bream’s office, Alfred moved as if in a slow-motion video. He wore no make-up.

Dr. Bream knew at once he needed to reduce the medication.

Once he settled in his chair, Alfred appeared to be in suspended animation. He blinked and Dr. Bream counted the seconds it took Alfred to reopen his eyes.

Dr. Bream asked, “Did the prescription work? Did it help you at all?”

Waiting for an answer, the only sound was the ticking clock behind him. The doctor resisted the urge to check his watch.

He waved his hand before Alfred’s face, ensuring that he was conscious.

Alfred said, “I… see… you…”

He sounded like a 78-rpm record played at 33-rpms. The lengthy pauses between words stretched his answer out forever.

“No… more… pressured… speech...”

Dr. Bream said, “Are you able to work?”

“New… job… with… raise… Agnes… likes…”

“Oh… tell me about it.”

Alfred said, “Now… work… as… a… living… statue…”