save his sister Freya.
It became a real joy to me, visiting Dr Hyem. Controlling his diabetes was not difficult, and we always found time to talk about other things that interested us both. One day I had the sauce to ask him, ‘Why do you live in a place like this. You are a cultivated man. Surely you could find somewhere better?’
His eyes wrinkled at the corners in the way that was so attractive.
‘Now that, Nurse, is where you are wrong. I do not think I could find anywhere better in the world to live. I have two rooms, which are waterproof, and I have a roof over my head. I have myvery own private lavatory. What more can a man ask? And for all this, I assure you, the rent is very low.’
‘But the environment, the people … They are just not your type.’
‘Again, my dear young lady, you are wrong. From my eyrie I look over the docks, a fascination I had not thought possible until I proved it for myself. The light falls upon the water at different times of day and shows me a thousand different beauties, which are never repeated, but always changing. The cargo boats come and go. The men toil and the women work. As for the people, I like them. Canada Buildings can be described as a microcosm of all life, and humanity is my study.’
Once, when I was showing him how to inject his own insulin, and watching his ham-fisted attempts to insert the needle, I said, ‘You are obviously not a real doctor, then?’
‘If by that you mean a doctor of medicine, no, I am not. I am a doctor of analytical psychology.’
A psychiatrist?’
‘No. A psychiatrist in this country must first be a medical practitioner, which I am not. Thirty years ago I studied in Zürich with Dr Carl Jung, the greatest thinker and interpreter of the human mind of the century, in my opinion.’
‘So that was your job?’
His eyes crinkled again and he gave me a funny look.
‘Yes, that was my “job”, as you so accurately describe.’
‘Do you do it now?’ (What a sauce the young have!)
‘No. And I know your next question will be “why?” So I will tell you. Frankly, in this country, under your new National Health Service, I do not think I could earn a living. I am not qualified to practice in this country. So I earn my living as a translator.’
‘What do you translate?’
‘Mostly psychoanalytical treatises and papers for journals in French, German, Italian and Dutch.’
You are very clever to speak and write so many languages.’
‘In my father’s house we all had to learn the principal Europeanlanguages. My mother was Swiss and had been brought up to speak three languages fluently, and she taught her children likewise.’
I walked around the room and ran my fingers over some of the leather bindings, which were beautiful to the touch. The titles were in several different languages, including English, but there was a collection that looked like nothing on earth to me.
‘What are these?’ I asked.
Again he gave me that funny look, his eyes smiling.
‘That is my Greek collection. It is necessary for an educated man or woman to be conversant in Latin and Greek. These two are the fundamental languages of civilisation.
I must have looked thoughtful, because he said: ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I love your books, I love your music; I love your elegant rooms … everything.’
The Wigmore Hall was crowded. I felt a tap on the shoulder and turned round. Dr Conrad Hyem was smiling at me.
‘What an unexpected pleasure,’ he exclaimed.
It was truly delightful to see him. We had not met for three months because he was controlling his diabetes satisfactorily by injecting himself, and he did not need our visits. I regretted the loss of his wonderful company, and would have liked to continue seeing him, but that was just not possible. As a nurse, I could not visit the flat of a single gentleman who had formerly been a patient, without bringing disrepute not only to myself but also, which was far more important, to the
It became a real joy to me, visiting Dr Hyem. Controlling his diabetes was not difficult, and we always found time to talk about other things that interested us both. One day I had the sauce to ask him, ‘Why do you live in a place like this. You are a cultivated man. Surely you could find somewhere better?’
His eyes wrinkled at the corners in the way that was so attractive.
‘Now that, Nurse, is where you are wrong. I do not think I could find anywhere better in the world to live. I have two rooms, which are waterproof, and I have a roof over my head. I have myvery own private lavatory. What more can a man ask? And for all this, I assure you, the rent is very low.’
‘But the environment, the people … They are just not your type.’
‘Again, my dear young lady, you are wrong. From my eyrie I look over the docks, a fascination I had not thought possible until I proved it for myself. The light falls upon the water at different times of day and shows me a thousand different beauties, which are never repeated, but always changing. The cargo boats come and go. The men toil and the women work. As for the people, I like them. Canada Buildings can be described as a microcosm of all life, and humanity is my study.’
Once, when I was showing him how to inject his own insulin, and watching his ham-fisted attempts to insert the needle, I said, ‘You are obviously not a real doctor, then?’
‘If by that you mean a doctor of medicine, no, I am not. I am a doctor of analytical psychology.’
A psychiatrist?’
‘No. A psychiatrist in this country must first be a medical practitioner, which I am not. Thirty years ago I studied in Zürich with Dr Carl Jung, the greatest thinker and interpreter of the human mind of the century, in my opinion.’
‘So that was your job?’
His eyes crinkled again and he gave me a funny look.
‘Yes, that was my “job”, as you so accurately describe.’
‘Do you do it now?’ (What a sauce the young have!)
‘No. And I know your next question will be “why?” So I will tell you. Frankly, in this country, under your new National Health Service, I do not think I could earn a living. I am not qualified to practice in this country. So I earn my living as a translator.’
‘What do you translate?’
‘Mostly psychoanalytical treatises and papers for journals in French, German, Italian and Dutch.’
You are very clever to speak and write so many languages.’
‘In my father’s house we all had to learn the principal Europeanlanguages. My mother was Swiss and had been brought up to speak three languages fluently, and she taught her children likewise.’
I walked around the room and ran my fingers over some of the leather bindings, which were beautiful to the touch. The titles were in several different languages, including English, but there was a collection that looked like nothing on earth to me.
‘What are these?’ I asked.
Again he gave me that funny look, his eyes smiling.
‘That is my Greek collection. It is necessary for an educated man or woman to be conversant in Latin and Greek. These two are the fundamental languages of civilisation.
I must have looked thoughtful, because he said: ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I love your books, I love your music; I love your elegant rooms … everything.’
The Wigmore Hall was crowded. I felt a tap on the shoulder and turned round. Dr Conrad Hyem was smiling at me.
‘What an unexpected pleasure,’ he exclaimed.
It was truly delightful to see him. We had not met for three months because he was controlling his diabetes satisfactorily by injecting himself, and he did not need our visits. I regretted the loss of his wonderful company, and would have liked to continue seeing him, but that was just not possible. As a nurse, I could not visit the flat of a single gentleman who had formerly been a patient, without bringing disrepute not only to myself but also, which was far more important, to the
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