‘Something else for you to judge.’ It seemed more like-cross-examination from a courtroom soap opera than what he’d expected a psychological assessment to be.
‘How you liking America?’
‘Very much.’
‘No homesickness, adjustment difficulties?’
Parnell snorted a laugh. ‘No homesickness, no adjustment difficulties.’
‘No overhanging relationships then?’
‘No.’
‘You’re not married?’
‘No.’ He nodded sideways to her desk. ‘It says I’m not on my personnel file there.’
Barbara Spacey gave no response. ‘Divorced?’
‘No. It says that on the personnel file, too.’
‘Children?’
‘No. Also in the file.’
‘Parents alive?’
‘My mother.’
‘What about your father?’
‘I never knew a father. Whoever he was, he left my mother unmarried when she became pregnant.’
‘You hate him for doing that, walking out on her?’
‘No.’
The psychologist used the act of stubbing out her cigarette to cover the doubtful pause. ‘I find that hard to believe. Makes her pregnant and then turns his back on his responsibility?’
‘Wasn’t that better than doing his duty and spending the rest of their lives unhappy or later going through the trauma of a divorce?’
‘They might have become happy, in time.’
‘That’s hypothetical.’
‘What about your mother? You despise her for becoming pregnant?’
‘That’s an absurd question!’ erupted Parnell, discarding the determination not to lose his temper. ‘ She didn’t abandon me. She worked her way through college, qualified as a lawyer, took me through school and college. I love her. Admire her. She’s a fantastic woman.’
‘So, you despise me for asking an absurd question?’
‘Yes,’ answered Parnell. Fuck you, he thought.
‘How would you feel about a word-association test? You know, day-night, black-white? The first word that enters your head…’ She clicked her stained fingers. ‘Quick as that.’
‘I’ve never played one before. But if you want to, let’s do it.’
‘To get it over with?’
She was very definitely goading him. ‘You’ve allocated all afternoon to me. So, we’re in no hurry, are we?’
‘Night?’ she suddenly demanded.
‘Black,’ he said at once, not caught out.
‘Sea?’
‘Boat.’
‘Woman?’
‘Mother.’
‘God?’
‘Philosophy.’
‘War?’
‘Death.’
‘Medicine?’
‘Cure.’
‘Disease?’
‘Pestilence.’
‘King?’
‘Exalted.’
‘President?’
Parnell hesitated. ‘America.’
‘Tyranny?’
‘Overthrow.’
‘Sermon?’
‘Speech.’
‘Church?’
‘House.’
‘Choir?’
‘Song.’
‘Failure?’
‘Mistake.’
Barbara Spacey sat back in her chair, a fresh cigarette adding to the room’s fug. ‘I expected you to cheat. Reply with a word you thought I’d want to hear.’
‘How do you know I didn’t?’
‘It’s my job to know. On your application and CV you put yourself down as a Protestant. But you don’t believe in God, do you?’
Parnell shifted, uncomfortable with the analysis. ‘A lot of scientists don’t.’
‘Why didn’t you say so, on your personal application?’
‘I thought Protestant would look better than agnostic or atheist. America’s a pretty religious country, isn’t it?’
‘Honest now but not then?’
‘I’ve got the job now. I didn’t have it then.’
‘Which is it?’
‘Agnostic, I suppose.’
‘You did cheat once in the test, didn’t you?’
Parnell accepted that Barbara Spacey was unsettling him more with her analysis than she had done by provocation. Perhaps one was a professional precursor of the other. ‘Yes.’
‘So what was the word you really thought of when I said “President”?’
‘Exalted.’
‘Why didn’t you say it?’
‘I had, once already.’
‘You could have used it again.’
‘Wouldn’t it have meant the same?’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘I’ll remember next time.’
‘You expect there to be a next time?’
‘Something else for you to decide.’
‘You have any problem with authority?’ she said.
‘I don’t understand the question.’
‘Accepting it.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘How do you feel about exercising it?’
‘I’m not sure I understand that question, either.’
‘You ever been in a position of authority before, have power over a bunch of people?’
