4pQonT

24 THIS DIFFICULT INDIVIDUAL
named Bolger, who walked back and forth, wringing his hands and
moaning again and again in a piteous voice, "Oh God, Oh God,
don't let them retire me!" I learned that he had been a prominent
executive who had stayed at his desk too long and become senile.
Out of pity, his fellow officers had delayed retiring him despite the
seriousness of his condition. He knew that they were thinking of
unloading him, and this knowledge only made his condition worse.
They kept him on, and he finally ruined the corporation and was
retired penniless to the madhouse.
In this atmosphere, Ezra led a monastic existence. He spent
most of the day studying and writing in an incredibly tiny room
that had a single narrow window. He was able to close his door
partially, but this did not keep out the blare of the radios, or the
roar of the television, which came after 1952. Nor did the door
protect him from the murmur of the old men's voices as they
paused in the hall, muttering over and over the arguments that
they had used, or had meant to use, in some long-forgotten crisis.
I had said very little on this first visit, and supposed that I was
making no impression. As the hospital bell tolled four, the signal
for visitors to leave, Ezra fixed those very piercing eyes on me and
asked, "What day would you like?"
"Oh, Tuesday would be all right with me," I replied hesitantly,
without knowing what was meant.
"Let's see, we don't have anyone coming on Tuesday, do we?"
he asked his wife.
"Not at the present," she answered. "Dick 5
has gone off on some
sort of expedition, and he won't be around for a while."
"Good," he said to me. "I'll see you then."
He vigorously shook hands with each of us, as the gaoler came
up with his bunch of keys and unlocked the door. Ezra kissed his
wife goodbye, and we were let out into an atmosphere of freedom.
Once we were on the lawn, I breathed deeply, trying to get that
terrible musty odor out of my lungs. Dorothy Pound was observing
me, and she smiled gently but said nothing. After all, she was
going in and out of that hellish place every day.
The Flemings drove Dorothy Pound home to the tiny apartment
that she occupied a few blocks from the hospital. Later, as they