Everyone
in Stansburry thought little Alfie Harris was a pathological liar,
and his mother cried because she thought he was going straight to
hell for it. Of course it had never been confirmed that the boy was a
pathological liar, but everyone who lived on Abbey Road knew
differently. No one ever noticed anything strange about the boy
before, but after his father, the good Judge Harris, held his party,
everyone agreed the boy was definitely wrong in the head.
The
good Judge Harris, however, refused to let just anyone look at his
son; oh no, only an expert, someone well respected, could look into
the boy. And Stansburry agreed with him. Of course the judge would
get only the best for his son, just as long as Father Marlin, the
passionate Catholic priest, secured the boy’s soul, the judge could
be as picky as he liked.
This
is why Alexander and Elizabeth Harris made sure everyone knew they
were going to Doc Martin for advice. Doc Martin specialized in odd
behavior. It was unfortunate, however, that he would not take the
hint and offer to help his old friends the Harrises. Not that he
didn’t have plenty of opportunity to study Alfie Harris – he
simply kept his observations to himself. For example, Doc left his
pale brick house promptly at 7:25 every morning for his daily
exercise. Sometimes he toted an umbrella for the rain or perhaps a
hat against the snow, but he always traveled north. Alfie and his
older brother Chris, who were always late for school, rushed around
him in their mad dash to beat the harsh ringing bells of the
Christian school they reluctantly attended. And every morning Doc
would salute and quietly suggest they avoid good behavior whenever
possible.
Doc
Martin comforted the good folks of Stansburry. He was predictable. He
always wore his dark, shoulder-cut hair away from his face, and his
wide eyes were always amused and amiable, though he never wore
glasses, which everyone agreed was odd. Alfie Harris had questioned
him on this very topic, a servant reported to the town as she let the
dogs out for a bit of air. “Sir,” the boy had asked, “why is it
that a doctor of your age doesn’t wear glasses?” Doc Martin, or
Doc, as he was affectionately called, winked to the eleven year old
boy and said he wasn’t a doctor of bodies but a doctor of souls.
“I
don’t see how that matters, sir,” Alfie said, standing up
straighter. “You are a doctor either way, aren’t you? Aren’t
you afraid you’ll miss something because you don’t see it?”
Doc,
it was reported, had paused and held still a long moment before he
nodded in agreement. “Alfie, when I can’t see straight anymore, I
won’t be a doctor anymore.” They shared a solemn nod and parted.
After
this conversation whirled through the town, everyone regarded the Doc
with greater ease, for there had been quiet an uproar after Doc
Martin moved in. The most devout women of the Catholic Church had
protested loudly that Stansburry didn’t need a doctor of crazy
people moving in. Indeed, if not for Judge Harris, who’d kindly
taken the doctor in, Doctor Hezekiah Martin would have been homeless
and destitute.
But
Judge Martin had taken care of him, offering him the guest house on
his property where he could stay, and slowly Judge Harris and his
wife had introduced him properly into society. “And it’s a good
thing, too,” Annabella, the middle age widower who lived in the
shadow of the church, said to her neighbor. “Why, who knows what
the boy would grow into if our Doc didn’t know how to fix him? We
might have had a sharp rise in crime.”
It
was very convenient that Doc Martin was in Stansburry. In the nearly
three years he’d been living off the good Judge Harris’s
hospitality, he’d had nearly fifteen patients. Fifteen! Stansburry
residents had been shocked by their own mental instability, and
church attendance has risen as a result. Judge Harris’s business
went just as well, as he sorted through the insanity pleas that were
becoming increasingly common. Just before the town’s annual
Christmas play, a celebration party for Judge Harris and his
promotion (put on of course by the good Judge Harris) was appreciated
by all those fortunate enough to attend. Judge Harris was now taking
cases all over the countryside, and everyone was so proud.
However,
that party was a disaster, as old man Finchley reported politely. Oh,
it had started out just fine until little Alfie Harris told what Doc
had said about glasses to the party guest gathered all around.
Everyone tittered in their heels and ties, and patted Judge Harris'
arm. “What a clever boy,” Stansburry smiled. “He knows clever
things, even though he’s still so young.”
Judge
Harris smiled and looked around the room. “Like father, like son?”
His young female secretary had laughed and put a small hand on his
arm. “He’s as clever as his father,” the secretary said, and
Judge Harris smiled wider.
Alfie
seemed to turn very pale after that. Everyone agreed on that point.
“He was listening to his shoulder angel and devil and then he bit
his lip and we could all tell the shoulder devil had made a better
argument,” Annabella told Matilda, who’d been too sick to attend.
“And he straightened and declared, ‘I have learned another clever
thing.’ ”
“Let’s
hear it, son,” Judge
Harris said, bumping gently against the secretary and winking. Alfie
held up a hand for silence and everyone gathered in amused quiet.
Alfie pulled a chair from beneath the large mirror and wobbled as he
stood. He clasped his hands together and, in a very serious cadence,
proceeded to explain how his father left every night to meet his
lover down the street, and that tonight his mother was going to send
the government after him, to dispose of the bodies.
Doc
Martin, and indeed all of Stansburry, noted
that neither Alfie nor his brother Chris attended parties after that.
Doc also noted that every other afternoon, Mrs. Harris dutifully
walked Alfie northeast towards the stifling old church. Two days
after the party, Judge Harris took his garden gloves and came to
stand near the old garden that Doc had resurrected in the three years
he’d lived on Judge Harris’s grace. Doc often went there at
night, his servants reported, because he said it made him think
better.
Judge
Harris sat in the dirt next to Doc Martin in silence for several long
moments until Doc Martin seemed to feel uncomfortable. Judge Harris
wore a heavy frown. “My clients are beginning to question if I’m
trustworthy,” he whispered. He slowly pulled a long glove over his
left hand. “They say that my son told that story too solemnly for
it to be a joke.” Doc Martin did not react and so Judge Harris
continued. “Everyone is asking why a son of mine would tell such a
story.” He continued giving a meaningful look at the Doctor.
Doc
Martin rubbed the plump pepper between his fingers. Judge Harris gave
a long sigh. “I need you, Doc.” Judge Harris continued putting on
his right glove at last. “I need you to explain to people that my
son has problems with lying. I’m trying to do a good thing. You
know that, Alexandra would die of a broken heart. You know her flair
for drama. Just look the boy over, won’t you? You are the Doctor
after all. People would trust your judgment and word.”
Doc
Martin gave a half smile. “You know children, Judge Harris. They
say what they want. People rarely believe them. I’m sure it will
blow over.” Then Doc Martin apologized saying he had an appointment
and rushed back to the house. Judge Harris sat near the garden a long
time after slowly putting on, and then pulling off his stained
gloves.
But
Doc had not been in Stansburry long enough to know the people.
Everyone was insistent that the Harris’s get help for their son.
Nearly three weeks after the failed dinner celebration the Harris
family returned to their property to find
Doc Martin out on the lawn, with one of his patients. Since he stayed
in their guest house Mrs. Harris always knew who his next patient was
and she often guessed as to their malady. The patient today wore a
pale pink dress and fashionable heels. She was dazzled by jewelry
though she held her arms close, eyeing the Harris family with
distrust. Judge Harris nodded to his family and quietly slipped
inside to compose himself. Mrs. Harris walked with the servants to
inspect the flower gardens while Alfie and Chris chased each other
around the fountain. It did not take long for them to begin talking
to the doctor and the woman. To Chris’s surprise Alfie suddenly
bowed before the woman and said “My lady I am honored to be in your
presence this evening.”
Chris
snorted and tugged at his brother’s shirt. “She’s not royalty
Alfie. Grow up and stop lying like Father told you.”
“She
is royalty.” Alfie said baring his teeth. “She’s standing up
straight and dignified and wearing long white gloves and heels. And
didn’t you hear her speak a moment ago?”
Chris
rolled his eyes and nodded to the lady. “My brother is a
pathological liar.” He apologized. “Forgive him.” Doc Martin
shifted slightly on his heels as he eyed Alfie closely.
It
took until the next Monday morning for the issue to become resolved.
Mrs. Harris walked her sons to the corner, Old Man Finchley had
witnessed it and said Alfie had run to the doctor and demanded to
know who the queen had been and when she’d left. Doc Martin paused
and Chris explained, “He thinks that woman was a princess.” He
mocked. “He won’t let it go.”
Mrs.
Harris gave a teary sigh, “Alfie, we all saw her and she was just
like you or me.” She looked to Doc Martin, “My husband says that
as a psychologist you understand these things. How do we get him to
stop lying?”
Doc
Martin rocked back and forth a moment, and asked, “Why do you think
she’s a Princess?”
Alfie
raised an eyebrow. “I saw her crown in her purse.” he whispered.
“Oh
Alfie,” his mother groaned. “Please, please, don’t involve
others in your lies; you’ll condemn the poor woman as well.” Mrs.
Harris sighed. “Please Doc, he’ll end up in prison or something,
if he doesn’t stop now. Please reconsider and take him on as a
patient.”
Doc
Martin let out a long breath and looked between the Harris house and
little Alfie and shook his head. “I’m afraid that isn’t
possible.”
Mrs.
Harris pursed her lips. “Even after all we’ve done for you?”
Doc
Martin didn’t quite meet her eyes as he replied, “I’m afraid I
just can’t.”
Mrs.
Harris shook her head. “Well the least you can do is take him on
Wednesday to Father Marlin. I simply must attend the ladies meeting
that afternoon.” And she flounced back into the house.
Doc
Martin grunted and looked at Alfie. “She was a queen, not a
princess.” He said after a long moment. “She is very sad.”
“Doc
Martin, we’re not supposed to encourage him.” Chris said
frowning.
Doc
Martin gave a half smile, “I’m not. Alexandra Dovoneir has
multiple personalities, and on Friday night she was a queen just as
Alfie noticed.”
Chris
was silent for several seconds gaping at his brother, but Alfie had
started to walk away. “Of course.” The boy had muttered. “Of
course she was a queen. Queens are married and she at least still has
a wedding ring on.”
The
esteemed Father Marlin was not pleased to have an extra visitor that
afternoon, he told the deacon afterwards. Doc Martin had sat in a
side chair and squirmed as he listened to Alfie discuss the Queen
he’d met over the weekend. Father Marlin’s frown seemed to touch
the depths of hell when he finally spoke. “My son, I thought you
understood that telling stories will destroy your soul.”
Alfie
raised an angry eyebrow. “It wasn’t a story. She is Doc Martin’s
patient isn’t she?”
Father
Marlin dared Doc Martin to agree with a sharp sneer. Doc Martin
squirmed a little but he nodded to Alfie. “She is a patient of mine
who suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder.”
Father
Marlin was not pleased with these facts. He turned back to Alfie.
“She was not a princess.” He snapped.
“That’s
what I’ve been saying.” Alfie groaned. “She’s a queen and I
didn’t…”
“Did
you learn nothing from your exercises?” Father Marlin pounded on
his desk rattling the crystal statuette violently. “Your Mother, my
poor second cousin, wants your soul saved, and to do that, you must
not tell stories about what you see.”
“No
thank you.” Alfie said politely.
Father
Marlin turned red in the face. He lifted his hand then looked at Doc
Martin before he slowly sank back down in his red leather chair. It
creaked under his weight as he put his fingers together beneath his
chin.
“Doc
Martin may I speak with you in private?” Father Marlin asked,
sending Alfie from the room. Father Marlin leaned over his desk, “You
need to pick a side Doc. You are either with us or against us.” Doc
Martin shut his mouth and said nothing. Father Marlin growled deeply
in his throat and sent the doctor away.
Everyone
in Stansburry waited eagerly each morning for the Harris servants to
come to the market. Things were growing tenser around the Harris
house. Doc for some reason would not diagnosis the boy as Father
Marlin had. Though the town did have some forgiveness for him, he had
just gotten another patient of course, all the way from Duncun,
nearly two hundred miles away. And perhaps the ordeal might have
mostly blown away if it hadn’t been for the paper.
Published
as an add, the advertisement informed the town that Judge Harris was
robbing them out of house and home, and that his affair would bring
them to ruins. It was signed, ‘Your young friend Alfie Harris.’
Doc Martin’s housekeeper said that when Doc saw the ad, he set the
paper down, because he could no longer eat. Surely now, the town
agreed, Doc Martin would have to help the boy.
The
expected letter came three hours later, informing Doc Martin his
presence was requested for dinner that night at the Harris home next
door. At the requested time Doc Martin dressed in his best Sunday
suit and sat down to dinner with Judge and Mrs. Harris. They talked
of boring things like the government or the weather, and then
unprovoked Judge Harris gripped the table. “My career will be
ruined old friend, if you do not examine the boy and tell everyone he
is a pathological liar. These stories… these lies…will destroy
us.” Each of the servants attested later that he was begging for
help.
Mrs.
Harris looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Everyone thinks my
husband is playing me and everyone else for fools, to his own
advantage. And then as if that’s not enough, Alfie tells these wild
tales of queens and dark figures who creep into the spare bedroom at
night. Please Doc, you have to stop his lies. You have to help him.”
Doc
swallowed the wine slowly, his face growing red. Judge Harris gripped
the table and leaned dangerously forward. “Just make a statement.
That’s all we ask, and then have the boy over for tea, or anything.
Just support us. Support me.” Judge Harris’s voice could barely
be heard. Doc Martin gulped before he finally shook his words out. “I
don’t believe anything is wrong with the boy, I’ve been watching
him a long time now. I think he’s just as sane as you or I.”
Mrs.
Harris covered her mouth and began to wipe her eyes. “Do you really
mean that?” She begged. “Truly there’s nothing wrong?”
Doc
Martin shut his mouth seeming to consider his next words carefully.
Judge Harris frowned deeply and his face hardened. He then slammed
his gavel of a hand to the table. “You’ve heard the boy my
darling!” He said now arguing to his wife. “The child lies all
the time. He shares his lies at school and to his teacher. You
yourself talked to the headmaster on the phone. And now he’s going
out of his way to spread his lies in the paper. This must stop!” He
turned to Doc Martin his eyes searching angrily. “You must agree to
this Doc Martin, I have helped you, now you must help me or you do
not have a home here.”
Doc
Martin held very still. Just beyond the kitchen looking through the
glass doors was a very pale Alfie. He cupped his hands together in
front of him and shook them slightly. Doc blinked then held up his
wine glass to look at the distorted figure of Judge Harris through
it. “I’m sorry.” He said softly. Then he turned to Mrs. Harris.
Doc Martin stood and quietly handed her the wine glass. “You’d
better take this my dear.” He said quietly. “I wouldn’t want
you to miss something just because you can’t see it.”
But
Mrs. Harris held very still looking at Doc Martin. “I don’t
understand.” She said. “Everything is fine, isn’t it?” She
looked to her husband.
A
complete and utter silence engulfed the room before Mr. Harris lungs
made the dust from the chandelier tremble. “How dare you? How dare
you insult me to suggest those rumors are true! How dare you suggest
that I would ever ruin my business partners or my marriage!”
