The Upturned Glass

1

We're late enough already.

They've closed the doors. So come on.

It's a medical school lecture.

I want to see what the attraction is.

Psychology of crime.

- What?

- Psychology of crime? Come on.

I have a good mind to stay.

Who's the lecturer?

I'd stay if I were you.

He only lectures once a week.

Now you've got to stay.

Up to this point in the

present series of lectures

we've dealt exclusively

with abnormal mentalities.

I emphasize the fact that

in civilized communities

80 percent of our murderers

and violent criminals

are those whose minds

have been conditioned by

exceptional nervous stress

in an unhealthy environment.

Last Friday we dealt with the smaller

group of strictly moronic criminals.

And now we came to that much

more interesting phenomenon,

the sane criminal.

A man who is prepared to pursue

his own ethical convictions

even to the point of murder.

A man whose punishment is apt to weigh

heavily on the conscious of society

because his actions as likely

as not have been inspired by

just as great an integrity as those

of the men who sit in judgment.

At worse, he's an

irresponsible opportunist.

At the best he's a man with

a strong sense of justice,

even of mystic.

I propose to relay the case history

of a murderer of this class,

a perfectly sane,

valuable member of society.

I'd better give him

a fictitious name.

I'll give them all fictitious names

of all the characters in this case.

He was a surgeon.

We'll call him

Mr. Joyce, Mr. Michael Joyce.

He was well thought of

in the medical profession

and had a house ofhis own

inHolly Street.

His marriage had

been an unhappy one,

and he'd livedapartfrom

his wife for several years.

Consequently, he threw all ofhis

energy and interest into his work.

As a brainspecialist, he

operated in three London hospitals

and had developed a technique which considerably

reduced the mortality rate in hisfield.

He was reserved in his personal

relationships and had no close friends.

His only relaxation was to sit

at home and play the piano

or go to an occasional concert.

Otherwise, it was a life

devoted solely to work,

a life thatby normal standards was

unutterably lonely and empty.

But he never recognized this himselfuntil

he met a woman called EmmaWright.

When shefirst came into his consulting

room he hardly even noticed her.

She was just an ordinary

middle-class woman

who happened to have a daughter

who was going blind.

Sit down, Mrs. Wright.

Now, let's have a look

at this head of yours.

I gather it was an emergency

operation after an air raid.

Yes.

Now the eyesight is effected.

The eye specialist said there

was nothing he could do.

Can you see well

enough to read?

Not really.

I have the eye

specialist report.

Early optic atrophy.

This is a fairly serious

condition, Mrs. Wright.

The thingfor us to do is to

take her into the hospital,

make a thorough investigation so

as to establish the exact cause.

You wouldn't mind

that Ann, would you?

Would you?

Will it hurt?

No, we'll take

good care of you.

You want her to

go in right away?

I think she should.

Ann, come over here.

Sit down.

We don't want the atrophy

to become too far advanced.

Now Ann, I'm just going to

look into your eyes.

You see those two figures on the

mantelpiece, keep your eye on them.

My face will get in between

but don't look at me.

The personality

ofthe child's mother

remained at the time being a

matter of no great importance.

But after the child had been

submitted to a series of tests

andX-rays had proved that her trouble

was due to a smallforeign body

lodged arterially

to theoptic chiasma,

it became obvious that afairly

serious operation was necessary,

and the relationship between these

two became inevitably less remote.

Will it be very

dangerous, the operation?

To her life?

Mm-hmm.

There's always a risk

with a major operation.

How great a risk?

Mortality rate with this

operation is 1 percent.

And if you don't operate?

She'll go blind.

Oh, if only my husband were

here he'd know what to do.

I hate to go

ahead without him.

We will consider putting it

offfor a short time

if he's coming home soon.

Notfor seven

months, I'm afraid.

In that case then I

shouldn't advise it.

Every week that we let it go

it gets progressively worse.

I know.

I know you're right, but you

don't think she -

I mean, she couldn't be

in the 1 percent?

In my mind there's

no question at all.

I've met this problem

before on many occasions,

always with complete success.

I wish you felt

you could trust me.

It isn't that.

I'll do what you say.

Well I suggest we leave

Ann here at the hospital.

She's comfortable.

And I'll operate as soon as

it can be arranged, alright?

Alright.

There's nothing to it, Ann.

We give you something nice

to make you go to sleep,

and when you wake up

again it's all over,

and you'll be able to

see properly again.

Oh, Mommy, they want

to cut my hair off.

But darling, it

will grow again.

Oh, must I stay here, Mommy?

Mr. Joyce will take

great care of you.

Oh, don't go, please, Mommy.

How would you like your mother to

stay with you 'til you go to sleep?

Can't you stay with me

until I wake up again?

She can stay with you all

the time, if she likes.

Oh, yes, please, Mommy.

He says you can.

Alright, darling. I'll stay.

I'll see you later, Ann.

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