In book two, we see Scobie finally
tormented by the death of his daughter, Catherine. He reveals that “he had
always thanked God that he had missed that” (183). He was in Africa at the time
and did not get the chance to say good-bye to his own child. The news of her
death came unexpected via telegram from his wife, but what was more surprising was
his reaction to the tragic news. Scobie has a very personal discussion with
Helen about death and dying: a conversation that is quite bizarre for two
strangers to have. Scobie tells her that he expected pain and misery to follow
the news of Catherine’s death, but they did not come. Instead, he felt like a load
was taken off his back because he was no longer responsible for her happiness.
He goes back to talk about his notion of peace, “When they are dead our
responsibility ends…we can rest in peace” (210). Ironically, he says that the
living rest in peace, rather than the deceased. He goes on to say that with the
lack of pain and grief, came forgetfulness, and he slowly began to suppress his
memory of Catherine.
When Scobie is left alone with a
dying six year old girl in the rest-house, dark images and thoughts of his own
daughter’s death come to mind. We get to see Scobie’s strong faith in God come
through for the first time. He prays for the young girl to get some peace, but
when he still sees her struggling to breathe, he takes a step further. He
offers up his own peace so that the sickly child could attain peace. Scobie
begins to sweat and a surge of emotion overwhelms him. Scobie takes on the role
of the girl’s father to calm her down. So while he pretends to be her father,
he also imagines that the girl is Catherine. Scobie appears flustered, anxious,
and terrified at the bedside of this young girl, expressing all the emotions he
had pushed away during Catherine’s death. Then, “a memory that he had carefully
buried returned” and Scobie tries to pacify the child by making a rabbit-like
shadow (184). Greene deliberately writes “carefully buried” to indicate that
Scobie had consciously suppressed the memory of Catherine’s death rather than
unconsciously repress it. Scobie feels the pain of losing someone close, years
after the event, and the pent up emotions are finally set free. For the
remainder of the section, Scobie is plagued by the death of the child just as
he should have been after Catherine’s death.
Question: Why did Scobie suppress
the memory of his daughter’s death in the first place?
2 comments:
I see the events at the beginning of Book Two as another sign of what Louise would call Scobie’s “terrible sense of responsibility” (146) though this time it is not so terrible. I believe this sense of responsibility is shown once again in a more sympathetic way in his help after the shipwreck. Prior to this, Scobie’s responsibility seems solely to his wife, but with his wife gone he continues to help people and show he has sympathy and feels responsible for everyone, even people he does not know. He not only shows genuine concern for everyone affected by the shipwreck, he also feels concern for Wilson. Even though Wilson admits completely to the affair he had with Louise and even stresses that she is “too good for you” (190), Scobie remains calm and even plays it off. He claims that Wilson is suffering from the effects of the Sun and is talking nonsense. His total calm and sympathy toward the angry Wilson certainly proves he is a character of intense humility as well as responsibility.
Scobie peace comes from the absence of responsibility and pity. Earlier we saw how comfortable and happy he was sitting “alone…on the edge of the bath,” away from his responsibility to Louise (113). Although surprising, his method of dealing with Catherine’s death is not illogical. He “can rest in peace” because Catherine is doing the same thing in the life beyond (210). Scobie is a man who puts a majority of his effort into “ responsibility and pity” (182). His purpose in relationships, as he sees it, is to assure the other’s happiness. Out of context, I would easily classify Scobie’s mentality as nobly self-sacrificing. However, little about it can be qualified as such. Scobie cannot convey to anyone (nor would he, given his view of relationships) how terribly this burden weighs on him. It causes “restlessness, haunting images, and [a] terrible impotent feeling” (182). This self-sacrifice seems more like self-harm.
Nevertheless, his suppression of his daughter’s death, although dangerous and unhealthy, offers Scobie (unstable) temporary peace. He rarely mentions her, except in the most recent part and very early on. Without a trigger, Scobie can devote more of his existence to making Louise happy, that is, before she departed for Africa. His memory “carefully buried” is an attempt to relieve himself of a horribly un-peaceful task (184).
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