Gamophobia

Dr. Lionel Penn was on vacation, which for him was an increasingly rare occasion. It was not often he could spare the time from his busy psychiatric practice for an uninterrupted period of rest and relaxation. This particular vacation (a week alone on his boat, cruising along the New England coast) was just what he, the doctor, needed.

Lionel had said goodbye to Dr. Sarah Ryerson, who could not join him on the trip because of the shortage of staff at Puritan Falls Hospital, and left the Puritan Falls Marina on Friday evening. In the intervening time between then and early Sunday afternoon, he had not seen another human being. Feeling a bit like Robinson Crusoe, he headed for shore. It was not companionship he sought as much as a decent meal. A man fond of good food, he was already tiring of the prepackaged dinners he kept in the small galley of his boat.

Once back on land, Lionel headed toward the center of town. He knew of an exceptionally fine inn, the Yankee Clipper, located half a mile from the dock, which was well known for its fresh seafood. He was walking along the cobblestone street, anticipating a mouthwatering bowl of New England clam chowder, a crock of baked beans and a succulent lobster tail when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"What are you doing here?" Lionel asked. "I thought you were teaching in Cambridge."

"It's Sunday, remember? It's my day off. I came up here to do a little shopping. What about you?"

"I was just headed for the Yankee Clipper to get a bite to eat. Why don't you join me?"

Lionel and Kent spent a good part of the afternoon enjoying the restaurant's fine cuisine and reliving memories of the good old days at college. After gossiping about fellow classmates and discussing the good and bad points of their respective professions, the two men got around to talking about their personal lives.

"You mean Caitlin Stockwell? Yeah. In fact, we've been living together for over a year now."

"Marriage is a touchy subject," he said, clearly perturbed by Lionel's question.

"It's okay. The fact is Caitlin hears them pealing loudly. But me, I guess I'm like Quasimodo, the old hunchbacked bell-ringer of Notre Dame: I'm deaf to them."

"I know how you feel. I've stood on that precipice myself a few times. I never had the courage to jump either, but then I think most men suffer from gamophobia to some extent."

"Why should the subject of marriage be an embarrassment between two old friends?"

"Because you're also a psychiatrist. Telling you about my little idiosyncrasies is like confessing my sins to a friend who is also a priest."

"So, what's the worst that can happen?" Lionel joked. "Are you afraid I'll tell you to say ten Hail Marys and perform a good act of contrition?"

Kent laughed and relaxed a little, but he was still uptight, as they used to say when they were in college.

"If I remember correctly, you majored in English Lit, so I guess you teach one of the language arts."

"Actually, I teach folklore, with an emphasis on superstitions, rituals and the occult."

"That's very interesting, but what has that to do with your inability to commit to a relationship with Caitlin?"

"Don't worry about how it sounds. If I told you some of the things I've felt or experienced since we graduated from college, you'd think I was on the wrong side of the couch. Now, what is it about marriage that bothers you?"

"It's the ceremony itself. There are so many ancient customs associated with it, dating back hundreds of years. In fact, there's no ceremony today more steeped in superstitious traditions than a wedding. For instance, do you know why there are bridesmaids and ushers at a wedding?"

"The custom dates back to an old Roman law that required ten witnesses to a marriage ceremony. Originally, these attendants dressed like the bride and groom to confuse the evil spirits that wanted to prey upon the innocent couple."

"Kent, if you're a professor of folklore and superstition, you must know that there is no basis for your fears. You're not afraid of black cats crossing your path or of walking under a ladder, are you?"

"No. But I have studied many an old wives' tale and ancient customs and have found that there often is some validity to the myths."

"No. Look, maybe I could use an example of another event in my life to show you how I feel about the whole idea of the marriage ceremony. About a year and a half ago, Caitlin and I attended a lecture on the resurgence of pagan religions in the modern world. Afterward, the speaker invited us back to her house where she showed us the altar at which she worshipped. Now I've studied the modern religion of Wicca, and I know that those people who practice it are no more evil than Lutherans, Baptists or Methodists. But when I saw that altar with the pentagram suspended above it, I felt I was in some way endangering my immortal soul. Worse yet, I half expected our gracious hostess to pull out a dagger and offer me up as a human sacrifice. And that's how I feel about weddings," he concluded. "I know in my mind they're perfectly safe, yet I can't help trembling at the thought of having to go through one myself. Crazy, huh?"

Lionel shook his head and replied, "When I was a kid, we lived three blocks from a cemetery. I had to walk past it every day to and from school, year after year, and never thought twice about it. Then when I was thirteen, a friend of mine dared me to spend the night there. You know what a dare means to a thirteen-year-old kid?"

It was the first time Kent was able to laugh since the subject of marriage had been brought up.

"Well, I took my sleeping bag, my father's flashlight, my transistor radio, a bag of potato chips and a six-pack of Pepsi and headed for the cemetery. I was fearless, and I had every intention of proving my bravery."

"No, actually it wasn't. About five minutes after my friends left, a raccoon started foraging through the cemetery's dumpster. I heard that scratching noise and froze. Honest to God, I was petrified! I couldn't move a muscle for forty minutes. Finally, the raccoon must have met up with a cat. One of them let out a cry that sounded like a banshee's wail, and I left everything there including my shoes, sweatshirt and pants and ran all the way home in my jockey shorts!"

"In my profession, I've learned that there's no age limit for fear. I had one patient who was a Vietnam vet twice decorated for his bravery in combat. When he got out of the Marines, he became an undercover cop. This man faced death regularly and didn't bat an eye. But show him a spider, and he'd run like the hounds of hell were at his heels. One day he took part in a drug bust, and he opened a crate of cocaine smuggled in from Colombia. As he pulled out the packing material to get to the coke, a spider the size of a man's first began to walk up his arm. The poor guy completely lost it and actually shot himself in the arm trying the kill the spider."

Lionel sighed. Why did everyone think psychiatrists could cure phobias in much the same way medical doctors cured a case of the flu?

"I don't think he's ever going to want to keep a tarantula as a pet, but at least he won't panic the next time something with eight legs crawls on him."

"I can't make any promises. Psychiatry is not like surgery. I can't remove your fear with a scalpel or laser, but many times talking about your fears helps you overcome them. Did you ever discuss these feelings with Caitlin?"

"No. She thinks I'm a confirmed bachelor at heart, hence my lack of enthusiasm for the bonds of matrimony."

"I think it might be best if you tell her how you feel. Or, if you prefer, the three of us could get together, and I can talk to her and explain your phobia from a psychiatrist's perspective."

"That might be the best way to handle it," Kent agreed, clearly relieved that he didn't have to face such an unpleasant situation on his own.

"Oh, Kent, it's absolutely beautiful!" Caitlin exclaimed when she saw the marquise-cut diamond engagement ring glistening against the blue velvet liner of the jeweler's box.

Tears of joy welled up in her eyes as Kent put the ring on the third finger of her left hand.

"Did you know the custom of giving a woman an engagement ring comes from the Druids? They believed that the circle was sacred and that a ring represented an eternal bonding. It was placed on the third finger because they believed that finger was attached directly to the heart."

"The ring was placed on the left hand, which ensured that the woman would obey the more dominant male," he laughed.

"So it's romance you want, is it?" he asked, literally sweeping her up off her feet. "Then let's get married now, tonight. We'll fly to Vegas, Reno or wherever people don't have to wait three days to get married."

"No, I'm not. I want to get married right away. I don't want to go through all the hassle of a big wedding. Besides, I always thought eloping was the height of romance."

Caitlin was the only child of Archibald and Ingrid Stockwell, wealthy and socially prominent Bostonians. Ingrid Stockwell had no doubt been planning her little girl's wedding way before Caitlin learned to crawl.

"Don't worry, darling. I promise you won't be inconvenienced by anything," the prospective bride promised. "Mother and I will see to all the details. All you have to do is show up at the church in your tux."

It was settled. The ring was already on her finger. Kent couldn't in all good conscience back out now.

Despite Caitlin's assurance that he would not have to be bothered by the myriad details involved in planning a large wedding, Kent had to be consulted about many things: the date, the guest list and the arrangements for the honeymoon.

"I thought you said you and your mother would handle everything," Kent jokingly complained.

"We will, darling. I just wanted to know if you considered Europe an appropriate spot for a honeymoon, or would you prefer someplace tropical like Hawaii or Bermuda?"

"I don't see why we even need to take a honeymoon. The whole idea is a relic of the past. It originated in Northern Europe during the Middle Ages when men frequently abducted their brides from neighboring villages. The man and his newly acquired wife often had to go into hiding until her family's anger wore off."

"Since the custom originated in Europe, that's where we'll go," Caitlin announced cheerfully, not about to let anything spoil this happy time for her, least of all, her fiancé's silly superstitions. "Have you decided on a best man?"

"There's another archaic custom. The best man was originally the person who accompanied the groom while he was abducting his bride. The best man had to be armed and ready to fight the bride's family if it proved necessary."

"For Christ's sake, Kent!" Caitlin exclaimed in exasperation. "Save it for your students."

Kent felt as if he were drowning, that fate was rushing toward him and he was powerless to stop it. Then he had a glimmer of hope.

Caitlin, who assumed Kent was answering her question concerning his choice for best man, asked, "Isn't that your old friend from college, the psychiatrist?"

"Yes. I had lunch with him a few weeks ago. He suggested the three of us get together for dinner sometime. I almost forgot about it."

"If he's going to be your best man, we should plan the dinner soon. That way I can fill him in on the wedding arrangements."

Kent, however, was hoping that Lionel would convince Caitlin of the need to drop those wedding plans altogether. Unfortunately, Lionel fared no better at changing the bride's mind than Kent had. The young lady had her heart set on a big wedding, and no one was going to talk her out of it.

"You're an educated man, Lionel," Caitlin told him after Kent strategically excused himself to go to the men's room. "You don't honestly believe in all this Druid mumbo-jumbo, do you?"

"I can't just abandon all my plans now. The church has been reserved; the invitations have been sent out; the flowers, favors and cake have been ordered; the bridesmaid's gowns are being tailored even as we speak; and I've made all the necessary arrangements with the travel agent for our European honeymoon."

"I know how much time and effort you've put into this wedding, Caitlin. I only want to make you aware of how strongly Kent feels about all this."

"I don't mean to sound insensitive or selfish, but what about my feelings? A woman's wedding day is supposed to be the happiest in her life. Every little girl dreams of wearing a long white gown, of being surrounded by those she loves, of the magic and romance of it all. I won't throw that dream away because of some medieval practices and silly superstitions that date back to the Dark Ages."

"Caitlin, you don't seem to understand that Kent's fear is very real, even if it is unfounded."

"As a psychiatrist, don't you think it would be better if Kent were to overcome his fear rather than give in to it?"

"It's always better for a person to conquer his phobia, but doing so could take years."

"I'm thirty-four, and my biological clock is ticking. I don't have that many years left to wait."

After the dinner with Lionel, Kent made one more valiant attempt to talk Caitlin into eloping.

"I'm not canceling all my plans," she insisted stubbornly. "I'm going through with this wedding. And I promise you this: if you don't show up at the church, I'll never speak to you again."

Caitlin moved back into her parents' house the following day. If Kent loved her enough to want her back, he would have to go through with the ceremony.

Professor Brody saw little of his fiancée in the final weeks before their wedding. She was much too busy seeing to all the last-minute details. When he tried phoning her, the line was usually busy.

The night before the wedding Kent showed up at the rehearsal dinner looking tired and haggard.

"Are you feeling all right, dear?" Mrs. Stockwell asked with concern. "We can't have you getting sick on your big day."

"You mustn't worry, boy," the bride's father assured him. "Despite all that you've probably heard to the contrary, marriage is a wonderful institution. Ingrid and I have been happily married for almost forty years. In all that time, I never once regretted taking the plunge."

Their future son-in-law merely smiled. How could he explain to anyone, other than Lionel, that he actually looked forward to marriage? If he could only get through the wedding ceremony the following day!

Kent and Caitlin's wedding was held on a warm, sunny Saturday in June. That was a good omen. Supposedly, if the big day is sunny, the marriage will be, too. Kent donned his tuxedo, praying he would get through the next twenty-four hours without a mishap. As he fussed with his tie, he heard the doorbell ring and went to answer it.

"I need my white shoes. They're in the shoe bag on the back of the closet door."

"Don't you know it's bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the ceremony? Why didn't you send someone else to get the damned shoes?"

The groom shut the door in her face, refusing to let her inside. A few minutes later, he opened it a crack and held the shoes out at arm's length. Caitlin grabbed them and left without a word of thanks or goodbye. Kent fell to his knees behind the closed door and prayed harder than ever.

Later that day, the limousine pulled up to the church, and the radiant bride got out. On her father's arm, Caitlin ascended the stone steps of St. Timothy's. Father and daughter waited briefly in the vestibule for the organist to play the first bars of the wedding march. Then, with the flower girl, bridesmaids and maid of honor leading the way, Archibald Stockwell and his only child walked down the aisle. Through her veil, Caitlin saw Kent standing next to Lionel Penn at the altar, and she smiled.

The father of the bride's eyes started to mist when he symbolically gave his daughter away. Kent's hand trembled as he lifted the veil from Caitlin's face. He thought of the popular notion that the veil was a male invention meant to keep the bride subservient to her husband and hidden from other men. But there was an older and darker belief: the veil was intended to protect the bride from evil spirits.

Lastly, the bride and groom exchanged their vows. Lionel handed Kent the ring, and the groom placed it on Caitlin's finger. They were pronounced man and wife and were soon rushing down the aisle in a shower of rice.

As they drove away in the limo, Caitlin laughed. "See. It wasn't so bad after all, was it?"

"Yes. Don't tell me; I already know. Throwing rice is an old superstitious custom. The rice is meant to enhance fertility."

"True. But it was also hoped that the evil spirits who always invaded weddings would be kept so busy eating the rice that they'd leave the newlyweds alone."

The wedding reception was held in the grand ballroom of the Lafayette Arms Hotel, an imposing brick building of Georgian design. Over three hundred people were in attendance; most of them, except for Lionel Penn, Sarah Ryerson, and a small number of Kent's friends and fellow professors, were invited by the Stockwell family. The food and drinks served to the guests would have pleased the most discriminating gourmet. Everyone, including the bridegroom, seemed to enjoy themselves. The ballroom was alive with music, dancing, laughter and the warm wishes of friends and family. Finally, at the end of the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kent Brody departed in their limo to spend their wedding night at the posh Excelsior Hotel. At 8:30 the following morning, they were to take a plane to London to begin their three-week European honeymoon.

Kent took the hotel key out of his pocket and opened the door to the bridal suite. The room was festooned with cut flowers, and a bottle of champagne—compliments of the hotel—was chilling on ice.

"Just one more custom," he said and smiled as he picked Caitlin up off her feet and carried her over the threshold.

"I know you're dying to tell me of some pagan or ancient Roman custom connected with carrying a bride over the threshold."

"It's for her protection. You see, demons were said to lurk just inside the doorway, waiting for the bride to stumble."

"Who protects the groom?" Caitlin laughed, as Kent closed and locked the door behind them.

There was a sudden change in Kent's voice, and his eyes underwent a mysterious metamorphosis, turning from blue to yellow to glowing red. This new and frightening Kent Brody stared down at his wife with a lascivious smile on his face that sent a chill deep into her soul. Suddenly, he grabbed her arms, his claw-like talons ripping the delicate lace of her sleeves. Caitlin screamed in horror as her groom continued to transform before her eyes. For a brief moment, his features softened and his once-blue eyes shed tears.

"I loved you, Caitlin. Believe me. I tried so hard to protect you. You never should have let me see you before the wedding."

Then Kent's handsome features completely succumbed to the hideous visage of the demon buried deep inside him, one that had lain dormant for years, waiting only for this night to emerge. Caitlin, whose auburn hair had turned as white as the fine silk of her wedding gown, opened her mouth to scream again, but no sound echoed within the bridal suite of the Excelsior Hotel.

Early Monday morning, Lionel Penn stopped at a coffee shop for breakfast. The elderly gentleman at the next table finished his eggs, drained his coffee cup and departed. Lionel reached over and grabbed The Boston Globe the man had left folded on the table. There was a photograph on the front page of the local section, a recent studio portrait of Caitlin and Kent, but it was the headline above the photograph that caught his attention: NEWLYWEDS DISAPPEAR ON WEDDING NIGHT. Lionel had to read the article twice before he could fully comprehend the situation.

Kent and Caitlin Brody (née Stockwell), who were married Saturday at St. Timothy's Church, checked into the Excelsior Hotel at 1:30 a.m., after their wedding reception at the Lafayette Arms Hotel. The newlyweds were to have met the bride's parents, Archibald and Ingrid Stockwell, the following morning for breakfast before embarking on a European honeymoon.

When her daughter and son-in-law did not show up as planned, Mrs. Stockwell phoned the hotel and learned that no one had seen or heard from the couple since they checked in the previous day. The hotel manager searched the bridal suite and found their luggage and personal effects (including money, airline tickets and passports) locked inside the room. Pursuant to this discovery, the Stockwells filed a missing person's report with the Boston Police Department.

Lionel refolded the newspaper and stared out the shop's window. The article had not mentioned a single theory as to where Kent and Caitlin could have gone.

Had Kent's fear of marriage actually been a premonition? But of what? It was a question for which he had no answer. Sadly, Lionel remembered other people in his life had disappeared without a trace and other questions had gone unanswered.

Kent and Caitlin Brody were never seen again. Since no bodies were ever found, the Stockwells hold on to the hope that one day their daughter and son-in-law will return. Fortunately for them, they never learned what had transpired in the Excelsior Hotel's bridal suite to end their daughter's short-lived happiness. Nor would they have been likely to believe that living in the subconscious mind of the urbane, educated and good-natured Kent Brody was a pagan spirit that, like its Celtic forebears, had abducted his bride and carried her back to the fiery pits of hell from which he was spawned.

Like many a ladies' man, Salem always avoids the subject of matrimony, or as he calls it, "catrimony."