Free The Ninth Configuration by William Peter Blatty

barking.
    “Colonel!”
    Reno and his dog bounded up to them. Breathlessly, Reno said, “Colonel, I’m in trouble. You’ve got to help me.”
    Fell said, “Take an enema and check with my service tomorrow morning.”
    Reno cupped his hands around his mouth so that his voice took on a boomy resonance. “Dr. Fell, you’re wanted in surgery. Put some acupuncture needles where you need them most.” He glared at Fell and muttered, “Jerk!” Then he turned to Kane. “I meant motivational trouble, not medical. I speak of the problem of Hamlet’s madness. I’ve been having an argument, Colonel, a monster, and I’d like you to settle it once and for all.” Reno frowned. His dog sat on its haunches beside him. “Listen, here’s the puzzlement, the perplexity, the curious, mysterious fandango. Do you mind if I sit down, by the way?”
    “Go ahead,” said Kane.
    Reno sat on the floor. “Now, some—” He broke off and glared at Fell, who was laughing, a hand pressed over his mouth. Reno said blackly, “Why don’t you go inoculate a fucking armadillo, Fell. Get lost, pal. Take a hike.”
    “Let’s go into my office,” said Kane.
    “Yeah, sure.”
    As they walked with him, Kane prodded him gently. “You were saying?”
    “Lovely man. I was saying that some Shakespearean scholars say that when Hamlet’s pretending he’s crazy, he really is crazy. Correct?”
    Kane turned to look at Reno. “That’s so,” he said.
    “But other Shakespearean scholars say that when Hamlet’s pretending he’s nuts, he really isn’t nuts. They say it’s an act. Now, Colonel, I come to you as a shrinker and as a sympathetic pussycat. Please give me your opinion.”
    “I’d like to hear yours first,” said Kane.
    “Terrific psychiatrist! That’s class!”
    They had arrived at the office. Kane stood and Fell sat down on the sofa. Reno stood near the door with his dog.
    “Okay, now,” said Reno, “let’s look at what Hamlet does. First, he shtravanses around the place in his underwear. Correct? And that’s only for openers.” Reno started ticking off the points on his fingers. “Then he calls the king his mother; tells a nice old man, a hard worker, that he’s senile; he throws a tantrum at a theater party; and then he starts talking dirty to his girlfriend while she’s sitting there watching the play. She just came there to watch it; what did she come there for, to hear Hamlet’s dirty mouth?”
    Kane began to speak, but Reno interrupted.
    “Like a sewer, Hamlet’s mouth! Good God almighty, that’s his girlfriend there!”
    “Ophelia,” grunted Fell, blowing smoke.
    “Very nice,” grated Reno. “So much for your medical confidentiality.”
    “The problem,” urged Kane.
    “Yes, the problem. The problem is this. Pay attention! Considering how Hamlet is acting, is he really and truly nuts?”
    Kane said, “Yes,” as Fell was saying, “No.”
    Reno said, “Both of you are wrong!”
    Kane and Fell looked at each other without expression: Reno ran to Kane’s desk and leaped up on it, sitting on its edge. He lectured Kane and Fell. “Take a look at what happens: his father dies; his girl leaves him flat; then comes an appearance by his father’s ghost. Bad enough, but then the ghost says he was murdered.
    And by whom? By Hamlet’s uncle! Who recently married Hamlet’s mother! Listen, that by itself is a great big hang-up; Hamlet, he liked his mother-a lot! Listen, never mind that: I don’t want to talk filth. All I say is, what happens to this poor schmuck is very unsettling at the least. And when you see he’s a sensitive, high-strung kid, all these things are enough to drive him crazy. And that’s especially when you consider all of this happened in very cold weather.”
    “Then Hamlet’s insane,” Kane concluded.
    “No, he isn’t,” corrected Reno, his face glowing. “He is pretending.
    But-but!-if he hadn’t pretended to be crazy, he would have gone crazy!”
    Kane’s demeanor grew