Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 60 Obsessive-Compulsive Neurosis
Along the way, Arthur talked to him at length, about everything from the factory to his elderly mother, from his love affair with Clara to his life in Speyer.

When he said, “Clara is the best girl in the eighth district. The neighbors all admire her. She always tells people that her fiancé is a member of the bishop’s guard. She is really proud of me,” Siron suddenly interrupted him.

"It's getting a little brighter."

Arthur was clearly taken aback, struggling to pull himself out of his thoughts, and looked up at the sky.

The sky had already set, and although the clouds had not yet dispersed, the outlines of vehicles ahead could already be barely seen.

"Yes, Your Excellency, it is dawn."

Xilun didn't answer him, as if he had just casually mentioned the weather, and then began to concentrate on adding coal to the boiler.

The conversation fell silent. Although the roar of the steam engine and the scraping of steel filled the carriage with an unbearable noise, to Arthur, everything seemed too quiet.

"Uh...where was I?" he asked, rubbing the outer edge of the cast iron steering wheel with his right hand, looking somewhat anxious. Xilun noticed this small movement immediately.

"There's Clara."

“Oh, okay! I remember now, ah…am I being a bit too talkative? But back in that little tavern, she was wearing an indigo wool dress, a narrow-brimmed hat adorned with flowers, and her brown braids cascading over her shoulders. When she pushed open the door and stepped onto the tavern's wooden floor with her black lace-up shoes, I'm sure everyone fell in love with her! But I was the only one who went up to her and invited her to sit down with us…”

He continued speaking, and Xilun did not interrupt.

“Common obsessive-compulsive neurosis…” Xiren thought, “is the kind where the individual has a relatively good sense of self.”

It is more common in men, who use a lot of language to mask their lack and anxiety, and usually fill their therapy time with a lot of nonsense during consultations.

Because silence and quiet have a different meaning for him, once he can no longer use language to stop the unconscious from flowing out, he must confront the pain that has been covered up, such as anxiety, nothingness, and loss.

He had experienced suffering—after all, he came from a steelworkers' family—but his words were filled with joy and a desire to maintain the existing order, using a great deal of language to mask the absence of the Other (the existing order).

Of course, this is not a big problem. As long as it is not particularly painful or affects one's life, the intervention of a psychoanalyst is not necessary.

Moreover, this is very advantageous for Siron, because at this time and place he himself is the Other, he is the leader of the church, with the right to interpret and lead, he is the rule maker and supervisor.

"No, wait..." Xiren slapped his head suddenly. How did his thinking start to go awry!
Arthur was still cheerfully telling his story, but Siron was no longer listening.

From a utilitarian perspective, he doesn't need to treat obsessive-compulsive neurosis at all. Instead, he wants more people's symptoms to turn into obsessive-compulsive neurosis. Their cover-up of the lack of the Other (the irrationality and incompleteness of the existing system) is actually a way of upholding their own status.

As long as he firmly holds this position and makes himself the person in everyone's mind who "knows what we should do, where we are going, and how to interpret the world," his power will never be shaken.

Coincidentally, psychoanalysts are people who know very well how to play the Other.

And he's already doing it.

"Your Excellency, Your Excellency? Are you listening?" Arthur's question startled him from his thoughts.

“I’m listening…no…that’s not right!” Xiren frowned.

But back when I was an analyst, I was clearly protesting against society's mass production of patients...

“I wasn’t listening, Arthur.” He let out a long sigh, as if he had come to a realization.

“Ah…you?” Arthur clearly didn’t know how to answer. “Or rather, does it matter whether I’m listening or not?” Cyren looked at him. “What matters is not my opinion, but yours.”

“I don’t understand, Your Excellency.” He lowered his head somewhat dejectedly, as if listening to the teachings of God’s spokesperson.

“Don’t worry so much about my opinion. You don’t live under my watchful eye,” Celen said.

It would be wrong for an analyst to say this, and it would be wrong for a bishop to say it, but when he said it, he felt a sense of relief.

“I…” Arthur was bewildered, fear showing on his face. He felt that omnipresent gaze was drifting away from him, no longer watching him, demanding of him, or commanding him. He no longer had anyone to support him; only his empty self was falling continuously.

A look of sadness crossed Xilen's face. He had guessed Arthur's reaction. He knew that these words would hurt him. If this was just a consultation, the patient would definitely not come back next time.

After venting, one must always return to their proper place.

He knew he undoubtedly had mental health issues, but to become the leader everyone "should know" about, he had to sacrifice something.

"Never mind, forget I said anything." He stood up, patted Arthur on the shoulder, and said, "Follow my orders."

"Yes!" In an instant, the look of confusion disappeared from Arthur's face. He looked at Xilun expectantly, hoping that he would give him orders and that the all-knowing man would tell him how to do things.

His blue eyes sparkled like stars, and his blond hair, mixed with engine oil, draped over his strong chest muscles, making him appear sunny and cheerful.

“Stay close to Aldridge, I’m signaling them how much longer they’ll be there,” he said.

"Yes! Understood!" he shouted.

A smile appeared on Xilun's lips. He opened the signal manual and displayed two red and one green light to indicate "distance inquiry".

The vehicles ahead seemed to have received the message, and soon, three green lights flashed twice, and one green light flashed once—seven miles per hour.

At the current speed, we'll arrive in a little over three hours.

Xilun glanced at the cargo box; there was still more than half coal left, but once they got there, they could exchange it for mercury.

Three truckloads of mercury would be enough to burn in the entire Speyside for a whole year. Even if one truck exploded in the accident, it would still be enough for him to squander as he pleased.

But suddenly, a sound came from afar, like thunder shrouded in clouds, with a muffled hum.

thump...

It seemed to be getting closer, and the ground trembled slightly. Aldridge instinctively pulled on the brakes, and the wheels made a screech as if they were being choked, the speed dropped sharply, and the entire convoy came to a stop.

thump...

The snow dust rose slightly, and the sound, like thunder and drums, slowly spread across the ground.

Lead-gray clouds churned, and snowstorms howled, as if welcoming their ruler.

Something has come from afar.

(End of this chapter)