By Nini Herman
The autobiography of a girl who underwent Jungian, Freudian and Kleinian research.
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Extra info for My Kleinian Home: A Journey Through Four Psychotherapies into a New Millennium
I had waited all my life for such an opportunity. *I can spit quite far,' I lied, 'Let me see, then,' Hansi crowed, in Bavarian dialect. I cast my eyes towards the house with all the passion of a prayer. Nobody was watching me, then spat I for all that I was worth. 'That's good,* said Hanni. * She stared at me approvingly, amazed that somebody in shoes and socks and with ribbons in her hair came up to scratch in this respect. Freedom hovered in the wings, insubstantial as a moth. But freedom was to be curtailed.
Verboten is a G e r m a n word that knows of no equivalent in any other h u m a n tongue. It had been lifted suddenly. T h e C h a n n e l was the great divide. H e r e , on the new side, broke a dawn of sparkling possibilities. B a c k there, my puny, struggling self was time and time again wiped out if it so m u c h as raised a finger. T h e miracle was that it still kept making the attempt, at intervals, although in terror for its life and only when nobody saw. But as the starving dream o f food only to find they cannot eat when the ordeal comes to an end, despite this heaven-sent relief, I missed my mother cruelly.
But I preserved my frozen stance, afraid that they would pity me if I gave them half a chance to draw closer and inspect this outpost of catastrophe. The unattractive little house, spotty-faced with pebbledash, was spartan to the last degree. Servants gone, the duster must not encounter obstacles on its daily duty round in Mother's unaccus tomed hands. In consequence my bedroom struck so cold and clinical a note, which I felt as such a fall from grace, that I could not bring myself to let anyone at school gaze upon this festering wound, and - my greatest fear of all - take advantage of my abject wretchedness upon this score.