Julia Frauental - The Smell of Spring. And other stories

– What? – I was on my guard, knowing her lynx habit to sneak up silently.

– There’s one girl in the group, Nina. She’s about thirty, I think…

– Yeah, a girl in her thirties. So what?

– You see, I think she needs a course of therapy. Maybe you could find time and… well… schedule a session for her? – She looked at me pleadingly, nibbling on the edge of her transparent cup of green tea.

– What makes you think she needs therapy? Did she ask you for help? – I didn’t like the idea. I had loads of clients.

– Henry, you know, I am all for a holistic approach. Doing yoga, we try to harmonize all spheres of our life, – Lisa pulled on a mockingly advertising tone, – but sometimes other means and methods may be used to achieve this. The girl looks so tight, tense, brooding and sad, her eyes full of Weltschmerz – ever so melancholic.

– She seems to be a poet by nature or head over heels in love.

Lisa looked at me with a silent reproach. Pretending to be offended, she frowned and pouted her lips. I gave in.

– Well, fine. Tell her, she can call me and we’ll arrange a meeting.

– Thank you, dear. God will reward you for your kindness! – Cunning devils were jumping in her eyes.

– I’m just honestly making my living. Thank you for promoting me to your clients. By the way, do you have any idea what her problem is? However, no, forget it, don’t tell me.

– I don’t know, – Liza shrugged her shoulders, – She’s all so timid, shy. She wouldn’t even discuss it. When I gave her a hint about psychotherapy, she said that she was not yet crazy enough to go to psychiatrists. But, of course, I began to persuade her, and to praise you – how kind, smart and understanding you are.

– Yeah, I know you can persuade! – And I chuckled meaningfully.

She blushed and, jokingly, gave me her most fatal seductive look.

*

The girl in question called me a few days later. We agreed on a session next Wednesday.

When she told me her last name on the phone – Brioche – I immediately imagined a kind of pink-cheeked chubby simpleton with a fair-haired braid to her waist.

But at the appointed time, a fragile brunette with a short haircut and all in black – a black sweater, black miniskirt, black pantyhose and shoes entered my city office.

French bohemia – I defined her style for myself.

A high forehead, large sad eyes betrayed, at least, a thinking nature – difficult clients, but interesting.

I held out my hand to her, smiling:

– Hello. I am Doctor Henry Goldberg.

– It’s nice to meet you. I am Nina. – She shook my hand in embarrassment and smiled faintly. The hand was cold, as if she was just from a winter street.

– Please, sit down – right here. – I showed her to the client’s chair. She sat down on the edge, taut like a string. I felt like loosening the tuners and putting her at ease.

She was not pink-cheeked, of course, but she was not pale either. She had a rather dark complexion, long fingers, and bracelets on her wrists, but no watch.

Oh, well. We’ll see.

I sat down opposite her.

– So what brings you here?

She chuckled:

– Fate, obviously, or maybe, as they call it now, karma.

– Well, okay, but seriously? What worries you?

– Well, in general, nothing in particular. It’s just… I’m afraid… um… afraid to be happy. That’s all.

– Wow! You are a very advanced client! Most need several years of therapy before the thought first crosses their mind.

She grinned sadly again.

– And if we try and specify? What exactly are you afraid of?

– Well, I’m – literally – afraid to feel happy. The very feeling scares me. I find it difficult to relax, let go, enjoy life, do what I want… To love the one, I want to love … – Without looking at me, she smoothed the hem of her skirt, and then pulled the sleeves of her sweater to the very fingertips, as if she wanted to warm her hands.

– Excuse me, are you religious? – I asked the next question. – I mean, maybe your religion forbids you to enjoy life?

– No, I cannot say that I am so religious, or that religion limits me. Although, of course, there are social stereotypes of what is expected of a woman. And they, in many ways, are quite medieval… I understand, of course, that, in fact, I am free – to be myself, to choose what I want… And yet for some reason I cannot. It’s just that I panic every time I start… when I try… – She looked at me with a guilty smile, but also with hope.

– I see, all cats love fish, but fear to wet their paws – I summed up the preliminary result. – You know, for some reason it seems to me that it is your intellect that prevents you from being happy. Just kidding. But it can also help if used correctly. Tell me, did you feel happy as a child?

I listened intently as she was telling me her story – uncomplicated and not particularly dramatic. Her story was sincere, not without humor, sometimes slightly ironic. I felt more and more sympathy for her.

She spent her childhood with her grandmother, loving, but harsh. Her mother worked a lot, went on business trips. She considered herself quite happy, but the absence of parents in her early years greatly influenced her oversensitive nature. Although she learned to cope with life, to stand up for herself, to control everything, until now she felt a certain ambivalence in self-identification – in the absence of stable images of father and mother.

– … I think that’s why I always fell in love with men much older than myself. And I always reached out to older women who guided and supported me. It helped me to survive… But, to be honest, I have no idea what it means to live my life without having to earn someone’s approval or impress someone. And that’s why I probably feel infantile – I just can’t grow up. – Nina sighed and smiled a tired and quite adult smile.

– You could be a psychotherapist yourself. No kidding! – Her thoughtfulness and tendency to analyze impressed me very much. – And what is your profession?

– Philologist, a linguist, in fact. Presently, I teach at school.

«I bet she doesn’t really like it.» I thought to myself.

We agreed to start a course of therapy. And she began to come regularly – once a week, on Wednesdays.

After a while, I found myself looking forward to these meetings and looking forward to our conversations. I liked her. Everything about her – the way she looked, how she moved, how and what she said – attracted me. Especially charming was the combination of ironic wisdom and insight with naïve and trusting purity. I was delighted with her rapid and obvious progress in therapy. I enjoyed exploring the secrets of her personality with her.

I was aware of the fact that sometimes I became too involved in the process and that, along with just a kind attitude, I developed paternal feelings for her and even felt attracted to her at times.

But this did not bother me too much, since such things often happen in our business. And I completely controlled myself and the process and kept the distance.

*

One evening I saw Lisa in a new smart dress standing in the hall by the mirror and putting on her earrings.

– Are you going out somewhere? – I was surprised that she didn’t say anything to me.

– Yes, to a party. A girl from my group has a birthday today. We are all invited to the «Fairy Tale» cafe. – She was concentrating on painting her eyelashes with mascara.

– Since when have you started spending your free time with your clients? Are you such good friends now?

– Yes. So what?

I couldn’t believe my ears.

– But you know very well that professional ethics…