Rafael Yglesias - Dr. Neruda's Cure for Evil

I made him repeat his promises. He would view the tape twice that evening, make thorough notes of Diane’s technique, and drop it off at my apartment on his way out of town the following morning. No one would know. It would be our secret.

But deceiving Diane was worrisome; and of course, as the cliché tells us, it is a tangled web. I was caught in it immediately, on my way into the clinic. Diane followed me into my office to ask how the breakfast had gone and I had to make up a different ending to the meeting. Even so, the partial truth I told — that I was convinced of Phil’s sincerity — provoked a reproof. “He’s bullshitting you,” she said. “He says he’s objective and when his study is done, he’ll point to his skewed results as the reason he’s changed his mind.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said and yet her conviction left me in doubt. Underneath, despite layers of education, training, and the scars of experience, was I too trusting: a simpleminded child in a world of devious adults?

Anyway, it was done. The video was returned as promised with thanks and a note that he was impressed by the technique.

In the months that followed things went well at the clinic; the severe cases we took into round-the-clock care made excellent progress. We were losing money, but not so much that I couldn’t make up for the deficit. I signed a contract to write a book about our in-residence therapy of disturbed children that would cover the losses for two years. Reports from and about Albert were encouraging. His grades were good — B’s — and he had made many friends at Dorrit House. Diane’s involvement in the Peterson case finished with a settlement that forbade visitation to the grandparents and included their paying for ongoing therapy for the girls. (Because they had moved, Diane was not going to be their therapist.) The grandfather refused treatment for himself, in spite of the fact that if he had agreed there was a promise that the visitation ban might be lifted.

In February of 1990, after a five-month silence, Gene called. He was ebullient. Black Dragon was finished. He and Halley — he had to remind me she was Stick’s daughter — were presenting it at the Annual Computer Convention in a few days. Could he come see me before he left?

I offered the end of that day, six o’clock. He arrived fifteen minutes late — an unprecedented event. I was about to leave, convinced his tardiness meant an emergency cancellation.

“Wow, you’ve sure made a lot of changes,” he commented. He could have been speaking about himself. He was dressed differently, in pleated rust corduroys with wide wales and cuffs, a black turtleneck, and an expensive-looking jacket, also black, yet decorated with subtle flecks of white. His shoes were fashionable too, black oxfords with orange stitching and thick soles. Though each item, taken separately, was eclectic, the whole came together and made Gene appear at once an academic and a retired millionaire. His hair style had also changed — the thick locks were trimmed and moussed straight back, showing off his high forehead, surprisingly small delicate ears and lending an impression of forcefulness that was helped by the direct look in his eyes. He hadn’t entirely overcome his tendency to avoid contact, but his glances were surveys, rather than shy downward demurrals. “Looks like you’re running a hotel.”

“We house some patients here now and we keep staff overnight as well — hence the dorm.”

“Oh …”he nodded and continued to look boldly at his surroundings, including me, although he didn’t linger. His legs were active, bouncing up and down; his fingers were restless also, intertwining, cracking, then drumming on his knees.

“You’re late, Gene.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But there was some last-minute stuff at the office and I rushed over, thinking I could just make it. When I realized I was going to be late, I thought about calling from the car, but I didn’t have your number and I couldn’t remember it. Isn’t that weird? That means something, right?”

“You’ve never been late before, Gene.”

“And that means something too, right?”

“Probably.”

“Yeah, it definitely means something, because in the past I would have been so worried about getting here on time, I would have left ridiculously early and they wouldn’t have found me with their so-called emergency.”

“It wasn’t an emergency?”

“Well, now that I’m a VP in charge of R&D …” Gene smiled and spread his arms, asking for applause.

“Congratulations.”

“They need me round the clock. You know how it is. You run a big organization.”

“Is that why you have a car phone now?”

“You don’t miss a trick. I’ve got a cellular and a beeper. Don’t ask me why I need both. Well, to save on the batteries. Anyway, since I’ve lost so much time, I’d better get right to the point. I think I’m in love.”

He was moving so fast I wanted to laugh. I was tempted to ask if he was on amphetamines. That sarcastic thought provoked a real suspicion. “Are you taking Prozac?” I asked.

“What?” Gene shook his head as if waking himself. “What did you say?”

“Are you taking Prozac?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think I am. Isn’t Prozac some kind of psychiatric drug?” I nodded. “God, that is a strange thing for you to say. No, I’m in love, that’s what I’m on. Or don’t you believe in love?”

“I think it was you who said you don’t believe in love.”

“Did I? Well, that’s because I didn’t know what love is. Man, it’s great. It’s the best.”

“You’re having an affair with Halley?”

“No. I mean, not yet — Hey, you knew.” Gene pointed at me, like an athlete signaling to a teammate that he had scored a big basket. I can’t begin to express my surprise at this gesture: in the context of his hampered body language during our sessions over a thirteen-year span, the movement was a rude obscenity. “I’ve talked to you about her?” he asked.

“Not really. But when you called, you went out of your way to say she’s going to the convention and then you come in saying you’re in love. Even Dr. Watson could figure that out.”

“Jesus. Yeah, I’m worried it’s too obvious. Cathy is definitely suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“Of me and Halley.”

“I thought you said you weren’t having an affair.”

“I kissed her,” he said in a rush, an embarrassed confession; and yet with a sly, proud grin.

“You kissed her. And what did she do?” I gestured for him to elaborate.

“Well, she didn’t slap me.” He breathed in deeply and held it.

“Did you expect her to?”

He frowned at me. Finally he released the air. “No. I don’t know. I was scared to touch her. I’d been thinking about doing it for weeks. I was watching her lips while she talked about the convention … They’re big, you know, especially when she puts on a lot of lipstick. I wasn’t even sure if I thought they were beautiful. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off them. And I lost track of what she was saying. She stopped talking. She looked at me with a smile, as if she knew what I was thinking, and said, ‘Hello? Are you there?’ And I didn’t care about anything. Not Cathy, or little Pete. Or even me. I don’t even remember deciding to kiss her. Suddenly, I was just doing it. Right there in the new conference room. Right next to a wall of glass. Anyone in the parking lot could have seen us. I didn’t even think about that.”

He was entranced by the memory. I waited while he replayed the kiss, sighing softly, crossing his legs, briefly touching his lips as if hers were still lingering. “She kissed me back,” he said at last. “You know, she responded. Her mouth opened—” he caught himself and laughed. “I really opened wide. It was like being in high school — you know, French kissing.”