Rafael Yglesias - Dr. Neruda's Cure for Evil

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was. It was great.” He looked at me, straight out, unafraid and defenseless, a curious child. “Am I terrible?”

“For enjoying a kiss?”

“Come on. You know where this is going. Isn’t adultery a mortal sin?”

“I’m sorry, Gene. I’m not a priest.”

“What happens if I fall in love?”

“You said you are in love.”

“I’m infatuated. What happens if we do it and she still wants me?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a soothsayer either. Anyway, isn’t that the wrong question? What happens if you do it and you still want her?”

“I don’t think I’ll stop at anything. I don’t think even Petey would stop me.”

“What has Pete got to do with it?”

“Huh? Come on, aren’t you carrying this shrink act too far? Pete’s got everything to do with why I’m married.”

“Not Cathy?”

“I’m not still married because of my great marriage, that’s for sure.”

“You’d leave if it weren’t for Pete?”

“You know that.”

But I didn’t. I knew nothing of the kind. “Gene, what are we doing?”

His legs were stilled. His newly confident eyes lowered. “What?”

“Are we resuming therapy? Are you planning to come here regularly?”

“Can’t I?” he asked with the old, familiar plaintiveness.

“Do you want to?”

“I’m in a crisis.”

“Does that mean you want to?”

“I should, shouldn’t I?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes!” His irritation slipped out, and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Your schedule allows it?”

“Well, Dragon’s done and …” He stopped and drifted off into deep thought.

I waited and had my own reverie. I didn’t want to resume our sessions. Gene didn’t need my service. Sure, he could use a good therapist — or even a mediocre one — to sort out his marriage conflicts; so could Cathy, for that matter. But this person sitting opposite was a well man in relative terms. To be blunt: I hadn’t become a psychiatrist to treat husbands who longed for sex with younger, more beautiful women than their wives, who stayed in marriages believing it was for the sake of their children. These might be unattractive, reprehensible feelings, but they don’t qualify as mental illness. And be honest, I argued to myself, you don’t want him as a patient. You didn’t miss these sessions.

“I’m scared,” Gene said softly. He lifted himself, straightening in the chair, and lifted his eyes as well, to look at me sadly.

“Of what?” I asked, also softly.

“I feel like I’m out of control.”

“You are.”

His mouth opened, ready to answer, and then shut.

“You’ve fought all your life to control yourself. To control your anger, to control your natural desire to be recognized for your work, to be satisfied romantically, to be loved and appreciated. You controlled yourself as a child because your parents wouldn’t let you be uncontrolled. You controlled yourself as a husband because you were frightened Cathy wouldn’t love you if you were sexual. You controlled yourself with Stick because you were afraid he wouldn’t accept you as ambitious. You’re letting go of all that control. You’ve been gradually letting go for a couple of years, and now you’re almost free.”

“So why am I scared?”

“It’s called neurosis. It’s an irrational fear, but of course it isn’t irrational to you. You were more frightened of what would happen if you announced your desires to people, than of not getting what you want. It doesn’t make common sense, since you have nothing to lose by asking for what you want if the alternative is not to ask at all. The worst that can happen by asking is that someone will say no. But it made sense to you because it isn’t the no that you’re afraid of.”

Gene smiled to himself. He asked in a low voice, “What am I afraid of?”

“You’re afraid of yourself. Of how you’ll feel when you ask and are told no. You’re afraid of your anger and your sadness at rejection. And you’re also afraid of how you’ll feel if you ask and are told yes. By not trying, you’re able never to fail. You asked Stick for more responsibility and he’s given it to you. What if you fail? By not asking you were avoiding testing yourself. It made you miserable, but it kept you safe. By not asking Cathy to love you, you were lonely, but at least you didn’t risk hearing she doesn’t. By not making yourself available to other women you protected yourself from falling in love. There’s a logic to neurosis and it’s been your friend since you were a child, since that day you threw up on the gallery owner’s book, and probably long before that, when you found your parents making love.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember? When you walked in on them making love?”

“Of course I remember. But what do you mean about—?” I mean,” he laughed, “what did it mean to me?”

“They were embarrassed and upset—”

Gene interrupted. “Dad yelled, right?”

“That’s what you told me.”

“And Mom scolded me the next morning. Told me never to come in without knocking.”

“And why did you go to their room?”

“I needed something, right? Medicine? Wasn’t I sick?”

“That’s not what you told me years ago.”

“What did I say?”

“You had a dream about a spider. You woke up. You were alone. It was dark.” I waited.

“I was scared,” he said.

“You didn’t say you were scared. Maybe you were. But you said you were lonely and you wanted company.”

Tears formed. He swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with the tips of his fingers to conceal his emotion. When he uncovered, he nodded and looked grim, but composed. “That’s right.”

“You felt alone,” I said. “And after they kicked you out, you felt their love for you was a sham, that nobody needed you, that the world was having a party, a secret passionate celebration, to which you were not invited.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Gene said.

How curious and yet proud is the human animal: looking for answers that, when found, are a disappointment. “I don’t think it’s simple, Gene. It’s quite complicated. I don’t mean that if all that had ever happened to you was one incident of interrupting your parents making love, you would be the same person. I don’t even mean that everyone would have reacted the way you did. You have a natural timidity, a gentleness that is easily shocked and offended. It’s made you a good father and a loyal employee. It made you a loving son, a very loving son to parents who, frankly, weren’t all that loving to you. And it wasn’t just those two incidents. There were hundreds of them, reinforcing each other. We’ve just isolated the archetypes, symbols of your life experience. And they didn’t really stop you. Here you are, working to change. You’ve been brave. Much braver than people who have no trouble shouting for what they want, who can hardly keep still for one second if they aren’t satisfied.”

Gene put a hand on his moussed hair. He touched the smooth surface, combing back what was already combed. The gesture, a new one, gave an impression of self-containment, of calmness. When it was completed, he said quietly, “Thank you.”

“So,” I smiled at him. “What are we doing, Gene? Are we resuming therapy?”

“I want to stop.” He said this easily and simply and then seemed to hold his breath with dread anticipation, as if the ceiling might collapse on him. I nodded and waited. He exhaled. “But I’m scared to.” He cleared his throat. “You tell me. Do I need this?”

“People always need to talk honestly with someone about their life. Before this hiatus that’s how you used our sessions. Frankly, I can’t spare the time for that. I’m under a lot of pressure at the clinic and I’m working on a new book. I care about you, Gene, and I want things to go well for you. I’d like you to resolve the problems in your marriage, one way or the other. I hope you’ll continue to insist on what’s due you at work and keep on challenging yourself. But you’re acting on those desires. If anything goes wrong, if you need to talk about something in particular, I’m here, any hour of the day or night. I believe we should have a few more sessions, just to wind down. If you’d like to continue seeing someone regularly I can recommend—”