Rafael Yglesias - Dr. Neruda's Cure for Evil

Halley concentrated on the menu, not speaking until she had decided. When she closed it firmly, she found that I was staring at her. What she saw in my eyes was undiluted admiration for her beauty and honesty. Hers was blank and indifferent. “Why didn’t you take better care of him?” She asked this question with no hint of the anger and bitterness it implied.

“I took the best care of him I know how.”

“Are you going to be honest in your book?”

“Yes. You know, Gene told me you said you were in love with him.”

“Right,” she nodded, as if that required no elaboration.

“So you lied?”

“I always say that when a man says he loves me. Either I tell him I love him or I stop seeing him. I wanted to keep seeing Gene.”

“Why do you tell men you love them if you don’t?”

“I don’t believe in love. I think when people say they’re in love, they’re making it up. You know, convincing themselves. Just because I can’t fool myself is no reason to be mean to the other person. I act like I’m in love. I do the same things people who think they’re in love do, so it’s not really a lie. Anyway, it’s no more of a lie than when they say it to me.” She nodded at a hovering waiter. “Are you ready to order?”

She asked for green tea, miso soup, and two pieces of crab sushi, not enough to make a meal. “That’s all?” I asked.

“I only eat what I really love. Just a little of what I really love is plenty.”

“So you do love something,” I said. I ordered the deluxe sushi platter, which I knew would be enough food for two people. “I eat a lot of what I love,” I told her as the waiter departed.

“Are you flirting with me?” she asked in a grave and earnest tone.

“Yes,” I said, smiling as engagingly as I know how.

She nodded, relaxed back against her chair. “And it doesn’t bother you that I didn’t love Gene?”

“I guess I don’t approve. Why didn’t you tell him what you just told me? That you can’t love anyone, but you were willing to behave as if you loved him?”

Halley sounded one of her complicated notes of feeling. I couldn’t begin to separate the mixture. “He wouldn’t have understood,” she commented. “He was a baby about things like that.”

“Things like what?”

“You know, men and women.” Her green tea had arrived. She sipped it. “And sex,” she added, after swallowing.

“Why bother with a baby?”

“I liked that he was innocent. He was the first man I was with who was less experienced than me. It was almost like being with a virgin.” She stared into the middle distance. Her close-set eyes nearly crossed. She smiled at the memory. “He was sweet.” She came out of it and reached for her tea. “For a while.”

“Until he left Cathy you mean?”

“I told him not to leave her. That was a mistake.” She sipped her tea and returned the mug to the table with a frown. “I didn’t say that, you know.”

“You didn’t tell him it was a mistake?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She leaned forward and touched the back of my right hand lightly with her index finger. The brief contact was insanely thrilling: she sent a shock through me that wasn’t caused by static electricity. “You asked me why I didn’t tell Gene I can’t love. I didn’t say I can’t. I said I don’t believe in love.”

“I don’t see the difference, Halley.”

“I’m sure that when I do believe in love, I’ll have no trouble being in love.”

I laughed. “And they say psychiatrists like to split hairs.”

“I’m not splitting hairs. I don’t believe in God either, but that doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“You’re just not persuaded yet?”

“Right.” The waiter arrived with miso soup for both of us. She gave her food absolute attention. She scooped a spoonful, regarded it, spread her full lips, and poured some gently into her mouth. She tasted that small amount slowly and thoughtfully, as if this was the first time. “Mmmm,” she said aloud and added a sigh of comfort.

“So you don’t think I took good care of Gene?” I asked.

“You were his shrink and he committed suicide,” she said softly. She shrugged, as if she regretted having to point this out, but had no choice.

“I agree with you.”

“You do?” She was gentle. “You think it was your fault?”

I nodded. “Your father doesn’t agree. He told me no one can give someone else the will to live.”

She was preoccupied with another lingering taste of soup. When she had thoroughly enjoyed it, she said, “The only reason he doesn’t blame you is because he doesn’t believe in psychiatry. He thinks it’s fake anyway.”

I laughed. “I see. So by you I’m a failure, and by him I’m a fraud.” I laughed again.

She seemed rattled by my amusement. She put her spoon back in the soup bowl. “You were lying.”

“What?” I picked up my bowl and drank half the hot soup. I was perspiring anyway from our walk in the humid streets and I decided it would be good to be soaked through.

Halley reached back and pulled off the elastic tie of her ponytail. Her hair had dried. With a toss, she restored the elegant shape of our first meeting. “You didn’t mean it when you said was it your fault.” She turned to check herself in the mirror on the far right wall. Briefly, she touched her face, like a primitive verifying that the reflection was actually her. She looked back at me and said matter-of-factly, “If you’re going to be sneaky then I won’t talk with you. I don’t care what Edgar or Daddy want.”

“You don’t understand,” I pleaded. I slumped in the chair. My chin wobbled with emotion. “I was laughing because I was relieved. Everybody keeps telling me it isn’t my fault and I’m not a fraud and I don’t believe them. I was relieved. Relieved to finally meet people who know the truth and don’t mind giving it to me straight.”

Halley’s pupils opened wide as I confessed. She rested her elbows on the table, leaning toward me. Her small hands came together, forming a hollow pyramid. “Can you really accept that you’ve made a mistake just like that?”

“Just like what?”

“Well …” She dropped her hands. She smiled. I realized I had never seen her smile before. The tempting lips opened, her mouth spread generously, and she showed a row of perfect teeth. “I admire that. I really admire someone who can take responsibility for screwing up without making excuses.”

“I bet your father’s like that,” I said.

She nodded. A fond look came over her, softening the brilliance of her smile. The affection was unselfconscious. She noticed that I noticed and the smile disappeared. She lowered her eyes. “I don’t want any more soup,” she said. “Could you tell him to clear it? I have to go to the bathroom.”

When she came back, she was made up, lips a deep purple, high cheeks emphasized, the shine on her intelligent forehead gone. “I made myself pretty for you,” she said calmly. “I wasn’t being very nice. I’m sorry. I should’ve known better when Edgar told me about you. And from that profile I read. You’re not a sleazy guy who wants to do a number on us.”

“You were right to be cautious.”

“Edgar says you have an amazing past, but he wouldn’t tell me what.”

“That’s because he doesn’t really know.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was living with my uncle in Great Neck people knew something scandalous had happened that got me into his custody, but they only heard rumors. Uncle was careful to keep the truth secret.”

Halley unwrapped and separated her chopsticks. She aimed them at the two pieces of crab sushi that had replaced the soup. They were laid before her on a black lacquer dish curved like a small boat. “He said you had psychological problems as a teenager.”