Rafael Yglesias - Dr. Neruda's Cure for Evil

Since it might not be easy to pull off, I waited until Halley left on a week-long trip to the West Coast — a key experience since Edgar was going along and she expected to begin their affair. “He wants me,” she told me during a morning phone session two days before they left. “He booked us onto the same floor of the Four Seasons.” She confessed to some nervousness about having sex with Edgar.

“Why?” I asked innocently, hoping she would make the leap without a push.

“I haven’t had sex—” she laughed. “Real sex, I mean, since Jack. That’s almost six months.” She crunched toast.

“You forgot Didier.”

“Oh Didier, right.” She swallowed. “That’s still almost six months. But you’re right.” She sipped coffee. There was a pause, then the test. “Do you love me?”

Once again, no progress. “I love you,” I said and noted with grim amusement that my temples had begun to throb.

They left for California Sunday night. We would miss our morning call for the first time in eight months, since by eight A.M. New York time, I drove to Riverdale, and I expected to be busy by ten-thirty when she woke up in L.A. The clinics lot was filled. Four shelter vans occupied all the visitor spots. I parked on the street. Naturally, I didn’t recognize most of the kids gathered in the hall. One of the full-time counselors saw me and blurted out, “Rafe?”

I nodded and hurried into Sally’s room. She had a phone halfway to her ear, a finger poised to hit buttons. She stared at me, frozen in position.

“Hello,” I said and pointed to my old office. The door was ajar. I could see my desk, but the rest of the furniture was different. “Does anyone work in there?”

Sally followed my hand, peering as if she had just noticed that office existed. “Uh …” Sally glanced at Diane’s office. The door was shut. She hung up and said, “Um …”

“It’s good to see you, Sally,” I said and smiled.

“Good to see you, Rafe,” she answered softly.

I nodded at my old office. “What’s it being used for?”

“A spare interview room. Vaughn uses it sometimes to talk with kids alone — but he prefers to write up reports in his dorm bedroom.”

“Who’s Vaughn?”

She seemed embarrassed by my ignorance. “One of — a new counselor.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be using it from now on. I’ll tell Vaughn to kick me out when he needs it. Do you have a schedule sheet and the Child Welfare waiting list?” Sally glanced at Diane’s closed door again before she handed me the schedule and list in slow motion.

“Thanks,” I said and entered my old office. Diane had removed all my books. I knew that — they were stored in boxes in the basement. My personal things — photographs, degrees — were in Baltimore. I shut the door and sighed with relief.

It was annoying that my Knoll desk chair was gone, that my supply of blank lined notebooks had also been confiscated, but the view of the clinic’s backyard was a comfort. I looked over the new requests from Child Welfare, checked the schedule and noted that, as usual, the clinic was overloaded. Twelve kids from the Bronx would have to be rejected for outpatient care. The previous week I had spoken with the Prager Institute director, promising him a major work for their money, warning that it might not be available for publication and would have to be sealed and stored in their archives. Actually, that detail seemed to please him. I told him I would need to remain in New York for further research. He agreed to extend my grant for another year. Diane wouldn’t have to compensate me; I could see patients all day at no cost to her.

I read the preliminary interviews of kids on the waiting list and, using a felt-tip pen — my Mont Blanc was still at Hyperion — checked off the most urgent cases.

Diane opened my door at eight twenty-five. She must have left her office to head to Group Room A for her eight-thirty and heard the news from Sally. She stood on the sill. I didn’t look up.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

I raised my head and offered the circled list of children I wanted to see. Her hair was still that odd red color, only longer, another new style, this one combed back on the left side and flipped to the right. She seemed lopsided to me. She was still wearing contacts, but she had gained her weight back. “I want to work,” I answered. “You don’t need to pay me. Here are the kids I think you should schedule for me.” I stood up and extended the sheet. “With your approval, of course.”

Diane stepped in. She hooked the door with her foot and kicked it shut. “What?” she complained.

“You need another therapist. A utility shrink.” I tried a smile but received no encouragement. “I don’t expect any authority. Use me to fill in the gaps.” I shook the paper.

Diane frowned at the floor. Abruptly, she walked over and took the sheet, pretending to study it to avoid my eyes.

“Where’s my chair?”

“I took it,” she mumbled.

“This one’ll kill my back,” I said. Getting no response, I added, “I’ll buy another one.”

Her head was still down. I ducked to see her eyes. She met mine from under her brows. They were cold and enraged. She offered the sheet. “I can’t call for these kids unless I know you’re here to stay.”

I took it from her. “I’m here as long as you want me.”

She turned to the window. The blinds were open halfway and sunlight striped her. She communed with herself for a moment that was excruciating for me to endure. “Stay out of my way.”

“I will.”

She looked at me. “I don’t want you in the staff meetings.”

I nodded. She mumbled, “Only ’cause I need another body,” and then left.

Sally made the calls and I managed to see three children that afternoon. I collected my few possessions from Minotaur in the evening and avoided the temptation to return the message from Halley on my voice mail. We had kept calls to a strict morning schedule since the previous fall, and trips shouldn’t alter the pattern.

I missed our phone sessions all week because I had patients in New York when Halley woke in L.A. I stayed hidden in my office, seeing the children, writing up reports for Diane, and leaving without so much as a peek into the group rooms, or the basement cafeteria. I declined invitations to join the pickup basketball game Vaughn had organized for every afternoon at five. That’s when I left for my sublet in the Village, proceeding directly through Sally’s office to the hallway, out to the lot and into my car, walking with blinders on. Altogether, I saw Diane three times: twice on the way to the coffee pot in Sally’s office and once coming out of the hall bathroom. We exchanged nods without a word.

I hardly slept Friday, the night of Halley’s return flight. I was up hours before our regular Saturday call at eight A.M. It rang four times and Halley’s machine answered. “This is Rafe,” I said after the beep and waited.

She didn’t pick up. That was a long day and night for me. I napped for a few hours in the afternoon and then had trouble falling asleep, staying up until three in the morning. Thus I was dizzy and bleary-eyed at eight A.M. on Sunday when I dialed Halley’s number.

“Hello?” she answered, very hoarse, obviously asleep.

“I woke you,” I said.

“Hmmmm,” she answered.

“Should I call tomorrow?”

“Give me a minute,” she said. From the faint sounds, I think she went to the bathroom. She came back, her voice stronger, and said, “Let me make coffee.”

“Should I call back?”

“No. I’ll take you with me.” I walked electronically through her hall and into the kitchen. We fetched coffee from the freezer, found a filter paper, and began measuring. While doing that she asked, “Where did you go? They said you’ve left Minotaur.”