A Curable Romantic (41 page)

“Alas, we cannot undertake this exorcism ourselves,”
explained, “and in an age of true piety, we would never have appeared to the likes of you, but what can we do? If you can’t perform this ritual, I implore you: Call for Rabbi Chajes!”

“I think not,” Dr. Freud barked.

“Then go to the Ger Rebbe. I believe he isn’t far from here.”

“That charlatan?” Dr. Freud said with real disgust.

“Patience,”
counseled
, who had begun growling like a wild dog. “Control your wrath, my brother.”

“Listen to me, you two,” Dr. Freud said, a little too brusquely, I thought. “I have already negotiated the terms of her surrender with the patient.”

“By raping her?”
cried.

“How, sir, can you pretend this disgusting sexual obsession of yours is a medical therapy is what I’d like to know!”

“Otherwise,” Dr. Freud said, keeping hold of his temper, “all I can propose is a long course of psychoanalysis. That is your only hope of a permanent cure. But I warn you, the therapeutic procedure moves by slow advances, by means of many false starts, and by as many retreats. If you’re going to hang in there for the entirety, you’re going to need the patience of Job, and it’s expensive besides.”

“Is there no way …” I started to say.

“Proceed, Dr. Sammelsohn,”
encouraged me.

“Well, I was just wondering, if there is no way to simply talk her into surrendering to your authority. Perhaps you’ll let me try. If I can do that, will you promise me she’ll go straight to the highest Heaven, to the very Garden of Eden, suffering no further torment at the hands of your brother and his band of thugs?”

The angels laughed and, almost against our will, Dr. Freud and I laughed with them. The sound of their laughter was so glorious, so marvelous and appealing, that my shoulders relaxed completely. I stopped glowering and squinting into the too-bright sunburst beamed at us through their curtain. Dr. Freud actually leaned his shoulder against mine, having lost his footing, and the sensation of his arm touching mine was so pleasant, I made no attempt to move out from beneath his weight, and he no move to correct his stance.

“Ah, a noble heart,” said
.

“If completely misguided,”
said.

“I’m afraid what you propose is impossible. Though you married her, believe me, you do not know this girl.”

“But if I’m able to convince her?” I said.

“Ah,”
sighed.

“If you can induce her to leave on her own volition, then, yes, I will personally see to it that she is returned to the highest spheres without physical suffering. However, she must leave on her own volition. Which is to say: without any sexual coercion from you.”

“I understand,” I said.

“And as for you, Herr Doktor,”
said.

“Yes? As for me?” Dr. Freud said.

“May a worm grow in your jaw, you godless Jew!”

“I wanted only to help,” he said cravenly.

“Our time here is short,”
said. “We shall be waiting.” He clapped his hands. “If psychotherapy is your approach, do with it what you can.”

“No, wait!” Dr. Freud cried, appearing to suffer a terrible moment of regret. “I’ll summon the Ger Rebbe! I’ll produce the white robes and the black tapers!”

“Too late, too late,”
and
both cried out together, as the light behind the scrim began to fade. As it disappeared, I realized it was morning. Dr. Freud and I stared at each other in the rough, raw light of dawn, our eyes red, our faces creased like clothes that have lain too long in their traveling cases.