to concentrate on the fights properly until it'sresolved. I wonder, Dr. Quink, if you could possibly tell me if this isthe age that is so fond of saying that idiots walk with God? You knowwhat I mean, that they don't need their wit because God's hand is ontheir shoulder, so to speak, and that's why et cetera? Childish,perhaps, but touching, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Fairfield," Victor replied, "but I hadn't heard thephrase before. Perhaps I'm just unfamiliar with it, or more probably youpicked it up elsewhere on your travels."
"Mmmm," Donald answered, somewhat noncommittally, "perhaps. Well, don'tlet me detain you. I'll just run along. Vaya con Dios," he waved as heleft the room. They waited a few seconds in silence, but he didn'treturn.
* * * * *
"Will you take him on as a patient?" Mimi asked when they heard thefirst roaring of the crowd from the living-room.
"I'd like to very much, if you want me to. He's a fascinating case. Butit won't be easy, it's going to take time."
"Oh, that's all right," she assured him. "He's not dangerous, and we'veplenty of money. Take all the time you want."
"You know," he said, "I don't mind admitting I'm pretty bewildered bynow." He shook his head two or three times, as if to clear it, thenasked, "Where does the money come from?"
"I don't know."
"I mean, what does he do for a living?"
"I don't know. Did you ask him?"
"Not yet. He'll probably say he brought the money from the future."
"Uh-huh," she agreed.
"Well, don't you even know where your husband gets his money?"
"No."
"What a combination you two are," he muttered.
"I can't hear you," she called from the kitchen. "The water is makingtoo much noise. Come in here." He went in and leaned against the powderblue refrigerator while she soaked the dishes. "He won't come to youroffice for examinations or treatments," she said. "He thinks I'm the onewho's nuts."
"That's probably true," he agreed, somewhat ambiguously. "It would bebetter if you were my patient at the same time. You do have this amnesiaanyhow, I'd like to clear that up. Would you be willing?"
"Oh, I'd love it," she cried. "I can come see you for regulartreatments, and then you can come to the house for supper several timesa week and see him then."
"Let's go see if he agrees to that," Victor said. Mimi dried her handsin a hurry on a dish towel, grabbed a handful of his fingers, and pulledhim after her to the living-room. Her fingers were still cool and damp.
* * * * *
He saw a lot of the two of them in the few weeks following that night,but he learned nothing more. Donald Fairfield was sulky anduncommunicative, muttering only over and over again that he had alreadysaid too much and Lord knew what would become of him when he got backbut he didn't see what else he could have done under the circumstancesand no one else had ever gotten into such a fix why the hell did it haveto happen to him, a quiet and thoughtful and considerate man whowouldn't swat a fly, or anyhow not a pregnant fly. This opened up anentire new line of discussion. Mimi didn't know, in reply to his query,whether flies got pregnant or not. At least, she had never seen one.Donald was forced into a short lecture, barely remembered from secondyear biology, but it seemed to satisfy them. "We don't have lower formsof life at home, you know," Donald apologized.
On days when he didn't come to their home for supper, Mimi would havethe last appointment of the day with him, and after her hour they wouldleave together, waking up Margaret before they left the office, stop offfor cocktails before Mimi had to catch her train, miss the train, havedinner, miss the next train, catch a show or walk in the park, driveMimi home, and finally part. They talked a lot, they talked seeminglywithout reserve, but Victor learned nothing new. Her life before thattrain ride was simply a blank.
"I'd like to try hypnotism," Victor said to her one day in his office.
"No," she replied.
He was surprised. "I don't think you understand," he said. "I want tohypnotize you and try to take you back before that train ride, back toyour childhood--"
"No," she said.
"It's perfectly safe," he said.
She filed a rough edge off her nail, second finger, right hand.
"It's standard analytic procedure. I've used it dozens of times. I'mquite competent--"
"No," she said.
"But why not?" he asked.
"You'll find out all about me," she said. "I'll have no secrets left."
"But you shouldn't want to have any secrets from your psychoanalyst. Ican't help you then."
"Perhaps," she agreed. "But I want to have secrets from you," she saidsoftly, and looked up quietly from her fingers, staring directly intohis eyes, and her lips and her eyes underwent that mysterioussynchronization once again. "I don't want you to know me like a book,with everything spelled out in black and white, but like a portrait,with hidden shades and nuances.... I want you to know me gradually,slowly...."
"Mimi," he said, and paused. He pushed back from his desk, swiveledcompletely around and back to his original position, cracked twoknuckles, tried to force some saliva into a suddenly dry mouth, andstarted to speak again. "Mimi, it's not unusual for a patient to developa feeling of affection for her psychoanalyst. In fact, it's the usual--"
"It's not like that with us, though, is it?" she asked, more quietly,more softly and deeply, than before.
After a long pause he said, "No. No, it's not."
And so they sat there while the daylight faded outside them and thetwilight crawled up sixty-three floors to encircle their window andcontinue unhesitatingly upward.
* * * * *
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
"We're not going to do anything, Mimi," he finally said. "When I'm withyou, it's all so light and fantastic and funny, that I forget. But itwould be unforgivable to fall in love with a patient, and the wife of apatient. I can't do it. We'll have to stop right away. I'm no good as ananalyst to you anymore, anyway. I'm sorry, I'll send you to someoneelse. And now you'd better go."
She stood up, walked around his desk, and put her hands lightly on hisneck. "You're such a dear," she said. "I'll always love you. I've neverseen you so serious before. We always laugh and talk and giggle whenwe're together, and I loved you then. But now that you're sad andserious and oh so pitiably tragic I love you more than I could ever tellyou. But please don't worry, don't worry about a thing, darling. You'llsee, it will all work out."
"It can't work out, Mimi, there's absolutely no way on earth for it towork out. There's no solution at all."
"Please don't worry, darling," she said, picking up her gloves. "I can'tbear to see you looking so tragic. Life isn't so serious, especially asyou're loved." She walked out and closed the door behind her. Victor satquite still. He could barely hear her saying "Margaret, wake up,Margaret, it's time to go home," through the thick wooden door.
* * * * *
The phone rang in his office three days later. He was alone at the time,going over some notes he had just taken with another patient. Margaretwas out, presumably peering through the floor of the ladies' lounge downthe hall, and he picked up the receiver himself.
"Victor, come quick," Mimi screamed through the wires. "He's trying tokill me!"
She said more, but he heard none of it. His fingers went numb, the phonedropped, he was out of his seat and skidding around the desk before ithit the carpeted floor. He had to wait at the elevator. He thought forone silly moment of racing to the exit and running down sixty-threefloors, then compromised on stamping his feet and slamming one fist intothe other palm and striding up and down while three other men and twowomen also waiting for the elevator stared at him. He thought of callingthe police just as the elevator door opened, and he nearly turned andleft it, but couldn't and leaped in just as the doors were closing. "I'mDr. Quink," he shouted at the elevator operator. "This is an emergency.Ta
ke me straight down."
The elevator went straight down. The doors opened on the ground floorand Victor shot out, leaving behind two nearly mortally sick women andseveral acid comments to the effect that he was probably late for amatinee. "I
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