The Analyst

by Peter Stickland

  “He’s impossible. A wild thing,” Greta told him. “There is not an introspective bone in his body. It doesn’t surprise me that he could not take on the therapeutic process.”

  “He did take it on for a while with a colleague of mine, but she had to move out of town. This is how his case was referred to me. I would say that he had a very rigorous and enlightening therapeutic process with his first therapist.”

  “But now he’s given up on it, hasn’t he. I hope this new partner proves to be successful. It will only prosper if he can continue with his writing. He’s useless if he doesn’t have a story in his head; it’s his substitute for introspection, for everything. You wouldn’t want a relationship with someone who’s a therapy free zone.”

  “No, but therapy had an impact on him. He may not be ready to talk about it, but when he does it will surprise you.”

  “What surprises me is that he even agreed to try it; he was never interested in talking about his inner world or his dreams. At times I would look at Alex and see no connection for me there. With some people you can feel their friendship; they act as a mirror for you, but not him. How can you bond with someone if you can’t be in tune with them or if there’s no critical discourse? He wanted to influence everything that happened and the way it happened. He was shocked to the core when I told him that I didn’t feel included in our marriage. He couldn’t believe it.”

  “Did you ever manage to influence him?”

  “Never - not once - even in intimate matters. I was a product of his wishes, a projection of his fantasy. He had no idea that he prevented me from being myself. I dreamed of being free, of talking about my concerns - anything; even those things I felt vulnerable about - but he wasn’t capable of listening. I longed for a partner who wasn’t needy, who didn’t have to dominate everything. I wanted someone who could encourage my best attributes and help me feel confident.”

  Stefan couldn’t believe his ears, he couldn’t believe his eyes and he couldn’t believe his gushing emotions. He would be the partner she longed for. He and Greta bathed in each other’s company for the remainder of the evening and when it was time say farewell they both displayed their reluctance to part. In the taxi home Stefan held his phone close to him. He had Greta’s phone number and he was going to ring her.

  Stefan woke next morning with Greta on his mind, but it was Alex who had been inhabiting his dreams. He wrote feverishly to clear his thoughts.

  Talking to Greta was like a dream. She likes to be analysing the situation, just as I do. That must have been a problem for Alex. He obviously felt rejected by her desire to scrutinize and evaluate their state of affairs. He would not have realised that Greta was only rejecting his attitude to their relationship, not him as person.

  In therapy I am thoughtful, in love I am anxious, but now I want to rush into Greta’s life. I want to pick her up and claim her as my own. It’s an explosion of desire that I feel. I should not jump into this, but what else can I do? I want to be with Greta this minute. I want to transform my life. Why do I feel that she is mine? She makes me feel free; grateful to be alive. This makes me feel guilty. Am I stealing Alex’s wife… his ex-wife? If she is Mrs X it will drive him crazy. I don’t care. I want to enjoy the life she inspires in me. I don’t want Alex’s permission to be with her. I don’t want anyone’s permission. Why do I keep thinking of Alex? He said she made him feel like a man. She makes me feel like a man.

  Stefan reached for his phone and dialled Greta’s number.

  “Hello. What time is it?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Stefan.”

  “Stefan. How lovely of you to ring. I was dreaming of you.”

  “I was dreaming of you too. Well, actually I was dreaming of Alex.”

  “Traitor. I hope you’ will decide to bring Alex along when you’re coming to meet me.”

  “I will be one hundred per cent with you, I promise.”

  “When are we meeting then?”

  “Let me find my diary.”

  “It’s Sunday. You don’t need a diary. I thought we had agreed to meet today?”

  “Well we mentioned it. Shall we have supper?”

  “That’s a whole day away.”

  “Oh, OK, I’ll come over this afternoon. We could go for a walk on the heath if you like.”

  “Come now.”

  “You mean right now.”

  “Uh, uh.”

  “OK, give me your address.”

  Stefan showered and dressed. Before leaving he wrote, “Outside the walls,” in his diary.

  Greta lived in a square that surrounded a communal garden. She made coffee for Stefan and they resumed the easy going conversation they had enjoyed the previous evening. Stefan was keen to encourage some further intimacy between them, but he soon realised that Greta was ignoring his attempts to charm her and deflecting his amorous advances. Despite this, it was obvious that she enjoyed talking and she did not moderate her engagement even when Stefan made Alex the subject of their conversation. As Stefan encouraged the conversation to deepen, Greta became increasingly personal.

  “Alex dominated me,” she told Stefan, “and he also exploited me. I allowed him to. For some time this was the only way I knew how to behave. It’s very likely that I was exploited as a child. I certainly feel that it’s an attitude I adopted at an early age. It wasn’t abuse. I was simply overwhelmed by my father’s anger. I felt that I had to make a big effort to be good and I had to be charming if I wanted any attention or affection. My fear was mixed with a natural ability to be free and easy, so, as this was one of better attributes, I never allowed the pressure I was under to worry me; I accepted it and got on with life. Later I had to learn that when I wanted the attention of a man I always handed out armfuls of charm to keep him interested. This is how I behaved when I fell in love with Alex. I also allowed him to dominate everything and I discovered that he was delighted with the role of despot. He was like a little boy. Maybe he had never been given such free licence before, but the outcome was that he was in heaven and I was in hell.”

  “So you had to fight to feel like a real person.”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to be manipulated like that little girl who had to be endlessly charming. She didn’t know any better, but I knew better. I imagined that Alex would see the generosity I directed towards him and would love me for it. I imagined he would get bored with domination, but he was too fearful to let go. He had to be in control. I was completely silenced, so I had no choice. I told him that if he could not accept me as an equal partner and allow us to grow together, sharing the influence we exerted, our marriage would be over. Alex agreed with me, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to stay in the place where he was king.”

  “So did you leave him?”

  “Yes. Being with Alex was killing me. Since then I have read more about psychology and I have begun to express my inner feelings. I can now share important thoughts with friends. I hated living alone in my confusion. I know how people become mad. I could have become mad. Slipping into that quagmire would have been a blessed relief. I didn’t want the struggle of keeping my head above the mud, but I struggled; I kept myself from sinking into that quicksand. Alex had to change with me or he had to live without me. He could do neither, so in the end I had to struggle with him as well as myself.”

  “I’m beginning to feel like your therapist.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry; please don’t feel like that. Luckily, I have a therapist. She got me out of danger and enabled me to begin to trust my feelings and gain confidence. Now I’m fine. I have new friends, people who accept me and respect me. I do not over-play the role of Ms Charming any longer and I’m not generally treated as an easy target.”

  “Are you happy to be single then?”

  “Yes, I like my own company. I don’t need a man around to tell me I’m beautiful or to flatter me in any way.”

  “Are you averse to having another relationship then
?”

  “Yes, but who knows? I know love is real, that it is possible. I’ve simply had enough of confusion. I want a simple life now and some control over it.”

  “I wonder what a simple life might be.”

  “Well it’s not that place where I am required to make myself vulnerable. It’s not a life where weakness is exploited, where I have to give up being myself. I’m totally fed up living in a world where people want to remain in their adolescence. How can adolescence last a lifetime? Why can’t we grow up?”

  “I’m not sure I can answer these questions right now.”

  “Sorry, I just treated you to one of my tirades. You inspired me to speak; maybe it’s because you’re a therapist. If you have issues of your own, please feel free to give them an airing. We have plenty of time. Shall I make some soup? I need sustenance.”

  They returned to the kitchen and the phone rang. Greta gave the caller, a woman called Rosie, an enthusiastic greeting.

  “I have a friend here,” she told the woman. “Why don’t you come down and join us. Yes of course. We are just about to have lunch. Yes, just come as you are.” She turned to Stefan. “I’ve invited my friend Rosie to join us. She has a flat in the upper half of the house.”

  For some reason the very name Rosie triggered something in Stefan. His immediate thought was that he and Rosie were going to be romantically attached. It was a kind of premonition. Moments later, when he saw Rosie, he was greatly excited. There was something familiar about her. She reminded him of a girl he’d known in his youth. Her smiling, open manner fuelled his belief in the premonition. Suddenly, for a man like Stefan, it wasn’t a problem that he was inventing ridiculously starry-eyed notions; he was convinced that he was expecting this romance.

  Rosie and Stefan stole glances at each other while Greta treated Rosie to a brief synopsis of the relationship between Stefan and Alex. During lunch their conversation flowed agreeably and while she cleared the dishes Greta asked her friend if she had a liking for Stefan.

  “Oh yes,” Rosie replied. “I like the way he looks me in the eye - it’s important when meeting someone for the first time. But he seems to be a big fish and this makes me a little nervous.”

  Stefan was taken aback. Was this true? He did not know how to respond. Then he became slightly fearful about what they might say next.

  “And you Stefan,” came Greta’s query, “do you have a liking for Rosie?”

  “Yes,” Stefan stammered and then he launched into a tender description of Rosie’s attributes. “There is dignity in her manner; even in the way she sits. I like her smile, the way she clasps her hands and the way she turns her head.”

  “My God, Stefan, don’t overdo it,” Greta told him.

  “But it’s true. I find her very natural. I’m attracted to gentle, unpretentious people. It strikes me that Rosie is spontaneous and honest.”

  “Careful, Stefan,” Greta advised him. “You should not say so much in the first hours of friendship.”

  “Rosie and I might be very different, but I suspect we share the same values. I think she’s caring and patient. There’s a genuine self-esteem about her, something warm that shines out from beneath the surface.”

  “Well,” Greta exclaimed, “congratulations. I’d say you have definitely overdone it now.”

  “Stop it,” Rosie told her. By now they were all laughing. “And you Stefan,” Rosie continued, “how come you are still single?”

  “I have no idea and I am supposed to be the therapist. I don’t want to analyse it any more though. I want to dance.”

  These were extraordinary comments for Stefan to make; he had said nothing of the kind in his entire life. The women enjoyed his company and the trio chatted on for a considerable time. Stefan stopped now and then to reflect on his situation. He wondered why Alex regarded Greta as a threat when he felt such an affinity with her. Then it occurred to him that maybe this affinity he felt meant they were similar, but not a pair who were likely to fall in love. He thought that life with Greta might be like life in the monastery, the life he was trying escape from. By contrast, he saw Rosie as an open-minded, spontaneous woman who wanted to dance. He saw her as a bright new departure, a challenging and a stimulating presence.

  It pleased Stefan greatly to be talking with these two women and it occurred to him that this was his new life. He thought of the polarity of the two women; Greta like one of his teachers and Rosie like the woman he escaped from the monastery to find. Until now he had always chosen the monastery and it was time for him to change. He allowed the words he’d spoken to Rosie to wash over him. He felt increasingly attracted to her. She inspired him to talk freely and to express his thoughts clearly. Never before had he spoken so eloquently about his concern for detail. Until then it hadn’t even occurred to him to think about the importance of detail let alone talk about it.

  “When I describe dreams,” one of his speeches began, “I think long and hard about my sentences. It’s the small actions in a dream that help to locate those things that describe personality. I imagine they hold a secret about the person I am looking after. In some manner details can initiate profound thoughts in a way that ‘big ideas’ never can. It’s for this reason that I try to depict the way dreamers inhabit their space in a very precise manner. Of course, it is possible that I am under some sort of illusion here, but even if the usefulness of my artifice remains unverifiable, I still want to pare everything down to its essential components. I like offering my efficiency of means as a feast.”

  “So you meditate upon what a thing looks like or how a person acts in their dreams.” Greta offered.

  “Yes. I like those dreams that feel like you’re not really dreaming. If you watch someone carry out an everyday action, like washing the dishes, when you know they are about to explode, then the way they wash those dishes says everything about their situation. Neither in dreams nor in life do people just wash dishes; there is always something else going on.”

  “Is this where the detail comes in?” Rosie asked.

  “Yes. When the anger is present it can be seen in a hand movement or a head turn. The way I place this cup on the tray could say everything about the way I am feeling. I am certain that dreams play out their drama at this level.”

  “All this could of course be a fiction,” Greta put in.

  “It’s true and you also have to be crazy to add uncertainty and contradiction to an already complicated set of conditions, but we all employ fictions to keep ourselves alive, so this is mine. It’s a very functional fiction. It gives me independence and helps me avoid the tyranny of repeating what I already know.”

  “Quite right,’ Rosie replied. “Stay with what happens in the back of your mind and follow your heart.”

  Stefan enjoyed the reverberation of her phrase as it echoed through him. With her he would follow his heart. Before leaving she handed him her card. That evening they spoke by phone and agreed to meet the following day. He could feel his anxiety and speculated that anxiety might be the only thing they had in common at this moment in time. It struck him as an appropriate mood for his first hours outside the wall.