having to look at this insect again. And here he is in my own cozy group. I feel
defiled.»
Julius`s head spun. Too many thoughts clamored for his attention. How
much could Philip bear? Evenhe had to have a breaking point. How much longer
before he would walk out of the room, never to return? And, as he imagined
Philip`s departure, he contemplated its consequences—on Philip but primarily on
Pam: she mattered far more to him. Pam was a great–souled lady, and he was
committed to helping her find a better future. Would she be well served by
Philip`s departure? Perhaps she`d have some measure of revenge—but what a
pyrrhic victory! If I could find a way, Julius thought, to help Pam reach
forgiveness for Philip, it would heal her—and perhaps Philip as well.
Julius almost flinched when the buzzwordforgiveness passed through his
mind. Of all the various recent movements swirling through the field of therapy,
the hullabaloo around «forgiveness» annoyed him the most. He, like every
experienced therapist, hadalways worked with patients who could not let things
go, who nurtured grudges, who could find no peace—and he hadalways used a
wide variety of methods to help his patients «forgive»—that is, detach from their
anger and resentment. In fact, every experienced therapist had an arsenal of
«letting–go» techniques they often used in therapy. But the simplistic and canny
«forgiveness» industry had magnified, elevated, and marketed this one single
aspect of therapy into the whole shebang and presented it as though it were
something entirely novel. And the ploy had garnered respectability by implicitly
melding with the current social and political forgiveness climate addressing a
range of such offenses as genocide, slavery, and colonial exploitation. Even the
Pope had recently begged forgiveness for the Crusaders` thirteenth–century
sacking of Constantinople.
And if Philip bolted, how wouldhe, as the group therapist, feel? Julius was
resolved not to abandon Philip, yet it was difficult to locate any compassion
toward him. Forty years before, as a young student, he had heard a lecture by
Erich Fromm citing Terence`s epigram written over two thousand years ago: «I
am human, and nothing human is alien to me.» Fromm had stressed that the good
therapist had to be willing to enter into his own darkness and identify with all of
the patient`s fantasies and impulses. Julius tried that on. So, Philip had made a list
of women he had laid? Hadn`t he done that himself when he was younger? Sure
he had. And so had many men with whom he`d discussed this matter.
And he reminded himself that he had a responsibility to Philip—and to
Philip`s future clients. He had invited Philip to become a patient and a student.
Like it or not, Philip was going to be seeing many clients in the future, and to
forsake him now was bad therapy, bad teaching, bad modeling—and immoral to
boot.
With these considerations in mind, Julius pondered what to say. He began
to formulate a statement beginning with his familiar,I have a real dilemma: on the
one hand...and on the other ...But this moment was too loaded for any stock
tactics. Finally, he said, «Philip, in your responses to Pam today you referred to
yourself in the third person: you didn`t say �I,` you said, �he.` You said, �Hedidn`t
give her that list.` I wonder, could you have been implying that you`re a different
person now from the man you were then?»
Philip opened his eyes and faced Julius. A rare locking of gazes. Was there
gratitude in that gaze?
«It`s been known for a long time,” Philip said, «that the cells of the body
age, die, and are replaced at regular intervals. Until a few years ago it was thought
that it was only the brain cells that persisted all of one`s life—and, of course, in
women, the ova. But research has now demonstrated that neural cells, too, die,
and new neurons are continuously being generated, including the cells forming
the architecture of my cerebral cortex, my mind. I think it can fairly be said that
not one cell in me now existed in the man bearing my name fifteen years ago.»
«So, Judge, it wasn`t me,” Tony snarled. «Honest. Ah ain`t guilty;
somebody else, some other brain cells, did the job before ah even got there.»
«Hey, that`s not fair, Tony,” said Rebecca. «All of us want to support Pam,
but there`s got to be a better way than �let`s get Philip.` What do you want him to
do?»
«Shit, for starters how about a simple вЂ?I`m sorry.`” Tony turned to Philip.
«How hard would that be? Would it break your cheeks to say that?»
«I got something to say to both of you,” said Stuart. «You first, Philip. I
keep current on the latest in brain research, and I want to say your facts about cell
regeneration are off. There is some recent research showing that bone marrow
stem cells transplanted in another individual can end up as neurons in some select
areas of the brain, for example, the hippocampus and the Purkinje cells of the
cerebellum, but there isno evidence of new neurons forming in the cerebral
cortex.»
«I stand corrected,” said Philip. «I`d appreciate some literature references,
please. Could you e–mail them?» Philip drew a card out of his wallet and handed
it to Stuart, who pocketed the card without examining it.
«And, Tony,” Stuart continued, «you know I`m not against you. I enjoy
your no–bullshit directness and irreverence, but I agree with Rebecca: I think
you`re being too rough—and a little unreal. When I first joined the group you
were doing weekend jail equivalent time on the highway cleanup patrols for a
sexual assault charge.»
«No, it was battery. The sexual assault charge was bullshit, and Lizzy
dropped it. And the battery charge was phony, too. But your point?»
«My point was that I never heardyou talk about being sorry, and no one
here got on your case. In fact I saw the opposite—I saw lots of support. Hell,
more than support; all the women, even you,” Stuart turned to Pam, «got turned
on by your...your what? Your lawlessness! I remember Pam and Bonnie dropping
off sandwiches for you once when you were doing trash pickup duty on Highway
101. I remember Gill and me talking about not being able to compete with
your...your...what was it?»
«Jungle nature,” said Gill.
«Yeah.» Tony smirked. «Jungle creature. Primitive man. That was pretty
cool.»
«So, how about giving Philip a break. Jungle man is okay for you but not
for him. Let`s hear his side of it. I feel awful about what Pam went through, but
let`s slow down, not rush to lynch. Fifteen years ago—that`s a long time.»
«Well,” said Tony, «I`m not into fifteen years ago; I`m into now.» Tony
turned to Philip. «Like last week when you...Philip—damn, it`s hard to talk when
you won`t make eye contact. Drives me fucking crazy! You claimed that it made
no difference to you that Rebecca was interested in you—that she was
uh...flirting...I can`t remember that goddamned word.»
«Preening!» said Bonnie.
