«That`s what I want to focus on in therapy,” he says. «Ifthatis what I want—to read
and to get a good night`s sleep—Dr. Hertzfeld, tell me—why can`t I, why don`t I, do
it?»
Slowly more details of his work with Philip Slate coasted into mind. Philip had
intellectually intrigued him. At the time of their first meeting he had been working on a
paper on psychotherapy and the will, and Philip`s question—why can`t I do what I truly
want to do?—was a fascinating beginning for the article. And, most of all, he recalled
Philip`s extraordinary immutability: after three years he seemed entirely untouched and
unchanged—and as sexually driven as ever.
Whatever became of Philip Slate? Not one word from him since he abruptly bailed
out of therapy twenty–two years ago. Again Julius wondered whether, without knowing
it, he had been helpful to Philip. Suddenly, he had to know; it seemed a matter of life and
death. He reached for the phone and dialed 411.
2
_________________________
Ecstasy in the act of
copulation. That is it! That
is the true essence and core
of all things, the goal and
purpose of all existence.
_________________________
«Hello, is this Philip Slate?»
«Yes, Philip Slate, here.»
«Dr. Hertzfeld here. Julius Hertzfeld.»
«Julius Hertzfeld?»
«A voice from your past.»
«The deep past. The Pleistocene past. Julius Hertzfeld. I can`t believe it—it must
be what?...at least twenty years. And why this call?»
«Well, Philip, I`m calling about your bill. I don`t believe you paid in full for our
last session.»
«What? The last session? But I`m sure...”
«Just kidding, Philip. Sorry, some things never change—the old man is still jaunty
and irrepressible. I`ll be serious. Here, in a nutshell, is why I`m calling. I`m having some
health problems, and I`m contemplating retirement. In the course of making this decision
I`ve developed an irresistible urge to meet with some of my ex–patients—just to do some
follow–ups, to satisfy my own curiosity. I`ll explain more later if you wish. Soooo—
here`s my question to you: would you be willing to meet with me? Have a talk for an
hour? Review our therapy together and fill me in on what`s happened to you? It`ll be
interesting and enlightening for me. Who knows?—maybe for you as well.»
«Um...an hour. Sure. Why not? I assume there`s no fee?»
«Not unless you want to charge me, Philip—I`m asking for your time. How about
later this week? Say, Friday afternoon?»
«Friday? Fine. That`s satisfactory. I`ll give you an hour at one o`clock. I shan`t
request payment for my services, but this time let`s meet in my office—I`m on Union
Street—four–thirty–one Union. Near Franklin. Look for my office number on the building
directory—I`ll be listed as Dr. Slate. I am now also a therapist.»
Julius shivered as he hung up the phone. He swiveled his chair around and craned his
neck to catch a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge. After that call he needed to see
something beautiful. And feel something warm in his hands. He filled up his meerschaum
pipe with Balkan Sobranie, lit the match, and sucked.
Oh baby, Julius thought, that warm earthy taste of latakia, that honeyed, pungent
fragrance—like nothing else in the world. Hard to believe that he`d been away from it for
so many years. He sank into a reverie and mused about the day he stopped smoking. Had
to be right after that visit to his dentist, his next–door neighbor, old Dr. Denboer who had
died twenty years ago. Twenty years—how could it be? Julius could still see his long
Dutch face and gold–rimmed spectacles so clearly. Old Dr. Denboer beneath the soil now
for twenty years. And he, Julius, still above ground. For now.
«That blister on your palate,” Dr. Denboer shook his head slightly, «looks
worrisome. «We`ll need a biopsy.» And though that biopsy had been negative, it caught
Julius`s attention because that very week he had gone to Al`s funeral, his old cigarette–smoking tennis buddy, who died of lung cancer. And it didn`t help then that he was in the
midst of readingFreud, Living and Dying, by Max Schur, Freud`s doctor—a graphic
account of how Freud`s cigar–spawned cancer gradually devoured his palate, his jaw,
and, finally, his life. Schur promised Freud to help him die when the time came, and
when Freud finally told him that the pain was so great that it no longer made sense to
continue, Schur proved a man of his word and injected a fatal dose of morphine. Nowthat
was a doctor. Where do you find a Dr. Schur nowadays?
Over twenty years of no tobacco, and also no eggs or cheese or animal fats.
Healthy and happily abstinent. Until that God–dammed physical exam. Now everything
was permitted: smoking, ice cream, spare ribs, eggs, cheese...everything. What
difference did any of that matter any longer? What difference did anything make?—in
another year Julius Hertzfeld would be leeched into the soil, his molecules scattered,
awaiting their next assignment. And sooner or later, in another few million years, the
whole solar system would lie in ruins.
Feeling the curtain of despair descending, Julius quickly distracted himself by
turning his attention back to his phone call with Philip Slate. Philip a therapist? How was
that possible? He remembered Philip as cold, uncaring, oblivious of others, and, judging
from that phone call, he was still much the same. Julius drew on his pipe and shook his
head in silent wonder as he opened Philip`s chart and continued reading his dictated note
of their first session.
PRESENT ILLNESS—Sexually driven since thirteen—compulsive masturbation
throughout adolescence continuing till present day—sometimes four, five times daily—
obsessed with sex continually, masturbates to give himself peace. Huge hunk of life spent
on obsessing about sex—he says «the time I`ve wasted chasing women—I could have
gotten Ph.D.s in philosophy, Mandarin Chinese, and astrophysics.»
RELATIONSHIPS: A loner. Lives with his dog in a small flat. No male friends. Zero. Nor
any contacts with acquaintances from past—from high school, college, grad school.
Extraordinarily isolated. Never had a long–term relationship with a woman—consciously
avoids ongoing relationships—prefers one–night stands—occasionally sees a woman as
long as a month—usually woman breaks it off—either she wants more from him, or she
gets angry at being used or gets upset about his seeing other women. Desires novelty—
wants the sexual chase—but never satiated—sometimes when he travels he picks up a
woman, has sex, gets rid of her, and an hour later leaves his hotel room on the prowl
again. Keeps a record of partners, a score sheet, and in past twelve months has had sex
