that I did have another name, one she gave me, or intended to, a name she carried around in her mind all these years—or one she wanted to forget. In any case, I was angry. I felt my names belonged to me, and that I should have them, know them. I couldn’t stand being a person dealt out in little pieces, different people owning parts of me, different ideas of me. Michal’s abandoned infant. My grandfather’s rejected Jew-baby. My parents’ unsuitable daughter. I wanted to gather up all the pieces and own myself. Does that make sense to you? That I wanted to own myself?
Yes, of course, said the therapist. That is why you were doing all that. Why you went there in the first place.
(Yes! I thought with joy as I listened in my room. Own yourself!)
So I confronted her, said the patient.
I am sure it was difficult, said Dr. Schussler.
Oh, God, yes, said the patient.
But I am sorry, said the therapist, I am afraid you will have to tell me about it next time.
Oh, God, said the patient. We’re done, aren’t we? I wasted time. All that crap about the city and the beach. I wasted the hour.
You did what you needed to, said the doctor gently. But let me propose something. I have an opening on Monday nights. Nine o’clock. It will be temporary, a few months. But I would like to offer it to you, so for a while you may come twice a week.
The patient hummed. I don’t know, she said. Monday night. Let me think about it.
Yes. Think about it. Call me, and let me know. I will keep the hour open for you.
71.
Monday night could not come quickly enough. How I hoped the patient had indeed accepted the hour. Joy: I would be with her twice a week.
I sat in the office on Monday listening to the hiss of the sound machine and the screech of brakes in the street, and I thought the earth had somehow stopped revolving. Would the sun never set! Would dark never come!
At last Dr. Schussler’s eight o’clock patient left. The doctor moved about her office, then turned off the sound machine, as she normally did when her workday was at an end—and as she did before the patient’s arrival. The silence, therefore, could indicate either condition. Yet I had to calm myself, remain exquisitely still, for at that late hour the building was quiet, the only sound being the low hum that seemed to emanate from the core of the place, from the basement, or the elevators, or the roof, or perhaps was the life-thrum of the building itself.
When suddenly something shrilled through the silence.
The doctor’s phone.
She jumped up before it could ring again.
Yes, she said into the phone. Good evening, Dr. Gurevitch. Thank you so much for returning my call.
(So she was still in “consultation” with this Gurevitch.)
Dr. Schussler occasionally murmured “yes” and “I see” as she listened, finally saying: I am relieved that you agree with my assessment. It does seem the most efficacious method of proceeding.
(What were they talking about! What method? By the glow of my watch, I could see that we were fast approaching the top of the hour. Was the patient coming or not?)
I concur, she said at last. Yes. Her cynicism is key. Cynicism and self-punishment.
(This had to be about the patient.)
And I must, if possible, guide her toward reconciliation with her adoptive family.
(No! Help her leave them!)
Otherwise she will have no base, no home. However, it may be that such reconciliation impossible, given the mother’s schizoid personality and the father’s emotional distance.
(Footsteps were coming down the hall.)
And therefore—
(There were knocks on the door. Yes! She was here!)
Ah, but there she is now. I must ring off.
(The knocking continued.)
Just a minute! the doctor called out. Then said softly into the phone, Thank you, Dr. Gurevitch.
She hung up the phone and walked to the door.
Come in, she said to the patient.
72.
This building is really strange at night, the patient said. The hallways are so long and dark.
The therapist laughed. Yes, it sometimes does feel that way.
Twenty seconds of silence followed, after which Dr. Schussler said:
Let us return to where we broke off last session. You were about to confront your birth mother.
No. Not my mother. Michal.
Let us please agree to call her your birth mother.
The patient exhaled her annoyance.
Since it is a fact, the therapist continued. If only to facilitate your ability to discuss the issue.