Is it more than the medication?"

Dr. Patel said she would be happy to talk with me about my 566 566 567 567.

brother, but that perhaps we should arrange to do so at another time.

After all, she said, we'd both set aside this hour to talk about me me.

The teakettle rumbled. While I waited for her, I grabbed my crutch and gimped across the room. Looked out the window. I hadn't been up there since October. Now, in the dead of winter, you could see the river through the bare trees.

Dr. Patel asked me about my injuries-my progress with physical therapy.

"Actually, I'm ahead ahead of schedule," I said. "No one down at the rehab center can believe how far I've come along in just three months. They told me they're going to make me their poster boy." of schedule," I said. "No one down at the rehab center can believe how far I've come along in just three months. They told me they're going to make me their poster boy."

"Poster boy? What is 'poster boy,' please?" I'd forgotten how it was with her-how much got lost in translation. Why had I even called her? Jump-started this whole therapy thing again? Big Waste of Time and Money, Part II.

I reached down and touched the head of that statue of hers.

Shiva. "Oh, by the way, I-thanks for, uh . . . for this guy here's little brother." She looked puzzled. "The present you sent over with Lisa Sheffer? When I was in the hospital?"

"Ah, yes," she said, breaking out in a smile. "You liked my little gift?"

"I did, yeah. I do do. I was going to write you a thank-you note about fifty times."

"Well, now you've thanked me in person," she said. "Which is even better, don't you think? Have a seat, please." Placing the tea tray between us, she sat down herself. "Let's let this steep while we catch up."

She'd been reviewing my records, she said. Our last session had been on the twenty-second of October. We had never discussed ending our work together, she reminded me. I had seen her three times, canceled two appointments in a row, and then just not called anymore. If our work were to resume, she said, she would expect more of a commitment from me.

"A commitment?" I shifted in my chair. "Geez, you're not asking me to go steady, are you?"

568 568.

She didn't crack a smile. Perhaps, she said, we could meet weekly for four sessions and then decide jointly jointly whether or not we wished to continue the process. whether or not we wished to continue the process.

"Yeah," I said. "Sure. No problem." What was she going to do if I didn't honor my "commitment"? Sic the bloodhounds? Alert the psychology police?

She removed the teapot lid and peered inside. "Not quite ready yet," she said.

We just sat there, Dr. Patel smiling, watching me lace and unlace my fingers, shift around in my seat. "I've . . . I've got him up on my bookcase."

"Excuse me?"

"Your little statue guy. I put him in the room where I read. . . .

That's one one thing you get to do when you fall off a roof and put yourself out of commission: catch up on your reading." thing you get to do when you fall off a roof and put yourself out of commission: catch up on your reading."

"Is it? I'm envious then. What have you been reading, Dominick?"

"The Bible, for one thing."

"Yes?" She looked neither pleased nor displeased.

"I . . . well, it was kind of an accident, really. I was trying to poke something else down from the top shelf with one of my crutches.

Sho-gun, I think it was I think it was . . James Clavell. Thought I'd read that one again. But then I knocked this whole stack down on top of me, instead-this little avalanche of books. And there it was. Didn't even know I still James Clavell. Thought I'd read that one again. But then I knocked this whole stack down on top of me, instead-this little avalanche of books. And there it was. Didn't even know I still had had that damn thing. My mother had given it to me for my confirmation, way back in sixth grade. Thomas and me-we each got one. Mine's in a little better shape than his." that damn thing. My mother had given it to me for my confirmation, way back in sixth grade. Thomas and me-we each got one. Mine's in a little better shape than his."

She smiled. "Which passages are you reading? The Old Testament or the New?"

"Old."

"Ah, the ancient stories. And are you finding them illuminating?

Was your 'little avalanche' fortuitous?"

Was she busting my balls? Getting in a couple of jabs because of those canceled appointments? "I guess . . . I guess I can see why some people find them useful."

569 569.

She nodded. "But I'm asking if you you' ve ve found them useful." found them useful."

"Me? Personally, you mean? No, not really. I guess I'm more interested in them from a historical perspective. Or, sociological or whatever.

. . . Well, in a way, maybe. The Book of Job: I could relate to that that one." one."

"Job? Yes? Why is that?"

I shrugged, shifted around in my seat for the zillionth time. "I don't know. Guy's just minding his own business, trying to do what's right, and he gets crapped all over. Becomes God's little test case."

"Is that how you you feel? As if you are 'God's little test case'?" feel? As if you are 'God's little test case'?"

I reminded her that I didn't believe in God.

"Then perhaps you can clarify for me why you-"

"Fate's test case, maybe. Schizophrenic brother, dead baby daughter, girlfriend who . . . But, hey, shit happens, right?" test case, maybe. Schizophrenic brother, dead baby daughter, girlfriend who . . . But, hey, shit happens, right?"

"It does, yes," she agreed. "Sometimes irrespective of how we are conducting our lives, and sometimes not. What other Old Testament stories have you found relevant?"

I shrugged. "Look, don't get the wrong idea. It's not like the Bible fell off the bookshelf, struck me upside the head, and now, suddenly, I'm 'born again' or something. Gonna go down to the library and cut my hand off for Jesus."

She waited.

"But, uh . . . well, there's the obvious one, I guess: Cain and Abel.

God creates the universe, Adam and Eve crank out a couple of kids, and voila. voila. Sibling rivalry. One brother murders the other brother." Sibling rivalry. One brother murders the other brother."

"Yes? Continue, please."

"What? I . . . It was just a joke joke."

"Yes, I understand your tone. But explain a little further, if you will."

"I didn't mean anything deep deep. Just . . . brother troubles."

She waited. Wouldn't look away.

"I just . . . Well, I could understand why the guy was pissed. That's all."

"Why who was pissed?"

"Cain. " "

"Yes? And why was he pissed?"

570 570.

"Hey, you're you're the one with the anthropology degree. Not me." the one with the anthropology degree. Not me."

"And you're you're the one who mentioned the Old Testament. Correct? the one who mentioned the Old Testament. Correct?

Answer my question, please."

"Hey, Doc, I ever tell you how much I like your accent? 'Onswer the question, please.' 'Why was he peesed?' " No smile, nothing. I drummed my fingers against my knees. Let out a sigh. "I don't know.

He just . . . he does his work, makes his offering like everyone else, and . . . and the only sacrifice God notices is his brother's. It's just typical."

"What is?"

"That all the credit goes to Mr.Goody Two-shoes. And what does the other one get? A big lecture about sin 'crouching at the door.' Like sin's the Big Bad Wolf or something. . . . That reminds me. I looked at a couple of those books you you recommended. Those myth things, or fable things, or whatever. Remember? You made me a list?" recommended. Those myth things, or fable things, or whatever. Remember? You made me a list?"

Yes, she said. She remembered.

"Someone went and got them out of the library for me. My ex-wife, actually. The Three Rivers library didn't have them, but she got them through interlibrary loan."

"Dessa's been helping you then?"

Had she remembered Dessa's name or looked it up before I got there? "She, uh . . . she brought over a couple of meals, ran a few errands." I wrapped my arms around my chest. I'd read somewhere that that was an instinct left over from caveman days: protect your heart. "Everyone's been pitching in. Even Ray."

"Your stepfather? Yes?"

"Well, he, uh . . . he's had more time on his hands. Got laid off in December. Happy holidays from the big guys down at Electric Boat.

He gives that company almost forty years of his life and then, just before his pension maxes out, they hand him his walking papers. They keep promising they're going to call the old guys back, but they won't."

Dr. Patel nodded sympathetically.

"So anyway, he's had more time lately. Drove me back and forth to the doctor's the first couple of months, down to physical therapy.

I even had him doing my grocery shopping for a while there. Before I started driving again. Kind of funny, isn't it?"

571 571.

"What is funny, Dominick?"

"Well, if you'd told me a year ago that Ray Birdsey was going to be my chauffeur, my personal errand boy . . ." I stood up. Walked back over to the window.

"I find your terminology interesting," Dr. Patel said.

I turned and faced her. "What do you mean?"

"Your comment just now about Ray. By helping you during your time of need, has he been serving as your 'personal errand boy' or as your father? Despite his past failures, I mean. Despite biology. Fathers do that, yes? Come to their sons' aid in times of need?"

She checked the tea again, pronounced it ready. You had to watch Doc Patel-had to put up your dukes even before the tea was poured. In a couple of months, I'd kind of forgotten how to play D with her.

"Tell me," she said. "Which of the books that I recommended did you read?"

"Oh, well, I didn't . . . I just kind of skimmed them. That Hero Hero with a Thousand Faces with a Thousand Faces thing and . . . what's that one by the guy you studied with in Chicago?" thing and . . . what's that one by the guy you studied with in Chicago?"

"Dr. Bettelheim?"

"Yeah. That Freud-meets-Little-Red-Riding-Hood thing of his."

She laughed. "Otherwise known as The Uses of Enchantment. The Uses of Enchantment.

And did you discover any?"

"Any . . . ?"

"Uses for enchantment?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Cinderella's lost slipper's really about castration anxiety; the beanstalk Jack's climbing up is really his Oedipus complex. It was kind of interesting, I guess, but . . ."

"But what?" She was watching me with mischievous eyes. Had I actually committed committed to four more sessions, or had we just talked about it? to four more sessions, or had we just talked about it?

"I guess . . . I think maybe we ought to just let fairy tales be fairy tales, you know? Instead of turning them into these deep, dark . . . performing all these psychological autopsies autopsies on them. You know?" I sat 572 on them. You know?" I sat 572 572.

there, not looking at her, picking away at a loose thread on my sweatshirt.

Dr. Patel told me she used to tease Dr. Bettelheim about that same thing. "I would say, 'Be careful, Bruno, or the magical little imps nes-tled in these ancient tales will become frightened and retreat back to the forest of antiquity.' But, of course, I could say that to him because I had such high regard for his work. It freed me to play the imp myself, you see."

I shrugged, sipped some tea. "Yeah, well, you and me probably read that book of his on two entirely different levels. . . . It was interesting, though. Thanks."

She asked no further questions, made no observation. Just watched me sit there, unraveling the end of my sweatshirt sleeve.

"You, uh . . . you know what I started reading this morning?

Speaking of autopsies? This thing my grandfather wrote. My mother's father."

"Yes? Your grandfather was an author, Dominick?"