"Which is . . . ?"
"Emotion. This thing means far too much to you. When the
therapist is in-phase with a patient he is narco-electrically
removed from most of his own bodily sensations. "This is
necessarybecause his mind must be completely absorbed by
the task at hand. It is also necessary that his emotions undergo
a similar suspension. This, of course, is impossible in the one
sense that a person always emotes to some degree. But the
therapist's emotions are sublimated into a generalized feeling of
exhilarationor, as in my own case, into an artistic reverie. With
you, however, the 'seeing' would be too much. You would be
in constant danger of losing control of the dream."
"I disagree with you."
"Of course you do. But the fact remains that you would be
dealing, and dealing constantly, with the abnormal. The power
of a neurosis is unimaginable to ninety-nine point etcetera
percent of the population, because we can never adequately
judge the intensity of our ownlet alone those of others, when
we only see them from the outside. That is why no
neuroparticipant will ever undertake to treat a full-blown
psychotic. The few' pioneers in that area are all themselves in
therapy today. It would be like diving into a maelstrom. If the
therapist loses the upper hand in an intense session he becomes
the Shaped rather than the Shaper. The synapses respond like a
fission reaction when nervous impulses are artificially aug-
mented. The transference effect is almost instantaneous.
"I did an awful lot of skiing five years ago. This is because I
was a claustrophobe. I had to run and it took me six months to
beat the thingall because of one tiny lapse that occurred in a
measureless fraction of an instant. I had to refer the patient to
another therapist. And this was only a minor repercussion.If
you were to go ga-ga over the scenery, girl, you could wind up
in a rest home for life."
She finished her drink and Render refilled the glass. The
night raced by. They had left the city far behind them, and the
road was open and clear. The darkness eased more and more of
itself between the falling flakes. The Spinner picked up speed.
"All right," she admitted, "maybe you're right. Still, though,
I think you can help me."
"How?" he asked.
"Accustom me to seeing, so that the images will lose their
novelty, the emotions wear off. Accept me as a patient and rid
me of my sight-anxiety. Then what you have said so far will
cease to apply. I will be able to undertake the training then,
and give my full attention to therapy. I'll be able to sublimate
the sight-pleasure into something else."
Render wondered.
Perhaps it could be done. It would be a difficult undertaking,
though.
It might also make therapeutic history.
No one was really qualified to try it, because no one had ever
tried it before.
But Eileen Shallot was a rarityno, a unique itemfor it was
likely she was the only person in the world who combined the
necessary technical background with the unique problem.
He drained his glass, refilled it, refilled hers.
He was still considering the problem as the "RE-COOR-
DINATE" light came on and the car pulled into a cutoff and
stood there. He switched off the buzzer and sat there for a long
while, thinking.
It was not often that other persons heard him acknowledge
his feelings regarding his skill. His colleagues considered him
modest. Offhand, though, it might be noted that he was aware
that the day a better neuroparticipant began practicing would
be the day that a troubled homo sapiens was to be treated by
something but immeasurably less than angels.
Two drinks remained. Then he tossed the emptied bottle into
the backbin.
"You know something?" he finally said.
"What?"
"It might be worth a try."
He swiveled about then and leaned forward to re-coordinate,
but she was there first. As he pressed the buttons and the S-7
swung around, she kissed him. Below her dark glasses her
cheeks were moist.
II
The suicide bothered him more than it should have, and Mrs.
Lambert had called the day before to cancel her appointment.
So Render decided to spend the morning being pensive.
Accordingly, he entered the office wearing a cigar and a frown.
"Did you see . . .?" asked Mrs. Hedges.
"Yes." He pitched his coat onto the table that stood in the far
corner of the room. He crossed to the window, stared down.
"Yes," he repeated, "I was driving by with my windows clear.
They were still cleaning up when I passed."
"Did you know him?"
"I don't even know the name yet. How could I?"
"Priss Tully just called meshe's a receptionist for that
engineering outfit up on the eighty-sixth. She says it was James
Irizarry, an ad designer who had offices down the hall from
them.That's a long way to fall. He must have been
unconscious when be hit, hub? He bounced off the building. If
you open the window and lean out you can seeoff to the left
there where . . ."
"Never mind, BennieYour friend have any idea why he did
it?"
"Not really. His secretary came running up the hall,
screaming. Seems she went in his office to see him about some
drawings, just as he was getting up over the sill. There was a
note on his board. I've had everything I wanted,' it said. 'Why
wait around?' Sort of funny, hub? I don't mean funny . . ."
"Yeah.Know anything about his personal affairs?"
"Married. Coupla kids. Good professional rep. Lots of
business. Sober as anybody.He could afford an office in this
building."
"Good Lord!" Render turned. "Have you got a case file
there or something?"
"You know," she shrugged her thick shoulders, "I've got
friends all over this hive. We always talk when things go slow.
Prissy's my sister-in-law anyhow"
"You mean that if I dived through this window right now,
my current biography would make the rounds in the next five
minutes?"
"Probably," she twisted her bright lips into a smile, "give or
take a couple. But don't do it today, hub?You know, it would
be kind of anticlimactic, and it wouldn't get the same coverage
as a solus.
"Anyhow," she continued, "you're a mind-mixer. You
wouldn't do it."
"You're betting against statistics," he observed. "The medical
profession, along with attorneys, manages about three times as
many as most other work areas."
"Hey!" She looked worried. "Go 'way from my window!
"I'd have to go to work for Doctor Hanson then," she added,
"and he's a slob."
He moved to her desk.
"I never know when to take you seriously," she decided.
"I appreciate your concern," he nodded, "indeed I do. As a
matter of fact, I have never been statistic-prone1 should have
repercussed out of the neuropy game four years ago."
"You'd be a headline, though," she mused. "All those
reporters asking me about you . . . Hey, why do they do it,
hub?"
"Who?"
"Anybody."
. "How should I know, Bennie? I'm only a humble
psychestirrer.
If
I
could
pinpoint
a
general
underlying
causeand then maybe figure a way to anticipate the
thingwhy, it might even be better than my jumping, for
newscopy. But I can't do it, because there is no single, simple
reason1 don't think."
"Oh."
"About thirty-five years ago it was the ninth leading cause of
death in the United States. Now it's number six for North and
South America. I think it's seventh in Europe."
"And nobody will ever really know why Irizarry jumped?"
Render swung a chair backwards and seated himself. He
knocked an ash into her petite and gloaming tray. She emptied
it
into
the
waste-chute,
hastily,
and
coughed
a
significant
cough.
"Oh, one can always speculate," he said, "and one in my
profession will. The first thing to consider would be the
personality traits which might predispose a man to periods of
depression.
People who keep their emotions under rigid
control, people who are conscientious and rather compulsively
concerned with small matters . . ." He knocked another fleck of
ash into her tray and watched as she reached out to dump it,
then quickly drew her hand back again. He grinned an evil
grin. "In short," he finished, "some of the characteristics of
people in professions which require individual, rather than
group performancemedicine, law, the arts."
She regarded him speculatively.
"Don't worry though," he chuckled, "I'm pleased as hell with
life."
"You're kind of down in the mouth this morning."
"Pete called me. He broke his ankle yesterday in gym class.
They ought to supervise those things more closely. I'm thinking
of changing his school."
"Again?"