The door to Bender’s office opened, cracking the dusty silence of the reception room. Max blinked twice and stepped out. Bender watched diagnostically from the doorway. Then he tapped his watch and summoned the parents inside with an impatient twirl of one hand. Maya went toward Max but he climbed back in his seat and rested his forearms on the arms of the chair, like a satisfied customer. He seemed less nervous.
“The boy has dreamed about pike,” Bender announced to Maya and Alex when the door was closed behind them.
“He told you that?” Maya said resentfully.
Bender parted his hands wordlessly: a skilled professional gets the job done. “I made lemonade out of your ruse,” he said. “I said his mother had been having bad dreams lately, and so I was wondering if it was a family-wide problem. That was when he told me about the pike.”
“What about the pike?” Alex said.
“I’m afraid I must protect client confidentiality,” Bender declared.
“What is the point of all this then?” Alex said. Maya laid a palm on his wrist.
“To heal your son?” Bender said. “I have two observations to share with you. You can call one good news, one bad news. Which would you like first?”
Maya and Alex glanced at each other.
“The pike,” Bender went on without waiting, “is, essentially, the Russian national fish. It’s present here in America, but in nothing like the volume back home. Surely your father took you fishing for pike, Alex.”
“I was quite young when we left,” Alex said.
“There are entire communities in Siberia that would not survive without it. You can attribute a portion of Russia’s control of that vast region to the presence of pike. They have so much pike the dogs eat pike in Siberia.
“In any case, what I’m saying is that the boy is making good progress in the direction of his — his — his”—here, Bender’s smooth monologue stumbled and his brows rode together. Bender’s desire to obliterate his visitors with the power of his diagnosis had foundered on the uneasy etiquette of discussing adoption. No one among the Rubins’ acquaintances officially knew, though all understood. The psychologist took in a long breath and composed himself. “In the direction of his adopted culture,” he finished calmly.
Maya and Alex exchanged glances once more. They were prepared to celebrate, and they were prepared to despair, but they realized they didn’t understand which reaction Bender’s revelation was supposed to elicit.
“Which culture is the adopted culture?” Maya tried to clarify.
“That’s the good news,” Bender ignored her. “The bad news is that the pike is easily the most murderous freshwater fish in the world. They call pike ‘waterwolves,’ did you know that? Their teeth are like needles. When they come upon prey, they contract like a mamba and then lunge. I’m not talking about bluegills either. They will eat muskrats, duck, other fish their own size. They swim around with tails hanging out of their mouths — they can’t quite get down the victim. They build no nests and give no care to their young. Baby pike eat other baby pike to survive.”
“How do you know all this?” Alex said incredulously.
Bender flared his nose. He was caught between the desire to perpetuate his visitors’ impression of his work as a recondite craft and an equal compulsion to show them his research skills. The latter had the advantage of schooling his guests. He rose, plundered two shelves, and deposited two tomes on the edge of his desk: a book on the interpretation of dreams, and the Encyclopedia Britannica volume for Otter — Rethimnon.
“Elementary, my friends,” Bender folded his arms.
“But what does it all mean?” Maya inquired hesitantly.
“He is making the transition to his adopted culture,” Bender said, now getting out the sensitive words without difficulty. “Alas, it is not an untroubled transition.”
“But he’s eight,” Alex said. “It’s been eight years.”
“Until we are adolescents, and even beyond,” Bender said, staring off into the window, where the sun suffused the parking lot, “every day is a new world. Add to that having to get used to a whole other culture.” Bender tried on a poetic summation: “For him, it’s a new world squared.”
“So what do you propose?” Alex said.
“You should be glad you came to see me,” Bender said. “An American therapist wouldn’t answer that question for thirty sessions. Milk your teat a bit first.” He caught himself. “Forgive my language, Maya.” Then he realized that his phrasing had also reminded his patients of their infertility. He ground his teeth.
“The boy is a boy,” Bender said secretively. “He’s growing. And childhood is a mystery.” Alex was prepared to receive these words as a confirmation of his view that there was nothing especially wrong with Max, and that everyone around him loved to panic. But then Bender swerved away. “Clearly, the boy is acting out some kind of fantasy,” Bender said. “So: Guide his fantasy. Take charge of his fantasy.”
Maya did not understand. Did Bender want her to run away with her son? But how? Max had not alerted her of his disappearance.
“You are wondering how,” Bender read her mind. “I’ll tell you how. Select him a new name. Let him choose it. Also, acquire him an animal. Again, let him say which. His choices — they will say things.”
But what if he chooses a snake? Maya thought. Or a rhinoceros, for God’s sake. Maya deplored the way certain specialists — dentists, mechanics, accountants, apparently psychologists also — gave out results without explaining how they had arrived at them.
“That is, of course,” Bender said, “if Eugene will tolerate an animal on his carpets. In six months, come back, if you wish. Though”—Bender leaned forward conspiratorially—“I think you won’t need to come back.”
“That’s it?” Maya asked feebly. “A new name and an animal?”
“Once more,” Bender said wearily, “most therapists will take ten months — and ten months of billing — to tell you that. But I am a healer. My goal is to heal, not supervise monologues while I plan a vacation.” He folded his lips modestly and opened his right hand. Maya and Alex turned around to see where he was pointing. But Bender was merely showing the Rubins the door — time was up.
In the reception room, their son, having surrendered to Bella’s ministrations, was gnawing on a candy bar. Maya was perplexed — Max was customarily indifferent to sweets, the one child in the world. Perhaps it was easier to overcome his disinterest in candy than to fend off the receptionist’s siege. Bender followed Maya and Alex out of his office. “I asked Max what he thinks of his mother’s condition,” he announced to everyone. Bella looked up from the computer and Max stopped chewing. “He believes his family suffers from an overly relaxed attitude toward returning friends’ phone calls.” Bender giggled. With that, he spun on his heel and ran inside his office before the Rubins had a chance to respond. Maya had forgotten all about the questions she had meant to ask the psychologist.