No knocker or bell push was to be seen on or near the peeling front door, so Jake pounded on it with the side of his fist. In the interval that followed he and Brenda embraced, briefly and without looking at each other. Then the door opened quite normally to reveal a longhaired middle-aged man holding a glass of what looked like whisky and water, which he swirled all the time.
"Yer?"
"We're looking for something called the Workshop," said Jake.
"Doctor you wanted, was it?"
"Yes. Yes, I suppose so,"
The fellow motioned with his head, his locks flying. He said in a lowered tone, "Second on the left down there," stood aside and carefully shut the door behind the Richardsons. Apart from what might perhaps have been a bead curtain the interior was featureless, also rather dark; there was a faint sweetish smell, not unpleasant; in the distance an organ, probably but not certainly through one or another means of reproduction, could be heard playing something a bit religious. In the past, Jake thought to himself, this would have made quite a plausible setting for a down-market spiritualist séance, though there of course your feelings would have been rather different-more certitude of tangible benefit and so on.
The room he and Brenda went into made much the same impression, but with more emphasis on things being dirty and damp. It also had Rosenberg in it. The little psychologist slipped to the floor from the sofa-like object on which he had been perching and shook hands with the curious warmth he always showed on meeting, not quite false and yet not right, off target, appropriate to some other relationship, perhaps that of a nephew.
"And how are we now?" he asked. "Do make yourselves comfortable."
In the circumstances this was self-evidently out of the question but Jake and Brenda made no demur about taking off their topcoats and throwing them across a chair that could have come from his rooms at Comyns, and then settling themselves side by side on a kind of bench that had the attraction of being not far from a tall electric fire. This gave off a hasty buzzing sound from time to time.
"Whose house is this?" asked Jake.
"It belongs to Mr Shyster," Rosenberg seemed to say. He spoke with an air of self-satisfaction.
"Does he run the ..."—Jake set his teeth—".... Workshop?"
"He does not," said Rosenberg, shocked that anybody at all should need to be set right on this point. "The facilitator is called Ed."
"The what?" asked Jake delightedly, having heard quite well.
"Facilitator. We like to avoid words like organiser and leader. They have the wrong associations."
"Whereas facilitator has exactly the right ones. I see."
Brenda looked hard at Jake. "Does it matter what he's called?"
"Oh indeed it does, Mrs Richardson, indeed it does. Words embody attitudes of mind."
"I was making the very same point the other day," said Jake with a respectful nod of the head. "And who is Ed? Apart from being the facilitator of the Workshop, that is."
"Well, he had a brilliant and extremely creative career in the United States and came to this country just over a year ago. He says he thinks it's his duty to stay because the need for him is greater here. They're streets ahead of us over there in this field, as you might imagine."
Jake had sub vocalised an oath. Funny how everything horrible or foolish was worse if it was also American. Modern architect modern American architect. Woman who never stops talking—American ditto. Zany comedian. Convert to Buddhism..... "Oh yes," he said when Rosenberg passed.
"I asked you both to come a few minutes early to tell you a little about this work. First of all I take no part, I merely observe. End's object is to induce the participants to express their emotions, to confess what he or she thinks he or she is really like or what's wrong with him or her, or to say what he or she feels about another participant. Or the others may help him or her to a more intense experience. Things of that nature. The essential point is that the emotion should be expressed in full—no holds barred, as we say. Also it must be 'emotion:' Ed'll be listening not to what you say but how you say it."
"So it's all right if I talk nonsense," said Jake.
"Oh indeed, Ed wants to know how you 'feel.'"
"I don't think I can feel much about nonsense except that it is nonsense."
"You were saying just now what we said was meant to be important," said Brenda. "Words embodying things."
"That's the mental aspect. It's the emotions we're on to now."
"Oh."
"Now the purpose of Workshop activity is twofold. The first applies in equal measure to every participant. It enables him or her to achieve release and gain insight into himself or herself. The second purpose is individual and is different for every participant. It helps him or her to overcome his or her special problem. In your case, Mr Richardson, it's the overcoming of sexual guilt and shame. You'll find that by—"
"You keep saying that," said Jake in some irritation, "and I keep telling you I don't—"
"I keep saying it because it's true and you won't accept it. Look at yourself at the McDougall."
"I have, and what of it? Anyone would have felt the same."
"Wrong. As you'll come to see. You think it's disgraceful that your libido has declined. Yes you do. As you'll come to see it's no more disgraceful than catching cold. But I mustn't lay too much stress there, that's just on the surface. Deeper down you feel that the slightest little deviation from any sexual norm is cause for guilt and shame, as your fantasy showed. There are parts of your sexual make-up you still refuse to let me see."
Jake slowed himself down. "Look, Dr Rosenberg, if I have got any parts like that I don't know what they are. As I've explained to you before, I don't particularly object to oral sex or anal sex or the rest of the boiling, I just don't enjoy that kind of thing as much as the .... straightforward stuff. Didn't enjoy it, I should say. No desire to be a voyeur or be at the receiving end of one. Et cetera. And what of it if I had? And I had to eke out my fantasy with adjectives and so forth because what I was imagining was too simple to run to the number of words you asked me for."
"Please just listen. Deepest down of all you think everything about sex is unpleasant as a result of your puritanical upbringing."
"Good .... God."
"Excuse me but we must get on. Mrs Richardson, your problem is inferiority feelings. You agree with that, I think."
"You bet I do. I feel completely hopelessly—"
"Save it for the Workshop. The only other thing I have to say—well, two things. You two are the only participants with directly sexual problems, and everyone is selected with great care—vetted. Some people will try to enter this kind of work for the wrong motives: to acquire a sexual partner or just to enjoy the dramatic aspect or plain curiosity. One of the ways in which Ed is so good is lie can detect those fellows as if it's by taking one look at them. Ah."