Harry had a hollow, sinking feeling in his gut, which was reflected on his face, when Marion told him she was seeing the shrink for dinner and a concert. Why do you have to see him for krists sake. You can cut the son of a bitch loose. I dont want him mentioning to my parents that I have stopped therapy. I want that fifty dollars a week. Marion looked tenderly at Harry and spoke as gently as possible, with feeling and care. Sweetheart, I am not going to sleep with him— Harry shrugged and threw a hand up in the air, Yeah, youre just—I told him I have the curse so hes planning on going home after the concert. Harry tried, desperately, not to show his feelings, but he failed and his chin kept getting lower and lower and he started getting bugged with himself for not being able to stop himself from sulking. Whats that supposed to mean? Marion smiled, then started chuckling slightly hoping to snap Harry out of it, but Harry was unyielding. Suddenly Marion hugged him and squealed with absolute glee, O Harry, youre jealous. Harry halfheartedly tried to push her away, but stopped trying after a moment. Marion kissed him on the cheek and hugged him, Come on sweetheart, put your arms around me… come on… please??? please???? She lifted Harrys arms and placed them on her shoulders and he grudgingly left them there for a moment then did not resist as she pushed them down around her and snuggled into him. Eventually he exerted a little pressure and held her closer and Marion sighed and nestled her head into his chest then kissed him on the lips, the cheek, the ear, the neck and forced him to squirm and giggle, and continued until he was laughing and begging her to stop, Comeon, stop… stop, you crazy bitch or I/ll biteya on the chroat, and he started kissing her on the neck and tickling her and she joined him in laughing and they were both panting and begging the other one to stop until they eventually laughed themselves into submission and they stopped, Marion sitting on Harrys lap, both hanging loose like rag dolls, tears of laughter tickling their cheeks. They wiped their eyes and face and took a couple of deep breaths, breaking out in chuckles from time to time. Suppose he doesnt believe you about the curse? O Harry, tapping him on the nose, dont be so naive. What do you mean? I mean simply that I know how to handle the situation. He will accept whatever I tell him whether he believes me or not. He wouldnt think of forcing the issue. Hes not the type. Suppose he was the type? Then, my dear, I would not be going out with him. Harry sweetheart, I am not a fool. She chuckled, I may be crazy but Im not stupid. Yeah??? Harry looking at her with a dubious expression on his face, Why doesnt he take his wife to the concert? Shes probably at a meeting of the PTA, Marion shrugged, how should I know? He likes to be seen in fashionable places with a beautiful young woman. Hes a typical John. It makes him feel good. Yeah???? Well, personally I think anybody who sees a shrink ought to have his head examined. O Harry, thats dreadful, chuckling, giggling. Then why are you laughing? I dont know. Out of sympathy I guess. Anyway, I have to get ready to go. She got up and started for the bedroom, then turned around and came back to Harry, who had gotten up too, and put her arms around him and hugged him tightly and put her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and sighed… O Harry, Im so glad you were upset, not because it makes you feel bad sweetheart, but it makes me feel good to know that you care that much for me. Care for you? Now whos insulting who, eh? You think I was playing games when I told you I love you? No, no, sweetheart, I believe you. With all my heart I believe you. But I guess I like the way it looks on your face. Okay, okay, we/ll cool it. She smiled up at him for a few long moments, then kissed him on the lips and went to the bedroom to dress, I promise I/ll think of you the entire evening. Thats great. I/ll think of you too eating and drinking wine and listening to the music as Im working my ass off. Harry laughed, I guess thats better than you working your ass off, and he continued laughing. O Harry, thats dreadful, and she chuckled and laughed with relief as she dressed for the evening.
Marion met Arnold at the small bar of an intimate continental restaurant on the east side. He stood as she approached and extended a hand. She took his hand and his seat. How are you Marion? Fine Arnold, how are you? Well, thank you. The usual? Please. He ordered a Cinzano with a dash of bitters and a twist for her. You look exquisite, as usual. Thank you. She smiled and let him light her cigarette. Soon they were advised that their table was ready and the maitre d’ led them to the table and asked Monsieur and Madam how they were this evening and they smiled and nodded politely, as one does to a maitre d’, and told him they were fine. Marion relaxed into her chair and felt her body absorb the atmosphere. The thing she enjoyed about Arnold was his taste in restaurants. They were always small, intimate and chic, with exceptional food, something you very rarely find in America. The elegance of her surroundings had more to do with the glow she felt than the aperitif she sipped almost continuously. Im disappointed that you are indisposed. Well, theres nothing much I can do about that, she smiled, Freud notwithstanding. Is Anita out of town, or something? Why do you ask? No reason, really, just curious. He looked at her for a moment before answering, No, but she will be involved in something most of the night. Newsmen were there yesterday taking her picture, along with a few other “members” in the garden. Can I ask you a personal question Arnold? Certainly. How did you and Anita ever manage to have any children— She held up her hand, Im not trying to be facetious, honestly, its just that the two of you always seem to be in different places at the same time. Arnold sat a little straighter, Well, actually theres no mystery about that. I didn’t mean about the children, Marion was smiling, I do know about that. Why do you ask these questions, its very curious. What, exactly, do you mean by all this? Marion shrugged and finished chewing her escargot, Nothing other than what I said. Im curious. Marion sipped a bit of the white bordeaux he had ordered as he scrutinized her, O, this is marvelous. She took another sip then went back to her escargot. Arnold was still frowning slightly, When people reach a particular point in life, when they have attained a certain degree of success… a substantial degree, their interests broaden and their perspective widens. I imagine with Anita its an inner need for fulfillment, her civic work, a need to find her own identity. But what really interests me is why you should be asking a question like that. Its so obvious that you are trying to vicariously fulfill the lack in your life by playing a substitute role, substituting yourself in the role as my wife. O Arnold, dont be gauche. She finished her wine and immediately the waiter was there to refill her glass. Arnold nodded politely at him. And anyway, Im not in the least worried about my identity, she smiled at him and patted his hand, really Im not. She had finished her escargot and dabbed at the garlic butter with a piece of roll. Ive started painting again and I feel marvelous. You have? She had finished and the waiter took the empty plates and she sat back and smiled at Arnold. Thats right. I havent actually finished any canvases yet, but Im working. I can feel the paintings just welling up within me, begging to come out. Well… I would very much like to see your work. It would give me, I feel, a tremendous insight into your subconscious. I should think that you would be familiar enough with that by now. Well, its not exactly a stranger to me, but this would be approaching it from a different angle, a different point of view so to speak. You see here most of your defenses would not only be down, but the symbols would be far more obvious than in the dreams and it would give wonderful corroboration to the conclusions formed from analyzing the free association. Well, maybe sometime I/ll invite you up to see my etchings, and Marion chuckled, but not too loudly, as she forked a little meat off her frogs legs. After the concert they stopped in for a nightcap. Arnold didnt drink his scotch with any particular interest, but Marion loved to roll the chartreuse around in her mouth before swallowing it. That was a marvelous concert, just marvelous, and she had a reflective look on her face as if she were still hearing the music, especially the Mahler. Whenever I hear his Resurrection Symphony, more than any other, I start to understand why they say he took romanticism to its ultimate in music. I feel all welled up inside like Ive just run up a flower covered hillside and the breeze is blowing my hair in the wind and Im whirling around and the sunlight is glancing off the wings of birds and the leaves of trees, and Marion closed her eyes and sighed. I agree, it was a definitive performance. I think he really got to the heart of Mahlers ambivalence and understands how he unconsciously projected it into his music. Marion frowned, What ambivalence? The basic conflicts in his life. His compromise with his Jewish heritage and his willingness to renounce it to further his career. His constant conflict as a conductor when he wanted to compose, but needing the money to live. Its obvious the manner in which he changes keys that he was unaware that these conflicts were responsible for those changes. Just as they were responsible for his changes in attitude toward God. But that was over by the time he wrote the second symphony. Ostensibly, but I have listened very carefully to his music, and analyzed it thoroughly, and there is no doubt that though he may have said certain things, and perhaps even believed them in his conscious mind, that his subconscious had not as yet resolved the conflict. Arnold breathed deeply, Mahlers music is extremely interesting from an analytical point of view. I find it very stimulating. Marion smiled and put her empty glass on the table, Well, I still love his music. It sort of makes me happy to be sad. She sighed and smiled again, I really have to be going Arnold. I have been very busy lately and am tired. Fine. He drove her home and before she got out of the car he smilingly smirked, I/ll give you a call in a couple of weeks. That should be about right. He kissed her and she kissed him back and left the car. He waited until she was in the building before driving away. Marion lit a joint as soon as she got in the apartment, then changed her clothes, then put Mahlers Kindertotenlieder on the phonograph and sat on the couch with her sketch pad and pencils. She continually adjusted the pad on her lap, taking another poke of the joint until it was half gone then put it out, and tried to work up some sort of image to transfer onto the sketch pad. That should be easy enough to do. Mahler… good pot… it should all come together. She realized she was pushing too hard and so she just sat back and relaxed and waited for it to come. Still it was a blank. If only she had a model. Thats what was needed. A model. She could feel the drawing begging to come out, her need to express herself giving her energy, but she couldnt seem to unloose the gates and organize that energy. She jumped up and grabbed a couple of womens magazines from the table and started rapidly thumbing through them marking all the ads and articles with pictures of babies and mothers and, finding a few that suited her, tore them out and used them as models and started sketching, at first tentatively, then with increasing speed and assurance. The mothers and babies were placed in various positions and juxtapositions, with varying expressions, the expressions becoming more and more melancholy. She very rapidly did a sketch of a child in a contorted position, a look of silent pain on its face, and the mothers expression quickly began to look like the man in the Edvard Munch woodcut and Marion looked at the sketch very carefully from every angle and felt excited and inspired by it as she felt a deep identification with both figures. She looked very carefully at the babys pained face then drew another baby next to it, about a year older, yet the expression remained the same. She continued to draw the child, in each drawing the child was a year older and as she progressed the drawings became more skillful, more lifelike, more filled with emotion and she began to sketch little birthday candles under the drawings showing the age of the child and then the features became more distinct and the hair long and black, the same silent pain on her face, and then she started to blossom and become a woman and she was slowly transformed from a pretty child to a lovely girl and then a beautiful woman but always that haunted and pained expression on her face, and then she stopped drawing and looked at the beautiful woman on the pad looking back at her, a woman of long flowing lines and curves, classic features, dark shining hair, her inner pain reflected in her dark and penetrating eyes, and then she left a wide space and sketched another figure, a figure of uncertain age, but certainly much older than the last figure, but the lines and curves the same, the body the same, the features of the face the same until it suddenly turned into the anguished expression of the Munch figure. Marion stared at the figure and suddenly became aware of the silence. She got up and played the record again, then sat back on the couch and looked at her drawings. They excited her.