“It’ll be nothing like the traumatizing shocks in store for him during the next few days,” said Stokharin, rubbing the bole of a rich dark pipe against his nose to bring out its luster (the pipe’s luster, for the nose, straight, thick, proud, already shone like a gross baroque pearl). “Mark my words, everyone will be eager to see this phenomenon. When Paul first told me about him, I said, ah, my friend, you have found that father image for which you’ve searched since your own father was run over by a bus in your ninth (the crucial) year. Poor Paul, I said, you will be doomed to disappointment. The wish for the father is the sign of your immaturity. For a time you find him here, there ... in analysis you transfer to me. Now you meet a spellbinder and you turn to him, but it will not last. Exactly like that I talked to him. Believe me, I hold back nothing. Then I met this Cave. I watched him. Ah, what an analyst he would have made! What a manner, what power of communication: a natural healer. If only we could train him. Miss Mortimer, to you I appeal. Get him to study. The best people, the post-Jungians are all here in New York. They will train him. He would become only a lay analyst but, even so, what miracles he could perform, what therapy! We must not waste this native genius.” “I’m afraid, Doctor, that he’s going to be too busy wasting himself to study your ... procedures,” Iris smiled, engagingly, dislike apparent in her radiant eyes. Stokharin, however, was not sensitive to hostility ... no doubt attributing such emotions to some sad deficiency in the other’s adjustment. Iris turned to me. “Will you be in the city the whole time?” “The whole time Cave’s here? Yes. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” “I’m glad. I’ve so much I want to talk to you about. So many things are beginning to happen. Call me tomorrow. I’ll be staying at my old place. It’s in the book.” “Cave?” “Is staying with Paul, out on Long Island at someone’s house. We want to keep him away from pests as much as possible.” “Manic depression, I should say,” said Stokharin thoughtfully, his pipe now clenched between his teeth and his attention on Cave’s still figure. “With latent schizoid tendencies which ... Miss Mortimer, you must have an affair with him. You must marry him if necessary. Have children. Let him see what it is to give life to others, to live in a balanced....” “Doctor, you are quite mad,” said Iris and she crossed the room, cool in her anger. I too got away from the doctor as quickly as I could: “False modesty, inhibited behavior, too early bowel training,” and similar phrases ringing in my ears. Paul caught me at the door. I’d intended to slip away without saying good night, confident that Clarissa would understand, that the others would not notice. “Not going so soon, are you?” He was a little drunk, his face scarlet with excitement. “But you ought to stay and celebrate.” I murmured something about having an early appointment the next day.