The Schopenhauer Cure(7)
Oh baby, Julius thought, that warm earthy taste of latakia, that honeyed, pungent fragrance—like nothing else in the world. Hard to believe that he’d been away from it for so many years. He sank into a reverie and mused about the day he stopped smoking. Had to be right after that visit to his dentist, his next-door neighbor, old Dr. Denboer who had died twenty years ago. Twenty years—how could it be? Julius could still see his long Dutch face and gold-rimmed spectacles so clearly. Old Dr. Denboer beneath the soil now for twenty years. And he, Julius, still above ground. For now.
“That blister on your palate,” Dr. Denboer shook his head slightly, “looks worrisome. “We’ll need a biopsy.” And though that biopsy had been negative, it caught Julius’s attention because that very week he had gone to Al’s funeral, his old cigarette-smoking tennis buddy, who died of lung cancer. And it didn’t help then that he was in the midst of reading Freud, Living and Dying, by Max Schur, Freud’s doctor—a graphic account of how Freud’s cigar-spawned cancer gradually devoured his palate, his jaw, and, finally, his life. Schur promised Freud to help him die when the time came, and when Freud finally told him that the pain was so great that it no longer made sense to continue, Schur proved a man of his word and injected a fatal dose of morphine. Now that was a doctor. Where do you find a Dr. Schur nowadays?
Over twenty years of no tobacco, and also no eggs or cheese or animal fats. Healthy and happily abstinent. Until that God-dammed physical exam. Now everything was permitted: smoking, ice cream, spare ribs, eggs, cheese…everything. What difference did any of that matter any longer? What difference did anything make?—in another year Julius Hertzfeld would be leeched into the soil, his molecules scattered, awaiting their next assignment. And sooner or later, in another few million years, the whole solar system would lie in ruins.
Feeling the curtain of despair descending, Julius quickly distracted himself by turning his attention back to his phone call with Philip Slate. Philip a therapist? How was that possible? He remembered Philip as cold, uncaring, oblivious of others, and, judging from that phone call, he was still much the same. Julius drew on his pipe and shook his head in silent wonder as he opened Philip’s chart and continued reading his dictated note of their first session.
PRESENT ILLNESS—Sexually driven since thirteen—compulsive masturbation throughout adolescence continuing till present day—sometimes four, five times daily—obsessed with sex continually, masturbates to give himself peace. Huge hunk of life spent on obsessing about sex—he says “the time I’ve wasted chasing women—I could have gotten Ph.D.s in philosophy, Mandarin Chinese, and astrophysics.”
RELATIONSHIPS: A loner. Lives with his dog in a small flat. No male friends. Zero. Nor any contacts with acquaintances from past—from high school, college, grad school. Extraordinarily isolated. Never had a long-term relationship with a woman—consciously avoids ongoing relationships—prefers one-night stands—occasionally sees a woman as long as a month—usually woman breaks it off—either she wants more from him, or she gets angry at being used or gets upset about his seeing other women. Desires novelty—wants the sexual chase—but never satiated—sometimes when he travels he picks up a woman, has sex, gets rid of her, and an hour later leaves his hotel room on the prowl again. Keeps a record of partners, a score sheet, and in past twelve months has had sex with ninety different women. Tells all this with flat affect—no shame, no boasting. Feels anxious if he is alone for an evening. Usually sex acts like Valium. Once he has sex, he feels peaceful for the rest of the evening and can read comfortably. No homosexual activities or fantasies.
HIS PERFECT EVENING? Out early, picks up woman in bar, gets laid (preferably before dinner), dumps woman as quickly as possible, preferably without having to buy her dinner but usually ends up having to feed her. Important to have as much evening time as possible for reading before going to bed. No TV, no movies, no social life, no sports. Only recreation is reading and classical music. Voracious reader of classics, history, and philosophy—no fiction, nothing current. Wanted to talk about Zeno and Aristarchus, his current interests.
PAST HISTORY: Grew up in Connecticut, only child, upper middle class. Father investment banker who committed suicide when Philip was thirteen. He knows nothing about circumstances or reasons behind father’s suicide, some vague ideas that it was aggravated by mother’s continual criticism. Blanket childhood amnesia—remembers little of his first several years and nothing about his father’s funeral. Mother remarried when he was 24. A loner in school, fanatically immersed in studies, never had close friends, and since starting Yale at 17, has cut himself off from family. Phone contact with mother once or twice a year. Has never met stepfather.
WORK: Successful chemist—develops new hormonal-based pesticides for DuPont. Strictly an eight-to-five job, no passion about field, recently growing bored with his work. Keeps current with the research in field but never during his off hours. High income plus valuable stock options. A hoarder: enjoys tabulating his assets and managing his investments and spends every lunch hour alone, studying stock market research.
IMPRESSION: Schizoid, sexually compulsive—very distant—refused to look at me—not once did he meet my gaze—no sense of anything personal between us—clueless about interpersonal relations, responded to my here-and-now question about his first impressions of me with a look of bewilderment—as though I were speaking Catalan or Swahili. He seemed edgy, and I felt uncomfortable with him. Absolutely no humor. Zero. Highly intelligent, articulate but stingy with words—makes me work hard. Tenaciously concerned about therapy cost (though he can easily afford it). Requested fee reduction, which I refused. Seemed unhappy about my starting a couple minutes late and did not hesitate to inquire whether we’d make up this time at end of session to get full value. Questioned me twice about precisely how much advance notice he needed to give to cancel a session and avoid being charged.