About Schmidt - Louis Begley [40]
My feet are all right now, she told him.
I am worried not so much about your feet as about the clarity of our minds. What are you trying to tell me?
Something that you already know, but prefer not to acknowledge, which is that Charlotte and Jon are terrified of you and of the weight of your disapproval.
How pleasant for a retired body like me to inspire dread in young grown-ups!
You think that you are being funny, but that’s the precise truth. Why do you think Jewish mothers and witches are in business? To be scary and to punish. They say, or only think: You’ve neglected me, taken me for granted, invited those other people to your party but not me, or you have invited me too but only at the last minute. Just wait. I have the right spell for the occasion. Because it’s always a spell. A pinprick puts the princess and the whole kingdom to sleep. Or they put on a face that’s like Jesus Christ on the cross and the Mater Dolorosa rolled in one, fix you with a baleful stare, and say, See what you have done! And suddenly there is no more sunshine, nothing is fun. Schmidtie, you are toying with the thought of casting an evil spell.
She recrossed her legs. Whatever their condition might be inside the tights, they were well formed. He had finished his cigarillo. Should he now find a safe place for his sweating glass, bow, and thank her for the lunch and the chat? Was his dignity threatened if he stayed and, if so, was it worth saving? What would she say about him if he left, what would she say if he stayed? He lit another cigarillo, drew on it, and decided he might let Dr. Renata have some of her own medicine.
Not so long ago, he told her, while I was still a practicing lawyer, whenever I went out to dinner or lunch or when company called, I would make a point of leaving my small legal learning, and my lawyer’s mannerisms and habits of speech, in some safe space. Let’s say the umbrella stand or the coat closet. Not all lawyers make that effort, and I’m not sure I always succeeded, although I really tried. I know very little about the social habits of psychiatrists, but you have just talked to me the way I imagine you talk to your patients, not the way one speaks to a guest. I am a relatively patient man, but I am not your patient. I have not come here to consult you.
She smiled at him quite gaily, with her whole mouth and, for a change, curled her legs up under her. He wondered whether at her age such perfect white teeth could be real. If a new technique had been invented and it wasn’t painful, he might want to try it.
Is that the longest nonlegal statement you have ever made? she inquired. I think I have got a real rise out of you.
As a matter of fact, I haven’t quite finished; you interrupted, and I don’t like that. If you are going to practice on me whatever therapy you think this is, I am going to practice a little bit of law. We’ll break down the problem into smaller segments. First, the segment called Charlotte. Let’s assume for the sake of the argument that I actually know something about her—perhaps even as much as you. After all, her mother and I did bring her up. So let’s put her aside, or leave her for the very last, and deal with the segment called Jon Riker. You have just made the claim that I terrorize him. I put it to you that the claim is preposterous. He has always been one of my favorite associates. I don’t mind telling you, in the privacy of this room, something he knows perfectly well even if you don’t: he worked for me so much that he couldn’t possibly have become a partner if he hadn’t had my full support. I did support him. That was done out of deep respect for his value—and selflessly, too. It had already been agreed that he would veer off toward litigation. Nobody could accuse me of backing a candidate in order to have him stay in the firm and go on doing my work. If analogies amuse you, think of me rather as Jon’s good fairy godmother: I gave your son what he wanted most!
Have you finished now?
No, but I