high cheekbones, his eyes wary, his step heavy, Philip looked as though he were being
led to his execution.
Julius felt a wave of compassion and, in his softest, most comforting voice, offered
solace. «You know, Philip, therapy groups are infinitely complex, but they possess one
absolutely predictable feature.»
If Julius expected the natural curious inquiry about the «one absolutely predictable
feature,” he gave no sign of disappointment at Philip`s silence. Instead he merely
continued speaking as though Philip had expressed appropriate curiosity. «And that
feature is that the first meeting of a therapy group is invariably less uncomfortable and
more engaging than the new member expects.»
«I have no discomfort, Julius.»
«Well then, simply file what I said. Just in case you run across some.»
Philip stopped in the hallway at the door to the office in which they had met a few
days before, but Julius touched his elbow and guided him down the hall to the next door,
which opened into a room lined on three sides with ceiling–to–floor bookshelves. Three
windows of wood–lined panes on the fourth wall looked out into a Japanese garden
graced by several dwarf five–needle pines, two clusters of tiny boulders, and a narrow
eight–foot–long pond in which golden carp glided. The furniture in the room was simple
and functional, consisting only of a small table next to the door, seven comfortable Rattan
chairs arranged in a circle, and two others stored in corners.
«Here we are. This is my library and group room. While we`re waiting for the
other members, let me give you the nuts–and–bolts housekeeping drill. On Mondays, I
unlock the front door about ten minutes before the time of the group, and the members
just enter on their own into this room. When I come in at four–thirty, we start pretty
promptly, and we end at six. To ease my billing and bookkeeping task, everyone pays at
the end of each session—just leave a check on the table by the door. Questions?»
Philip shook his head no and looked around the room, inhaling deeply. He walked
directly to the shelves, put his nose closely to the rows of leather–bound volumes, and
inhaled again, evincing great pleasure. He remained standing and industriously began
perusing book titles.
In the next few minutes five group members filed in, each glancing at Philip`s
back, before taking seats. Despite the bustle of their entrance, Philip did not turn his head
or in any way interrupt his task of examining Julius`s library.
Over his thirty–five years of leading groups, Julius had seen a lot of folks enter
therapy groups. The pattern was predictable: the new member enters heavy with
apprehension, behaving in a deferential manner to the other members, who welcome the
neophyte and introduce themselves. Occasionally, a newly formed group, which
mistakenly believes that benefits are directly proportional to the amount of attention each
receives from the therapist, may resent newcomers, but established groups welcome
them: they appreciate that a full roster adds to, rather than detracts from, the effectiveness
of the therapy.
Once in a while newcomers jump right into the discussion, but generally they are
silent for much of the first meeting as they try to figure out the rules and wait until
someone invites them to participate. But a new member so indifferent that he turns his
back and ignores the others in the group? Never before had Julius seenthat. Not even in
groups of psychotic patients on the psychiatric ward.
Surely, Julius thought, he had made a blunder by inviting Philip into the group.
Having to tell the group about his cancer was more than enough on his plate for the day.
And he felt burdened by having to worry about Philip.
What was going on with Philip? Was it possible that he was simply overcome by
apprehension or shyness? Unlikely. No, he`s probably pissed at my insisting on his
entering a group, and, in his passive–aggressive way, he`s giving me and the group the
finger. God, Julius thought, I`d just like to hang him out to dry. Just do nothing. Let him
sink or swim. It would be a pleasure to sit back and enjoy the blistering group attack that
will surely come.
Julius did not often remember joke punch lines, but one that he had heard years ago
returned to him now. One morning a son said to his mother, «I don`t want to go to school
today.»
«Why not?» asked his mother.
«Two reasons: I hate the students, and they hate me.»
Mother responds, «There are two reasons you have to go to school: first, you`re
forty–five years old and, second, you`re the principal.»
Yes, he was all grown up. And he was the therapist of the group. And it was his job
to integrate new members, to protect them from others and from themselves. Though he
almost never started a meeting himself, preferring to encourage the members to take
charge of running the group, today he had no choice.
«Four–thirty. Time to get started. Philip, why don`t you grab a seat.» Philip turned
to face him but made no movement toward a chair. Is he deaf? Julius thought. A social
imbecile? Only after Julius vigorously gestured with his eyeballs to one of the empty
chairs did Philip seat himself.
To Philip he said, «Here`s our group. There`s one member who won`t be here
tonight, Pam, who`s on a two–month trip.» Then, turning to the group, «I mentioned a few
meetings ago that I might be introducing a new member. I met with Philip last week, and
he`s beginning today.» Of course he`s beginning today, Julius thought. Stupid, shithead
comment. That`s it. No more handholding. Sink or swim.
Just at that moment Stuart, rushing in from the pediatric clinic at the hospital and
still wearing a white clinical coat, charged into the room and plunked himself down,
muttering an apology for being late. All members then turned to Philip, and four of them
introduced themselves and welcomed him: «I`m Rebecca, Tony, Bonnie, Stuart. Hello.
Great to see you. Welcome. Glad to have you. We need some new blood—I mean new
input.»
The remaining member, an attractive man with a prematurely bald pate flanked by
a rim of light brown hair and the hefty body of a football linesman somewhat gone to
seed, said, in a surprisingly soft voice, «Hi, I`m Gill. And, Philip, I hope you won`t feel
I`m ignoring you, but I absolutely, urgently need some time in the group today. I`ve
never needed the group as much as today.»
No response from Philip.
«Okay, Philip?» Gill repeated.
Startled, Philip opened his eyes widely and nodded.
Gill turned toward the familiar faces in the group and began. «A lot has happened,
and it all came to a head this morning following a session with my wife`s shrink. I`ve
been telling you guys over the past few weeks about how the therapist gave Rose a book
about child abuse that convinces her that she was abused as a child. It`s like a fixed
idea—what do you call it...an idea feexed?» Gill turned to Julius.
«An idГ©e fixe,” Philip instantaneously interjected with perfect accent.
«Right. Thanks,” said Gill, who shot a quick look at Philip and added, sotto voce,
«Whoa, that was fast,” and then returned to his narrative. «Well, Rose has an idГ©e fixe
that her father sexually molested her when she was young. She can`t let it go. Does she
remember any sexual event happening? No. Witnesses? No. But her therapist believes
that if she`s depressed, fearful about sex, has stuff like lapses in attention and
uncontrollable emotions, especially rage at men, then shemust have been molested. That`s
the message of that goddamned book. And her therapist swears by it. So, for months, as
I`ve told you ad nauseam, we`ve been talking about little else. My wife`s therapy is our
life. No time for anything else. No other topic of conversation. Our sex life is defunct.
Nothing. Forget it. A couple of weeks ago she asked me to phone her father—she won`t
talk to him herself—and invite him to come to her therapy session. She wanted me to
attend, too—for вЂprotection,` she said.
«So I phoned him. He agreed immediately. Yesterday he took a bus down from
Portland and appeared at the therapy session this morning carrying his beat–up suitcase
because he was going to head right back to the bus station after we met. The session was
a disaster. Absolute mayhem. Rose just unloaded on him and kept on unloading. Without
limits, without letup, without a word of acknowledgment that her old man had come
several hundred miles for her—for her ninety–minute therapy session. Accusing him of
everything, even of inviting his neighbors, his poker chums, his coworkers at the fire
department—he was a fireman back then—to have sex with her when she was a child.»
«What did the father do?» asked Rebecca, a tall, slender, forty–year–old woman of
exceptional beauty who had been leaning forward, listening intently to Gill.
«He behaved like a mensch. He`s a nice old man, about seventy years old, kindly,
sweet. This is the first time I met him. He was amazing—God, I wish I had a father like
that. Just sat there and took it and told Rose that, if she had all that anger, it was probably
best to let it out. He just kept gently denying all her crazy charges and took a guess—a
good one, I think—that what she is really angry about is his walking out on the family
when she was twelve. He said her anger was fertilized—his word, he`s a farmer—by her
mother, who had been poisoning her mind against him since she was a child. He told her
he had had to leave, that he had been depressed out of his gourd living with her mother
and would be dead now if he had stayed. And let me tell you, I know Rose`s mother, and
he`s got a point. A good one.
«So, at the end of the session he asked for a ride to the bus terminal, and before I
could answer, Rose said she wouldn`t feel safe in the same car with him. вЂGot it,` he said,
and walked away, lugging his suitcase.
«Well, ten minutes later Rose and I were driving down Market Street, and I see
him—a white–haired, stooped old man pulling his suitcase. It was starting to rain, and I
say to myself, вЂThis is the shits.` I lost it and told Rose, вЂHe comes here for you—for
your therapy session—he comes all the way from Portland, it`s raining, and goddamnit
I`m taking him to the bus station.` I pulled over to the curb and offered him a lift. Rose
stares daggers at me. вЂIf he gets in, I get out,` she says. I say, вЂBe my guest.` I point to
Starbucks on the street and tell her to wait there and I`ll come back in a few minutes. She
gets out and stalks off. That was about five hours ago. She never did show up at
Starbucks. I drove over to Golden Gate Park and been walking around since. I`m thinking
of never going home.»
With that, Gill flopped back in his chair, exhausted.
The members—Tony, Rebecca, Bonnie, and Stuart—broke out into a chorus of
approval: «Great, Gill.» «About time, Gill.» «Wow, you really did it.» «Whoa, good
move.» Tony said, «I can`t tell you how glad I am that you tore yourself loose from that
bitch.» «If you need a bed,” said Bonnie, nervously running her hands through her frizzy
brown hair and adjusting her goggle–shaped, yellow–tinted spectacles, «I`ve got a spare
room. Don`t worry, you`re safe,” she added with a giggle, «I`m far too old for you and
my daughter`s home.»
Julius, not happy with the pressure the group was applying (he had seen too many
members drop out of too many therapy groups because they were ashamed of
disappointing the group), made his first intervention, «Strong feedback you`re getting,
Gill. How do you feel about it?»
«Great. It feels great. Only I...I don`t want to disappoint everybody. This is
happening so fast—this all just happened this morning...I`m shaky and I`m fluid...don`t
know what I`m going to do.»
«You mean,” said Julius, «you don`t want to substitute your wife`s imperatives
with the group`s imperatives.»
«Yeah. I guess. Yeah, I see what you mean. Right. But it`s a mixed bag. I really
want, really really need this encouragement...grateful for it...I need guidance—this may
be a turning point in my life. Heard from everyone but you, Julius. And of course from
our new member. Philip, is it?»
Philip nodded.
«Philip, I know you don`t know about my situation, butyou do.» Gill turned to face
Julius. «What about it? What doyou think I should do?»
Julius involuntarily flinched and hoped it had not been visible. Like most
therapists, he hated that question—the «damned if you do, damned if you don`t» question.
He had seen it coming.
«Gill, you`re not going to like my answer. But here it is. I can`t tell you what to do:
that`s your job, your decision, not mine. One reason you`re here in this group is to learn
to trust your own judgment. Another reason is that everything I know about Rose and
your marriage has come to me through you. And you can`t avoid giving me biased
information. What I can do is help you focus on how you contribute to your life
predicament. We can`t understand or change Rose; it`syou —your feelings, your
behavior—that`s what counts here becausethat`s what you can change.»
The group fell silent. Julius was right; Gill did not like that answer. Neither did the
other members.
Rebecca, who had taken out two barrettes and was flouncing her long black hair
before replacing them, broke the silence by turning to Philip. «You`re new here and don`t
know the backstory that the rest of us know. But sometimes from the mouth of newborn
babes....»
Philip sat silent. It was unclear whether he had even heard Rebecca.
«Yeah, you have a take on this, Philip?» said Tony, in what was, for him, an
unusually gentle tone. Tony was a swarthy man with deep acne scars on his cheeks and a
lean, graceful athletic body exhibited to good advantage in his black San Francisco
Giants T–shirt and tight jeans.
«I have an observation and a piece of advice,” said Philip, hands folded, head tilted
back, and eyes fixed on the ceiling. «Nietzsche once wrote that a major difference
between man and the cow was that the cow knew how to exist, how to live without
angst—that is,fear —in the blessed now, unburdened by the past and unaware of the
terrors of the future. But we unfortunate humans are so haunted by the past and future
that we can only saunter briefly in the now. Do you know why we so yearn for the golden
days of childhood? Nietzsche tells us it`s because those childhood days were the carefree
days, daysfree of care, days before we were weighted down by leaden, painful memories,
by the debris of the past. Allow me to make one marginal note: I refer to a Nietzsche
