throat. And no shoes. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Caroline nodded toward the Venus. “That thing’s neat. Where did you get it?”
“Bought it at a stall in a market the last time I was in London. It was a blustery day, and she looked so exposed I felt I had to rescue her.” The last time she’d been in London had been for her grandfuneral, at Christ Church down the street from the house on the Heath. Probably she bought the statue in a vain attempt to replace the old woman. A portable mother figure that would never die.
“How come you have it in here?”
How come you want to know, wondered Hannah. “The originals of those statues were used in fertility ceremonies. The community held the image of a fruitful female in their heads, and then their flocks and herds and crops and families prospered. And that’s more or less
what I do in here. So I keep it around to remind me.” She sat down and rested her stocking feet on the rush footstool.
“What?” Caroline thought they were doing therapy in here, not hocus-pocus.
“What what?”
“I don’t see what you mean.”
“I hold an image of a healthy happy coping client in my mind, and that’s what I work toward.
If I held the idea of a depressed depenclient in my mind, then that’s what I’d work toward.”
Hannah shook a brown cigarette from a pack of Mores on her desk and put it between her lips.
“I disagree.”
“You disagree that’s what I do?” Hannah raised her eyebrows. The lady was combative today. Good.
Hannah could use a nice set-to. She was still a bit agitated from her sodomist.
“I disagree it’s that simple.”
“Well, that’s certainly your privilege.” She’d had enough success with her methods not to have to defend them.
“It’s also your privilege to stay depressed if you want to.” Flicking her lighter, she drew the flame into the tip of her cigarette.
“Want to?”
“It’s your choice.” Hannah exhaled a steady stream of smoke into the beam of weak winter sunlight coming through the window.
“Choice? If you really look at this world, you can’t help being depressed.” Apparently Hannah had never been depressed. She didn’t know how it felt for the air to turn too heavy to breathe.
“That all depends on what you see when you look.
What do you see?” Hannah arranged both arms along her chair arms, hands hanging over the ends.
“Injustice, brutality, war, hunger.”
“True. But it’s also a place of incredible beauty and intricacy. Inhabited by some people capable of great generosity and decency.”
“Tell me about it.” Didn’t this woman read the papers?
“I just did,” said Hannah. “Why are you so pissed off today?” Caroline’s mouth looked pinched, and there was a slow blue burn to her eyes.
“Who’s pissed off?” Hannah had dumped on her jokes last week,
—
OTHER
and she was right to. They were here to deal with Caroline’s depression. Caroline was determined to keep it businesslike. Hannah seemed to have some skills, and maybe Caroline could benefit from them, but she didn’t have to start liking her. She’d regard these sessions as visits to the dentist, appointments with the plumber.
“You want to know why I think you’re pissed off?”
Caroline heaved an impatient sigh.
“Because you’re starting to like me.” She looked at Caroline matter-of-factly.
Caroline was astounded. Like her? She didn’t even know her. She hadn’t been angry before, but she was certainly getting angry. “The real reason I’m angry is that when I told you I was a lesbian, you changed the subject. It took me a long time to face that, and you just shrugged.” She remembered her horror when she woke up naked in bed with Clea, whose golden hair fanned out across the pillow like harvested wheat in the summer sun. She’d made love with a woman. She’d taken to it like a hog to mud. She practically wore David Michael to a stub in the ensuing weeks trying to prove that she wasn’t a pervert.
“Hi.” Caroline nodded toward the Venus. “That thing’s neat. Where did you get it?”
“Bought it at a stall in a market the last time I was in London. It was a blustery day, and she looked so exposed I felt I had to rescue her.” The last time she’d been in London had been for her grandfuneral, at Christ Church down the street from the house on the Heath. Probably she bought the statue in a vain attempt to replace the old woman. A portable mother figure that would never die.
“How come you have it in here?”
How come you want to know, wondered Hannah. “The originals of those statues were used in fertility ceremonies. The community held the image of a fruitful female in their heads, and then their flocks and herds and crops and families prospered. And that’s more or less
what I do in here. So I keep it around to remind me.” She sat down and rested her stocking feet on the rush footstool.
“What?” Caroline thought they were doing therapy in here, not hocus-pocus.
“What what?”
“I don’t see what you mean.”
“I hold an image of a healthy happy coping client in my mind, and that’s what I work toward.
If I held the idea of a depressed depenclient in my mind, then that’s what I’d work toward.”
Hannah shook a brown cigarette from a pack of Mores on her desk and put it between her lips.
“I disagree.”
“You disagree that’s what I do?” Hannah raised her eyebrows. The lady was combative today. Good.
Hannah could use a nice set-to. She was still a bit agitated from her sodomist.
“I disagree it’s that simple.”
“Well, that’s certainly your privilege.” She’d had enough success with her methods not to have to defend them.
“It’s also your privilege to stay depressed if you want to.” Flicking her lighter, she drew the flame into the tip of her cigarette.
“Want to?”
“It’s your choice.” Hannah exhaled a steady stream of smoke into the beam of weak winter sunlight coming through the window.
“Choice? If you really look at this world, you can’t help being depressed.” Apparently Hannah had never been depressed. She didn’t know how it felt for the air to turn too heavy to breathe.
“That all depends on what you see when you look.
What do you see?” Hannah arranged both arms along her chair arms, hands hanging over the ends.
“Injustice, brutality, war, hunger.”
“True. But it’s also a place of incredible beauty and intricacy. Inhabited by some people capable of great generosity and decency.”
“Tell me about it.” Didn’t this woman read the papers?
“I just did,” said Hannah. “Why are you so pissed off today?” Caroline’s mouth looked pinched, and there was a slow blue burn to her eyes.
“Who’s pissed off?” Hannah had dumped on her jokes last week,
—
OTHER
and she was right to. They were here to deal with Caroline’s depression. Caroline was determined to keep it businesslike. Hannah seemed to have some skills, and maybe Caroline could benefit from them, but she didn’t have to start liking her. She’d regard these sessions as visits to the dentist, appointments with the plumber.
“You want to know why I think you’re pissed off?”
Caroline heaved an impatient sigh.
“Because you’re starting to like me.” She looked at Caroline matter-of-factly.
Caroline was astounded. Like her? She didn’t even know her. She hadn’t been angry before, but she was certainly getting angry. “The real reason I’m angry is that when I told you I was a lesbian, you changed the subject. It took me a long time to face that, and you just shrugged.” She remembered her horror when she woke up naked in bed with Clea, whose golden hair fanned out across the pillow like harvested wheat in the summer sun. She’d made love with a woman. She’d taken to it like a hog to mud. She practically wore David Michael to a stub in the ensuing weeks trying to prove that she wasn’t a pervert.
Similar Books
