wolfed it.
'But my
hallucinations, the woman! I think he saw them. Somehow.'
Sharon
stopped eating. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. 'Look. He may very well have
his djinn , and you may very well have
yours. But you can't see each other's.'
'Why not?'
'Because
yours exist only in your head, and his exist only in his — that's why not.'
'What are his djinn ?'
'Can't
tell you. Professional etiquette. I first got to know him when he came to me
for psychotherapy. He was in a bad way, guilt-ridden and deeply depressed.
Tormented by all sorts of demons of his own making. He has a brilliant mind,
that Ahmed, and it had turned itself to plaguing him.'
'Did you help him?'
'I
flatter myself that maybe I did. And he helped me. He refused to accept the
normal doctor-patient roles and insisted that I reveal personal things to him
as much as he confided in me. I went along with it. And he destroyed a lot of
my own illusions about things — this is why he calls me the mad Jewess by the
way. I was as ill as he was. It stopped me believing in the doctor-patient
routine myself. He made me realize all this role-acting was complicating the
healing process rather than helping it.'
'But
he recovered?
''He's
functioning effectively; that's the important thing. I couldn't get him to
change his mind about the djinn , however,
which are still a source of torment to him. Tom, something has changed about
you.'
'Oh?'
'It's
in your eyes. You look at me with deep critical judgement. Almost mistrust. Has
Katie's death done this to you?'
Tom ignored
the question. 'So how do you explain his djinn ?*
'Or your djinn ’
'Yes. Or mine.'
'It's sexual.'
'Ah-ha! Easy as that.'
'Like most
people,' said Sharon, 'you don't like being told what you are.'
'But it's
banal to say that everything comes down to sex.'
' Djinn . Demons. Hauntings . Hallucinations. In fact, pretty much everything
occult or religious is a displacement of sexual energy,'
'I don't see it that way.'
'That's
because you're deliberately shying away from any kind of sexual interpretation
of what's obviously simmering below the surface of things. You're desperate to
deny it, just as you're desperate to deny your own-'
'My own what?' The mood suddenly tilted.
'What do you do for a cuddle now Katie is
gone?'
'And I thought we were talking about djinn .'
'And I
told you what I thought about djinn . It's
you I'm interested in. I care about you, Tom.' Her head was resting on the back
of the couch, her cinnamon eyes opaque with pity. He couldn't take her
intensity. She'd assumed too early the old intimacy. Now she'd decided to
counsel him , like one of her woman
alcoholics. Tom felt a sudden flash of hatred for her.
'What happened to
Katie?' said Sharon. 'And what happened at the school? ’
21
Gethsemane was a garden
of cool respite from the heat of midday Jerusalem. Botanists claimed to have
dated some of the ancient olive trees to the time of Jesus. None of the trees,
however, could have belonged to the original garden, since it had been cleared
in ad 70, but Tom was beginning
to weary of his own scepticism. He stepped up to the oldest-looking tree in the
garden and leaned his back against it.
The
sun in the blue heavens was like a lion's eye. He'd bought a straw hat in the
Arab souk to protect himself from its
unblinking stare, making his way up to the garden alone after discouraging
Sharon's offer of company. He was still hiding from her questions. The sun
powered through the shimmering green leaves of the olive tree. He closed his
eyes and wondered what he was running from most.
If it's
the mere matter, the Head had
suggested, the mere matter . . .
He'd pushed
open the door that day to find the children unusually quiet. The smell of rain,
of damp steaming from black blazers. They shuffled uncomfortably, strangely
subdued, wouldn't meet his eyes. Slowly becoming aware of something chalked on
the board behind him, he turned to look at it. It was busy with
'But my
hallucinations, the woman! I think he saw them. Somehow.'
Sharon
stopped eating. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. 'Look. He may very well have
his djinn , and you may very well have
yours. But you can't see each other's.'
'Why not?'
'Because
yours exist only in your head, and his exist only in his — that's why not.'
'What are his djinn ?'
'Can't
tell you. Professional etiquette. I first got to know him when he came to me
for psychotherapy. He was in a bad way, guilt-ridden and deeply depressed.
Tormented by all sorts of demons of his own making. He has a brilliant mind,
that Ahmed, and it had turned itself to plaguing him.'
'Did you help him?'
'I
flatter myself that maybe I did. And he helped me. He refused to accept the
normal doctor-patient roles and insisted that I reveal personal things to him
as much as he confided in me. I went along with it. And he destroyed a lot of
my own illusions about things — this is why he calls me the mad Jewess by the
way. I was as ill as he was. It stopped me believing in the doctor-patient
routine myself. He made me realize all this role-acting was complicating the
healing process rather than helping it.'
'But
he recovered?
''He's
functioning effectively; that's the important thing. I couldn't get him to
change his mind about the djinn , however,
which are still a source of torment to him. Tom, something has changed about
you.'
'Oh?'
'It's
in your eyes. You look at me with deep critical judgement. Almost mistrust. Has
Katie's death done this to you?'
Tom ignored
the question. 'So how do you explain his djinn ?*
'Or your djinn ’
'Yes. Or mine.'
'It's sexual.'
'Ah-ha! Easy as that.'
'Like most
people,' said Sharon, 'you don't like being told what you are.'
'But it's
banal to say that everything comes down to sex.'
' Djinn . Demons. Hauntings . Hallucinations. In fact, pretty much everything
occult or religious is a displacement of sexual energy,'
'I don't see it that way.'
'That's
because you're deliberately shying away from any kind of sexual interpretation
of what's obviously simmering below the surface of things. You're desperate to
deny it, just as you're desperate to deny your own-'
'My own what?' The mood suddenly tilted.
'What do you do for a cuddle now Katie is
gone?'
'And I thought we were talking about djinn .'
'And I
told you what I thought about djinn . It's
you I'm interested in. I care about you, Tom.' Her head was resting on the back
of the couch, her cinnamon eyes opaque with pity. He couldn't take her
intensity. She'd assumed too early the old intimacy. Now she'd decided to
counsel him , like one of her woman
alcoholics. Tom felt a sudden flash of hatred for her.
'What happened to
Katie?' said Sharon. 'And what happened at the school? ’
21
Gethsemane was a garden
of cool respite from the heat of midday Jerusalem. Botanists claimed to have
dated some of the ancient olive trees to the time of Jesus. None of the trees,
however, could have belonged to the original garden, since it had been cleared
in ad 70, but Tom was beginning
to weary of his own scepticism. He stepped up to the oldest-looking tree in the
garden and leaned his back against it.
The
sun in the blue heavens was like a lion's eye. He'd bought a straw hat in the
Arab souk to protect himself from its
unblinking stare, making his way up to the garden alone after discouraging
Sharon's offer of company. He was still hiding from her questions. The sun
powered through the shimmering green leaves of the olive tree. He closed his
eyes and wondered what he was running from most.
If it's
the mere matter, the Head had
suggested, the mere matter . . .
He'd pushed
open the door that day to find the children unusually quiet. The smell of rain,
of damp steaming from black blazers. They shuffled uncomfortably, strangely
subdued, wouldn't meet his eyes. Slowly becoming aware of something chalked on
the board behind him, he turned to look at it. It was busy with
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