POSTSCRIPT II

Well why shouldn't I....? For seven years ( seven!), the therapist has been playing with us. Seven years of reading a story which has no end....! The one thing a story should promise is an ending, a last page so that finally you feel the hard cover of an end, but he's never done that. He carries on and on like a man who doesn't know he'll die. After all, how is a love sustained but for the death within it? In short, he never allows us the final intimation of our needs, does he? And yes, our needs are as great and hey, guess what, maybe even greater than his. Well someone has to remind him. There, I said it. He's been leading us up the garden for seven years and I've had enough. But why shouldn't I have some fun, too..? Why should I tell everything that happened that day in his house? Can't I play around a bit, like him? No, I won't. I won't, because I am better than him. But not tonight. I'm tired and it's been a long day.

CH

POST-SCRIPT

So where is he, the therapist..? I have been asking myself this question for several weeks. So we get to hear about France, the grotte des demoiselles, and then nothing. Except the cable car, again and again the cable car. So where is he..? And what went so wrong at Axel's party..? Allow me to introduce myself. I have been working on and off for the therapist for several years. Mainly this has involved a few low level administrative tasks, some of them, frankly, meaningless. Othertimes I've done his shopping, or been a friend. But seeing as he has not posted for several weeks and not returned my calls I decided to take action. Had I missed him? Well, a little. But mainly I was curious. He'd been an important, if distant, person in my life. I couldn't just let him go. Now, it had always been assumed that we would meet in public, cafes or pubs, never at his home. After all these years, and all that I've done for him, it struck me that I'd never even seen the man at home. You can understand how I felt. What a shit...! I'd had this feeling many times but always forgave him. But I had a sense we were at the endgame here so I decided I would knock on his door, and whatever happened, would happen. To be honest, I was excited. But in a slightly fearful way, too. I knew I would have to take a tape recorder with me and record the whole encounter because otherwise I would never be able to grasp what really occured. I even wondered if I should take a knife. Sure, we had never been close, and over the years I'd got used to his manipulative behaviour. But of course, I always forgave him because he was kind and generous. Well, things weren't going too well for me at this time, so even if he was playing me, which he was, at least I knew I'd end with first edition Somerset Maugham, an obscene Grozs print, or a plateful of drinks. So sometimes I would wonder, who is using who here? But actually, my self esteem suffered, and that's the truth. Considering this, I hope you will understand that if things were coming to an end for the therapist ( and what do I even mean by...an end?), then while I may have had some concern for him, I was also excited. Well, as the therapist himself would say, Mmmmm...

CH