Lethe sees a psychiatrist

It was decided that Lethe would see a psychiatrist. The Senora recommended the British-American clinic in the historic district of Madrid.

As the cab sped around a circular street, Lethe looked out at the mist hanging over the fountains. Few people were in the streets. It felt strange not to be going to school this morning; he felt torn from his routine, alienated by this emergency. He stared at the moist, grey streets, thinking about his parents and their problems, and his false suicide attempt.

At last he was dropped off at a Gothic building on a narrow side street. He climbed the stone steps and entered a dark foyer. The door to the clinic was made of glass. A secretary directed him to a salon-like waiting room with a fireplace.

Patients, old and young, sat in chairs against the walls. Lethe picked up a magazine and retreated into a corner. With the magazine in his lap, he looked up at the patients' faces, imagining their problems. A nurse appeared, holding a clipboard. She called his name.

She held his wrist loosely, counting to sixty.

“Do you smoke?”

“A pack a day."

The nurse wrote down a couple numbers on the board and led Lethe out of the room.

A tall woman with birdlike features greeted Lethe at the door. She was wearing a silk tunic around her neck, and a polished copper belt around a black dress. She had long, tan fingers and a lively appearance.

Lethe sat down in an oversized armchair. Giant red curtains hung down in the back of the room. The walls were wood-panelled.

“I spoke to your father on the phone,” the psychiatrist said. “I need your permission before I can give him any more information.”

“That’s fine.”

“Your father just wants to know how you’re doing. If there’s something you prefer to keep secret, just tell me.”

“No, not really.”

“Just tell me if you want to keep things confidential. I have no problem with that . . . ”

Senorita Lorenzo was a woman in her early thirties. Her effervescent briskness captured Lethe's attention in the same way an energetic school teacher might capture the attention of her students.

“No, it's okay, tell my Dad whatever he wants to know.”

"But if I tell your father whatever he wants to know, then you give up your rights to privacy. Are you sure about that?"

"Yes," Lethe replied somberly. "I never cared too much about privacy anyways."

"Okay then. I'll give your father a full report whenever he wants it."

“That's fine. I just don’t want to go to school anymore.” Lethe slumped back in his chair.

The psychiatrist took out a pad of clinical stationary. “Tell me about your family.”

“Do you want me to tell you my life story?"

"Not your life story. Just tell me about your mother."

"My mother’s sick. She has some disease like Parkinson’s.”

“How long have you known she was sick?”

“Most of my life. I’m used to it by now. She's gained a lot of weight."

“What about your face? It says here that you look in the mirror a lot.”

“Yeah, I'm obsessed with mirrors," Lethe sat bolt upright in his chair. "It's hard for me to ignore them, like if I'm in the bathroom I usually have to stand in front of the mirror for at least half-an-hour. That's why I'm so late to class.”

The psychiatrist arched her left eyebrow. “What about the Institute makes you nervous?”

“It's the students. They're indifferent, you know."

"No, what you mean by 'indifferent'?"

"They don't see me in the hallways; they ignore me. They move in herds and chatter with their friends.”

“I thought you didn't want people looking at you. Because of your face.”

Lethe hesitated. He wasn't sure how to respond to this.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate anything," the doctor said in a remorseful tone. "I don’t see any acne on your face.”

“It's too dark in here anyways. And it gets worse when I look at it.”

“Do you think you could go to class in the morning without checking the mirror?”

“No way. I can't.”

Senorita Lorenzo glanced down at the clock on her desk. “I’m going to prescribe you some pills for anxiety.”

“What I really need is a dermatologist. Is there someone around here you can hook me up with?”

"Yes, we can make an appointment."