I must say, his immunity to criticism was sort of dazzling. Indeed, the imperviousness of this pallid doctor with the limping gait seemed to me, in those days of uncertainty and self-doubt, a condition to aspire to: I am right and you are wrong, and even if I’m not, I’ll just hold out and hold out and not give a single inch, and that will make it so. And maybe that’s why I stayed on with him-out of admiration for his armor, in the hope that some of that impregnability would rub off on me. Yes, I thought, he is teaching me by example, the arrogant German son of a bitch. Only I won’t give him the satisfaction of telling him. Only who is to say he doesn’t know it? Only who is to say he does, other than I?
As the weeks passed and Susan continued to grimace at the mention of Spielvogel’s name, I sometimes came close to making what seemed to me the best possible defense of him-and thereby of myself, for if it turned out that I had been as deluded about Spielvogel as about Maureen, it was going to be awfully hard ever to believe in my judgment again. In order to substantiate my own claim to sanity and intelligence, and to protect my sense of trust from total collapse (or was it just to perpetuate my childish illusions? to cherish and protect my naïveté right on down to the last good drop?), I felt I had to make as strong a case as I could for him. And even if that meant accepting as valid his obfuscating defense-even if it meant looking back myself with psychoanalytic skepticism upon my own valid objections! “Look,” I wanted to say to Susan, “if it weren’t for Spielvogel, I wouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for Spielvogel saying Why not stay?’ every time I say ‘Why not leave?’ I would have been out of this affair long ago. We have him to thank for whatever exists between us-he’s the one who was your advocate, not me.” But that it was largely because of Spielvogel’s encouragement that I had continued to visit her almost nightly during that first year, when I was so out of sympathy with her way of living, was really not her business, even if she wouldn’t let up about his “reprehensible” behavior; nor would it do her fragile sense of self-esteem any good to know that even now, several years into our affair-with me her Lambchop and her my Suzie Q., with all that tender lovers’ playfulness between us-that it was Spielvogel who prevented me from leaving her whenever I became distressed about those burgeoning dreams of marriage and family that I did not share. “But she wants to have children-and now, before she gets any older.” “But you don’t want to.” “Right. And I can’t allow her to nurse these expectations. That just won’t do.” “Then tell her not to.” “I do. I have. She can’t bear hearing it any more. She says, ‘I know, I know, you’re not going to marry me-do you have to tell me that every hour?’” “Well, every hour is perhaps a little more frequent than necessary.” “Oh, it isn’t every hour-it just sounds that way to her. You see, because I tell her where things stand doesn’t mean she takes it to heart.” “Yes, but what more can you do?” “Go. I should.” T wouldn’t think she thinks you should.” “But if I stay…” “You might really fall in love with her. Does it ever occur to you that maybe this is what you are running away from? Not the children, not the marriage…but the love?” “Oh, Doctor, don’t start practicing psychoanalysis. No, that doesn’t occur to me. I don’t think it should, because I don’t think it’s true.” “No? But you are somewhat in love already-are you not? You tell me how sweet she is, how kind she is. How gentle. You tell me how beautiful she is when she sits there reading. You tell me what a touching person she is. Sometimes you are positively lyrical about her.” “Am I?” “Yes, yes, and you know that.” “But there is still too much that’s wrong there, you know that.” “Yes, well, this I could have warned you about at the outset.” “Please, the husband of Maureen Tarnopol understands that the other gender is also imperfect.” “Knowing this, the husband of Maureen Tarnopol should be grateful perhaps for a woman, who despite her imperfections, happens to be tender and appreciative and absolutely devoted to him. She is all these things, am I right?” “She is all these tilings. She also turns out to be smart and charming and funny.” “And in love with you.” “And in love with me.” “And a cook-such a cook. You tell me about her dishes, you make my mouth water.” “You’re very hung up on the pleasure principle, Dr. Spielvogel.” “And you? Tell me, where are you running again? To what? To whom? Why?” “To no one, to nothing-but ‘why?’ I’ve told you why: suppose she tries to commit suicide!” “Still with the suicide?” “But what if she does it!” “Isn’t that her responsibility? And Dr. Golding’s? She is in therapy after all. Are you going to run for fear of this remote possibility?” “I can’t take it hanging over my head. Not after all that’s gone on. Not after Maureen.” “Maybe you are too thin-skinned, you know? Maybe it is time at thirty to develop a thicker hide.” “No doubt. I’m sure you rhinoceroses lead a better life. But my hide is my hide. I’m afraid you can shine a flashlight through it. So give me some other advice.” “What other advice is there? The choice is yours. Stay or run.” “This choice that is mine you structure oddly.” “All right, you structure it.” “The point, you see, is that if I do stay, she must realize that I am marrying no one unless and until I want to do it. And everything conspires to make me think that 1 don’t want to do it.” “Mr. Tarnopol, somehow I feel I can rely on you to put that proviso before her from time to time.”
Why did I stay with Spielvogel? Let us not forget his Mosaic prohibitions and what they meant to a thin-skinned man at the edge of he knew not what intemperate act.
Thou shalt not covet thy wife’s underwear.
Thou shalt not drop thy seed upon thy neighbor’s bathroom floor or dab it upon the bindings of library books.
Thou shalt not be so stupid as to buy a Hoffritz hunting knife to slay your wife and her matrimonial lawyer.
“But why can’t I? What’s the difference any more? They’re driving me crazy! They’re ruining my life! First she tricked me into marrying her with that urine, now they’re telling the judge I can write movies and make a fortune! She tells the court that I ‘obstinately’ refuse to go out to Hollywood and do an honest day’s work! Which is true! I obstinately refuse! Because that is not my work! My work is writing fiction! And I can’t even do that any more! Only when I say I can’t, they say, right, so just get your ass out to Hollywood where you can earn yourself a thousand bucks a day! Look! Just look at this affidavit she filed! Look what she calls me here, Doctor-’a well-known seducer of college girls’! That’s how she spells ‘Karen’! Read this document, will you please? I brought it so you can see with your own eyes that I am not exaggerating! Just look at this version of me! ‘A seducer of college girls’! They’re trying to hold me up, Doctor Spielvogel-this is legalized extortion!” “To be sure,” said my Moses, gently, “but still you cannot buy that knife and stick it in her heart. You must not buy a knife, Mr. Tarnopol.” “WHY NOT? GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY NOT!” “Because killing is against the law.” “FUCK THE LAW! THE LAW IS WHAT IS KILLING ME!” “Be that as it may, kill her and they will put you in jail.” “So what!” “You wouldn’t like it there.” “I wouldn’t care-she’d be dead. Justice would come into this world!” “Ah, but Just as the world would become following her death, for you it still wouldn’t be paradise. You did not even like the army that much, remember? Well, jail is worse. I don’t believe you would be happy there.” “I’m not exactly happy here.” “I understand that. But there you would be even less happy.”