A Curable Romantic (39 page)

The hair on the back of my hands, on my scalp, on my neck, tingled.

“You called me?” Dr. Freud said, entering the room, although of course I hadn’t. Or had I? Perhaps I’d shouted out his name in alarm, though I wasn’t aware of having done so. “What’s this?” he said, closing the door behind him and taking in the curious scrim.

“Shlomo ben Ya’akov, welcome.” Together, the spirits addressed Dr. Freud formally by what I assumed was his Hebrew name.

“I’ve never seen this before in a case of hysteria,” he whispered to me. “You must admit: the disease has a stupefying sense of imagination.”

snickered and scratched his crotch.

“Who are you, if I may be so bold?” Dr. Freud stuck out his chest, assuming his most martial stance. “Before you answer, I ask only one thing: that you not terrify us, so that we may keep our wits and not act out of fear.”

“Who are we?”
thundered. “Who are we?”

Dr. Freud nodded. I swallowed nervously.

“We are we:
he shouted.

“And
Who did you imagine we were?”

I could feel my knees shaking; Dr. Freud swayed a bit.

“Oh, let’s stop this nonsense,”
suddenly said to his brother. To us, he said, “Gentlemen, forgive the theatricals. Such an easy joke is difficult to resist. However, allow us to come directly to the point. Why, in fact, are we here? We’re here because we’re in need of your assistance.”

Dr. Freud and I turned towards each other: neither of us knew what to say.

“How can you help us, you’re wondering?”
said. “As you may have assumed, we are from the angelic orders.”

“It’s my job,”
explained, “to pursue and torment the accused, along with my pack of thugs, for as long as she insists on running from us.
, on the other hand, meets with her between each life to offer counsel, assistance, and guidance, as it were.”

“Which she has rarely, if ever, taken.”

“Never, as a matter of public record.”

I once again saw the afterworld as Ita had described it: a desolate place of howling winds and raw elements, but connected to our world somehow, so that an errant soul might slip through.

“You are correct, Dr. Sammelsohn,”
said. “There are points of connection where Heaven and Earth meet.”

Dr. Freud narrowed his eyes. “And you claim that Ita eluded you through one of these … cracks?”

sighed miserably. “Let us simply say: We see
more often than we wish. Every few years, as a matter of fact, each life darker than the one preceding it.”

“Time before this time,”
confided to us, “she murdered two babies.”