Shrinking

 The sun was bright in a brittle, blue sky. It felt brittle in that one solitary cloud might appear and upset the balance, causing a deluge or storm to break. Paul sipped his coffee and cursed as he burnt the roof of his mouth. Sighing at the injustice of it all, he rolled a fag and took his first drag of the day. The hideous taste vied with the soothing nicotine. Always the same, his body was a slave to routine, he now needed to shit. He waddled back inside, grabbed the newspaper and settled onto the toilet. 

 The headlines revealed little which was newsworthy. Instead, it appeared that stories had just been rehashed from the day before, week before maybe. He skipped to the sports section. The rugby results were in. He grimaced at the performance of his team, they were now languishing mid-table. With disgust, he folded the paper and chucked it petulantly into the corner. There was precious little in his life in which he found pleasure and even this was being snatched from him. He fumbled for toilet paper. The spool was almost empty. She had used just enough to feel that there was no need to change it. For fuck’s sake! Now Paul would have to shuffle, pants about ankles, across the corridor and into the cupboard where they were kept. Stupid that it should be there and not in the bathroom, but she had insisted because of the damp. Having retrieved a fresh roll, he wiped carefully, regarded each smear with distaste before consigning it to its watery tomb. 

 His diary lay open on the desk where he had left it. He collapsed into the comfortable leather chair and checked his appointments for the day. Only the one today, thank God! However, this particular patient was causing him extreme anxiety. David would march in as if he owned the place. Pugnacious and self-confident, he would demand to be fixed as if he were having problems with a car engine. Paul sighed and swung around in the chair, closing his eyes as it spun. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to clear his head and leave a vacuum so that David might pour his grievances into it. There must be adverse effects. Maybe he was slowly nurturing a tumour somewhere in his brain - a gristly, bile-filled ball of woe, making its presence felt, aggressively pressing against something vital.

 The clock dinged and he straightened, aware that he only had a few minutes before his appointment arrived. It was time to divorce himself from emotion. Paul found it increasingly difficult to maintain the necessary objectivity. If his patients knew his real thoughts, they would never return. I’d render each of them suicidal. He laughed out loud. It echoed eerily in the high-ceilinged room, bouncing around up there near the lampshade, against the bookshelves and back again. He read the spines of a few of the books. It was comforting, reliable - they were old companions on his tedious journey to becoming a psychiatrist. 

The sound of a door slamming in the adjoining room heralded the entrance of his patient. He swivelled once more in the chair before raising himself. He paused, fingers resting on the door handle. He was insufficiently prepared but he entered the room as confidently as he could. He could feel his features rearranging into “professional face”. He had practised in the mirror, at first. He knew that the expression projected interested tranquility. It was a masquerade of attentiveness, one that he knew encouraged the patient to speak without fear of reproach. 

 David was seated, his arms splayed across the back of the couch. It was a studied pose to indicate the confidence of his control of the situation, the discussion, the entire room and it irked Paul incredibly. All the others entered sheepishly, as if intruding on someone’s inner sanctum. From the very first meeting, he had been less diffident. He was arrogant to the point of setting one’s teeth on edge. Paul felt his mask crumble under the pressure of his contempt for the man. Well, let’s hear your shite then, my friend.

“David. Good morning. How are you?” 

“Just fine, doc. Had a fantastic weekend. Was out of town. Felt great to be free for a while.”

“That’s great, very positive.” He adopted an avuncular tone. “You say “free” - does that mean you feel trapped? By what?”

“Don’t miss a trick, do you?” David grinned, uncrossed his legs and then crossed them the other way. 

“Yeah, I guess I do. Feel trapped, I mean. I mean, I’m stuck in this goddamn marriage for no better reason than I’m a slave to her money. It’s difficult to get over that fact. She controls the purse strings. It’s emasculating.”

“We’ve been through this, David. You are a man in your own right. You have a well paid job, it leaves you independent. There is no need to feel this slavery of which you speak.”

“But, doc...” 

 Insufferable, the way he calls me that, Paul thought. At the beginning, he had tried to dissuade him to no avail. He struggled to concentrate on the perceived slight on his manhood. This philanderer, this calculating lecher, devoid of any morality, had married her for the size of her dowry. Now, he was unwilling to live with his decision. Fucking twat!

 David had finished talking so Paul nodded a few times to show his interest. Silence was his greatest weapon, so few people can resist the need to fill it. Often it revealed much about the character of the person and sometimes, as in this case, it camouflaged the fact that he hadn’t been listening at all. David was no exception. Paul had found that when he was quiet, David would reiterate what he had just said, albeit with some change in the wording. 

“So, what do you think about that, doc?”

“I’d like you to repeat what you just said and really concentrate on what you are saying. Try to discover where these feelings come from.”

“Surely, that’s what I pay you for?” David said snidely.

“Indulge me.” Paul managed to utter through clenched teeth.

“Fine, whatever. I find myself unable to perform in the bedroom because she has that dominance over me. It’s a vicious circle too. If I can’t perform, then the dread of having sex adds to the problem. Then, doubly, I can’t get it up.”

“Are you having problems with erectile dysfunction, David?”

“Yes.” At last, he showed some humanity, some shame.

Paul steepled his fingers and regarded him with eyebrows raised. He shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms across his chest. He matched my gaze, defiant.

“Well? What should I do?” Belligerent at first, but rising to a whine.

“David, erectile dysfunction can be caused by any number of things. Stress, fatigue, depression, guilt.”

 He latched onto the last word.

“Guilt? What do I have to be guilty of?”

 Paul struggled to maintain “professional face”. My God! This man is unbearable, completely without remorse.

“Well, we’ve discussed the other women that you have in your life. Do you think, perhaps, that the ramifications of your infidelities might cause some pangs in your conscience?”

 Not to mention the ruthless way in which you wooed her financial assets or the fact that you abuse her constantly. She should be here, in your place. If only he could say that to him, instead of tiptoeing around what seemed self-evident. David had stopped squirming and was looking at Paul intently.

“No, I don’t think that’s it, doc. I mean, I have no problems getting it up with Melissa - or Sarah, for that matter. I mean, I’m a fucking stallion with them. So, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Hmmm, yes, but maybe the idea of having sex with your wife causes you remorse because you cheat on her.”

“Nah. I’m alright with that. A man has needs that can’t be met by just one woman. I think it’s more likely that it’s because she controls me. Or maybe because she’s ugly!” He guffawed loudly.

 Paul cringed, time to take this fucker down a notch or two. He carefully re-arranged his thoughts, mapping the path of the discourse to its terminus. He sat up straight in his chair, aware suddenly that he was relishing the prospect of a battle of wills. He cleared his throat, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and brought the tips of the fingers of each hand together.

“How would you feel if you discovered that Claire was cheating on you?” 

 David’s eyes flashed with anger and jealousy. A typical, primeval reaction that he had expected. Then, his features developed a cunning bent and he leaned back and grinned.

“Are you trying to trap me, doc?” His grin broadened. After a moment, he continued. “I would be angry. But, in the end, she has the right to, I guess. If I ever found the bastard, I’d kill him though. She needs to know that.” 

 The violence in his tone was surprising. So primitive, so possessive, the male hypocrisy at work. He waited, he was sure David had more to say, sure that the tide of emotion would carry words to his lips before he was conscious that he had formulated them. He nodded and remained silent, waiting.

“Listen, doc, it comes down to genetics, doesn’t it? To what’s his name - Darwin - that’s the fella. It’s only natural that I want to spread my seed as much as possible. The more successful I am, the greater the chance of my genes surviving.”

Involuntarily, Paul clenched his fists. This neanderthal was preaching darwinism to him as some sort of defence? Preposterous! I couldn’t help it, yer Honour! It were me genes, you see, me nature. They made me do it. Too late, he saw that David had noticed his reaction and was studying him carefully.

“What’s up? You don’t agree with my argument, doc?”

“To be honest, David, no, I don’t. I find your argument facile. If genes had such a huge amount to play in your decision making, then it would cause you to square up to every alpha male which you came across, you would be hugely territorial, and you wouldn’t have consented to confess to me as that would constitute a sign of weakness. Genes don’t govern every decision, not since the development of the capacity of reasoning and social mores.”

“Explain where my urges come from, then! Why do I chase skirt?”

 Because of your unwillingness to keep your dick in your pants.

“Well, David, surely that is why we are here? To discover the reasons.” He beamed condescendingly, unable to avoid the temptation to goad him.

“So, tell me. What do you think the reasons are?” 

 He spread his hands disingenuously. A deliberate challenge had been laid down. Paul was being asked to prove himself.

“We are here to discover that. It’s all very well my telling you what I think but the purpose of this therapy is for you to explore your reasons. That way the self-realisation will help you confront them.”

 David stood quickly and began to pace. He walked back and forth across the room, his eyes fixed on Paul the whole time. Paul had had to control the urge to flinch; he had thought David was making a lunge for him. He watched him walk back and forth for a full five minutes, finally he was calm enough to sit again.

“Well, Doc, I’d still like to know your thoughts on it. Maybe you can guide me to an answer.” 

 He wasn’t letting go, his jaw was set resolutely and he leaned forward in the couch eagerly.

“David, you’re putting me on the spot here.” 

 He sneered at the response and Paul felt anger lapping at his veneer of calmness. With a deep breath, he decided to take up the gauntlet. 

“But, as it seems so important to you, I’ll tell you what I think. You are a successful and proud man, who feels trapped by a decision to marry into money. The fact that your spouse holds the purse strings, as you put it, is too much for you to take. Like you said before, you feel emasculated. This isn’t, in fact, the case, you have independent wealth. However, it hurts your pride that you don’t have more money to bring to the relationship. This is, after all, in your darwinian allusion, the only role the male traditionally has the right to claim, in this society - to be the provider. Therefore, you rebel against that perceived slight on your pride and strike back at Claire by cheating on her. Unfortunately, as you have already discovered, this is a double-edged sword. The guilt which you feel at cheating on her, to whom you, ultimately, feel grateful, manifests itself physically. In addition, you are at that age, where you begin to question society and your place in it. It is a natural, if unfair, reaction to attempt to flee from this. Your professed assumption of the role of primitive male is a masquerade which protects you from facing the issues that you have.”

 Paul stopped, he felt relieved. He was conscious, however, that he had behaved unprofessionally, but he would deal with that later. For now, he wanted to guage the reaction that his speech had had on David. He was sitting on the couch, defiant in his denial, shaking his head violently and his eyes flicking around as he searched for a rebuttal. It became clear that he hadn’t the wherewithal to produce a refutation, so Paul decided to bring the session to a close. He glanced at his watch and then at the clock.

“And our time’s up for this week. Shall I see you at the same time, next week?”

 He said nothing, grabbed his coat and stormed out, doors slamming behind him. Paul leaned back and smiled. At least, that’ll decide it one way or another. He stayed in his chair for a few minutes longer, savouring the silence that reigned since David’s departure. Finally, he yawned, stretched and then roused himself wearily. He went through to his office and attended to a few bills and matters of varying urgency. All the while he worked, he kept one  ear cocked, listening to the muffled movements of his wife. She was in the kitchen, eating  breakfast, spoon clanging against the bowl, her teacup thudding intermittently as it came to rest on the table. He needed to go to the toilet again, but held onto it until she had finished and he heard her tread on the stairs. 

 At once, he emerged from his office, relieved himself and went into the kitchen. He couldn’t stifle the anger at the sight of her washing up in the sink, flecks of cereal already drying and adhering to the sides of the bowl. With a grimace, he cleaned up after her. When that was done, he retrieved his book and made himself some coffee. The day stretched out before him and he settled down to fill the hours as best he could.He was so immersed in the story that he didn’t notice her approach until it was too late. She entered the kitchen still in her dressing gown, her hair tousled and unwashed. He tried desperately to hide the sudden distaste. She beamed at him and pecked him lightly on the cheek.

“Make us a cuppa, would you, love?” Valerie asked.

 He bridled. For fuck’s sake! All he did was follow around after her, cleaning her shit, waiting on her, hand and foot. 

“Make your own damn tea, woman. I’ve got work to do.” 

 She raised her eyebrow in surprise and then chuckled.

“Oh really? And what work would that be, sweetheart?” She asked patronisingly, she reached out raised the cover of the book and read the title aloud. “The leopard hunts in darkness. Too highbrow for me, thank God that you’re here to read it and explain it all to me. Make some fucking tea, please. I have to get ready for work.”

 Muttering under his breath, he did her bidding begrudgingly. He carried the mug carefully upstairs and put it on the bedside table. She was sat at her dresser, brushing her hair, it crackled with static, individual strands catching the sunlight. Valerie was still beautiful, but not in the same way as when they had first met. Back then, she had had a bright and open smile, her eyes constantly filled with mirth. Now, her mouth had a cruel, pinched look. Her expression calculated to convey as much disdain as possible.

“You are a pet, aren’t you?” 

 She winked at him and he retreated quickly. He paused in the corridor and turned back in a gesture of defiance. However, his rebelliousness deflated at the sight of her nakedness. She was poised on tiptoes in front of the mirror, watching her reflection. She was a beautiful, poisonous creature and he felt his cock twitch eagerly at the sight of her. He backed away, drinking in her form guiltily. He walked downstairs uncomfortably, his hard-on pushing against the seam of his trousers. He went into the bathroom and jerked off perfunctorily. He hadn’t had sex in so long - this daily, breathless fumble was his only relief. As the lust departed, the shame flowered and kindled his feelings of inadequacy. Disgustedly, he wiped himself down, buttoned his trousers and quit the bathroom. He started as she spoke.

“Enjoy that, did you?”

“Just go to work, would you?” He said wearily, too tired for this little dance.

He went into his office and heard the front door clack to.