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not a psychiatrist. And this won't be in any record but mine. So come on now. You have to tell me, you have to make a start.
    "I know. All right. About ten days ago I was working. I'm a historian, an infantry major assigned just now to the Center of Military His tory. I'm a specialist in World War One. These days I work at the main branch of the New York Public Library at Fortysecond and Fifth, and one day something happened.
    "I had a stack of books in front of me. Taking notes. I was copying out names, German names and military titles. Going slow, printing carefully, getting the Kraut spelling absolutely right. And out of the blue I felt a sudden -he hesitated- well, rage. And I mean rage; absolutely unexplainable. It just took me over. Instantly. Like somebody had walked up and slapped me across the mouth. And I said-this was out loud, you understand; me sitting there at one of those long tables they have, heads all over the place turning to look at me. I said, Damn you. Oh, God damn you!' And I was kind of struggling, fighting to push the chair back and get to my feet.
    "Then I more or less came to. Just standing there, everybody staring; I must have been loud. Well, I walked out of there pretty fast, and stood out on the Fifth Avenue steps for a while, cooling off. Thing is, I don't know why I said that. I just do not know. After a while I made myself go back, staring everyone down, and resume my work. He stopped, waiting.
    "Go on.
    "Well, not the next day. There was the weekend, and then it must have been Monday I was back at work. In the main reading room again. I'm there when they open, every weekday and Saturday. And I stay till they throw me out. But this time, thank God, I'd taken a break. I was out on the steps having coffee. There's guys out front with carts selling coffee and stuff.
    "I know.
    "Miserable coffee. But something to do. I give myself a ten- minute break, by the clock, in the middle of the morning, and another in midafternoon. And the quickest lunch I can manage. And I drink the lousy coffee because I don't smoke. I did, but I quit. It's been-
    "Come on now.
    "Okay. It happened again. A terrible anger. Sudden. Out of nowhere. A rush of it. I could feel my face go red, my collar choking me. Raw emotion with nothing to explain it. And I said, You son of a bitch. Oh, you bastard. You did it, you did it!' There was a woman standing next to me-those steps get crowded-and I just trotted down the stairs, tossed my cup at a trash basket, coffee and all, and got the hell out of there. I couldn't help but look back, and you know he smiled- she was still there, not even watching me. I was just another New York crazy far's she was concerned. But I was still wild. Walking along, going fast, headed north but going nowhere I knew of. And if I could have grabbed him by the throat, I'da never let go.
    "Grabbed who! Quick!
    The patient shook his head. "I don't know. Just don't know. But the feeling did not go away; for a while it got worse. Finally it eased off, but I didn't go back. Not that day. Quit early and went home, first time in years. I keep a little apartment in the East Village; I'm up here a lot; the Army pays for it. My real place is in Washington. And that's about it. I don't know what the hell is going on. Do you?~~
    Not yet.
    "I see. I gather you think I'll be corning back.
    "For a time maybe. The doctor picked up the patient-information sheet from his desk. "Maybe we should get this finished up. You married?
    "Ever been?
    "Okay. He made a check mark. "And you're how old: thirty- seven, thirty-eight?
    "Thirty-nine, and if you're really asking how come I'm nearly forty and never been married, it's simple: I haven't time. I like women; quite a lot. Sexually, and just for themselves. Women are nicer than men, they're better people; I have women who are friends, and women usually stay my friends. I've had a lot to do with them, and expect to continue, and I hope that takes care of that. But what I like