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composed. She looked like a college student.
    “What’s her problem?” I said.
    “Karen,” he said, “has successfully seduced every man she has ever met.”
    During the psychiatry rotation, you saw your patient three times a week. You also saw a training analyst twice a week, to discuss your case and your feelings about it.
    Robert Geller was my training analyst. Dr. Geller was a middle-aged man who had a beard and favored bright striped shirts. His manner was very quick and direct.
    Dr. Geller asked me what I hoped to get out of my psychiatry rotation, and I said that I was very interested in psychiatry, that it was something I thought I might end up doing. He said that was fine. He seemed a neutral, balanced person.
    “So, do you know anything about your patient?”
    Yes, I did. I explained I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her yet, that I had only just seen her in the room, a twenty-year-old girl, sitting in the rocking chair.
    “And?”
    She seemed nice. Pretty. She certainly didn’t seem like a psychiatric case.
    “Then what’s she doing there?”
    Well, the resident told me that she had successfully seduced every man she had ever met.
    “What did he mean by that?”
    I hadn’t asked.
    “Really?
I
would have asked,” Dr. Geller said.
    I explained I just hadn’t thought to ask; I was trying to absorb everything, just seeing her and so on.
    “And how do you feel about seeing her?”
    “I don’t know,” I said.
    “You don’t know?”
    “No.”
    “You said she was beautiful.…”
    “Attractive, yes.”
    “What did you think about having her as your patient?”
    “I guess I wondered if I could handle her.”
    “Handle her …”
    This was a psychiatrist’s trick, repeating your last phrase to keep you talking.
    “Yes,” I said. “I wondered if I would be able to handle her case.”
    “Why shouldn’t you be able to handle her?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, just say whatever comes to mind.”
    This was another psychiatrist’s trick: I was immediately on my guard.
    “Nothing comes to mind,” I said.
    Dr. Geller gave me a funny look.
    “Well,” he said, “are you afraid you won’t be bright enough to deal with her?”
    “Oh no.”
    “No problem there. With brightness.”
    “No.”
    “Are you afraid you don’t have enough knowledge to help her?”
    “No …”
    “Are you afraid you’re so busy you won’t be able to devote enough time to her?”
    “No, no …”
    “Then what?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    There was a pause.
    “Are you afraid you’re going to fuck her?”
    I was profoundly shocked. The statement was so coarse and direct. I didn’t know how he could even imagine such a thing. My skull was ringing, as if I had been struck. I shook my head to clear it.
    “Oh no, no, no, nothing like that.”
    “You’re sure it’s not that?”
    “Yes. Sure.”
    “How do you know it’s not that?”
    “Well, I mean, I’m married.”
    “So?”
    “And I’m a doctor.”
    “A lot of doctors fuck their patients. Haven’t you heard?”
    “I don’t believe in that,” I said.
    “Why not?”
    “I believe that when patients come to you, they are in a dependent state, they look up to a doctor, because they want help and they are frightened. And they deserve to be treated, and not have their dependencies exploited by the doctor. They deserve to get what they came for.”
    I believed all this very strongly.
    “Maybe she came to get fucked by her doctor.”
    “Well,” I said.
    “Maybe that’s what she needs to get better.”
    I began to feel annoyed. I could see where this was heading. “Are you saying you think that I want to, uh, have sex with her?”
    “I don’t know. You tell me.”
    “No,” I said. “I don’t.”
    “Then what are you worried about?”
    “I’m not worried about anything.”
    “You just told me you weren’t sure you could handle her.”
    “Well, I meant … in general, I wasn’t sure.”
    “Listen, it’s okay with me