Chapter 8

Kurt packed his belongings in a small travel bag. He had been invited to attend a conference. However, Kurt wasn't particularly excited about this trip. Dinners and dialogues with experts, most of whom were two or three times his age, tended to be quite dull. In general, these conferences provided an opportunity for participants to give an elegant fifteen-minute speech, practice their wit, and gather information that often wasn't particularly new. Kurt didn't crave the spotlight, not even for fifteen minutes. He preferred to get information from primary sources rather than someone's distorted retelling. The only interesting aspect of these conferences was the change of scenery and the opportunity to meet the truly distinguished psychologists of the day, whose writings, Kurt was sure, were far ahead of their time. But they were few in number, and they rarely attended such events.

Giving final instructions to Eliza, Kurt left. Having departed from the house, he felt a slight thrill and this thrill was associated with John. Who knows what notion he might take into his head? He had destroyed his own portrait in Danee's gallery; what next? Maybe he might decide to burn down Kurt's house. But he hoped that John was not so foolish as to commit such a heinous crime. At least not without good reason. And, Kurt was sure, that he hadn't given John such reasons.

The journey was uneventful. Upon arriving in Cambridge, Kurt checked into his usual lodgings at The Ritz Hotel. His room was situated on the fifth floor, with large windows offering a view of the park. After dropping off his bag, Kurt quickly headed out for a walk. The cool and fresh air reinvigorated him, and he felt somehow elated. Even the upcoming conference no longer seemed so dull.

Strolling down the lane, Kurt noticed an aged man. He was sitting on a bench, leaning on his cane, and looking thoughtfully at the pond in front of him, where a few grey ducks were swimming.

Kurt walked up and recognized him as Professor McGlow, an outstanding gentleman and author of more than a dozen monographs. But Mr. McGlow was not paying any attention to Kurt; rather, he seemed lost in his thoughts. Kurt was about to pass by but thought that it would be rude not to say hello to him.

"Good day, Mr. McGlow," Kurt said, tilting his head and waiting until the old man looked at him. His eyes were surrounded by fine wrinkles, which gave him the appearance of an amiable and cheerful person. As if to confirm Kurt's guess, Mr. McGlow smiled.

"Mr... Rhein! A good day indeed! Please sit down," he said, suddenly livening up. Kurt sat on the bench. "The weather is perfect today, don't you think? For this time of year, this is amazingly good weather!"

Kurt smiled and threw a glance at the old man's face again. Something was bothering Kurt. It was too fast for the man to have turned from a pensive state to vivacious. It seemed unnatural, even facetious. Kurt's assuredness was increased by his observation that the corners of McGlow's lips turned down and every few seconds he managed to pull them up, faking a smile. Kurt felt sorry that he had distracted the old man from his thoughts and condemned him to the torment of having to fake his emotions.

"I just saw you and thought that it would be impolite not to greet you. But I think you don't want company now, so excuse me that I intruded," Kurt said in an effort to avoid any hard feelings. The struggle was over; the corners of his lips fell, and Mr. McGlow smiled sadly.

"It's like you never stop working, Mr. Rhein. Although I have to tell you that I wouldn't mind a little company, just not the kind where I need to fake a smile." Having said this, he turned and looked at the pond again.

"Believe me, I don't want to embarrass you but I couldn't help noticing that smiling is the last thing you want to do now, so I didn't want to disturb you," Kurt said as he stood up.

"You've got a talent, young man. You deserve those flattering remarks I have heard about you," McGlow looked at him. "If you are interested, I can tell you what's on my mind. I just don't want to embarrass you either."

Kurt again sat on the bench.

"My wife died two weeks ago," said McGlow. His voice sounded as if he had repeated it many times to himself trying to make himself believe it was true. "Just imagine, Mr. Rhein, I devoted my whole life to psychology, I studied so many works and wrote a few, and I thought that I knew everything about our soul - Psyche. And now it's aching and I know absolutely nothing about how to help it. Knowing didn't make me happy when I was left alone."

Kurt respectfully kept silent, listening to the old man.

"You are so young and successful. Don't take it as audacity, but I give you a piece of advice. As psychologist to psychologist," he said and smiled sadly again. "Don't forget to live the emotions that you dissect with the precision and equanimity of a surgeon. If you always look at everything from the side, then you'll never really know anything. In the end, the only soul that we can truly explore and feel is our own." McGlow looked at him. "I don't want to perplex you more, young man. Enjoy your walk," and he smiled kindly. Kurt stood up, bowed slightly, and went down the lane.

He was pondering over McGlow's words, and with every passing moment, he realized that he didn't comprehend them. It seemed to Kurt that McGlow's words were swirling in his mind, but he couldn't feel them through.

Kurt decided to have dinner in a restaurant in the center. At the next table, a few gentlemen were sitting. Kurt easily recognized some famous psychologists among them; they met regularly at different conferences. But now Kurt didn't feel like being in the company of others, so he didn't approach them and ordered a meal. He wasn't going to eavesdrop; however, he caught the name 'McGlow' during their conversation, and unwillingly started to capture the essence of the conversation, which was rather surprising.

"I understand, he loved his wife, he couldn't help her, but no one cares about this because you are responsible for your words even if it's sheer obscurantism," said one man.

"The most I'm sorry for is the editor of this magazine where he published all this nonsense," responded another man. "Such a respectable periodical..."

"It's the editor's fault. Sure, he relied on McGlow's reputation, and now indignation has arisen! So now any crackpot can publish an article there!' a third man said in a resentful tone.

"Gentlemen, where is your mercy? Mr. McGlow is suffering through two great losses - the death of his beloved wife and the decline of his once-brilliant career. I hope his fate will not fall upon us."

Kurt became curious about the article they'd been talking about. And he decided to read it. After dinner he took a walk and, when he returned to the hotel, he asked the porter to find the magazine with McGlow's article. After that, he returned to his room and fell asleep.