“But he doesn’t want you to have that information. He called Rhea at noon while I was with her to say you were doing everything you could to bar him from his family. He implored her not to give you any details about him.”
“That explains why she’s so cold to me. I’m sure it’s to her credit that she’s so protective of her patients. But you were at Max’s on Sunday—you saw what Radbuka was like. Even assuming all the things he remembered in hypnosis are true—it doesn’t mean he’s related to Max just because he wants that to be so.” I tried to lighten the conversation by adding, “That would bring Rhea’s work to the level of Timothy Leary on acid, talking to his chromosomes to recover his previous incarnations.”
“Vic!” Don protested. “You really mustn’t reduce this kind of therapy to a Jay Leno routine. A week ago I might have made the same kind of cheap joke, but—if you’d seen this process up close, learned about the kinds of things people grapple with as they unblock the past—you’d be more respectful, I guarantee it. In the case of Radbuka, too, Rhea knows the guy has a lot of problems. She’s genuinely worried about what you’re trying to do to him.”
I looked at my watch and signaled for the check. “Don, I know you’ve only met me a few times during this past year, but do you think your friend Morrell would be in love with me if I was the kind of monster who deliberately drove a wedge between a war orphan and his family?”
Don smiled ruefully. “Oh, hell, Vic. Of course not. But you’re very close to Loewenthal and his friends. Your own judgment could be distorted by your desire to protect them.”
I was tempted to believe Rhea Wiell had given Don some posthypnotic suggestion to eschew me and all my works. But the real spell came from a deeper, more fundamental source, I realized, watching his eyes light up when I said it was time to cross back over to the office building. As my father used to say, never try to stop a man with an ax, or a man in love.
XXVII
New Disciple
By the time I finished my conversation with Rhea, I was ready to bonk her on the head and take my chances on a self-defense plea. I’d started with the premise that we all wanted what was best for the main players in our little drama and that this meant not just Paul but Calia and Agnes as well. Rhea gave one of those regal nods that made me want to revert to my street-fighting roots. I concentrated on a painting of a Japanese farmyard that hung above her couch and told her about Paul’s two attempts to accost Calia.
“The family is starting to feel as though they’re being stalked,” I said. “Mr. Loewenthal’s lawyer wants him to swear out a peace bond, but I thought if you and I talked, we might head off an extreme confrontation.”
“I don’t believe Paul would stalk anyone,” Rhea said. “He’s not only very gentle, but he’s easily frightened. I’m not saying he wasn’t at Max’s house,” she added as I started to object, “but I imagine him standing in the park like the little match girl in the fairy tale, longing to be part of the festivities he can see through the window, while none of the rich children will acknowledge his existence.”
I smiled, still on my best behavior. “Unfortunately, Calia is a five-year-old—an age where frightened, needy grown-ups are terrifying. Her mother is understandably alarmed, because she thinks someone might be threatening her child. When Paul comes out of the bushes at the two of them, it scares them both. His longing for a family may be making it hard for him to see how his behavior could appear to other people.”
Rhea bent her head, a swanlike gesture that seemed to have a hint of acquiescence in it. “But why won’t Max Loewenthal acknowledge him?”
I wanted to scream, “Because there’s nothing to acknowledge, you fatheaded flea-brain,” but I leaned forward with an expression of great earnestness. “Mr. Loewenthal truly is not related to your client. This morning he showed me the file he kept from his search for missing families in postwar Europe. The file includes a letter from the person who asked him to hunt for the Radbukas. On Sunday, when Paul crashed his party, Mr. Loewenthal offered to go over these papers with him, but Paul didn’t want to make an appointment for a more convenient time. I’m sure Mr. Loewenthal would still be glad for Paul to see the papers if he thought that would set his mind at rest.”
“Have you seen these documents, Don?” Rhea turned to him with a touching display of female fragility. “If you could take a look at them, if you agree with—with Vic, I would feel better.”
Don swelled slightly at her trust in him. I tried not to make a mocking grimace but said I felt sure that Max would want things done as quickly as possible.