Even more worrying to me than Petya’s voluble hostility to Apu’s politics was the drunken revelation of his phobia for the differently gendered. This, too, appeared to have its foundation in family matters. From the violence of his language, which I forbear to repeat here, it was plain that the peace treaty he had made with himself long ago, to forgive D Golden’s behavior toward his mother, no longer held; and the way his anger expressed itself was in his vehement hostility toward his half brother’s growing gender confusion. He began to aim at his half brother such loaded words as unnatural, perverted, and sick. He had somehow found out about the afternoon in Vasilisa’s clothes closet, and her complicity in his experiments with otherness led him to extend his verbal violence in her direction. The baby became the location of this part of his anger. Again, I worried for the safety of the unborn child.
The hypnosis finally began to work. The bouffant hypnotherapist Mr. Lett acquired a new bounce in his Conversed step. “How’s it going?” I asked him on his way out the door after a session and in his excitement he said a mouthful. “Virry will, thenks,” he said. “I had ivry confidince it would. Just took a moment or two. I utilize a mithodology of my own in this type of situation, I call it Personally Progremmed Power, thet’s PPP for short. It’s a quistion of working with the person stip by stip end slowly increasing silf-confidince, end what I like to call silf-ectualization. Each stip we take down the PPP road will increase the person’s belief in himsilf. We’re will along thet road now. Most diffinitely, yis. Things are will sit. It’s a quistion of giving your frind some tengible ividence, ividence which he can reproduce time after time, of his ibility to take control of his mintal prociss. To be in charge of his physical end imotional reictions. Once he knows he can do thet, he’ll feel confidint to control his ixperience in the outside world. Stip by stip. Thet’s the ticket. What I’m giving him is the ibility to choose how he wants to respond to the folks around him, end stuff thet may heppen now or in the future, end whativer situations may prisint thimsilves. I’m virry optimistic. G’day.”
As part of this process of taking control, Petya studied the structures of what he called “enchanted spaces,” the occultist pentagram and the Jewish eruv. If he could accept the private island off Miami as one such space, and, as another, Ubah Tuur’s fenced-in property upstate, where the unfortunate episode had occurred, then surely he could construct such enchanted spaces for himself. This was how he came up with the idea of the chalk circle around Manhattan Island. He would walk around the entire island and draw the circle himself. He would do this unaided and to increase the circle’s power he would sprinkle garlic as he went. To make it easier for him to surmount his fears he would wear very dark black goggles, and a hoodie. He would also listen to loud music on noise-canceling headphones, and drink a lot of water. Nobody could do this for him. It was a thing he had to accomplish on his own.
The hypnotherapist Lett both celebrated and backed the plan, offering to go shopping and acquire the sticks of chalk and the garlic cloves. Nero Golden, however, was concerned, and made a few calls.
The appointed day dawned hot and humid under a cloudless sky. Petronius Golden descended from the room of blue light dressed as he had promised, with the grim determination of an Ethiopian marathon runner on his face. Murray Lett waited for him at the front door and before Petya stepped into the street the therapist tried to remind him of how much he had improved, counting off the achievements on his fingers and thumbs. “Rimimber now. Major edvance in silf-ifficacy! Greatly increased focus end concintration! Huge improvement in autonomy end silf-confidince! Much bitter menagement of striss! Much bitter menagement of enger! Big stips forward in impulse control! You can do this.” Petya, in that state of greatly increased focus and concentration to which Lett referred, was listening to Nine Inch Nails on his headphones and didn’t hear him. He had a satchel full of chalk sticks slung over one shoulder, and carried a backpack containing coconut water cartons, fruit, sandwiches, granola bars, and roasted chicken drumsticks. Also three extra pairs of socks. Seasoned walkers on the internet had warned him that sweaty feet in perspiration-drenched socks started to blister, and that made the walk impossible to complete. He held a bag of crushed garlic in one hand. In the other hand he flourished a walking stick to whose end he had taped the initial piece of chalk. His pockets were full of more rolls of tape so that he could change the chalk sticks when necessary. “Think about your social behavior,” shouted Murray Lett, understanding at last that he had not been heard. “Avoid introversion. Make eye contect. Those are good things to keep in mind.” But Petya was in his own world and eye contact did not seem to be in his plans. “One last thing,” shouted Murray Lett, and now Petya did him the favor of pulling his headphones down and listening. “I hope your sleep pettern has been good,” said Murray Lett in a lower voice. “Also, excuse me for asking but, the inuresis issue, we have eliminated thet, correct?” Petya Golden went so far as to roll his eyes, put his headphones back on, seemed satisfied that Axl Rose had replaced Trent Reznor, put his head down, and strode out of the door into the Uber waiting to take him to his chosen starting point, the South Street Seaport; leaving Mr. Lett in his wake. “Good on ya,” the therapist called after him. “Proud of you. Good work.”
Nero Golden was at the door too, accompanied by Mesdames Blather and Fuss, and me. “Take your time,” he told his son. “Don’t rush it. Do it comfortably. It isn’t a race.” When the car had taken Petya away, Nero spoke into his phone. His people would be in SUVs along the route. There would be eyes on Petya every step of the way.