as part of his ongoing treatment for his permanent condition, philip the uptown swell agreed to see a psychoanalyst every two weeks.
the anayst, dr menschwhistle, was an easygoing sort, and did not press philip unduly when he was not really in the mood to unburden himself, which was most of the time.
long silences, which some cynical observers might have likened to naps, often passed between them.
“i know i have a drinking problem, doctor,” philip observed one rainy afternoon. “i can’t get the drinks down fast enough.”
dr enschwhiste smiled politely at the ancient witticism, and replied, “perhaps, philip, if you talked more when you drank, it would reduce the speed with which the liquid went down your throat.”
“talked more? to the bums in the places i drink? what would i talk about? and the things they talk about, when they do try to talk to me - they just make me want to drink faster.”
“perhaps you could try a few time-honored conversational gambits?”
“really? like what? when they had their first kiss? or what they thought the meaning of life was?”
“those are not as bad as you might think,” the doctor said. “but the two that i had in mind were - one, what is the saddest story you ever heard? and two, what is the most personal question anybody ever asked you?”
philip, laughed. “all right, doctor, i will keep them in mind.”
*
philip went straight from dr menschwhistle’s office on lafayette street to bob’s bowery bar, at bleecker and the bowery. it was still raining lightly, but a little rain never hurt anybody.
a number of the regulars were holding the bar up. bob himself was presiding.
there were two empty stools between gerry “the brain” goldsmith and angie the retired lady of the night. philip sat down beside angie.
at a nod from philip, bob brought him his usual - a manhattan.
“say, angie,” philip began, after taking a sip of his manhattan, “can i ask you a question?”
“i don’t see why not.”
“what is the most personal question anybody ever asked you?”
“that was.”
‘what was?”
“the question you just asked.”
“you mean what was the most personal question anybody ever asked you?”
“that was.”
“but what was that?”
“abbott and costello, eat your hearts out,” gerry “the brain” interposed from phiip’s right.
philip shrugged. “all right, if you don’t want to answer that question- “
“i did answer it,” said angie.
“if you don’t like that question, i got another one.”
“shoot.”
“what is the saddest story you ever heard?”
angie laughed. “honey, if you want sad stories, you came to the right place. i heard sad stories from guys every night.”
“yes,” philip persisted, “but what was the saddest one?”
“they were all the same.”
“all the same?”
“yes, and you can just guess what it was.”
philip thought for a few seconds. “that their wives didn’t understand them.”
“go to the head of the class.”
“or maybe sometimes it was their mothers,” gerry “the brain” added.
“i see both you guys are deep students of human nature.”
“i got a sad story for you,” gerry said.
“let’s hear it,” said philip.
“an old prospector was looking for the lost city of gold in the desert. he searches for twenty years and one day he comes to an oasis. he sees a beautiful young girl in the oasis. and to his surprise she has a parrot on her head - “
“this isn’t a sad story,” philip protested. “it’s a joke. a joke isn’t a sad story.”
“it can be,” gerry said. “a joke and a sad story can be one and the same.”
“i want a sad story,” said philip. “a real tear-jerking sad story, not something joe e lewis killed vaudeville with twenty years ago.”
seamas mcseamas the irish poet had been sitting alone at the poets’ table, and he now got up and sat between the brain and philip.
“i have a sad story for yez all,” seamas announced. “a very sad story.”
“be our guest.” philip told him. “make yourself at home.”
“i could tell it better if me throat wasn’t dry.”
“i guess you will have to do the best you can,” philip said.
“you mean yez are not going to buy me a drink?” seamas pleaded.
“not tonight,” philip replied. “maybe some other night.”
seamas looked at the brain, and then over at angie. “anybody? doesn’t anybody want to hear my sad story/?”
neither the brain nor angie answered, or looked at seamas.
“ah well,” seamas said, “it’s as i have always said - the saddest story is the one nobody wants to hear.”
“that makes for a lot of sad stories,” said angie.
philip looked down at his glass. it was empty. he had finished it as quickly as he ever did.
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