Read The Last Collection Online
Authors: Seymour Blicker
Kerner looked on with disbelief, rooted to the floor.
“Okay,” Verland said. “Boxing or wrestling?”
“What? When I fight, it's rough and tumbleâno holds barred!”
“Okay, but if someone wants to give up, he just says so and the other guy has to stop fighting. Okay?” Verland said quickly.
“No, no. When I fight, it's a fight to the finish.”
“Well, maybe we shouldn't fight in here. I don't want to break any of my sculptings.”
“Well, you decide.”
“Forget it. I don't want to injure my hands.”
“Good enough,” Dr. Lehman said and picked up his glasses and jacket. “Come on, Kerner. Let's get out of here and head back to my office.”
“Aren't you going to consider this piece, Mr. Kerner?” Verland asked, stepping up to him.
“He doesn't want it,” Dr. Lehman said.
“Well, how about letting Mr. Kerner decide for himself?”
“There's no way he could want a piece of crap like that. I wouldn't take it if you paid me.”
“I'll ignore your insult. Mr. Kerner obviously has an aesthetic sensibility which is lacking in you,” Verland replied.
Kerner was trying to speak but he couldn't get the words out.
“What do you think, Mr. Kerner?”
“Don't buy!” Dr. Lehman commanded.
“Let him decide!”
“Don't buy!”
Kerner struggled to say something.
“What do you think, Mr. Kerner?”
“You don't need it!”
“It's one of my best works.”
“It's garbage.”
“Some people consider it a minor masterpiece.”
Dr. Lehman suddenly doubled over with laughter.
“What do you think, Mr. Kerner? What's your opinion of this piece?”
Kerner opened his mouth to speak but the only sound that came out was
ahhhgh!
as he threw up all over the sculptor and his work.
T
he more the Hawk thought about Hankleman and what he was planning to do, the more ludicrous it became. He couldn't take it seriously. Hankleman was out of his mind. The man was insane. The whole thing was too incredible; so incredible that the Hawk couldn't feel even the slightest anger. He just wanted to laugh.
Moishie Mandelberg didn't see things quite the same way. He was in a fury. “I'll tell you, Solly, if this was ten, fifteen years ago, I'd put out a contract on this piece of dreck and have him hit in the head. I swear to you, that's what I'd do.”
“De man is a messhug, Moishie. You shouldn let it bodder you.”
“Bother me?” the big man said, shaking his head for added emphasis. “This yentz bothers me so much that if he was here in this office at this minute and I had a piece, I'd blow him away myself.”
“Relax, Moishie, relax. De man's a putz. It's not wert getting upset over.”
“I'm going to get this Hankleman, Solly. I'm going to get him good.”
The Hawk shrugged. “Why waste your time on em?”
“Why? Because he deserves it.”
“De man is a nebbish, he's not wert any aggravation.”
“I'm going to fix his wagon, Solly.”
“He's a lemmish, a nutting.”
“I don't know exactly what I'm going to do but I'm going to do something.”
“Why waste your time on dis shmendrick?”
“Because it's going to make me feel good when I fuck him.”
“My own idea is dat since Kerner is gonna pay, den we jus carry on an do our part.”
“We were doing our part but that cocksucker didn't trust us!” Big Moishie shouted.
“Big deal. A guy ly dat will never trust no one.”
“I know. But he went too far. I knew he didn't trust us the minute he walked in here the first time. I knew it before he knew it. He probably didn't know it till the next day, but I knew it the minute I saw him; before he even opened his mouth.”
“So whadda ya wanna do?”
“I don't know exactly but I'll think of something.”
“I mean, you don wanna do nutting wid muscle, right?”
“No. No violence. I want to hurt him in such a way that as long as he lives, whenever he starts thinking what a big mavin he is, he'll remember me and he'll know he's a pisher. That's how I want to hurt him.”
“It's not wert de aggravation, Moishie.”
“It's worth it. Believe me, it's worth it.”
The Hawk sighed deeply.
“You remember when we were talking the other day, Solly?”
“Yeah.”
“You remember how you were telling me how you felt about Saltpeter . . . how you wanted to crush him . . . to break him?”
The Hawk nodded.
“That's how I feel about this Hankleman. I'm going to teach him a lesson that he won't ever forget.”
“You're sure dats what you want?”
“That's what I want. . . . You wanted your last collection; I want my last gaff . . . and I'm close to it. I know I have him somehow. I just can't quite see it yet. But I know I have him.”
“Yeah, you have him, Moishie.”
“What d'you mean?”
“I mean, you got em. At least I tink you got em.”
“How?”
“It just came to me. Like jus now, in one seccun I saw de whole picture in my head. De minute you mentioned Saltpeter's name, I saw de whole picture.”
“What is it?” Big Moishie asked, edging forward in his seat.
In a very low voice and with a droll smile on his face, the Hawk replied, “We jus found a new mooch for de telephone gaff.”
K
erner was lying on the little couch in Dr. Lehman's office. Beside him a light rainshower was in progress. The doctor was hidden from view somewhere behind his desk.
Kerner watched the rain coming down.
“That was very significant, what you did back there,” Dr. Lehman said, still out of sight.
Kerner turned and stared at the big desk. “I couldn't help it. It just came out all by itself.”
“It's all right. Don't apologize. That was very good.”
Kerner could see the top of Dr. Lehman's head coming slowly into view above the desk top.
“What you did back there at the gallery was very symbolic . . . very significant. Don't you realize that?”
The upper half of the doctor was now visible.
“I guess so . . . I'm not sure,” Kerner said hesitantly.
“Well, it was. Take my word for it. Within the context of your particular problem, your act of barfing on that piece of crap was in effect a classic catharsis. You were expressing a point of view. Whether you know it or not, you had decided to put an end to your craziness and, when you brecched on that guy and on his sculpting, which you had been so tempted to buy, you were in effect giving concrete and tangible form to your inner decision. You were expelling, as it were, your past sickness. . . . Just to prove my point . . . don't you feel better now?”
“Yes, I do. Mind you . . . I still feel very nervous . . . uneasy. . . . You know?”
The doctor's chair continued to rise so that his legs could now be seen dangling above the level of the desk.
“Yes, yes. I know. But don't worry. Something's clicked somewhere in your head and you're going to be all right.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Kerner,” the doctor said tersely, “don't start with me today. Just take my word for it. Okay?”
“I'm sorry. I just wanted a bit of reassurance. . . . Look, I'm insecure.”
“Okay, Mr. Kerner, I understand. But just take my word for itâyou're going to be all right if you want to be. . . . Now just come over here and press that white button on my desk. This fucking chair has gone out of control,” the doctor said as his head gradually approached the ceiling of the room.
Kerner got up and went over to the desk. He pressed a white button. Dr. Lehman's chair suddenly began spinning wildly.
“Not that one, you fool!” Dr. Lehman shouted, gripping the sides of his chair. “The other white one . . . on the left.”
Kerner pressed the smaller white button on the console. The chair stopped turning and began to descend. Kerner watched it come down.
“Okay, stop,” Dr. Lehman ordered as his feet touched the floor.
Kerner released the button. The doctor got up from the chair.
“Did you do that on purpose, Kerner?”
“No, I swear. There were two white buttons. I saw the bigger one first. It wasn't my fault.”
Dr. Lehman scowled. “If you weren't sure, you should have asked.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Okay. Forget it. Go back to the couch.”
Kerner went back to the couch. Dr. Lehman walked over to the table near the hut and seated himself.
“In any case, as I was saying, you're going to be all right if you want to be. I think your decision last night to sell everything and live on a kibbutz was very important and what you accomplished today was a direct offshoot of that decision.”
“I'm still quite nervous about the idea of selling all my stuff. . . . You know . . . I'm afraid of how I might react. Maybe I'll get completely crazy and have to buy ten times as much as I've sold.”
“I don't think that will happen. You've proved that you can overcome your obsession with buying. Now it's just a question of retaining and reinforcing your decision to change your life. I have confidence in you, Mr. Kerner. I believe you'll be fine. However, I'm not telling you that you're cured. You still have a ways to go and I trust you'll continue these sessions up until the time you're ready to leave for Israel.”
“Oh, yes. I still intend to see you regularly. It'll probably be a few months before I get everything straightened away here, so I hope to be able to see you as much as possible during that time.”
“Good, good,” Dr. Lehman said, getting up from his seat and looking at his watch. “Anyways, we've gone over our time here. We'll carry on tomorrow.”
Kerner got up from the couch and moved towards the door.
Dr. Lehman walked over to his desk. “Oh, just one minute, Mr. Kerner.”
Kerner stopped and turned around.
“I might as well give this to you now so you can study it for a while,” the doctor said as he opened a desk drawer and withdrew a folded sheet from inside. He walked over to Kerner and handed the paper to him. “I want you to look this over. Study it during the next while. There's no rush. Look it over, change it around a little bit to put it in your own words. Then write it up on your own stationery . . . in a natural way . . . let it flow; let it come from the heart. Then sign it and give it back to me before you leave Montreal.”
Kerner unfolded the sheet.
“Just use this as a general guide,” Dr. Lehman said, pointing at the paper in Kerner's hands.
Kerner scanned the sheet. It read:
Dear Dr. Lehman:
I can't begin to tell you how gratified I am for all you've done for me. Before meeting you I had heard the word genius bandied about. You know, people would say this one's a real Einstein, that one's a real Einstein, this one's a genius, that one's a genius. The way people abuse that word, a person might have thought there were a million geniuses running around. Well, let me say this, in all honesty. I've been around. I know and have known thousands of people, be they doctors, lawyers, accountants, physics professors, mathematicians, biologists, neurosurgeons, chemists, anthropologists, biochemists, urologists, philosophers, gynecologists, neurophysiologists, psychiatrists, and whatever, and, until I met you, I had not yet met a genius.
When I first stepped into your extraordinarily beautiful and imaginatively designed office and had the honour of meeting you, I knew then that I was face to face with âThe Genius.' The fact that you cured my illness is, I think, one of the most incredible accomplishments, if not the major accomplishment, of the modern age and far exceeds anything that was done by Freud, Jung, Adler and people of that ilk.
I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
(signed) With eternal gratitude,
P.S. I have enclosed with this little note a cheque for five thousand dollars as a very small token of my great admiration and appreciation. I know that you will say you have been paid for your services and that this extra amount is quite unnecessary; but please, please keep this and perhaps it may be of some small help in aiding you in the extensive research you have been doing over the years to try and help sick people like myself.
Kerner finished reading the letter. He looked up at Dr. Lehman, who was smiling broadly.
“It's just a little testimonial, Mr. Kerner. You don't actually have to send me a cheque for five thousand dollars. Just write it up in your own words, sticking pretty much to this model as a general guide. Letters such as this from my patients are very helpful.”
“Sure, I'll do it,” Kerner said.
“Thank you, Mr. Kerner. It'll be much appreciated.”
“It's no trouble,” Kerner said as he walked to the door and opened it. “I'll see you tomorrow.” He headed across the waiting room.
“Oh, one other thing,” Dr. Lehman said.
Kerner turned.
“In case I forget, remind me tomorrow and I'll give you the address of the Wasp. He started his own kibbutz in Israel. Maybe you can look him up when you get there.”
“Great,” Kerner said. “I'll remind you.”
Dr. Lehman waved goodbye.
Kerner went out and closed the door. From inside he could hear the doctor's voice.
“You can come out of the closet now, Mrs. Griff. He's gone.”
Kerner walked away.
A
t eight
P.M.
, Morrie Hankleman was seated at a table in the front room at Ruby Foo's, listening to Eugene Carlin discuss his new real estate venture. Hankleman no longer felt as calm as he had several hours earlier. His anger was beginning to stir again and Hankleman was becoming increasingly agitated.