Anastasia, Ask Your Analyst Read Online Free PDF Page A

lot."
    "Dad," Anastasia said, filling her voice with as much admiration as she could, considering the fact that he was an insensitive villain, "you're a very famous author. You were nominated for the American Book Award, right? And famous authors make lots of money. That woman who writes Gothic romances is a millionaire. Judith Krantz is probably a millionaire. Judy Blume is probably a millionaire."
    "Maybe, Myron," said Mrs. Krupnik, "you should consider changing your name to Judith." She grinned at him and winked. Anastasia cringed. Her parents were so disgusting; they were always doing things like grinning and winking, for pete's sake.
    "I'm a Harvard professor, Anastasia," Dr. Krupnik said. "And on the side, I'm a poet. I'm a pretty successful poet, true. But the fact is that nobody buys poetry. Nobody even
reads
poetry. All they do is give
awards
for poetry. And if I think about that too much I may fall into a serious depression, and then
I'll
need a psychiatrist."
    "I remember, Myron," said her mother, "that when
you asked me to marry you, you said, '{Catherine, I will never be a rich man.' And I said—" She hesitated. "Well, that's too personal, what I said."
    Now
he
grinned and winked. GROSS.
    Anastasia was glad that her mother hadn't gone on to tell what she had said. Probably it was something romantic. Her parents were always doing that, talking about romantic stuff; they were always hugging and kissing, too—even in front of other people. It embarrassed Anastasia just thinking about it. IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE: HUGGING AND KISSING. Talk about gross. Back in the old days, she hadn't even minded.
    "Anyway," her father went on, "money isn't the essential thing. It's important, because we don't
have
the money. But even if we did, I'd say no, Anastasia."
    "Why?"
    "Because you don't
need
a psychiatrist. The people who need psychiatrists—and there are plenty who do—are people who are emotionally disturbed."
    "I've been trying to tell you that I'm emotional—"
    "You don't have the slightest symptom of even a minor neurosis. What you do have is an absolutely normal reaction to growing up. When people become thirteen or so, they suddenly realize that their parents are human. Naturally it comes as a shock." Dr. Krupnik began to pick up the evening paper.
    "Human? HUMAN!" Anastasia emerged from her curled-up ball and sat up straight. "You call it human to ignore my suffering? How do you know I don't have symptoms of necrosis?"
    He chuckled. "Neurosis.
Necrosis
means "death." It comes from the Greek."
    "Okay, okay; so I'm stupid; so I don't know Greek. And I'm not dead, I'll grant you that. Tell me some symptoms of neurosis. I bet I have all of them."
    Dr. Krupnik put the paper down and stroked his beard. He stretched his long legs, in their corduroy pants, toward the fire. "Well," he said. "I'm no expert. I teach English, not Psychology. But here's an example: some very neurotic people have a lot of irrational fears. Some are afraid to be in a crowd. Or some are afraid of wideopen spaces. And of course there are your basic claustrophobias: people who can't even get into an elevator because they're afraid of
confined
places. Or—"
    "That's definitely not you, Anastasia," said her mother. "Remember when I lost you at Jordan Marsh, when you were about six? And it turned out you were just riding up and down in the elevator? You hadn't bothered to get off at the fourth floor when I did, because you liked the elevator so much."
    "Yeah, I remember," said Anastasia. "That was fun. You got mad, though."
    "I really don't think you have any neurotic fears, Anastasia," her father continued.
    "Well, I'm scared to death of that old French movie:
Diabolique.
But I don't suppose that would count. Any normal person would be scared of that movie."
    "Even me," said her father. "Hey, it's on TV again, real late on Saturday night. You want to stay up and watch it with me?"
    Anastasia shuddered. "No. Tell me more psychiatric