When Carla RETURNED AFTER DROPPING JEFFREY AT home, Jessie was still sequestered with Dr. Samuels. They remained so for almost two hours, which, considering that Samuels had dealt with Jeffrey in a little over half an hour, struck Carla as a source of concern. What could they possibly be talking about for so long? Perhaps Samuels was ascertaining the precise degree to which her mother was psychotic. As the minutes ticked by, she became increasingly agitated. Finally, the door opened and Jessie emerged with Dr. Samuels bending toward her, deeply engrossed in conversation.
“I think the knaidlach recipe is too complicated,” she heard Jessie saying. “Mine is much simpler and, I guarantee, delicious. They’re as light as a feather. Will used to say that his friend Ben Jonson should take a lesson from my knaidlach. You see, he thought Jonson’s plays were too heavy-handed.”
“Sounds like quite a recommendation for your knaidlach,” said Samuels cheerfully, holding a sheet of paper that obviously contained Jessie’s recipe. “I’ve wanted to make them for ages, but that recipe in the Font of Fressing cookbook scared me off. I’ll give it a try and get back to you.”
“Don’t forget to use sea salt,” warned Jessie. “You can get it at Whole Foods.”
“You betcha,” said Samuels. “I’ll follow it to the letter.”
Carla, who had been watching this exchange in a state of wonderment, now intervened—there was no telling how long they might go on the subject of the knaidlach. “Mom, why don’t you look at a few more recipes while I talk to Dr. Samuels,” she said, trying to keep from registering irritation. It had occurred to her that she was spending two hundred dollars an hour for her mother to talk recipes. She then recalled Samuels’s brilliant diagnosis of Jeffrey and relented. Samuels must know what he’s doing.
“You mother’s a charming woman,” he said, once they had seated themselves in his office. “She must have been a great beauty once.”
“She was,” said Carla impatiently. “But that’s hardly the point. She’s suffering from extreme delusions.”
“Well,” said Samuels, “I suppose in a technical sense she is delusory … .”
“In a technical sense? What other sense is there?”
“My dear, there are all sorts of other senses. We don’t want to go about labeling. Labeling is very destructive.”
“For the love of God,” said Carla, “the woman is talking about hanging out with William Shakespeare. I’d say we need to label her something. Nuts might be about right.”
“I hardly think it’s necessary to think like that. Your mother is a delightful woman. She had me on the edge of my chair, I can tell you.”
“What are you saying? You’re not going to do something? Put her on medication? Give her shock treatments? Something?”
“I think it would be a mistake to do anything at this point. She seems to be functioning rather well. She seems happy. She’s a pleasure to talk to. It’s my opinion that you’d do best to leave her alone. Let this thing work itself out. I have a feeling that it will take its course.”
“You think the delusions will pass?”
“I think she’ll move on. And I don’t say that morbidly, though she is seventy-two years old and when you get to that age—and I’m hardly much younger myself, mind you—you think realistically about the end. But she appears to be in excellent health, so that’s not what I mean. I imagine she’ll find something else to occupy her imagination.”
“So you recommend we do nothing?”
“In a word, yes.”
“And when she talks about it?”
“Let her talk.”
“And what should we say? How should we respond?”
“Respond naturally. Maybe ask some questions. Mostly listen. You’d be surprised—you may learn something.”