ed.

The first thing that struck me was the silence, punctuated by a
revving-thrumming engine now and then: not a twitter, not a hum, not a
human voice. There was no hot water, so I merely washed my armpits, my
face and hands and feet and combed my hair the best I could, which
wasn't much by anyone's standards. I was plunged into the maelstrom
straightaway. My first patients, an elderly couple, their disintegrating
marriage and crumbling health mirrored by the withering of their habitat.

The days passed, consumed by endless processions of juvenile
delinquents, losers, the old, the sickly, the orphaned, the unemployed,
and the abandoned, the detritus of human settlements now made to vanish
at the bottom of a lake. It was a veritable makeshift refugee camp and I
found myself immersed in the woes and complaints of misfits who lost
their sense of community and means of livelihood and sought meaning in
their cruel individual tragedies, but in vain.

On the Tuesday of the second week of what was fast becoming a
surrealistic quagmire, I met Isabel. She was the very last in a long
list of appointments and I kept praying that she would not keep hers, as
many of them were wont to do. But she did and punctually so. I was
struck by her regal bearing, her poise, her coiffed hair, and her
dazzling but tasteful jewelry. Her equine face and aquiline nose meshed
well with just a hint of the oriental slant and cheekbones to render her
exotic.

She sat unbidden and watched me intently, benignly ignoring my
rhetorical question:

"You are Isabel Kidlington, aren't you?"

Of course she was. Three centuries ago, her family established an
eponymous town, now sunken beneath the calm surface of the lake.

Our first meeting ended frostily and unproductively but, in the fullness
of time, as she opened up to me, I found myself looking forward to our
encounters. I always scheduled her last, so that I could exceed the 45
minutes straightjacket of the classic therapy session. She was the first
person in a long time - who am I kidding? the first person ever - who
really listened to what I had to say. She rarely spoke, but, when she
did, it was with the twin authority of age and wisdom. I guess I grew to
love and respect her.

I wasn't sure why Isabel sought my meager services. She possessed enough
common sense and fortitude to put to shame any therapist I knew. She
never asked for my advice or shared her problems with me. She just made
an ap