DAY ONE, STORY TWO
from THE PENTAMERON; or, THE FIVE DAYS OF FIFTY STORIES, AS TOLD BY A GROUP OF FRIENDS ESCAPING THE COVID PANDEMIC
by Stewart Berg
THE PENTAMERON; or, THE FIVE DAYS OF FIFTY STORIES, AS TOLD BY A GROUP OF FRIENDS ESCAPING THE COVID PANDEMIC is a reworking of the 15th Century work “Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles.” Part romance and part satire of romance, THE PENTAMERON features a group of Puget Sound friends who, spending a week on Lake Chelan, tell stories — all of them true — of the people at home.
To start, it is, I think, a well-known fact that the town of Port Townsend has only lately, by law, admitted the therapist profession within its city limits. Surprisingly, most seem ready to simply list this long-held quirk among all the others of that quirky place, but I can tell you that this is not so. Rather, Port Townsend’s prohibition against mental-health experts resulted from the town’s catastrophic experience with the first therapist who came there to set up shop, a man named Everton Wells, owner and primary practitioner of the Ever Well Offices of Mental Health.
The first folly in the tale—if one seeks to list their number—was made by a few of Port Townsend’s most notable men, each of whom happened to consider himself an enlightened and rather modern man. These men heard of the vast strides being made in the fields of mental health, and they decided to, together, do something for their city. In fact, it was these very men, so the story goes, who first rented the downtown offices that would soon be occupied by the Ever Well enterprise, advertising the space for any mental-health expert on the cheap. Considering the way in which things turned out, it should not be surprising that the identities of these Port Townsend notables have never been revealed, except in the most extinguished rumor.
In any event, these men—whoever they were—found themselves approached by Mr. Wells, and the rest became history, though unwritten. What is certain is that the two sides came to an agreement whereby the therapist and his staff of four fellows would move into the downtown office that was to be prepared for them, from there to service the city and, as they swore, make everyone and everything better.
Well, let us, for the time being, imagine the state of affairs as this team of mental-health experts worked on the city with complete confidence, each practitioner having his fill of patients, all of whom were ready and willing to do as ordered. Again, we do not know who the principal men involved were, but we are assured that they all sent their wives and daughters to the Ever Well offices, trusting to the promises of the profession rather than to their experiences with human nature. To all such fools, I say, this error is common.
To stick to our story, roughly a year into Port Townsend’s experiment with mental health, one of the city’s notable men happened to be walking about town with his wife and oldest daughter when he overheard a conversation between the two that caused his blood to run cold. The family was passing near the Ever Well offices when the soon-to-be-college-graduate said to her mother:
“Mom, do you think we should stop in, since we happen to be here? I am, I admit, behind on my stomatic exercises. What I am assigned seems so much, though.”
“I am behind on mine, too, dear,” the man’s wife replied, “but I do not think that we would have enough time.”
“Doctor Wylie is always quick with me.”
“Still, dear, I think your father is in a hurry.”
At this point, the husband could not help but interrupt.
“Stop a moment,” he said. “Tell me, what are these stomatic exercises? I have not heard of them before.”
“Well,” his wife replied, “they are rather complicated.”
“What is the first step?”
“The first? Well, first, one lies on one’s stomach. That is why they are called stomatic exercises.”
This first answer from his wife made the husband all the more suspicious, and he did, in fact, in these first moments, come very near to guessing at the whole situation.
“What happens during these stomatic exercises?” he asked.
“Really, honey,” his wife replied, “you should know not to ask that. It violates therapist-patient privilege.”
“What is that?”
“Well, you will have to ask Docter Kraft. He’s the one who told me.”
“I wonder what he would tell me.”
“He is a doctor, honey. They can explain anything.”
The husband felt that he needed no more information to have all that was needed, but he could not stop a few more general questions about the treatment that the women of the town were receiving at the hands of the Ever Well practitioners.
“From what I understand,” his wife explained, “the type of therapy they do—the whole practice, I think—is an EVB, which stands for evidence-based theory, that involves EFT, which stands for emotionally focused therapy. It is all very complex, but it has to do with breaking the bounds that bind the transference-countertransference relationship, behind which is found true emotional relation. Docter Wells himself explained it to me, and I remember that he used those terms.”
“So,” the husband asked, “let me see if I understand correctly. You are lying on your stomach, and then, the doctor touches you, in some intimate way?”
“Well, obviously, the full interplay of the matter requires physical contact.”
No more did the husband allow to be said on the matter, and he hurried his family away from the Ever Well offices, despite the protests that his wife and daughter continued to make. Thus, they reached home with all of them in foul moods, the husband because he had learned how he was being deceived, rendered doubly bitter by the fact that he could not yet display his full anger, and the wife and daughter because they felt sufficient explanation had not been given for their so hasty departure.
That night, while lying in bed, the husband thought to further question his wife on the matter, though he resolved to remain indirect, which he was cunning enough to do. In particular, he found way to ask whether the wives and daughters of the town’s other notable men were treated by the practitioners of Ever Well Mental Health in the same way that she and her daughter were treated.
“I believe they are,” his wife replied. “I should hope so, too, considering our family is just as good as any here. I suppose it all depends on what the therapist thinks is best, though.”
Hearing that Port Townsend’s other notable men were deceived as he, the husband soon went to a few of their number, and he revealed to them what he had learned. These, then, in order to be absolutely sure, set a trap for one of the Ever Well practitioners, inviting the man to a private dinner, during which, just before desert, his arms were seized, and things were made ready to put him to an intense interrogation.
No sooner, however, were the questions begun than the therapist, seeing that the tricks of he and his fellows were now seen through, admitted to everything, and he readily told all. Of note, among the tearful confession, were the following words, spoken in reply to the question of whether any of the women were aware of their affairs.
“In truth, sirs,” the confessor swore, “it was different with each. Some, surely, all the while thought us legitimate practitioners of the mental-health arts, likely still doing so now, and they will continue to believe as much. Others, though, were certainly aware of what was going on, and some of them even thought it wise to adopt the guise of unknowing, thusly making the sessions more fun all around. Still, though, there were others who, I tell you, seemed to be the ones doing the seducing.”
With this certainty that they had gained, this small band of Port Townsend’s notable men brought the truth to their body at-large, and one can only imagine what the weekend was like during which the news was slowly and carefully spread throughout the city. Before, however, too much could happen, those particular words from the therapist’s confession were recalled, and the men were confronted with the difficulty that some of their wives and daughters had been truly tricked while some others had, apparently, feigned the same, all the while privy to the treat. At once, argument on this point ensued, each man seeking to reason why his own family was most likely among the most preferred.
In the end, cooler heads prevailed—as always happens, if allowed—and the men were persuaded to consider how impossible would be the actual uncovering of the facts, especially in the light of public criticism, which tends to refract and render sideways all truths, particularly those of a sensitive nature. As such, they settled for quietly running the therapists out of town, and then, without more ado, they set alight the building in which the Ever Well offices were located, ensuring that the whole thing was leveled to the ground, such that it is not now known where precisely the place was located in Port Townsend. Lastly, they saw put into effect that citywide resolution against the entry of any mental-health expert, lest they again experience an epidemic of love affairs in their town, and until very recently, this law was still to be found on the city books.
Pierce: Here, then, is the full story—as far as can be told—of Port Townsend’s first experience with therapists and all the folly that was involved.
Phil: I had heard part of the story before, but I never knew how deep it went.
Chase: Do you mean the depths the therapists attained?
Neil: I had heard of it before, too, but I was not sure whether it was all true.
Pierce: I can assure you that it is. Every word but the names, as they say.
Daisy: As for what may be learned from the error, as President, I ask for input.
Phil: The men erred greatly, of course. I would, however, say that their follies were to such a degree as to not be able to be learned from.
Neil: The lesson, then, I suppose, is to retain sight.
Chase: Or any sense, really.
Daisy: But what about the error of the practitioners in getting caught? There, I would say, is to be found folly, too.
Phil: That is very true.
Pierce: They pushed a good thing too hard, and thus, brought it to pieces.
Neil: They sure did have a good thing going.
Chase: I wonder whether any therapist has ever had better.
Daisy: The women, too, had themselves quite the opportunity. Remember the words of that one practitioner’s confession?
Neil: It is understandable why the men of the town felt they could not move forward with any true investigation.
Chase: They never could have allowed themselves into that situation. Think of what people would say.
Daisy: Let this, then, be the story’s main lesson.
Phil: Agreed. The plummet is best avoided by no more than tiptoeing the abyss.
Daisy: I think that I may have a story suitable enough to follow up Port Townsend’s comedy of errors. I will, therefore, if not stretching my executive prerogative, take the next slot.
Pierce: Please, do.
Chase: By all means.
Mr. Berg grew up split between rural Texas and a Seattle suburb. After graduating from Pacific Lutheran University in 2014, he moved to Austin, where he began publishing his Miscellanea series of eBooks before joining the Press. He lives in Marble Falls, Texas.