On Wednesdays Lina didn’t see patients.
That day was reserved for the university, colleagues, conferences, and everything that, according to the department head, “helps maintain professional standards.”
Lina increasingly thought that professional standards and a living human being rarely fit in the same room.
The lecture hall was full of people.
Young psychologists.
PhD students.
A few lecturers.
At the front stood Professor Adomas.
One of the country’s most famous psychotherapists.
He was invited onto television.
His books were reprinted every few years.
He spoke fluently.
Without pausing.
– As Jung said…
A minute later:
– As Frankl claimed…
A few more minutes:
– Rogers notes here that…
Lina wrote down three names.
Then stopped.
The professor never once said the word “person.”
Only “patient.”
“Case.”
“Symptom.”
“Object.”
As the lecture was ending, a young man stood up.
– Professor…
– I’m listening.
– What if a person doesn’t want to be treated?
– In that case, first you need to identify the causes of the resistance.
– No.
The young man thought for a moment.
– I mean…
What if they don’t need to be treated at all?
Silence fell over the hall.
The professor smiled.
– Such cases are very rare.
And he continued the lecture.
Lina glanced at the young man.
He didn’t ask anything else.
After leaving the university, she went to a gallery.
An old friend had invited her to an exhibition opening.
Matas had been painting since their student days.
His earlier paintings used to hold a lot of silence.
Now – a lot of gold color.
Big brushstrokes.
Sharp contrasts.
Paintings like this looked good on social media.
People took photos next to them.
The artist himself was standing by one painting.
– Well? – he asked.
– Congratulations.
– That’s it?
Lina smiled.
– How long did you spend painting this one?
– Three days.
– And the previous series?
– Almost a year.
– Which one did you like more?
Matas didn’t answer.
He just picked up a glass from the table.
– This one’s sold.
– And that one?
– No.
– A shame.
– Why?
She looked at the old painting once more.
It showed a lone tree.
Nothing else.
– That one still had silence in it.
Matas laughed.
– Silence doesn’t pay the bills.
Lina said nothing more.
But on her way out she noticed that all the new paintings looked very much alike.
Only the colors differed.
In the evening she stopped by a small studio in the city center.
A sign hung on the door.
EVENINGS OF INNER FREEDOM.
Laughter drifted out from inside.
A tall man in linen clothes greeted her.
– First time?
– Yes.
– Here, everyone becomes themselves.
Lina nodded.
She sat down in the last row.
The man spoke for almost an hour.
About freedom.
About the ego.
About love.
About how there’s no need to be afraid of being yourself.
People listened, holding their breath.
When the talk ended, everyone crowded around the teacher.
He handed out hugs.
Photos.
Autographs.
When the hall emptied, Lina went out into the courtyard.
There, on the steps, the same man was smoking.
Alone.
Very quickly.
Seeing her, he hid the cigarette.
– Don’t tell the others.
– Why not?
– They expect a different kind of person.
– And you?
He managed a tired smile.
– Sometimes so do I.
It was already getting dark.
One last appointment remained.
A businessman.
He had booked the consultation himself.
He walked into the office energetically.
An expensive watch.
Expensive shoes.
A phone in his hand.
– Sorry.
One second.
He replied to three messages.
Then two more.
Then answered a call.
He talked about a deal.
After five minutes he put the phone down.
– I’m listening.
Lina smiled.
– Why did you come?
– I can’t sleep.
– How long?
– About two years.
– And what happens when you try to rest?
– Nothing.
– How long can you sit doing nothing?
He thought about it.
– I don’t know.
– Let’s try.
She placed a small hourglass on the desk.
– One minute.
Let’s not talk.
He nodded.
Ten seconds passed.
He shifted his leg.
Fifteen passed.
He reached for his phone.
– Not yet.
He put it down.
After twenty-four seconds he asked:
– Much longer?
Lina looked at the hourglass.
– Less than half a minute has passed.
The man laughed.
But the laugh was short.
– Strange.
– What is?
– It feels like…
He searched for the words for a long time.
– Something is chasing me in the silence.
That evening Lina didn’t turn on the lights for a long time.
Her apartment held a pleasant dimness.
She laid four business cards on the table.
The professor’s.
The painter’s.
The teacher’s.
The businessman’s.
All of them were considered authorities in their field.
All of them talked about authenticity.
Each in their own way.
She picked up the first card.
On it was written:
I help people discover themselves.
On the second:
True art changes the world.
The third declared:
Freedom begins within you.
The fourth:
Live by your own rules.
Lina laid the cards side by side.
She looked at them for a long time.
Suddenly she realized that all of their language was almost identical.
Only the professions differed.
She opened the black notebook.
This time she didn’t write about dreams.
At the top she wrote a single word.
Imitation.
For a long while nothing followed beneath it.
Only after a few minutes did a sentence appear.
The more a person talks about who they are, the less I can see who they actually are.
She set down the pen.
She wanted to close the notebook.
But stopped.
For the first time that day, an unpleasant thought arose.
If all these people wear masks…
Then how many does she herself wear?
Lina slowly raised her eyes.
Across from her, in the dark glass of the window, her face was reflected.
She looked at herself for a while.
Then, almost without meaning to, she asked:
– And you?
The glass stayed silent.
And that silence was far heavier than any answer.