“ 'You,' he'd say. And then he'd repeat it. “You, you, you.' And then it would start—you were the only one who wasn't doing good. You couldn't control your impulses, you weren't trying—you were acting just like an animal. A dirty, filthy animal—a vermin animal. That was a favorite of his. Vermin animals—in his creepy Inspector Clouseau accent. Vermeen aneemals. Then he'd start calling you other names. Fool, idiot, weakling, moron, savage, excrement. No curse words, just one insult after another, sometimes in French. Saying them so quietly you could barely hear them. But you had to hear them because there was nothing else to hear in that room. Just the wax dripping, sometimes a plumbing pipe would rumble, but mostly it was silent. You had to listen.”

A lost look came into her eyes. She shifted as far from me as the booth would allow. When she spoke again, her voice was even softer, but deeper, almost masculine.

“You are acting like vermin animal, young lady. You are going to live like vermin animal and you will end up dying like vermin animal. And then he'd go into these detailed descriptions of how vermin lived and died and how no one loved them and gave them good love because they didn't deserve it and how the only thing they deserved was bad love and filth and humiliation.”

She reached for her mug. Her hand shook and she braced it with the other one before raising the coffee to her lips.

“He'd keep going like that. Don't ask me how long because I don't know—it felt like years. Chanting. Over and over and over. You will get the bad love, you will get the bad love . . . pain, and suffering and loneliness that would never end—prison, where people will rape you and cut you and tie you up so you can't move. Horrible diseases you will get—he'd go into the symptoms. Talk about the loneliness, how you'd always be alone. Like a corpse left out in the desert to dry. Like a piece of dirt on some cold, distant planet—he was full of analogies, Dr. B. was, playing loneliness like an instrument. Your life will be as empty and dark as this room we are sitting in, young lady. Your entire future will be desolate. No good love from anyone—no good love, just bad love, filth, and degradation. Because that is what bad children deserve. A cold, lonely world for children who act like vermin animals. Then he'd show photos. Dead bodies, concentration camp stuff. This is how you will end up!”

She shifted closer.