The distinction between the sexes is significant for Lacan. In The Agency of the Letter in the Unconscious he has two drawings. One is of the word tree over a picture of a tree—the signifier (word) over signified (object). Then there is another drawing, of two identical doors (the signifieds). But over each door is a different word: one says Ladies and the other says Gentlemen.

Lacan explains:

“A train arrives at a station. A little boy and a little girl, brother and sister, are seated in a compartment face to face next to the window through which the buildings along the station platform can be seen passing as the train pulls to a stop. ‘Look,’ says the brother, ‘We’re at Ladies!’ ‘Idiot!’ replies his sister, ‘Can’t you see we’re at Gentlemen?’”

“For these children, Ladies and Gentlemen will henceforth be two countries toward which each of their souls will strive on divergent wings . . .”

758

“I’m sure it’s my error,” Frankburg had said. “I rushed in here. I’m a bit distracted.”

“Why?”

“Oh, big paper to deliver tomorrow, it’s a long story.”

“Are you Dr. Frankburg?”

“Yes, as it happens.”

“You don’t sound like your tape.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Are you unhappy with your paper?”

“No, it’s damn good, it’s just I can’t really read it out loud myself without . . .”

“Without what?”

“I haven’t got the right voice.”

“Sounds all right to me.”

“I need my tape voice, I need the Welshman. As I said, it’s a long story.”

“Right.”

There was a pause.

“Perhaps you could get someone else to read your paper for you?”

That would do him. It was practical and practicable.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Ali Bronski flushed the toilet and Frankburg missed it.

“. . . if you like.”

“Sorry?” said Dr. Frankburg.

“I said I could read it out for you if you like.”

Frankburg cried, “Ha!” popped the lock of his briefcase with sweating hands and slipped the speech under the cubicle wall. As the speech made its journey, it scooped up pubic hairs from twelve different women.

“It’s all typed up and double-spaced,” he said. “Helvetica, very clear font.”

“It’s very neat.”

“Thank you. And thank you for doing this.”

“Not at all. The whole conference is looking forward to it, it would be a shame if it wasn’t heard.”

Oh, too kind, Frankburg had said and they arranged to meet outside.

He’d heard her cubicle unlock and the toilet doors open and close. He’d heard the brief hum of the conference as she exited.

He’d assessed the pitfalls and could see none. There was the longer-term problem of his voice, of course: he couldn’t keep up tonsillitis forever. He and Clara Redlake might get married or something. At some point he’d have to come clean. But that was the future.