He feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turns to see Nathan standing there. They shake hands.

Interesting class, the boy says. I enjoyed it. You probably don’t see it this way, but I believe you are doing sacred work in there.

The psychologist smiles: How did it . . . has your dilemma resolved itself? If I may ask.

Nathan’s eyes light up. Ah, yes—he inches closer and leans into the psychologist’s ear to overcome the loud music—I told my brother to wait. I begged him, but he didn’t listen. He told Mom.

The psychologist nods: And her reaction?

You won’t believe it, he says, running his hand over his tie. She said that she knew all along, that she just was waiting for him to accept it himself. Would you believe it?

The psychologist nods: Yes, I think I would. And then he turns and walks out into the warm night.

In his car on the way back to town a warm exhaustion spreads inside the psychologist’s body. He yields to the old engine’s soft hum. Gradually his fatigue overcomes him and his eyelids droop. He stops at a small gas station, slips out of his seat, stretches and walks into the store that is bathed in white light. A young woman sits behind the counter; her face is solemn and her hair is held back in a ponytail. On her right shoulder he sees a colorful tattoo of a bare-breasted sea nymph with some letters etched over her head. The psychologist walks around the store. He pours himself a cup of black coffee and takes a bar of dark chocolate. He approaches the counter, hugging the coffee cup with both his hands, sipping carefully.

Good evening, he says.

She rises from her chair slowly, puts aside a glossy tabloid.

That’s it? she asks.

That’s it, he says, digging into his pocket and pouring a pile of coins on the counter.

She turns lazily to fiddle with the cash register.

Long day? he asks.

I work the night shift, she says. I just started.

He nods: How do you stay awake?

Customers come in, they wake me up.

He leans over and looks at her tattoo. He points and reads aloud the words above it: No Fear.

No fear, he mumbles softly.

A gift from my boyfriend, she says.

Wedding plans? he asks.

She shakes her head: He left.

And the tattoo? He motions to her shoulder.

What about it? she says.

Doesn’t it remind you of the bastard?

She is silent for a moment, and then she shakes her head again: It reminds me of myself, in love.

Of course, he says, his soul suddenly ascending toward her, of course. Good night.