“Do you still do neurosurgery?”

“No, wrong environment; too many people ‘at it’. And don’t forget—I was forgetting operations.”

“I see. And now?”

“Cosmetic. Face-lifts, breast-remodelling, that sort of thing.”

“Mainly women?”

“Yes. Something happened to me at the clinic.”

“Your clinic?”

“No. The rehab, when I was cleaning out.”

“What happened?”

“I was seduced.”

“I see.”

“It was like when I took that first drink.”

“Tell me about that.”

“The drink? Boring, really: ate a lunch—trifle with booze in it, you see. Got drunk on port straight afterwards. The funny thing was—and this was how they knew at the clinic that I was a natural—when I was in the lavatory throwing up, I was thinking, This is great, now I can start all over again. Genetic, you see.”

“Parents drink?”

“No, nothing serious, but it can skip a generation, I believe. Gran had a bit of a problem.”

“Interesting. Tell me—and this is a purely hypothetical supposition—if you were, say, about to be born—you are a ray of pure spirit, your sex is undetermined, and you have yet to choose a mother to give you physical birth—what kind of woman would you choose?”

The Rose, sensing where this question was leading, yet never one to pass up a debate, said, “She would be dark-haired and mysterious. The sort of woman who ages well. The kind of mother I could go running with.”

“You like athletic women?”

“Yes, but not masculine. I like my women friends feminine.”

“Can you imagine a situation in which you could desire a woman?”

The Rose considered. “If I’m honest . . . It’s best to be honest, isn’t it?”

“Well, you’re paying—you can be what you like.”

“The psychoanalyst smiled. The Rose could see him sitting on R.D. Laing’s magic carpet.

“And with your fees—such as they are.”

“Such as they are. More of a bargain, to be honest.”

The Rose then sensed that Jack was still waiting for an answer to his previous question. “Honestly, I can’t.”

“OK. Let me see. You have no physical deviations—hormonal imbalance, that sort of thing?”

“No.”

“I only ask because, well, obviously you are in good physical shape. Most surgeons are athletes, are they not?”

“The serious ones train as though they are.”

“You see, in the study of embryogenesis—the study of embryonic development . . .” The Rose lifted his chin, indicating he understood. “. . . before the foetus knows whether it is male or female, scientists have discovered that only certain parts of the genes will signal it to become one or the other. What I’m saying is, far back enough down the line . . .”

“. . . the penis is structurally similar to the clitoris,” the Rose offered, finishing the psychiatrist’s sentence.

“No, not similar—the same. Just influenced by different parts of the genes.”

“Does the gene attract the certain parts which influence its development, or do the parts decide?”

“We don’t yet know. But the matter we are speaking of is so fragile—ephemeral, you could say—that it can be influenced by something as intangible as the preoccupations of the mother.