seeing, sure that the mirror was playing some dreadful trick on her. Inside she was still the pretty little girl adored by her father, still the young college girl standing in a motel room with Ron Peterson and hearing him say,“ My God, Cathy, you’ re the most beautiful thing I’ ve ever seen,” and Bill Fraser holding her in his arms and saying,“ You’ re so beautiful, Catherine,” and Larry saying,“ Stay this beautiful, Cathy, you’ re gorgeous,” and she looked at the figure in the mirror and croaked aloud,“ Who are you?” and the sad, shapeless woman in the mirror began to cry, hopeless, empty tears that coursed down the obscene bloated face. Hours later the doorbell rang. She heard Bill Fraser’ s voice calling,“ Catherine! Catherine, are you there?” And then the bell rang some more, and finally the voice stopped and the ringing stopped and Catherine was left alone with the stranger in the mirror.
At nine o’ clock the following morning, Catherine took a taxi to Patission Street. The doctor’ s name was Nikodes and he was a large, burly man with a white shaggy mane, a wise face with kind eyes, and an easy, informal manner.
A nurse ushered Catherine in to his private office and Doctor Nikodes indicated a chair.“ Sit down, Mrs. Douglas.”
Catherine took a seat, nervous and tense, trying to stop her body from trembling.“ What seems to be your problem?”
She started to answer and then stopped helplessly. Oh, God, she thought, where can I begin?“ I need help,” she said, finally. Her voice was dry and scratchy, and she ached for a drink.
The doctor was leaning back in his chair watching her.“ How old are you?”
“ Twenty-eight.” She watched his face as she said it. He tried to conceal the look of shock, but she caught it and in some perverse way was pleased by it
“ You’ re an American?”“ Yes.”“ Are you living in Athens?” She nodded.“ How long have you lived here?”“ A thousand years. We moved here before the Peloponnesian War.”
The doctor smiled.“ I feel that way sometimes too.” He offered Catherine a cigarette. She reached for it, trying to control the trembling of her fingers. If Doctor Nikodes noticed, he said nothing. He lit it for her.“ What kind of help do you need, Mrs. Douglas?”
Catherine looked at him helplessly.“ I don’ t know,” she whispered.“ I don’ t know.”“ Do you feel ill?”
“ I am ill. I think I must be very ill. I’ ve become so ugly.” She knew she was not crying and yet she felt tears running down her cheeks.