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Have you seen the movie Black Cat, White Cat?" asks Victor. "I'm afraid I haven't," responds Dr Prince. What do I do now? If I tell him about the movie, it will be another fifteen minutes at least, and I'm supposed to pay for all this. Victor has apprehensions about psychiatrists--making money out of people's confusion and spiritual misery. He feels a wave of desperation in his chest.
"Is it important?" asks the doctor.
Victor remains silent for a while, and Dr Prince respects what he assesses to be Victor's need to collect his thoughts. I'm paying even for the silence, damn it! I'll never get anything out of this, except for an outrageous bill to add to my disturbance.
"Sorry," says Victor, "I don't think this is going to work. I'm getting really nervous about that clock ticking away. It's not my fault that you haven't seen Kusturica's Black Cat, White Cat. Why should I spend these very expensive minutes filling you in on a masterpiece of contemporary cinema which any cultured person in this city ought to be familiar with?"
"You are right, Victor. And I do feel guilty for not having seen Black Cat, White Cat--it was on here for six weeks. Why don't you tell me about it, and I won't charge you for the time. I'll consider it a personal favour."
"All right," says Victor, an incredulous smile blossoming on his face.
Dr Prince gets up from his armchair and walks to the far end of the room, where Victor notices a space, somewhat like an improvised stage, with four spotlights hanging from the ceiling and a set of drums in the middle. Prince's idea of relaxation: expensive and slightly infantile, like everything else in this practice ... He imagines the doctor playing his drums in the middle of the night, to chase away the demons of his unfortunate patients. Behind the drums, on his high-tech sound system, Dr Prince puts on a compact disc of Goran Bregovic.
Source: HighBeam Research, Love is a Trabant. (Story).(Short Story)