by Edward Riche
As you likely know, deer are not precisely pack or herd animals but are social. I would stay as near as possible to Hildy as she was introduced to the new environment and accept that the buck in your park will assert himself as the dominant male.
Obviously our first visit would be on a trial basis, and if Hildy was happy there I would next have to apply for Canadian residency.
I am wondering if such is possible and what would be the requirements of the City of St. John’s for Hildy’s relocation.
Sincerely,
Frank Haldeman, BG (ret.)
Fifty-Four
They would not be like menstrual cramps. Her breasts would get sore — her sisters had bayed complaints when they delivered their brats. Natalie kept checking to see if her nipples were darkening. The time was coming, it was. She would buy one of those home tests at the pharmacy, have it at the ready, and then, once she had the results, make an appointment with Dr. Haroun.
She had tried for years to stop herself thinking of it, of fretting over the prudence of doing it any later in life, of some date beyond which it would be problematic, risky, and then, finally, of having no more eggs.
Every rationalization, every green reason she’d concocted not to was now, suddenly, absurd. Of course one did; it was the most natural thing of all and having only one child was not an affront to the planet. This wasn’t the Anthropocene extinction; this honoured something spiritual.
She never had the response to babies that a woman was supposed to, or at least obliged to. She found them vaguely repellent in being so poorly formed and helpless and mewling. She trusted such could not be the case with her own.
Her sister Martha had been calling over the past few days but Natalie had decided against picking up. There would come a point when one announced it and until then she would not speak with her controlling, judgemental family. Her mind was racing. She would buy a house in St. John’s, perhaps in the Georgestown neighbourhood, but one with a larger yard. The child could not be indoctrinated in the public school system. She would start investigating the options. Home schooling was definitely the way to go but Natalie had problems with some of math’s orthodoxies. Surely, though, there was an alternative math, a natural math. She would not vaccinate; she could not take that risk. And a name . . . a name, a Tuskaweegee name, a fierce Tuskaweegee warrior name. Maybe she would have one of those natural “pond births” everyone was talking about . . . though the water would probably still be very cold in Newfoundland in May.
Owing to circumstances of his career and an unfortunate love life before he met Natalie, fatherhood was a happiness hitherto denied Lloyd. He might be a little old for it but Natalie knew he would be overjoyed when it happened.
Fifty-Five
Patty thought her boss, Joel, suffered from that condition, that high-functioning autism thing. It impaired his ability to communicate. He never made eye contact and could be distracted by something on his computer screen and abruptly ignore you. He sometimes made a noise like a small dog’s bark and always laughed at the wrong part of a funny story. And he was too young, however smart he was, to be anyone’s boss. He knew not enough of life. Joel pretty much ignored Patty, grunted the occasional instruction as he dumped papers on her desk. One day Patty was just as happy for it, the next put off. Joel did not respect his elders. He did not understand boundaries. Patty had seen him reach, without asking, into someone else’s lunch and sample it. He was always curt to the point of rudeness.
“So . . . here it is,” Joel said. Asperger’s, that was the name for his condition, Patty remembered. “Stuff, like some routine office stuff, some filing and stuff like paying the rent, is not getting done. And the packaging of that bid for the St . . . Stat . . . Statoil project was a real m-mess, all the numbers in the index were wrong, there was a page missing.”
Patty’s neck burned. She had forgotten the rent.
“Page 229 was missing. But I talked about this with Paula,” Joel continued, “and it’s, you know, new for you. It’s a new development. So I, and maybe you won’t like this, Paula said you would be angry, but I st-started creeping your computer.”
“You did what?”
“I monitored how you were spending your time on our computer at your d-desk.”
“That’s an invasion of my privacy, Joel.”
“No, I checked with the lawyer, and where it’s our computer, company property under the terms of your contract, we are within our rights. And this is finding a solution, okay. Paula said to ‘find a solution,’ that I am to ‘find solutions,’ and . . . like, you are not being disciplined, you are not being f-fired. But see, and this is recent, you are spending hours, hours every day on the Internet on un-work-related things, Patty. On this Christian thing y-you are into, on getting recipes, on click bait shit.”
“I’m sorry. I guess it’s true.”
“It happens. Porn, all the time. You have to say, ‘I’m not paying you to watch porn.’ The young engineers, guys on work terms, always. It’s a thing. Internet addiction is a thing.”
“I will . . .”
“Something like this happened with my mom. She had a personality change.”
“My personality hasn’t changed, Joel, I . . .”
“No, no, no . . . this was, with my mother, this was a menopause thing. Personality, hormones or something, right.”
Patty contemplated picking something up off Joel’s desk, something hard and sharp, and leaping on him, pummelling him.
“Joel,” she said. “Stop there. I am not menopausal.”
“Whatever, I’m only saying . . .”
“Won’t happen again.”
“Then that is excellent and I will tell Paula that we found a solution.”
“I will do all that is expected of me and more. I’m sorry about having been a little distracted these past few months.”
“Okay, that’s the solution.”
Still burning with embarrassment, Patty sat at her desk and took stock. Joel was correct. She had fallen far behind, and even as she started in on the backlog of work Patty resisted a desire to go online to check the bulletin board on her church’s website, www.cmacan.org, and to look at her Facebook page. She was unable to imagine, without the inspiration of her bookmarked food blogs, what to prepare for supper. Joel was right; it was an addiction.
Patty thought she would get done what had to be done and then reward herself with an hour’s surfing, but this, she realized, was the sort of bargain alcoholics made with themselves. She had a problem. She would pray to God for the strength to fight the Internet.
It was after eight before Patty felt she’d caught up enough to leave the office. She had not called Matt to tell him she would be late because she somehow felt that he shared the blame for her bad day. Even as Patty knew this was not the case she held it like a grudge. At ten to seven Matt called her, but she didn’t pick up and responded, instead, with a text: “wking late eat without me.” Patty didn’t want to talk to him. Would she even tell Matt of her humiliation?
She set the security system alarm and locked the front doors of the offices behind her. The dry cleaners next down had closed at six and shed no light. The one-time convenience store next door was still boarded. One of the things she’d neglected to do was to write the landlord and express concern about the deteriorating condition of that part of the property. Like vermin to garbage the failed business was drawing undesirable elements. Unsavoury characters had been spotted lurking around, whether to buy and sell drugs or sex was unknown. If there was no new occupant soon Joel, Paula, and Feodor, the owners of Atlantech, were going to consider moving.
The sun was below the horizon but still tinting the undersides of low clouds. The street lights had come on.
Walking to her Yaris she noticed another car parked on the lot, an Audi. There seemed, at first, no one inside, but as she got closer Patty could make out a f
orm at the wheel. The Audi was in shade, the windows made reflective by the direction and play of the light, so that only when swept by the headlights of a passing car did Patty get a fleeting glimpse inside. There were branches coming from the beast’s head, and where would have been eyes there were only punctures in pitch. It looked nowhere, said nothing, and still spoke to Patty at her nerves; it coursed through her and filled her throat till she might choke. She struggled to get in her car, her fingers lacking any grip, her arms weak. She felt as though she might faint, only finding her breath as she drove from the lot onto the street. She heard the blare of car horns as she narrowly missed being struck by oncoming traffic and found, stopped at the next light, her face was wet with tears of dismay and shame.
Fifty-Six
Constable Kevin Maher did not see why Chief Cahill thought it should fall to him to clean out Gary Mackenzie’s desk. They’d ridden together a few times but it wasn’t like they were partners. They certainly weren’t friends, despite Kevin’s best efforts. Gary was cold, really, didn’t seem to much like people. Gathering up Mackenzie’s belongings so they could be shipped back to Ontario was a punishment for an infraction he had not committed. It was supposed to be Joanne’s job but she was “too upset” apparently, like she knew the guy any better than anyone else at the cop shop.
There was a coffee mug with an image of a Newfoundland dog, its massive tongue lolling. Did he put that in the banker’s box? Would it have any meaning to Gary’s family up on the mainland? Perhaps it would only remind them of his end. Kevin packed it. He chucked a half bottle of aspirin and a Mars bar. Ring of keys went in the box. There was a glossy brochure for new homes in a gated community — Gran Vista in Embustero, Arizona. Perhaps it was where Gary meant to retire. Kevin was already counting the years until he could return to his hometown of Pacquet. Policing wasn’t what he’d thought it would be. Half of it was social work, in which he had no interest.
There were a number of case files on Gary’s desk. Kevin was to sort and list these for Chief Cahill’s scrutiny.
Fourth in the stack was the file on the gentleman Gary and Kevin had apprehended in Bowring Park. There was an attached psychiatric assessment. Kevin sat down to read it.
Psychiatric Report
Re: DAVENANT, Harry
Identifying Data
Mr. Davenant is a 61-year-old gentleman who lives on 72 Cochrane Street in St. John’s, Newfoundland. Until recently he was employed as a security guard. Patrolling Bowring Park was among his responsibilities. For many years Mr. Davenant was an administrator at the LSPU Theatre in downtown St. John’s and before that a professional actor. He is unmarried and has no children.
Chief Complaint
Mr. Davenant was never forthcoming with information during the examination. The greater part of his personal and medical history had to be gleaned from records.
History of Presenting Illness
Mr. Davenant was brought to Waterford Psychiatric Emergency on July 11, 2013 at 9:15 p.m. after apprehension by police. Mr. Davenant was dwelling in Bowring Park, without shelter, for some weeks and was charged with trespassing. Owing to anecdotal accounts that Mr. Davenant believed he was a deer or other animal and because of his repeated refusals to heed demands that he leave the park after hours the arresting officer judged Mr. Davenant delusional and conveyed him to the psychiatric emergency department.
Though the arresting officer reported Mr. Davenant fled from police he did not resist when finally apprehended, after a lengthy foot chase, in a heavily wooded area near the park’s western boundary.
Owing to many weeks living outdoors Mr. Davenant appeared in poor condition. This proved mostly to do with the state of his clothing. Once he was prevailed upon by the assigned nursing aide to shower and provided with clean clothing Mr. Davenant did not have any signs of exposure to the elements or appear to be malnourished. Medical records indicate that he has lost 16 kilograms body weight since his last routine examination three years ago. At that time he was judged to be overweight with marginal blood sugars and cholesterol.
Review of Systems
He denied having hallucinations. He seemed without obsessions or compulsions. Not unlike many men his age he holds some generalized resentment and even anger with regards to the state of contemporary society. He made disparaging remarks about Newfoundland “Newfie Nignogs” and Canada being “a culture on ice.”
Mr. Davenant denied ever believing he was a deer. He was perplexed by this line of inquiry and began losing patience with the examining physician when it was pursued.
Current Medications
Mr. Davenant was prescribed Lipitor for high cholesterol but ceased taking it sometime in the last three months, complaining that it made his legs stiff and walking difficult.
Psychiatric History
No evidence of psychiatric disorder. No psychiatric hospitalizations. Mr. Davenant complained of mild depression during a routine medical examination in 2008 but declined medication or psychotherapy. Reported at that time family history of depression on father’s side — a beloved uncle, resident in Mr. Davenant’s native England, committed suicide in 1983.
Substance Use History
Medical records indicate some infrequent marijuana use. Family physician suggested Mr. Davenant was occasionally drinking to excess. No indication of chronic alcoholism.
Social and Developmental History
Mr. Davenant appears to have had a rich social network that has unravelled somewhat in recent years, leading to a degree of isolation. Mr. Davenant is homosexual and has on two occasions been in stable long-term relationships. A partner died of AIDS-related illness in 1999. Mr. Davenant has never tested positive for HIV. Mr. Davenant’s last partner died in an automobile accident in 2009. It appears Mr. Davenant has lived alone since.
Both Mr. Davenant’s parents and an older brother are deceased. Mr. Davenant has a younger sister with whom he has had no contact in over 20 years.
With respect to his education, he is a graduate of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in the United Kingdom.
Legal Record
Charge of Disturbing the Peace and Public Mischief stemming from incident at a house party in 1986.
Physical Exam
Mr. Davenant seemed to have some stiffness in the joints (intern mistook as waxy flexibility but this was discounted by the attending psychiatrist) but this diminished over the course of the physical examination. Slight cloudiness in left eye. Old collar-bone break not properly set.
There was some slight bruising on his neck and shoulders.
Recent minor skin abrasions were likely incurred during his pursuit, through heavy brush, by the police.
Mental Status Examination
Overall, Mr. Davenant is a 61-year-old gentleman. As previously noted Mr. Davenant’s clothing was ragged and filthy. Otherwise his hygiene was surprisingly good given his recent living conditions. He was withdrawn and unco-operative at the beginning of the interview, refusing to answer questions. When it was pointed out that his failure to answer questions would certainly result in his being admitted he reluctantly provided answers. He was never fully engaged. He was borderline hostile at the beginning of the interview but became somewhat more co-operative. His mood was depressed. His affect appeared withdrawn at the beginning of the interview. No tearfulness. When compelled to speak Mr. Davenant’s speech rate and volume were below normal limits. His thought process was clear. There were no loose associations, tangential thinking, or thought blocking. No signs of thought disorder.
Psychiatric Impression
Mr. Davenant is depressed and in need of treatment. Mr. Davenant is in good physical condition for a man of his age and profile. His time living out of doors and changes to his diet have resulted in many improvements to his physical condition. Whether such would continue to be the case cannot be ascertained here. Posing no evident danger to himself
or others there is no means of compelling him to seek treatment for his depression or to admit him. Mr. Davenant refused to commit to returning to his home.
The arresting officer’s report that Mr. Davenant was delusional and suffering from lycanthropy is without foundation and likely the result of suggestion.
Mr. Davenant reluctantly accepted the assistance of a social worker. As Mr. Davenant has no family in Newfoundland the caseworker took it upon herself to contact some friends who arranged to meet Mr. Davenant upon discharge. He was discharged with no plan for psychiatric follow up. Without therapy and/or medication to treat his depression and underlying anxiety Mr. Davenant does not have a good prognosis.
Fifty-Seven
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Trust Issues
Nat,
I feel terrible delivering this message via email but I have to assume you are not answering if your caller ID tells you that it’s me calling or something.
Bit of an emergency sitch, so you are going to have to get back to me ASAP. The company has had some serious reversals — catastrophe wouldn’t be an exaggeration. The latest is that both Robbar Industrial and Gattel, the holding company, are going to be put in receivership and that the trust may be responsible for losses.
It’s become clear that the problem is mostly to do with poor business decisions made by Andrew, keeping the plants in Ontario when we should have outsourced, and poor choices on the retail end (this was a family discussion but I can’t recall if it was before or after you went out east). We are all trying not to blame Andrew, as he was Daddy’s choice to manage the companies and it was Daddy’s call to make, but it’s difficult not to think that much of this is Andrew’s fault.
Andrew says that he was lied to by investment bankers in New York, but the people we have looking into it say they didn’t do anything to Andrew that they didn’t do to anyone else. Andrew also appears to have been moving money around between different accounts to cover up some of the losses. I don’t fully understand what he did but we all apparently signed off on it. I never read those documents so I’m as much to blame as anyone. We all probably should have been paying closer attention, especially since we all knew in our heart that Andrew wasn’t up to the task.