April Fool's Day

by Bryce Courtenay

  “Robert insists it’s nothing to worry about, but I don’t believe him. Damon’s completely off the air!” Celeste started to sob. “He thinks that stupid bracelet Robert gave him has magical powers, that it’s some sort of transmitter from the space probe, Gemini, which warns him if the CIA are near!”

  “Celeste! We have to do something. He could hurt himself. He’s going to have a terrible bleed in his hand and foot from the karate chops he inflicted on the front door.”

  “That’s the problem, Bryce, he isn’t having bleeds! He’s been doing that for several days, saying he’s been taught by Bruce Lee, the guy in the Chinese movies, and the amazing thing is he hasn’t had a bleed anywhere since he started to act strangely. If he had a bad bleed maybe he’d come out of it, he’d realise he wasn’t cured!” Now she sobbed openly.

  “Darling, are you sure I couldn’t help? Can’t I speak to him? He looks a mess. How long has he been in those clothes?”

  Celeste controlled her tears, sniffing over the phone, “He won’t wash or change. He says he’s in his fighting clothes, that he must be like this, the dirt is his disguise. They know everything about him and they’d know he’d never be dirty!”

  “There must be something we can do! Call me when he returns home and I’ll come down and bring him up here. Now that I know the full story I’ll try to make some sense out of all of this.”

  “Please, Bryce, can you leave it until Robert and Philip leave?” Celeste begged. “Damon is so proud of having them in his own home and he seems much better when they are around. He loves acting as head of the household. Perhaps you can try to talk to him when they’ve gone?”

  Benita and I tried as little as possible to interfere in Celeste and Damon’s personal lives and I had decided not to mention Damon’s latest problem to Benita, who was out shopping. “Okay, but can you get Robert to ring me at work tomorrow?” I asked.

  Robert and his friend, Philip, were coming to dinner the following evening and I wanted to talk to him before they did so. Robert is Dutch and, while a loving and loyal friend, he is not known for his tact; he might just say something that could alert or upset Benita before I was ready to tell her about Damon. Though tell her what? I wasn’t quite sure.

  I called Brent Waters and was fortunate enough to find him at home. “Brent, sorry to call you at home, mate.” I paused, “It’s about Damon.”

  “No, don’t be silly, I’m glad you called,” Brent said. “You know, don’t you, I’ve already spoken to Celeste?”

  “He’s taken a drug the kids call Ecstasy; it seems to have triggered something.”

  “Bryce, who the hell knows? It could have started the whole thing off, but mania of this sort is also one of the complications of AIDS.”

  “Mania? What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Well, I can’t tell unless I examine him and it’s unlikely he’ll let me do that. You see he feels totally in control. But the symptoms Celeste talks about are fairly typical of hypomania and he’s paranoid as well. Sometimes when people come down from mania, they complain bitterly that life was much more pleasant when they were under its influence. They could be right, of course, but the real problem is the consequences of the mad things they do – extravagant purchases, indiscreet remarks, midnight phone calls – they can do a lot of damage.”

  “Brent, we could even take our chances on that, but he isn’t normal, I mean, a normal person. He’s a haemophiliac, he can’t go around trying to chop doors in half!”

  Brent sighed, “The only way I could treat him against his will is to schedule him and I can’t do that yet.”

  “Schedule? What does that mean?”

  “Admitting him into a psychiatric institution against his will because his judgment is so far gone that he is a danger to himself or someone else.”

  “You mean Celeste? Of course, we’d hate that, but there’s no sign of him being violent. It’s the other thing; he talks about having a cure, being given a cure for AIDS!”

  “Well, it sounds as if his judgment is pretty bad now, but I don’t want to do this thing, Bryce, and I don’t think we have to yet. I don’t think it’s so bad yet that he has to be incarcerated to protect him from himself.”

  “What if he hurts himself, I mean really badly? Are there not private places he can go to, to be looked after?”

  “Bryce, I can’t schedule him yet.” Brent cleared his throat. “We must somehow get him to co-operate. The treatment is dead simple. If it’s what I think it is and I can get him on to a program of Lithium and tranquillisers, he’ll be okay in a matter of days.”

  “Lithium. It will fix him?”

  “With tranquillisers, if we start them now we’ll settle him almost immediately; but he may have to take the Lithium indefinitely or for quite a while anyway to stop the mania coming back.”

  “Would that be bad for him?”

  “Well, normally, no! People who suffer from hypo-mania or severe depression are everywhere – judges, politicians, doctors, accountants. They stay on Lithium and they’re perfectly normal. It’s simple maintenance, a bit like insulin with a diabetic.”

  “I’ll try to persuade him. I’m sure I can get through to him, he’ll listen to me.”

  “I haven’t fully answered your question,” Brent persisted. “Damon is on so many drugs, by adding other fairly strong, mind-altering drugs like Lithium and tranquillisers they may interfere with each other.” He sighed, “But there really isn’t a lot of choice.”

  “He’s always listened to me,” I said, still confident that, when the chips were down, I was the one who would be able to get through to Damon.

  “I hope so,” Brent Waters sounded doubtful, “but don’t bet on it, Bryce. Damon, as you know, won’t take anything when he doesn’t know its side effects. He’s fed up with doctors and medication, besides, he won’t be anxious to alter his present situation. He’s feeling in control for the first time in his life. He isn’t having bleeds, he feels strong, brilliant.”

  “He took Ecstasy!” I protested.

  “It’s not quite the same thing; he probably wouldn’t see a recreational drug in the same light.”

  “Brent, he’s trying to kick doors down with his bare feet! He won’t last long doing that!”

  “Yes, Celeste told me. That’s part of him feeling himself invincible. I doubt whether he’ll do it again to the door. Has he?”

  “Well, no, I don’t think so. But I saw him do it and, by some miracle, he didn’t get a massive bleed. It’s hard to understand; it should have put him in hospital.”

  “Yes, it’s curious, but not uncommon. Hypomania of this kind is something we can treat relatively easily, but that doesn’t mean we understand it all that well, or its effects on the brain. A high threshold for pain is not unusual, though. I’ve never seen it in a haemophiliac before. I don’t know why he didn’t bleed. Some things we just have to accept.”

  “Brent, if, as you say, he’s so happy with this hypomania, what about the CIA? He thinks he’s being followed and he’s obviously scared. He’s becoming obsessed!”

  “Yes, that’s the real worry. It could cause him problems with the people he has to deal with, authorities and the like. He could start calling the police, foreign embassies, the prime minister.”

  “Shit! What will we do?”

  Brent attempted to comfort me again, “They’re pretty used to crank calls; he’s not the only person with hypo-mania or an assortment of other psychiatric problems on the streets. Let’s see how it develops. In the meantime cancel all his credit cards, if he had any, or bank accounts. Is the car or the house in his name?”

  “No, I hadn’t thought to change the car over as I pay the insurance, the petrol. The same with the house.”

  “Well, let’s hope it’s temporary, Bryce, and that he’ll let me examine him soon. I’ve already suggested on the phone to him that he come and see me but, of course, he refused. In his own mind he’s never been better in his life. It’s difficult; we can�
�t force him.”

  “I’ll get him to take the Lithium,” I said, sounding definite again.

  “Yes, well, I wish you would and soon! I’d like to examine him and organise treatment for him as soon as possible.” Brent’s voice took on a tone of urgency, “Try hard. Next week I leave for Canada, and I’ll be away until mid January.”

  I didn’t know how to break the news of Damon’s hypomania to Benita. I felt it might be best to say nothing for the time being. I’m one of those people who believes that when in doubt, say nothing. It’s a philosophy which usually gets me into a lot of trouble with my wife.

  Because Damon, upon arriving at Bondi and the new house, had come out of his depression so well we’d made a point of leaving the two of them largely to themselves. Once a week we’d drop in, or Damon and Celeste would come up for dinner or lunch or simply to see us, just as he’d done the previous day. We told ourselves that they had their own lives to lead and we trusted Celeste to call us if anything was needed or Damon was unwell or she needed help to get him to hospital. She’s a very independently minded young woman and even this she usually managed on her own.

  When Benita arrived home, careful to keep my voice matter-of-fact, I said, “Damon came up. He sends his love.”

  “How is he?” she asked, equally casually.

  “In good spirits; he was on top of the world.”

  It wasn’t a lie and Benita accepted my reply at face value. “That’s nice. David Jones was a horror story, but their Christmas decorations are up and they look nice.”

  I waited another hour or so when we were sitting on the terrace having a cup of tea. With Robert and his friend coming to dinner the next Monday evening, I thought it best to tell her I was just a bit worried about Damon’s general demeanour and had spoken to Brent Waters about him.

  I left out most of what Brent had said to me, saying only that Brent thought he was possibly suffering from a slightly manic condition and that it could be fixed fairly easily with a drug called Lithium.

  Benita is not easily fooled and she became immediately worried, “What do you mean, slightly manic condition?” she demanded. It was a mistake. I secretly backhanded myself. I have learned over the years not to try to explain too much; with Benita it just gets you further into the poo. I feigned annoyance at her over-reaction. “For Christ’s sake, he’s okay! There’s nothing to worry about. Ask Robert when you see him, he’ll tell you.”

  I should have known better than to trust a Dutchman in a matter requiring any sort of subtlety.

  “Benita, it’s just one of those things,” Robert replied when Benita broached the question of Damon’s behaviour.

  I groaned inwardly. Bloody Robert, subtle as a meat axe!

  “What’s just one of those things?” Benita snorted, immediately suspicious. We’d reached the coffee stage of the meal and I’d just poured Robert and Philip a glass of cognac. Between the two of them, they’d already consumed a bottle of Chardonnay followed by a good red, with Benita drinking a single glass from the white wine, not touching the red.

  Robert was very relaxed and he waved his arms in a melodramatic gesture. “There’s nothing wrong with Damon. I mean, my dear, you should see some of them, some of my friends in the States!” He rolled his eyes, and gave a series of Robert bellows which so amused the kids when they were young, a sort of deep nasal snort followed by a loud braying sound you could hear at a hundred feet. “They’ve gone quite loony! It attacks the brain, you know?” He brought the brandy balloon to his lips, his face buried in the interior of the glass as he threw back his head and quaffed. Finally withdrawing the balloon, he added, “Damon’s fine, my dear, there’s nothing wrong with him. If he’s acting a bit weird it’s just the excitement of his new house, that’s all.”

  As usual, Robert had put his bloody, great, Netherlandish foot in it.

  Benita pouted her disapproval, and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before placing it on the table beside her. “Damon doesn’t act weird, Robert!” She rose from the table and shot an angry look at me and in a cold voice announced, “Excuse me, I think I’ll call Celeste.” I knew it was all over. Celeste was no match for Benita.

  I’d called Celeste after I’d spoken to Brent Waters and now I knew, under my wife’s remorseless interrogation, she’d repeat Brent’s comments back to Benita, who’d immediately see it as some sort of conspiracy between us to keep her from knowing about her son. If there was one thing Benita couldn’t abide, it was being kept in the dark about anything. Years of doctors and medical crap had made her particularly wary and sensitive about Damon. Benita retired to the bedroom to phone Celeste. Robert was a sufficiently old friend for me to suggest that he and Philip drink up their brandy fairly hastily, fold up their tents and slip silently into the night, that is, if they didn’t want to share in the wrath which was soon to descend upon me.

  “But he is all right, Bryce,” Robert assured me. Robert, as with so many Dutch people, spoke Australian with only the slightest accent. “The same thing happened to me when I had the operation on my brain. I heard voices and acted in a funny way.” Robert’s eyes opened wide and he shrugged his shoulders. “That was supposed to be AIDS-related.” He shrugged again. “Look at me, Bryce, that was four bloody years ago!”

  “Christ, Robert, the AIDS virus must have had just sufficient time to destroy the part of your brain where you store your bloody tact! I think you two really ought to go.” I could hear Benita from the bedroom, her voice raised, and I could imagine the verbal hiding Celeste was taking.

  The two weeks that followed were hell for us, though not for Damon. While he was becoming more and more convinced that he was being pursued by the CIA for the secret formulae he held for curing AIDS, he now thought of himself as fully in control of this situation. In his mind he had power, enormous power, to defeat his enemies.

  Celeste recalls how he had a fantastic time. “He was paranoid, sure, but at the same time he was elated, high on himself all the time! What’s more he had a task, a duty entrusted to him as a great leader to save mankind, or at least the world’s AIDS sufferers, from being exterminated.”

  According to one of Damon’s main conspiracy theories, it seemed the Americans didn’t want him to give the world this AIDS cure. In fact, they didn’t want a cure at all. It was they who had first isolated the AIDS virus in a laboratory and who were spreading it around the world, first by means of a smallpox vaccination serum they’d developed for Africa and Haiti, then through the blood systems of homosexuals and drug users who shared needles among each other. AIDS was a disease invented by the CIA for its own evil purposes. In Damon’s eyes it was all a giant conspiracy. The CIA wanted to control the world and to do so they needed to first kill off all the people they didn’t want, the “useless people” like the people in Africa and other Third World countries, as well as the blacks and the gays in America.

  “They want to get rid of all of them, Dad!” Damon would look into my eyes pleading to be believed. “I am all that is standing between them. I have the cure!”

  “What about the Russians and Chinese?” I asked cruelly.

  “I suppose they’ll come next. I don’t know,” Damon said earnestly. “I don’t think they’ve got AIDS yet.”

  Celeste told of yet another conspiracy theory he held at the time. The reason Damon believed he had AIDS was because there had been “a scientific experiment” and in Damon’s particular case it had backfired. The experiment was to create a super race of children who would rule the world. He justified this theory to her one morning by saying, “All of our friends are exceptional people, don’t you agree, Celeste?”

  “Well yes, they are exceptional people,” Celeste said, not wishing to cause any fuss.

  “We’re exceptional people, too, aren’t we?” Damon continued.

  “Hmm? We’re all right,” Celeste mumbled.

  “No, we’re not! You know we’re exceptional!” Damon pressed the point then looked up and explained how all of the
m were a part of this experiment, which had backfired, and that he was the weakest link, so he was the one with the haemophilia and now the AIDS. At one point in this discussion he’d leaned closer to Celeste, “You know how you don’t know who your father was? It’s because Bryce is your father, too. Really! We’re brother and sister and I’m the leader of us all!”

  Damon saw himself as the leader of an army, who had people whom he pronounced as his generals. Some of these were Toby, Bardy, Paul, Christopher and Andrew Sully; the neighbour next door, Geoff Pash, was yet another. Celeste laughed, recalling, “I was in there somewhere, too, but I don’t think I got general. Concubine, maybe? Damon always thought it was enough just to be loved by him. To be with him. I mean he had a tremendous ego, one that went way over the top sometimes. But it was one of the things his friends liked about him, he was so confident, so certain and always outrageous.”

  She thought for a moment, “You know, I once mentioned to Toby that Damon had the potential for hypo-mania, I mean, all on his own. He was always so certain and thought out of the square, the things he came up with were so outrageous they’d often shock people who didn’t know him well.”

  Damon’s army was the army of righteousness pitted against the CIA, the dark forces of evil. He had been given the cure for AIDS because he was the one with whom the experiment had backfired. Celeste recalls how he told her that they’d just gone too far with the experiment to create a super race of children, which had resulted in his haemophilia and AIDS. His most superior brain, because of the advanced stage of the experiment, benefited the most. That’s why he’d been given the cure for AIDS. That was also why he’d always been destined to be the leader.

  During this intense period somewhere along the line his hypomania became mania, a rather more serious and intense condition. Damon came up with several other conspiracy theories, all of them bizarre, but some of them quite plausible if you were inclined to believe such things, as many people are.