The Flex of the Thumb

by James Bennett

  Chapter Five

  It was two weeks later when Vano’s father came to get him. Vernon eased the Town Car to a halt directly in front of the dorm, in the red zone, got out of the car, and went straight inside. Mrs. Kuetemeyer, the R.A., badgered him all the way to the elevator about the parking violation, but he simply brushed her aside.

  Vano wasn’t in his room, but Vernon found him in the lounge. He came right to the point, and not gently: “Get your things packed; you’re coming home for a while.”

  Since he was deep in, and since he wasn’t expecting his father anyway, Vano had no response forthcoming.

  “I said get your things packed. You’re coming home for a while until we can get some of this stuff sorted out.” Without waiting for a response, Vernon left to wait in the car.

  Vano felt a perplexity which triggered a short-term flickering. He went to his room to begin packing his suitcase. Robin Snook wasn’t there, but Arnold Beeker was. He asked Vano what he was doing.

  “I’m packing my things. My father is outside in the car. He says he’s taking me home for a few days.”

  “But why?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Vano, after an extended delay. He was finished packing his clothes, and beginning to sort bathroom items. He made sure to pack Kon-Tiki and In My Own Way.

  Arnold followed him down the stairs. “How long will you be gone?”

  Vano’s answer followed a five-second delay. “It’s hard to say. Sometimes my father is unpredictable.”

  When they reached the lobby Arnold told him, “Mary Thorne was here earlier. She said she wanted to see you.”

  “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “She said she had a lot of heat. What did she mean?”

  Vano smiled before he answered, “I think it’s mostly a matter of hormones.”

  “I don’t know much about women,” Arnold admitted, “But she sure is good looking. I hope you’ll be coming back soon.”

  Vano’s father was behind the wheel, revving the engine impatiently. Vano loaded his suitcase into the trunk. He smiled before he said to Arnold, “Don’t feel bad. This may seem like a major problem but it really can’t be; space and time are vast.”

  “You’re doing it again, Vano.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything, though. Sometimes it feels like the words are just passing through me.”

  “But passing from where? From the particle people?”

  At this point Vano’s father began honking the horn. The honking intensified Vano’s hooommm before he was finally able to say, “I can’t be sure.” He got into the car and away they went. Vano watched his dorm recede in the passenger’s side mirror. From three blocks away, he could still see Arnold waving.

  On the drive home, Vano’s father attempted to make conversation. He said, “Don’t think I’m in the dark about what’s been going on. I know all about your campus misadventures.”

  So deep was Vano’s hooommm there was no response which he felt he needed to make.

  “I knew it was a mistake to send you off on your own to college. I warned you it was like sending out a sheep to try its luck among the wolves.”

  Vano said, “I’m trying to remember. I think you said it was like sending a lamb into a lion’s den.”

  “I suppose you think that’s a clever comeback.”

  “I’m not very good at clever comebacks. I’m trying to remember.”

  “Coach Radulski calls me at least twice a week. He’s at the end of his rope.”

  The reply was, “I think the coach is very frustrated.”

  “Wouldn’t you be? According to him, you’ve been sitting around like a zombie, staring into space and telling gooneybird stories about freaking aliens. Is that about it?”

  Vano had to think. “I enjoy basking with Professor Meel. He’s very unattached. He seems to appreciate hearing about the particle people and their perspective on the human condition. I also shared the experience with Arnold, my roommate.”

  “What does he think of your gibberish?”

  “Arnold is very fond of the things I share with him.”

  “In other words, just what you don’t need. Particle people from outer space. Jesus H. Christ!”

  After a brief lull, Vano made the observation that “Arnold is very nice. I enjoy having him for a roommate. Robin Snook is my other roommate. He’s a football star.”

  “It sounds like he’s the one you need to be spending your time with.”

  “I enjoy the time I spend with Robin.”

  This exchange was taxing to Vernon Lucas in the extreme. He asked, “What about that chaplain? Can’t he help you over some of the rough spots?”

  He meant Chaplain Johansen. Vano said pleasantly, “There are no rough spots. There are only smooth spots.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean, not that I really want to know?”

  “Rough spots are our own making,” Vano explained. “According to the particle people, we don’t experience enough of the spectrum. If we learned to live beyond the ego mode, we would not experience the rough spots; we would be blended with the electromagnetic spectrum.”

  “If you think I’m going to listen to a bunch of bullshit about blended Martians, you have another think coming.”

  Vano smiled the smile. He found it encouraging that the hooommm was firm and comfortable, even in the face of his father’s considerable contempt. He decided to change the subject so he said, “I have a girlfriend. We haven’t actually had a date yet, but we may have one sometime soon.”

  “What about Ann-Marie? Have you forgotten about her so soon? She could keep you warm on those long winter nights. I’d like to know why I didn’t save myself all this grief by having you committed back in August.”

  There was no insight Vano could provide in connection with this speculation. Instead, he said, “Actually, I might have two girlfriends, Mary and Rita. Rita isn’t as good-looking as Mary, and I’m not sure how stable she is, but I think she has a lot of money.”

  “A lot of money. You could have had enough money to buy Palm Springs. In any case, I don’t intend to encourage your fantasy life.”

  “Mary Thorne has a very exceptional body,” Vano declared.

  “Never mind that, pay attention. When we have dinner, I don’t want you to upset Sister Cecilia with a lot of off-the-wall blabber. She’s fixing meat loaf, and she’s gone to a lot of trouble.”

  “Meat loaf is one of my favorites,” said Vano. The conversation concluded, he opened Kon-Tiki to chapter nine.

  For dinner, Sister Cecilia served not only the meat loaf, but also mashed potatoes and gravy, garden peas with miniature onions, and frozen whipped salad. Sister asked Vano how he was enjoying college life.

  “It’s real nice,” Vano told her.

  Then she asked him about Professor Meel.

  “I enjoy basking with him.”

  Hearing this, Vano’s father stuck an index finger into each of his ears. Neither Sister nor Vano noticed. Sister asked if his college experience might be more rewarding if he worked on his homework or developed his social life or got involved in some extracurricular activities. The thrust of this inquiry was a clear indication of the coaching Vernon had given her.

  Even so, Vano replied, “The ego mode prevents us from experiencing states of being. We are preoccupied with doing and achieving.”

  “Vano, I’ve never heard you talk this way before.”

  With his fingers still in his ears, Vano’s father complained in a loud voice, “Sister, why is it that my hearing is so good? A man my age should be at least partially deaf.”

  Sister asked Vano, “Have you taken any of this to the Lord in prayer?”

  “Any of what?”

  The question caught Sister off guard; it was beyond the sphere of any coaching Vernon had provided her. “Any of anything that might be a problem,” she mumbled.

  Vano was lodged deep in. His standard delay preceded his answer. “Our conventional picture of God is only a
n ego-mode necessity. In reality, there is just the universe expanding and contracting. There are the waves, and there are the particles.”

  “The way you’re talking, Vano. Is it really you?”

  He said, “It wouldn’t give me any pleasure to hurt your feelings. I hope I’m not being impolite.”

  “You’re not being impolite, but there’s no need for blasphemy.”

  By this time, Vano’s father was pacing the room. He had a throw pillow pressed against each ear. “I’m hearing everything he says! It’s a curse! If I’m 72 years old, why is my hearing so good?”

  Sister Cecilia reminded him, “Actually, you’re 73.”

  “My point exactly! If I’m losing my memory, then why can’t I lose some of my hearing?”

  Deciding it would be a good idea to drop the discussion entirely, Vano receded into an even deeper zone.

  His father was still pacing, though. Finally, he flung away both pillows while announcing: “This is the last straw. How was he ever accepted by a college anyway? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m going to do what I should have done back in August: I’m having this kid committed.”

  Sister Cecilia burst into tears before she fled from the room.

  During his first few days at The Arbors, Vano spent most of his time taking tests. Dr. Hicks, an ascetic-looking, hawkish man with perpetual five-o-clock shadow, administered most of Vano’s tests and conducted the physiological examinations.

  Vano underwent a sophisticated procedure known as magnetic resonance imaging, which placed him in a cocoon-like tube for almost an hour. There was no pain, but the MRI machine produced a constant racket which sounded like pneumatic hammers. When Vano was finished with the procedure, Dr. Hicks asked him if he was okay.

  “I’m fine,” answered Vano.

  “The MRI procedure makes some people feel a little claustrophobic,” said Dr. Hicks.

  After his brief delay Vano said, “It was real nice. I was deep in.”

  “You can save your hallucinations for another time,” instructed Hicks. “Eventually, you’ll get your chance for all that.” Then Dr. Hicks made some notes on his clipboard, opened wide, and sprayed his tongue twice with a Binaca atomizer.

  The following day, Dr. Hicks asked Vano to jump up and down, hop on one foot, and touch his nose with his eyes closed. Hicks turned the lights off and looked in Vano’s eyes with a tiny flashlight. He held live tuning forks next to Vano’s ears just before he scraped the soles of his bare feet with a cold, sharp metal object. At the conclusion of each procedure, Hicks scrubbed his hands and forearms vigorously with antiseptic soap for 30 seconds.

  When he wasn’t having blood drawn, it seemed like Vano was required to take another written test. Once, when taking the MMPI, he moistened his index finger to turn the page. “Please don’t do that,” objected Dr. Hicks. Producing a can of Lysol disinfectant from his briefcase, he sprayed the test booklet thoroughly.

  For the most part, Vano found The Arbors a pleasant place to be. He had no real desire to be anywhere else. In group therapy, he sat in medium hooommm, listening to the other patients. He spent a good deal of time sitting beneath the huge weeping willow tree on the south lawn, reading by turns from his two books. It wasn’t exactly the same as basking with Oboe Meel, but it was comparable.

  The day Vano was first asked to speak in group about hooommm was the day Herne Hill was admitted. Herne made a forceful first impression. He was a very large, thick man of 40 years, with a massive, unruly shock of hair like steel wool, and a beard to match. He wore a black leather fleece-lined vest, but no shirt. On his chest was a large tattoo of a pair of green dragons with wings and a message that read: Live to Ride, Ride to Live. He wore black leather trousers. His large, bronze belt buckle had these words in high relief: Harley Fuckin Davidson. On his feet were engineer boots festooned with straps and silver loops.

  Herne Hill also carried a shiny brass French horn, clamped firmly under his right arm.

  Mrs. Applewhite asked, “Do you mean to say that this man is going to be a member of our group?”

  Dr. Burgemeister looked Hill over from top to bottom. “How did you get this way?” he asked.

  Hill did not find this to be an impertient question. He explained by saying, “When I was growing up down in Long Beach, my daddy was a biker in a gang that went around terrorizing small towns in the desert. Then when I was still a prepubescent, he got a new old lady, this flower chick who was into granny dresses and throwing red paint onto women wearing fur coats.”

  He paused long enough to take a Twinkie package from his pants pocket. He concluded by saying, “I had to grow up under the influence of this parental dichotomy.” Unwrapping the package, he shoved one of the Twinkies whole into his mouth.

  One of the patients, Baker, told Herne Hill that he too had grown up in Orange County. This information pleased Herne. He and Baker exchanged a bro handshake and a high five. Dr. Hicks asked, “What’s the French horn for?”

  “I’ll show you,” said Hill. He put the instrument to his mouth and began playing in round tones the famous part of the Blue Danube Waltz.

  When he was finished with the piece, Mrs. Applewhite said, “Oh my! Is he going to be in our group for very long?”

  In response to her question, Herne played one more selection, the famous part of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. Upon its conclusion, Dr. Hicks said, “That’s very nice, Mr. Hill, but what is it for?”

  “Didn’t I just show you? I like to play the horn, Man.”

  Dr. Burgemeister interrupted to suggest, “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Hill?” Dr. Burgemeister was a grandfatherly man with tufts of white hair forming bushy crescents above his ears. The other two staff members, Dr. Hicks and Nurse Cubbage, were seated on either side of him. Nurse Cubbage was a stout woman of middle age who wore a no-nonsense look.

  Burgemeister explained, “Mr. Hill, the young man seated next to you is Vano. When you arrived, he was beginning to tell us about hoom. Please feel free to contribute in any way you can.”

  “What is hoom?” inquired Herne Hill.

  But before there was opportunity to answer, a patient named Gayle stood straight up out of her chair and complained in a loud voice, “I’m not sitting next to him! He’s playing with himself again!”

  “Calm down,” said Dr. Hicks.

  “John is playing pocket pool again and I’m not sitting next to him!”

  “Do you suppose anyone else wants to sit by him?”

  “I said pocket pool! Don’t you get it, it’s pocket pool! I ain’t sitting next to him!”

  Herne Hill spoke up: “Here’s an empty chair next to mine. Bring the little bugger on over.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hell, yes. I enjoy a little ball and chain as much as the next guy.”

  “Thank you for helping with the seating problem,” said Dr. Hicks to Hill. “But we can do nicely without the sophomoric humor.”

  Hill didn’t speak, but raised the French horn to his mouth. He blew a fortissimo F sharp.

  “We can do without that, as well.” said Hicks.

  Gayle took John by the arm. She pulled him to his feet, led him to the empty seat beside Herne Hill, and sat him down. John was utterly compliant. Tall and thin, with a chop job of unruly brown hair, he was deaf and without speech. His right eye, a wholesale cataract, looked like a cloudy globe of eggwhite; no pupil or iris was discernible. His left eye was a partial cataract. The staff assumed he had some light and shade vision in it. John sat down beside Herne Hill, resumed his pocket pool, and said, “Lllllll.”

  “Now then,” said Dr. Hicks. “If everyone is quite comfortable, maybe we can get something accomplished.”

  Dr. Burgemeister accepted the cue. He turned to Vano Lucas once again and said, “Vano, we’d like to hear about hoom.”

  On Vano’s face was the pleasant, bland smile. It was some moments before he readied his reply: “It’s not hoom, it’s hooommm.”

  “Whatever,�
� said Dr. Hicks, annoyed. “Why does it take you so long to answer questions?”

  After five seconds Vano said, “I’m in hooommm. When I’m in deep it takes time for questions and answers to get processed. There’s nothing wrong with the answers, but it takes time.”

  “We’d like to know what hoom is,” said Dr. Burgemeister.

  “Hooommm.” Vano corrected him.

  “Whatever,” said Hicks again. “Do you intend to tell us, or shall we just play 20 questions?”

  Vano maintained the smile. After five seconds he said, “Hooommm is a state of mind. It’s a mental zone. It can be a transcendent zone. It is something like hypnosis or going numb; it is something like a trance. It is like all those things, but also different from each one of them. Hooommm is a mental zone unlike any other experience.”

  “But what does it mean?” insisted Hicks. “And can you please speed up with the answers?”

  It took a while, but then, “I’m not sure if it has a meaning. Looking for meaning may be the flaw. It’s more a state of being. Sometimes in hooommm, the sky gets orange. Sometimes there is vibration and resonance like a baritone singing voice in a shower stall made of fiberglass. It’s because of the resonance I named it hooommm.”

  “Did you say the sky gets orange?” Dr. Burgemeister inquired.

  “Not the whole sky, usually just the rim of the sky. It’s like a bright orange sunset on the horizon, only all the horizons are orange at the same time, in all directions. Sometimes the sky gets a heavy texture, like it’s made of lava.”

  “I see,” said Burgemeister. “Can you remember the first time you went into, uh, the first time it happened to you?”

  Vano said, “I can remember vividly the first time I went into deep hooommm. If you want, I could tell you about it.”

  “Deep hoom?”

  Vano could see no further need to correct pronunciation. “The first time I ever went in deep was only a few weeks ago. Before that, I was just in shallow. There were times last spring when I had brief periods of vibration, but they were only like forerunners of hooommm. They never developed into an actual zone.”

  Dr. Burgemeister removed his glasses slowly. He began cleaning them with lens cleaner. “Maybe we’d better start at the beginning. Why don’t you tell us something about the forerunners?”