Hadrian's Wall

by Felicia Jensen

  Did the attack of Simon Cridder, as well as my whole stay in South Portland, result from false memories...from an intricate process of defense? But...why does my mind twist things around so much, especially after the things that happened to me during childhood and other trauma that it might be trying to cover up with these supposedly delusional memories?

  “What else?” he asked, his hands resting on the keyboard.

  Conversion and dissociation. Related cases to...hysteria?

  No way, sir, I was not a hysterical girl!

  I think he ignored my indignant exclamation on purpose. He continued saving the addresses of the sites, occasionally explaining one or another topic. At one point he suggested to me that I access them later in order to read them more thoroughly.

  “What’s the thing you most fear today?”

  I looked down at the tabletop and thought for a few minutes before I responded in order to make sure that my answer was totally sincere. This was the moment of truth—to say aloud my greatest fear since childhood. It wouldn’t help at all to conceal my feelings of helplessness now if I really wanted the doctor to help me.

  “I fear being crazy.”

  Dr. Barringer’s eyes narrowed. He pointed to the screen where the image of a winged creature was displayed. The figure bore a great resemblance to that of my hallucination, except for one detail: It was funny! It looked like an owl, very cute, with huge, loving red eyes, while my pet monster was more like a terrifying amalgam of Freddy Krueger and the Creeper.

  The legend below the “owl” says: Sightings of the Mothman in Point Pleasant. It means that other people also had seen flying monsters? Why had I never found any images of it on the Internet? Because you never investigated its background, silly!

  Following my haunted eyes, Dr. Barringer said, “This is the mothman, often seen in the late 1960s before a disaster happens in West Virginia. There were some reports of sightings in other states, even other countries, but never like in West Virginia.

  “Some believe it’s an extraterrestrial creature made of pure energy that watches us and feeds off our vitality. Some believe that it appears to announce the disasters. Some believe it’s a supernatural being that has lived with us since time immemorial. It was never proven whether or not Mothman existed. The fact is that some researchers have tended to agree that there was a kind of hysterical manifestation of hallucinations, dissociative and collective, on the occasion of the sightings in West Virginia.”

  But what does ‘hysterical manifestation of hallucinations’ mean?

  As if he could read the question on my face, the doctor moved the mouse. The underlined link conducted us to other text: (...) Just like psychosis can be induced in healthy individuals subjugated for people who suffer from this disease, external circumstances unrelated to any personal bias or organic, hysteria can also manifest like that. There are many examples of reports of harassment by “forces beyond” or collective possession phenomena that are triggered at the peak of religious rituals. All reports done by apparently normal people. (...)

  Dr. Barringer pointed to screen. “But we have to take into consideration that religious rituals take on a particular meaning in every culture,” he mused. “That particular meaning may influence the forms of registration and classification of phenomena, as well as the intensity of emotional reaction of people about these same phenomena in different societies. Take the ancient peoples,” he said, pointing to a suggestive illustration in black and white which appeared on the screen. “For them, none of this was considered a sign of madness. Their records of events and the measures adopted to deal with them were different from ours. We live in an age of science and technology so that nature’s phenomena are converted to related meanings to our context and, therefore, they are understood differently than our predecessors. However, does that mean that now we have discovered the real truth? Supposedly, we know more than the ancient peoples knew in their time, so how do we explain the happenings in Point Pleasant in the middle of twentieth century?”

  He paused for a moment while clicking on another link. Celtic Legends appeared. “To the Celts, the Goddess mother had many facets and manifestations...in fury, harmony, transformation, abundance, scarcity, maturity, decay, and beauty. That means she represented the power of nature and even the cycle of life. From the dreams that you described, many scenarios and characters fit these legends. In fact, they seem almost a perfect transcript of them...and all are available on the Internet.”

  I stared at him, once again feeling offended. “What are trying to say...that I read about it and my hysterical personality invented situations that didn’t happen so I could monopolize the attention of an entire team of physicians, residents, and nurses? That makes no sense! What about my cracked ribs? What about the USB flashdrive...and my suitcase? How did I know about the department store in South Portland...and Carmen, who works there?”

  I stopped to take breath and calm down before he thought I was having an hysterical fit.

  Dr. Barringer smiled calmly. “But if you believe that you are actually going crazy, the picture that best fits is the same as what you just described...so now what? The downside of all this is that you have fear of going crazy and you can’t trust anyone. The upside of all this: your reasoning remains intact, always weighing the pros and cons of the events. Do you want further proof of your current state of contradiction?”

  “What contradiction?” I asked, confused.

  “You cling to memories that indicate that you were in Portland, but at the same time you’re afraid that they’re signs of madness. The contradiction means that your awareness is working full steam ahead to explain and make coherent the facts that it’s capturing, which is a good sign.” He pointed to the monitor where one more article appeared. “You didn’t lose your reason. Your reasoning continues questioning, doubting...it can stimulate your brain to overcome the trauma and put things in place. Just don’t overload it. Let the all information being accommodated to the previous information that you know and understand. So, your own mind will give you the answers you need, when you are ready to face them.”

  “All this means what? That I have to sit and wait?”

  With one click, the Internet program was shut down and then came the system information. Only when the screen went dark, did the doctor turn to look at me.

  “Do you remember what I asked you at the beginning of the consultation?”

  In doubt, I shook my head.

  “What’s most important to you: finding a comfortable and final truth or knowing what to do with your experiences? Will this quest for your Holy Grail generate deadlocks and fruitless discussions to resolve your case? Hallucination versus social isolation. Neuro-vegetative symptoms versus fear of the unknown. Dissociation versus inferiority complex. What will you do with so many symptoms? Is it more important to you to conceptualize them or fight them?”

  He pointed his finger at me when I opened my mouth to answer.

  “Think before you answer. The diagnosis of your problem—rather than lead you to healing, will it become another type of escape route. It becomes easier when a pathological mindset tells you who you are and how to behave. That’s much easier than facing the unknown.

  Euphemisms and Greek...I was well served.

  “And how can I face what you call ‘symptoms and fears’”?

  He gave a sly grin.

  “The answers to your problems are WITHIN YOU! Think about it.”

  Tell me he didn’t just end the consultation with that damn cliche! I’m not a goddamn Kung Fu Panda!

  “But one thing I can tell you,” he continued. “Escape does not seem to be the best option. It will only postpone the problem...and the symptoms tend to become increasingly complex and resistant as time passes.

  “Do you believe that my desire to go to South Portland is an escape?”

  “How do I know?” He opened his arms and smiled ruefully. “I only know that if you leave now, you’ll never find out what was com
pelling you.”

  He pointed to the few articles printed and said that the proposed game would have only two rules: READ and ASK. If I accept that we change the dynamics of our consultations, the next session will already be at that pace. In this case, I’d think about the suggested readings. If I didn’t, then the diagnosis couldn’t be worked out as fast as I desired. It was a work of shared authorship.

  That’s cool!

  At each appointment, he would suggest various aspects to assist me in the formulation of my diagnosis, which meant that I would be in control of my treatment and when I would be discharged. If I’d quit the game, the sessions would return to the same protocol he’d planned from the beginning.

  It was like an RPG—a role playing game. Cool! I would appreciate it if I remained here. Clever doctor! Although I harbored an inexplicable affection for him, I was feeling manipulated. If I left Hadrian’s Wall, I would never attain a satisfactory conclusion of treatment—at least not with this doctor and not with what I wanted most— concrete answers. The worst part was that I could not trust another doctor. Another doctor would probably send me straight to the nut house, especially if he knew even half of what I’d told Dr. Barringer.

  “A great step forward for you!” he said.

  “What?” I asked, distracted.

  “Now, you’re free to walk without the assistance of the nurse. Enjoy your freedom.”

  Why I do not feel free?

  After inserting the articles into a large manila envelope, he stood up, walked to the coffee table, and poured himself a cup of coffee from the red insulated thermos. The session was finished.

  “Oh, before I forget...” he said, turning to face me. “Ian wants to talk to you. He’s in the clinic now.”

  7

  VAMPIRES DANCE

  I walked slowly to the location indicated by the head nurse. Dr. Talbott was sitting at the desk, making notes. As always, his face was a study in total concentration. Funny, to me he looked too young for this practice, as well as Dr. Barringer, but unlike my psychiatrist, Talbott behaved like an old doctor—always so formal, so serious, often causing me to wonder if he was even from this century.

  The patient whom he was attending had just stood up to leave. The doctor gave him some additional instructions. “If the headache persists or if you have vision problems, let me know immediately.”

  He turned to the door and upon seeing me there, tensed up, as if it were possible to stay more rigid than he does. After a half second of hesitation, he motioned for me to come in and sit down. He went to the cabinet and pulled out some x-ray films that I assumed were mine.

  My assumption was correct. He began to explain his conclusions about my case and all that I could expect if I had a serious problem. But it wasn’t because my test results yielded very good news—there was nothing wrong with my head.

  Then I told him about the memories that surfaced during yesterday’s crisis. Naturally I omitted the parts that could be considered incredible, which was almost everything.

  When I finished, he stared at me for a long moment before turning his eyes calmly to my file.

  “I have no doubt that you suffered some kind of accident, Miss. Baker. The consequences are quite visible in your x-ray films—broken ribs, a concussion from the bump on the head.”

  The phrase “suffered some kind of accident” obviously meant that he didn’t believe that I’d been in South Portland because I was found, unconscious, in the Mountain of Polish Man. Thankfully, at least he recognized the “physical evidence.” What he did not say was that he assumed I’d invented my amnesia! If not for my injuries, he would not have even considered the possibility that I’d lost myself in the woods.

  “Carmen, Bob, Linda Jones, Simon Cridder...” he was saying. “You mentioned these names. It’s possible that you know them...just like you may have read or heard about them.”

  If he doubts that I met these people, these common people. I wonder what he’d say about the giant panther...if I talked about it...which I definitely did not.

  “The question is... do these people know you?” he inquired. “Your mind may have created an alternate reality, but that doesn’t mean the true memories won’t come back someday.”

  True memories?

  “Someday?” My voice rose an octave. “That sounds so vague...”

  “Well, I don’t think it will take so much. All you need is rest. Find an activity that gives you pleasure and makes you feel accomplished. You must have a hobby, right? I suggest you spend more time with it.”

  He set aside the films and test results, then went on to say words of encouragement—how I’m a very smart girl...too mature for my age; how I would know to take advantage of the sessions with Dr. Barringer. In the end, Dr. Talbott emphasized that in case of doubt, I should not hesitate to look to him.

  “Now you’re ready to leave the hospital. Dr. Endfield and Dr. Way agree with me. Later, they will advise you about what you can or cannot do, given your physical condition and what you should do to take care of your ribs and guard against a possible relapse of your lungs. Summer will soon be over and temperatures will begin to decline dramatically. Cold weather can cause serious problems in your case.” He inserted the x-ray films into a large file folder. “That’s it, Miss. Baker. We’re discharging to you, but advise you not to neglect the psychiatric treatment.”

  That meant the consultation was over...and apparently my stay in Caledonia as well. I should have been happy, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to leave there without refuting the facts that he’d stated.

  “I was in South Portland, Doctor. I’m sure about that. I lost my memory there.”

  Dr. Talbott blinked, his face showing that he didn’t want to prolong the interview; but with forced patience, he shook his head. “You were found in the Mountains of Polish Man, which is a dense forest in a sparsely populated area in northern Maine. There’s no way you could have made it all the way from South Portland alone. You had to have had help from someone, but who would do such a thing? Why?”

  Well, it was just what I was wondering. Memory of cold hands and a fast car suddenly assailed me. I sensed the coup de grâce approaching before he opened his mouth.

  “We found your name on the Polish Man Springs Resort’s register.”

  * * *

  I collapsed on the bed, clutching the envelope that the psychiatrist had given me.

  Take the picture, girl. The neurologist was thinking that I should treat my madness. On the other hand, the psychiatrist was thinking I should decide whether or not I was crazy. I was thinking that those two would drive me crazy.

  So someone investigated my stay at the Polish Man Springs Resort—but who? The Hadrian’s Wall police? I didn’t know the town even had a police department.

  Dr. Talbott said that my name appeared on the register of the resort. That meant I really was a crazy enough to be institutionalized. It was the only logical explanation. Had I invented being an orphan too? Did I have loving parents somewhere in the country, desperately looking for me?

  Of course not! It would be so good if it was true, but I knew I couldn’t have invented so much. One thing was clear: if I didn’t invent this, they did...but why? Is Hadrian’s Wall really Stepford of The Stepford Wives? I shook my head, laughing at my own black humor. I was woolgathering again. I stared at the envelope. There was only one way to know what was real and what was not. After fifteen days of following the same routine—room consultations, consultations for sunbathing, and back to my room. Finally, I’d been discharged. Now I was free to do whatever I wanted, including returning to South Portland and checking the truth of my memories with my own eyes. Until then, I decided that it would be interesting to play the game proposed by Dr. Barringer, so I turned on the computer and opened the envelope.

  I quickly read the addresses of the websites mentioned by the psychiatrist. They filled just a single sheet. Fine! So it would be easier for me to handle the reference works from the bibliographies
, while trying to locate the texts directly on the Internet. At one point, I had entered several addresses, but their content wasn’t what I was looking for, so with the help of links, I navigated a little further. I was looking at Celtic deities when something stopped me. The terrible yellow eyes...

  In the illustration captioned “Messengers of Darkness,” dark gods stared at the people who dedicated offerings to them, as if they would devour them. About the illustration style, I realized that it was a Renaissance work. The painter had managed to successfully convey the effect that those yellow eyes should cause—I almost felt myself attached to them, like what happened when I really was hallucinating.

  There were pictures on the subject...pages and more pages. Each one was accompanied by a legend that explained its contents and also a short summary.

  “Goddess Macha is the queen of life and death, symbolized by the crow (...) After the battles, the Irish people cut off the heads of enemies and offered them to the goddess, (...) a ritual known as the ‘harvest of Macha.’”

  I shuddered just looking at all those heads impaled on spears, the blood dripping down, staining the ground beneath them. That scene was strangely familiar to me. “Scath is the guardian of the spiritual underworld and herald of destruction (...) a warrior who taught the soldiers to fight. They would only be able to serve in battle after winning the hard evidence prepared by the goddess.” (...)

  “A fearless and wild Epona was known as the goddess of horses (...) It seems that the goddesses were very involved in the fighting.” (...)

  “The obscure powers of witchcraft were strongholds of Math and also of Merlin, the latter revered as druid mor of the Welsh people and even as a god.” (...) Hey, this guy was the same bearded old man...the magus of the English legend? I’d once read something about Excalibur. My earlier Internet research said that King Arthur actually existed. Did Merlin too? And what’s to be said about the Knights of the Round Table?