by Gene Brewer
“Rob?”
No response.
“Rob, I want to apologize to you for what I said a couple of sessions ago. I accused your father of attacking you in the bathroom. Now I think it was something else. It may have been an accident. He may have fallen and hit his head. But I don’t think you’d feel all this guilt if that were the case.”
I waited a minute to let this sink in. If he agreed, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Rob, did your father ask you to help him kill himself? I think he did, and you finally agreed. But you were overwhelmed with guilt about this, weren’t you, Rob? Isn’t that why you ran out of the bathroom when it was over?”
There was no indication that he had even heard me.
“Okay. Thank you, Rob. You may go. Prot?”
His head came up.
“All right. I’m putting the white dot back on the wall. Go ahead and hypnotize yourself whenever you’re ready.”
When I turned around, he was already “out.”
“Good. Now I’d like to speak to Robert again. Rob? C’mon out, Rob—I know you’re there.” When nothing happened I repeated almost verbatim the speech I had given a few minutes earlier, ending with the suggestion that he had been talked into helping his father commit suicide. “You had no choice, Rob. Under the circumstances, I would probably have done the same thing. Almost anybody would have.”
Again there wasn’t the slightest acknowledgment.
At this point I decided there was nothing to lose by playing the only card left in the deck. “But he didn’t just ask you to help him die, did he, Rob? In fact, he made you do it, didn’t he? He threatened to tell your mother about Uncle Dave, didn’t he? And if he did that, your Uncle Dave would kill you, isn’t that right?”
The only response was a kind of deep sigh, more like a snore.
“That wasn’t a very nice thing your father did to you, was it, Rob? In fact, you realized he was no better than your uncle. You knew he would take advantage of you at every opportunity. You realized then that your father wasn’t a god, as you had thought. In fact, he was just the opposite. Your father was a piece of shit, wasn’t he, Rob?”
He made another noise, but I didn’t wait for more.
“You hated him, didn’t you, Rob? You hated him with all the passion in your young soul, with all the frustration and disgust you felt for Uncle Dave. You took your frustration and hopelessness out on your father, didn’t you? You grabbed a baseball bat or something, and when he was in the bathtub and couldn’t get away from you, you let him have it, isn’t that right? You killed him, didn’t you? You brought that club down on his head and watched him sink into the water, isn’t that what happened? Isn’t it, Rob? ISN’T IT?”
His head came up and his eyes, like those of some animal in the dark, flashed at me. “You fucking asshole!” he snarled. “You dirty, rotten bastard! You motherfucking son-of-a-bitch! You’re the dumbest, lousiest, shittiest turd in the universe! I loved my father. Can’t you understand that? He was the most wonderful man in the world. That’s why I...”
“What, Rob? What did you do to your father?”
But he had broken down sobbing. At last, at last, at long last, I thought: This is what I’ve been waiting for. “All right, Rob, I understand. Take your time. When you’re—”
“That’s why I tried to do to Daddy what Uncle Dave wanted me to do with him!” He broke down completely. “Oh, God, I can’t stand it!”
With all the strength I could muster I grabbed his shoulders and shook them. “Rob, stay with me for just a minute longer! Are you saying you tried to—”
Still sobbing, he stuttered, “That’s when he took a swing at me. And then he tried to get up. But he slipped and fell and banged his head on the back of the tub. He was dead, I knew it. So I ran away. Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me! I was only trying to make you feel better....” That was the last word he said before his voice trailed off into a long, diminishing wail.
I waited a few minutes, vainly hoping he would get hold of himself, but there wasn’t a movement or a sound. I sank down in my chair. “Thank you, Rob,” I whispered. “Thank you for trusting me, my friend. The worst of it is over. Now you can rest. You can finally rest.... Prot?”
“Hiya, doc. What next?”
“Please unhypnotize— Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For all your help.”
“You’re welcome, doc.” He seemed puzzled. “You said you wanted to talk to me after you spoke with Robert. Was that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Not exactly. I was going to ask you what you know about retrieving someone from the catatonic state. But now I don’t think that will be necessary. I think he’s going to be okay.”
“He told you that?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Well, I’ll hold his seat open a little while longer, just in case he’s changed his mind. You know how these human beings are.” He turned briskly and hurried out the door.
I sat for a long time after he had gone, just staring after him. How lucky I had been to get into medicine, and then psychiatry. How I wish I could thank my father for pushing me into it!
That state of euphoria lasted about ten seconds. Then I remembered we still had a very long way to go to lead Robert out of the maze. And, despite everything we had accomplished, it might never happen. Totally exhausted, I fell asleep in my chair. It was another hour before Betty found me. I had missed an assignment committee meeting in which two more of our patients were judged to be ready for Ward One.
I slept almost the whole weekend, and still felt weak on Monday. Nonetheless I made it to the hospital in time for the regular staff meeting.
The hot topic for discussion this time was Frankie. It appeared that over the last few days she had suddenly rallied, lost all her bitterness toward the human race and become almost cheerful. Everyone looked at me; she was, after all, my patient, and had been for more than two years. I shrugged feebly, murmured something about a virus.
“Sounds like prot’s work,” Thorstein observed. “I wonder how he did it.”
Everyone looked at me again. “I’ll ask him,” was all I could come up with. The refrain was becoming all too familiar.
But I ran into Frankie first. She was in the exercise room doing calisthenics, something I had never seen her engage in, nor any other kind of game or exercise. “How are you feeling?” I asked her inanely.
“Wonderful. Fine fucking day, isn’t it?” She continued the rhythmic, mesmerizing jumping jacks, the blobs of fat slightly out of sync with the rest of her body. One of the cats, who normally would have nothing to do with her, watched her bounce up and down like a ping-pong ball.
“Yes, it is. So—have you been talking to prot?”
“Once or twice.”
“Did he tell you anything that might have cheered you up at all?”
Perspiring and breathing heavily, she switched to a series of squat thrusts. “Now that you mention it, he did.” She farted loudly.
The “two Al’s” happened to come by. “I’d recognize one of your glaciermelters anywhere,” Albert snorted. (This wasn’t such a silly statement, actually. Recent studies have shown that the feces of the mentally ill contain chemicals related to the nature of their illnesses. Shit happens, and it is telling.)
“Could you tell me what it was he said to you, Frankie? Did he give you a ‘task’ or something?”
“That’s affirmative,” she puffed.
“What was it? To start exercising?”
“Egg-zack-a-tickly. He told me to get in shape for a very goddamned long journey.”
I thought: Oh, shit! “Did he say what journey you needed to prepare for?”
She merely looked up toward the sky with a very prot-like grin.
“You want to consider a transfer to Ward One?”
“No, thanks,” she grunted. “Not worth the trouble.”
Session Forty-six
“How’s
the virus?” prot asked me when he came in. I started to say I was feeling better, but quickly realized he might be inquiring about the well-being of the bugs themselves. He downed half-a-dozen pomegranates in about three minutes. After he had finished and settled into his chair, I asked whether he was, in fact, going to take Frankie with him to K-PAX.
“She’s not very happy here, wouldn’t you say, gino?”
“Seemed to be doing all right when I saw her yesterday.”
“That’s because she knows she’ll be getting out of here soon.”
“To K-PAX.”
“Yep. Where none of the terrible things that befell her on EARTH can happen to her.”
“Because there are none of us lowly human beings there, you mean.”
“You said it, I didn’t.”
“But Frankie is human! So is Bess!”
“No they aren’t! That’s why you locked them up here in your jail!”
“They aren’t Homo sapiens?”
“Of course they are. But being ‘human,’ my dear sir, is a state of mind. And a nasty one at that.”
“All right. Who else is on your list?”
“Only ninety-nine other beings, unfortunately.”
“All right, Mr. Spock. I’d like to speak with Robert now.”
“Very well, captain.” His head drooped down slightly. It was a familiar sight.
“Rob? Can we talk?”
He declined the offer.
I was on thin ice again, but I remembered one of our former director Klaus Villers’ maxims: Extraordinary cases require extraordinary measures. “Rob, what do you think of going to K-PAX with prot? Everything would be different there. You could forget the past, get a fresh start. Does that idea appeal to you?”
There was no sign it did.
“I’ll tell you what. Just nod if you’d like to get away from all this. Do you want to go to K-PAX, Rob?”
I watched him closely for any sign of movement. It was barely possible even to tell whether he was breathing.
“Rob, there’s something you may not know. On K-PAX you would be able to see your father again any time you want. Did you know that?”
I thought he jerked his head a little, though it might have been wishful thinking on my part.
“That’s right, Rob, they have a wonderful device there, a computer with all-sense capability. You can roam the fields of your boyhood, wrestle the Hulk, visit with your father before he was injured in the slaughterhouse, play chess or watch the stars with him, whatever you’d like to do. Sound good?”
Was it a hint of a smile I saw, or only my imagination?
“You could talk to your father, tell him how sorry you are, and life would go on as if nothing had happened. Would you like that, Rob? Think about it!”
I literally felt my heart jump as his head slowly began to rise. Slowly, slowly, slowly. Finally, he murmured, “Would Giselle and our son get to go, too? I’d like Dad to meet them.”
I choked back a sob. “That’s up to prot, Rob. Want to speak to him about it?”
He nodded once before his head fell back to his chest. Almost immediately he looked up again. “Was Robert here?”
“You just missed him.”
“I thought I felt some pretty strong vibes.”
“He was right here, prot. But only for a minute or two. See if you can find him, will you? He can’t have gone far.” My eyes were very tired, and I closed them for a moment. The next thing I knew I was alone; both prot and Robert were gone.
Giselle, of course, was elated that Rob might be going to K-PAX. Before I could tell her the rationale for my promise to him, she exclaimed, “I’ve got so much to do!”
“Wait!”
She whirled around. “Yes?”
“What will you do if Rob changes his mind again?”
“I haven’t got time for mind games, Dr. B. I’ve got to find prot. See you later!”
I wondered, sadly, what would happen when prot “departed” and left all three of them behind. Would I have the whole Porter family as patients? I went home to try to recover from the lingering effects of the virus and to discuss retirement plans with my wife.
It finally turned colder on Christmas Eve, and seemed more like winter. Nonetheless, the crowd outside the front gate was still in an upbeat mood, drinking hot beverages obtained from a vendor and singing songs of the season. Someone had even put up a Christmas tree, which had been decorated with stars of all sizes and shapes. I could also see a menorah or two, candles lit. Not Rockefeller Center, but beautiful nonetheless.
Nothing much was going on inside the walls. It was a day of parties in all the wards, the first in Ward Four, and we worked our way down from there. I still didn’t feel well enough to play Santa Claus, and turned that duty over to prot, who delighted in belting out “Ho, ho, ho’s” at every turn. There was a gift for each of the residents, and cake and punch. The psychopaths were released from their cells one or two at a time. Perhaps it was only the spirit of the season, but they all seemed in complete control, not an evil thought among them. Even Charlotte, in her orange shackles, seemed cheerful and composed. Of course she has always gotten along well with men, right up to the time she bites off some part of their anatomy.
Ward Three was a bit more relaxed, there being little danger to the staff except for the odd pie in the face or the rare occasion when one of the sexual deviates occasionally pinched a nurse.
I found Jerry working on a perfect replica of the Statue of Liberty, right down to the patina of green oxides and the little silvery sun reflector in her torch. “Some cake or cookies, Jerry? They’re your favorite—chocolate chip!”
“Chocolate chip, chocolate chip, chocolate chip,” he mumbled, apparently without comprehension. But he grabbed the one I offered and whisked it into his mouth without missing a beat. I watched him work for a while, wondering, as I did so, how prot had managed to get through to him two years earlier and why the rest of us couldn’t. Maybe he was right—if we could learn to really feel what they feel... But I was too old to start over. I only hoped my son Will and “Oliver” and the rest of their generation would have more success than I, that psychiatry would soon be making the kinds of miraculous strides being revealed almost daily in other fields of medicine. And I thought: What a wonderful time to be born!
The Ward Two party was combined with Ward One’s. I’d never seen the patients in such a happy state. Especially the “Magnificent Seven,” who seemed to be an optimistic bunch, despite their various problems. I wondered whether they were anticipating visits to “Dr. prot” and expecting to move down to One soon, as had Albert and Alice, who were perfectly all right as long as they stayed together. Indeed, having little choice, apparently, they were planning to be married as soon as they were discharged.
Alex had brought some work to the party. He was one of those who had been transferred to One, having announced he wanted to be a librarian. What could be more sane? He was reading a book called Computers for Nitwits. When I asked him about it he explained that everything was on computers these days. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if books and magazines became obsolete altogether!” I could only hope he was wrong about that. Karen and I had planned to spend a significant part of our retirement devouring all the books we had never found time to read.
The changes in Linus and Ophelia were tremendous. Linus was the happiest guy at the party—somewhere he had found a cowboy hat and was practicing his rope twirling—and Ophelia the loudest. In fact, she wanted to order everyone around, trying to make up for lost time, I suppose. Well, I thought, not all sane people are angels.
I found prot surrounded by several of the other patients, and the usual dozen cats. I was surprised when he asked to speak with me. Everyone else pretended to be annoyed, but they knew he wouldn’t be far away. Not, at least, until the thirty-first.
When we were ensconced in a corner he said, “Robert sends you his apologies.”
“For what?”
“He won’
t be seeing you again.”
“You spotted him?”
“Yep.”
“But we have two more sessions!”
“He has nothing more to tell you before he goes.”
All I could think of was: God Almighty, what have I done? “What about Giselle and little Gene?”
“We’ll work something out.”
“Still scheduled for December thirty-first?”
“Right after breakfast.”
“Can’t you—”
“No way, Jose.”
“In that case,” I sighed, “I wonder whether you’d like to spend Christmas with Karen and me. Abby and Steve and the kids will be there too, and maybe Fred.”
“Why, shore, if there aren’t any dead birds on the table (I had told him about the soy turkey on Thanksgiving).
“They all want to say good-bye.”
“Where they going?”
It rained on Christmas. Betty and her husband brought prot, but that was the last they saw of him that day. Steve, who had been appointed acting chair of the astronomy department now that Flynn was combing the world for supplies of spider excrement, cornered him most of the time. I didn’t mind. After toying with the idea of trying to call forth Robert, I decided against it. Seeing all the food and gifts and decorations might have brought back childhood memories and made things even worse. This would be a non-session. Only Will, who was spending the holiday with Dawn’s family in Cleveland, was missing. And, of course, Jenny out in California. But both called to wish us a Merry Christmas and it was almost as if we were all together again.
Steve wanted to know everything prot had to tell him about the moment before the Big Bang, whether there was really a theory of everything, how soon the universe would stop expanding and begin to contract, what would happen at the time of the Big Crunch, and so on. Above all, however, he wanted prot to be the first to know that his newly programmed computer confirmed his hypothesis that if the expansion of the universe were accelerating, a new cosmological constant would slow it back down again.
Prot yawned. “Yes, I know.”
“One more thing: Hawking has said that even though nothing can escape from black holes, they can still leak radiation. True or false?”