by Gene Brewer
“False!”
“They don’t?”
“No—they can leak everything! Otherwise how do you explain the BIG BANG, which started out as the BLACKEST HOLE of all time?”
“How can I thank you for putting me on to all this?”
“Tell your fellow humans to stay away from the STARS until they learn that all the other beings in the UNIVERSE aren’t there for their benefit.”
Later, when we had gathered around the table, he remarked, “You humans are at your best this time of year, when you begin to notice there are other people around besides yourselves. Why not share this generosity of spirit with the other beings on your PLANET, just for this one day?” He finished his glüg (Karen is of Scandinavian origin) and asked for more.
Abby, at least, had long been convinced. This time it was a yam duck. And Karen had prepared his usual enormous fruit salad. Prot gobbled it all down, then sat back and patted his bulging stomach. “I’m going to have to go on a diet when I get back,” he sighed. I thought: How very human!
The subject turned to our plans for the upcoming year, beginning with the New Year’s Eve party Karen was planning for all our friends. Someone brought up the subject of the big celebration two years hence.
“One of the saddest things about your beings,” prot informed us, “is that you’re all looking forward to a new millennium, when things will be better than they are now. But you’re all going to wake up in the next century and everything will be just like it was before. Except for one thing, of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “It will be your last.”
But Rain wasn’t convinced. “Prot, what’s the first thing we have to do in order to survive the next century?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“It’s all interrelated. For example, you can’t reduce your numbers until you eliminate your religious beliefs. And you can’t do that as long as there is an abundance of ignorance and a dearth of education. But you can’t change that as long as people with the most money use it to maintain the status quo. And if you maintain the status quo, your environment will soon collapse. But you can’t protect the environment from collapse until you reduce your numbers—shall I go on?”
“Let’s open the presents first!” shouted Star, to everyone’s relief.
There were the usual gifts—ties, shaving lotion, computer games for the kids, a squeaky toy for Oxie, dried fruit for prot. But there were also presents under the tree from him. He handed one of them to me. “You first.”
Hoping not to find any unwanted surprises, I carefully opened the little box. Inside was a smaller one. And inside that an even smaller one. And inside that there was one so tiny I was sure I would never be able to get it open. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The others opened their gifts and, without a word being spoken, everyone carefully separated his or her pea-sized box from the rest.
“Let’s sprinkle them on the tree,” Star suggested, and we all did so.
Prot lifted his glass and wished us all a Merry Christmas. “And a happy retirement to all the fogeys present. May they live a thousand years!” Glasses clinked like so many bells.
Afterward, while Steve was having his last shot at prot, I cornered Fred to report on Robert’s progress. “He’s through the worst of it,” I assured him. “Now I think he can accept what happened to him and go on to the next stage—grief. Fortunately, given enough time, we can do something about that.”
He nodded, but seemed distracted by something. It appeared that this was the moment he had chosen to tell me what had been bothering him recently. Or perhaps longer. If he didn’t want to be an actor anymore (and I understood how difficult the profession was), what then? Was it possible he had decided he wanted to be a doctor, like me? Would there be another psychiatrist in the family? I prodded him a little. “Were you able to talk to prot the other day?”
“Yes. He helped me to decide.”
“Decide what?”
“To tell you something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m listening, son.”
“Dad,” he blurted out, “I don’t want the house, and I don’t want to get married.”
“You mean—”
“No, I’m not gay. In fact, I’ve got more women than I can handle.”
“I thought it was the ballerina.”
“Actually, it’s two ballerinas and a flight attendant and an assistant producer. At the moment.”
“Sounds like you need help, Fred.”
“No, thanks, Dad. I’m having way too much fun. It’s the house I wanted to talk to you about, mostly. I know you were thinking of passing it on, and I know how much it means to you to keep it in the family. But it’s not right for me. And neither is the suburban life.”
“Why now, Freddy? Why are you telling me now?”
“I think it was what happened in your examining room. I didn’t want to be sorry later on, when it might be too late, for not sharing these things with you.”
That I could understand.
“Does this mean you don’t want to be a psychiatrist?”
“Why in the world would I want to be a psychiatrist? I love acting. In fact, I was going to tell you that I just got promoted to the Broadway production of Les Mis!”
It was my turn to hug him. “That’s great news, Freddy. Congratulations!”
“Thanks, Dad.”
But the surprises weren’t over yet. With prot they never are. As everyone was leaving, he took me aside and whispered, “Karen has breast cancer. It’s no problem now, but someone ought to take a look at it.”
That night, when we had finally gotten to bed, I casually asked her when she was due for a mammogram.
“Funny you should ask about that. I just had one a month ago. It was negative. But prot suggested I make another appointment.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“Right after the first of the year.”
“Happy New Year,” I said dismally.
“Don’t be silly. This is what happens when you get old. Things start to go wrong. That’s why we need to enjoy life now, before it’s too late.”
At that moment I promised myself I would definitely hang up my yellow pad as soon as possible after prot’s imminent “departure.”
I found out later that before he had showed up for Christmas he had somehow gotten into Ward Four and offered his genitalia for the taking by Charlotte. “I have no use for them,” he apparently told her.
She merely laughed at him, explaining that she only took those from men who tried to hit on her. It was then that the whole sordid story of her own abuse by her grandfather came out. (As prot might have said, “People!”) As of this writing she’s engaged in intensive psychotherapy with Carl Thorstein, and he tells me there is some hope for a future for her after all!
It’s events like this that make psychiatry and, for that matter, life on Earth, so thoroughly unpredictable.
Session Forty-seven
When prot came in for our final session, I had a basket of shiny apples ready for him.
“Red Delicious!” he exclaimed. “My favorite!”
“Yes,” I murmured. “I know.” After he had disposed of most of them, cores and all, I told him I wanted to say good-bye to Robert and the others.
He nodded and closed his eyes contentedly.
I waited for a moment. “How do you feel, Rob?”
No reply.
“Did you think about what we discussed last time?”
Probably, but he wasn’t about to go through any further trauma on the eve of his departure for paradise, and who could blame him? All I could do was wish him godspeed. Maybe there was a slight response to that heartfelt sentiment, maybe not.
I watched him a few more minutes, wondering what he was thinking as he sat there frozen in time. Was he running in the field behind the house with his big dog, Apple? Gazing at the stars with his beloved father
? Watching TV with his girlfriend Sarah? Tossing a giggling Gene into the air? Farewell, Rob. Farewell for now, my friend.
“Paul?”
He wasn’t too eager to show up, either.
“Anything you want to get off your chest before you go?”
Apparently there wasn’t.
I couldn’t help thinking: He’s going to be awfully disappointed by the women on K-PAX. “Good-bye, Paul, or whoever you are. And good luck to you.”
He lifted his head for just a moment, winked, and replied, “I make my own luck.”
“And Harry, you little devil. Take care of yourself and Rob.”
Harry didn’t make a move. He wasn’t about to come out and get stuck with a needle.
“And don’t get into any trouble!” I added like a worried father.
Though it doesn’t show up clearly on the tape, I distinctly heard a muffled, “I won’t!”
“Okay, prot, you can come on back now.”
“Hello, hello, hello, hello,” he spouted. One for each of them, I suppose.
“I just wanted to thank you again for all you’ve done for our patients.”
“Not at all. I was well compensated for it.” (He meant the fruit, presumably.)
“Prot, I’ve just got a few loose ends to tie up, okay?”
“If you say so. But there will always be more, no matter how many you tie up.”
“No doubt. But I’d just like to clear up a few small matters before you go. For example, was Rob here last month? Or did he go to Guelph? Or somewhere else?”
“No idea, coach. You’ll have to ask him.”
It was far too late to point out that I was asking him. “Tell me this, then. Where did you go when you briefly left the hospital, now and two years ago?”
“To prepare those who would be going with me. And to offer my condolences to those who wouldn’t.”
“How did you know who wanted to go?”
He locked his hands behind his head and smiled, for all the world like someone who has accomplished some important task a little ahead of time. “The humans sent letters, remember? The others conveyed their wishes through the—uh—what you would probably call ‘the grapevine.’”
“You mean the message is passed on from one being to the next—something like that?”
“Only far more complicated. When an elephant knows something, every elephant in the WORLD knows it.”
“How can we verify that?”
“Ask them!”
“All right. Here’s another question for you. You claim you age about seven months every time you come to Earth, right?”
“That’s right!”
“So how could you travel halfway across the galaxy when Robin needed your help, and get there in time?” I asked smugly. “For that matter, why didn’t it take seven months for his cry to get to K-PAX?”
“Gene, gene, gene. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said in the past 7.65 years? It takes no time at all to go from one place to another on the highest overtones of light energy. But time is relative for the traveler, and he ages a certain amount. Get it?”
“Not really.” But there was little point in pursuing the matter. And it was time to say my final good-bye. “Any last words for me before you go, my alien friend?”
“Remember what I told you. You can solve the problems of any other being, and even a whole PLANET, if you could just learn to put yourself in his or her place. In fact, that’s the only way you can do it.”
“Thanks, I’ll try to remember that.”
Sensing there was nothing left for me to say, perhaps, he stood up.
“Just one last question.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Why only a hundred passengers? Why not two hundred? Or a thousand? Or a million?”
“I had no idea when I came here that damn near everybody wants to get off this WORLD. But next time...”
“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind and you’ll be coming back?”
“Not a chance. But there might be others, and they’ll know the score.”
“How soon?”
He shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. But if any other visitors do show up here, I hope you’ll treat them well.”
“Red Delicious and pitch-black bananas.”
“Maybe my trip hasn’t been for nothing after all!” He grabbed the remaining apples, stuffed them into a pocket, and, with a backward wave, was out the door.
“See you tomorrow,” I murmured to myself as I stepped into my office, where Giselle was waiting with her son. She wanted him to say good-bye to me. Instead, he went for my nose.
“Thanks for everything you’ve done, Doctor B. Gene. And, if we don’t see you again after tomorrow, don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.” She hugged me hard.
The only thing left to say was, “God bless us, every one.”
That afternoon, prot, accompanied by most of the staff and patients, strode out to the front gate to say his final farewells to the huge crowd that had accumulated there. Someone had built a small platform next to the guardhouse and, despite the cold and snow, prot hopped onto it and stepped up to the microphone. There was an enthusiastic roar from the festive multitude, many of whom were waving “K-PAX” flags, which went on for several minutes. People were throwing gifts of fruit and flowers onto the little stage. Prot grinned broadly at them. (Someone told me later that it seemed he was speaking directly to every individual there, which included several dogs and cats, a few birds, and even a fish or two, held up high in their little bowls so he could see them.) Scattered here and there also were several vans and television cameras. Police were all over Amsterdam Avenue, which had been closed to traffic. I also spotted the G-men, unmistakable in their crew cuts and trim blue suits, up near the makeshift podium.
At last everything settled down and it became very quiet. “I’ll be leaving you soon,” he began, “and I shall miss you all.”
Cries of “No!” were quickly stilled by an uplifted hand.
“Many of you understand that a great many changes need to be made to turn your beautiful EARTH into the paradise it could be. I have said consistently that how you do this is something you have to work out for yourselves. Yet I keep getting cards and letters telling me you don’t know where to begin. Nothing could be simpler. First, do no harm, either to your PLANET or any of your fellow beings—”
Suddenly a shot rang out. At exactly that instant prot tilted his head to the side and the bullet whizzed past him, piercing his left ear. A scuffle broke out in the crowd and several people grappled with the gunman. Someone took the weapon away, and another man grabbed the woman’s arm and twisted it around her back. She screamed, and there was a lot of other noise and confusion.
Prot, the blood running down his cheek, lifted his hand again and said, without raising his voice in the slightest, “Leave her alone. She’s just following orders she received years ago from her family, her friends, and almost everyone else she knows. Don’t hurt her, don’t throw her in jail. Teach her.”
By now, Chak had climbed onto the podium and clamped a gauze onto prot’s damaged ear. He went on as if nothing had happened. “And now, my friends, I must leave you. Some day, if you somehow survive the twenty-first century, other K-PAXians may visit you. And who knows—some of your grandchildren may make the trip to the other side of the GALAXY. It’s not so far away, really.” He waved again, jumped down from the platform, Chak trailing along behind, and trotted back inside.
Long after the commotion had died down, the crowd finally began to disperse, except for a few souvenir hunters who lingered. In an hour or two the sidewalk was clear, and cars and taxis were once again honking past the gate. It was as if prot had never been here.
* * *
That evening there was another huge party in the Ward Two lounge, organized by my wife and Betty McAllister. Everyone was there, including most of the former patients who had departed the hospital in the past seven and a half years: Howie, Ernie
, Chuck and Mrs. Archer, Maria in her nun’s habit, Ed and LaBelle Chatte, Whacky and his voluptuous girlfriend, Lou and her daughter Protista, Rudolph, Michael and his new wife, Jackie and her stepfather, Bert, and all the others who had come into contact with prot. Some of my own family were there, too, including Abby and Steve and the boys, Freddy and two of his lady friends, and Will and Dawn, who was beginning to look something like the Mona Lisa. Cassandra was already predicting that the unborn child, a boy, would grow up to be a psychiatrist! I told her we would see about that.
Frankie, the lucky winner of an all-expenses-paid trip to Utopia, was all smiles (though she affectionately called everyone she ran into an “anal orifice”) as were Giselle and little Gene. They were all so happy, in fact, that I almost wished I were going with them. I knew, of course, that tomorrow morning the sky was going to fall and I would have to deal not only with their devastating disappointment, but with that of Robert Porter as well.
Even so, I didn’t want to spoil the party, and it was well past midnight when it finally broke up and all the patients made their tearful farewells and went to their beds. I finally escorted prot, along with Giselle and her son, to his room, where they would all spend the night, or what was left of it. “Well, thanks again,” I murmured, taking his hand.
“Enjoy your retirement, gino,” he responded. “You’ve earned it.”
Giselle thrust the baby into his arms and gave me another hug and a kiss, smack on the mouth. Prot, with no experience in such matters, held him as though he were the most fragile thing in the universe.
I took my godson from him and kissed him on the forehead. “Good-bye, kid,” I told him, tweaking his little nose. “Don’t take any wooden yorts.”
“My beings didn’t raise no dummies,” I distinctly heard him reply, unless prot was an expert ventriloquist along with everything else.
I was up early the next morning with Chak and the rest of the medical staff, trying to prepare for anything that might happen. I was especially concerned about a possible storm of mass hysteria, which would have been a nightmare. “Not to worry at all,” he kept telling me. “Everything will be very fine.”