Save the Last Bullet for God

by J. T. Alblood

  I tried to read faster as the old man moved to take the file and leave. As the file was taken from my hands, I glimpsed the last line.

  Likely diagnosis: severe paranoid schizophrenia.

  The old man left, and I remained, stunned and alone.

  In denial and in love, I grasped for strands of hope. I was sure that those details were all wrong. I knew it. With all the negatives I’d just read, how could I have been that hopeful and happy? I must also have been delusional. But, regardless, I wanted to prove it all wrong, to be the prince on a white horse saving the princess from the fortress.

  That night, I turned over and over in bed, trying to sleep. I had to talk to Maria.

  The next day, even though I couldn’t eat, I stepped into the bakery and bought a small cream cake and a small bar of chocolate. I stopped at the flower shop nearby and picked up a small bunch of wildflowers. As I went skipping into the hospital, I couldn’t make up my mind on how to carry the flowers or where to put them.

  I carefully placed my purchases in the cabinet of the nurses’ room and put on my hospital uniform. After standing in front of the mirror and parting and re-parting my hair several times, I gave up and left the office.

  When I saw Eldwin, I quietly approached him and politely put my payment of one pill in his pocket. Not looking back, I strode down the hallway, intent on finishing my rounds as quickly as possible.

  …

  At long last, the tranquility of night fell upon the hospital. I did my best to suppress a little smile as I set off for the women’s ward with the cream cake in my hand, the chocolate in my pocket, and the flowers cleverly stowed under my coat. I had a short conversation with the nurses at the desk and presented them with the cream cake, saying, “I felt like sharing this with you.” Then, I detoured into Room 16 and wandered around killing time. I tried to amuse myself by rehearsing what I would say. When I thought it was late enough, I left the room.

  Trying to remain calm and controlled, I opened the door of Room 17. My heart lurched in my chest as my eyes scanned around uselessly until they grew accustomed to the dark. I felt a deep sense of relief when I saw the bed by the window. Maria was there, awake, and looking outside again. It seemed there was no one else in the room. I headed directly toward her. She turned her face to me, and out of the darkness, I saw a little smile.

  “Well . . . Hi, how are you?” I said.

  “I’m fine. It has been four nights and two days, you know?”

  I set two coffee cups on the table next to the bed, and I took the vase and flowers from under my coat and handed them to her, smiling. Her elegant hands took the flowers out of the paper and put them inside the vase with slow, but deliberate, movements.

  I sat and Maria and I stared at the darkened sky beyond the barred window catching glimpses of small stars beyond the trees. We sat in silence sipping warm coffee and pulling pieces of chocolate from the creased foil between us. The only disturbance that night was the delirious muttering of the old woman in the next bed sleeping with her eyes open.The whole experience seemed forbidden, as if, at any moment, the spell might be broken. I could barely look at the beautiful girl next to me. I just remained still and savored the sound of her breathing.

  “Can you tell me something?” I asked in a low voice.

  “What?” she answered quietly after a long silence.

  “Is it true that those from the outer world talk to you?”

  “I . . . I’m scared, and . . . how can I say . . . whomever I try to tell, even my closest friends and family, cast me away. They don’t believe me; they even get angry with me. It is all my imagination, they say. I want to hold on to life and live on without telling anyone anything. If it’s possible . . . yes, if it’s possible, I don’t want to see these delusions anymore. You never know how bad it makes you feel when the person right next to you doesn’t see or hear the same things as you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I’m tired of wondering whether I’m the only one who hears a sound. How can you describe the smells, colors, and sounds in your head? How can you explain this to someone else? I look at the moon and I say, ‘It’s there,’ but I don’t believe in it until I ask you and you confirm ‘Yes, the moon is really there.’ And if you say ‘I don’t see it,’ I must reluctantly accept that what I see as the moon is not there. Does everything exist because we perceive it? If so, then it does not exist if we don’t perceive it.”

  “I never thought about it like that.”

  “Are there people who think like that?” Her face turned to mine.

  “I think so . . .,” I said, trying to encourage her. “I read a few articles about quantum physics but it’s not a subject that I have a solid grasp of. I would need to do research to talk about it with any confidence.”

  “Think. If the world and everything else exists just because we perceive them . . .”

  “Then by the same logic, what you see and what other people call a delusion must exist,” I suggested.

  “Yes, I was trying to say the same thing. What I perceive exists, and the only difference in my reality is that you do not include it within your reality.”

  She was now excited and speaking quickly.

  “And I exist because you see me, and you exist because I perceive you . . .” I said, smiling and hoping to move the conversation to us.

  “Four days and three nights,” she said.

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “I’m tired, and I want to sleep.”

  “Oh, yes, of course . . . sorry.” I was disappointed, but I helped her to lie down.

  “Thank you for the flowers and everything else,” she said before closing her eyes.

  I covered her and collected the foil that had fallen to the floor. I lightly caressed her hair, hoping she would open her eyes, but she was fast asleep.

  . . .

  In the morning, I skipped class again, and spent the day reading books until my brain exploded. When I arrived at the hospital in the evening, I struggled to finish my work in a hurry. Going into the women’s ward, I avoided the nurses’ desk and headed straight for Room 17.

  When I approached Maria’s bed, I noted the faint smell of flowers from the vase beside her bed and a wild joy filled my soul. Maria was sleeping peacefully with her mouth slightly open and her blonde hair scattered about her head. I noticed the perfect lines of her body and it seemed as if she didn’t belong to this world. Maria moved a bit and opened her eyes. She looked around before she noticed me.

  Snuggling under her blanket, she asked, “Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me, and I exist because you’re looking at me now,” I said with a wink.

  She gave a little smile that lit up her face.

  “I’m so tired. . . . It must be the medicine. . . . My mouth is so dry. . . . Can you get me some water?”

  I brought the water and helped her sit up to drink it. I felt like protecting her.

  “You need to sleep now,” I said.

  “No, don’t go. . . . Stay a bit. Just tell me about something. . . . When I fall asleep, then you can go, okay?”

  I caressed her pale cheek and sat beside her on the bed.

  “What should I tell you about? I read a lot of things about quantum physics in the library today. Would you like to hear about that?”

  “No, no . . . Let’s talk about simple things that will not wear out my mind. Tell me a story . . . I promise you, I’ll fall sleep quickly.”

  I thought back to my childhood and remembered a story I had heard long ago.

  “In ancient times, 5,000 years ago, a community called the Sumerians lived in the southeast part of the Ottoman Empire, in Mesopotamia. A German archeologist by the name of Robert Johann Koldewey discovered their civilization and researched them . . .”

  “Koldewey . . .”

  “He was an archaeologist interested in the Sumerians.”

  “The Sumerians, Koldewey . . . Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Y
ou can ask questions. I like to hear your voice,” I said smiling at her.

  “When I was a child, living in a farmhouse,” I continued, “Professor Koldewey’s son came to our home and gave me private lessons for a while. That’s why I’m interested in this subject. Where the people came from is unknown, and there is little information about how they disappeared. It is thought that they came from faraway lands in the Middle East and settled 5,000 years ago in the territory between the two great rivers. They had their own written language. They were advanced in mathematics and astrology. They even created the Epic of Gilgamesh, which people still read today. But…”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Well, there are strange rumors that their gods came from outer space. From faraway planets.”

  Maria opened her eyes again. “What planets?” she asked.

  “Planets far away. The alien gods came and taught these people to plant and even to make bread and brew beer. Our concepts of 360 degrees, 12 months in a year, and a lot of other mathematical laws were transmitted from the aliens to the Sumerians and from the Sumerians to us. The race of alien gods mixed with these people and interfered with the development of the human race. That’s how we came to exist.”

  “How did they get here?”

  “There was one god and he came from a planet that once passed close to ours. Marduc, I think. When it was close, the aliens would come down to Earth. That’s how it must have been, I think.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I heard these things a long time ago and I’ve forgotten a lot.”

  “What about when the planets are far away?”

  “I’m not sure. But I imagine there are radio waves. We can’t see them, but we can hear them with instruments. Maybe the far-away aliens can reach us in a similar way.”

  “Can they make such an instrument…or communicate with someone who understands their energy and what they say?” Maria asked quietly. It was as if she were talking to herself.

  “Yes, why not?” I answered without thinking.

  “So you believe me?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Maybe those who talk to me are the aliens from those faraway planets who have been trying to get in touch with humanity. Our alien ancestors…”

  “I thought you’d just listen and sleep,” I said, smiling.

  “Wilhelm…” It was the first time she’d said my name and it set me on fire.

  “Yes?”

  “The medicine I take makes me feel so bad. I cannot be myself. I want to be okay, like you, like everyone else…I cannot tell them. You’re the only one I trust…please don’t let them hurt me.”

  “Maria, you’re very tired. Just sleep. I promise I’ll stay with you.”

  She snuggled under the blanket again, and I waited by her bedside until she fell asleep. I felt a great tenderness toward her and I was full of excitement. But I also felt a touch of anger. I knew I couldn’t let her be hurt by the wrong treatment.

  …

  The next day, I found myself at Dr. Huber’s door. I learned from his secretary that he’d come back from his rounds and was in a psychotherapy session. I waited on the sofa for what seemed an unendurable amount of time. Finally, the door opened and Maria left the doctor’s office. She didn’t see me at first, but even that ridiculous hospital gown couldn’t hide her magnificent beauty. Her face was pale and she noticed me only when I made room for her to pass by. She greeted me with her wry smile.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her until the secretary reminded me that the doctor was waiting for me.

  The office was simply furnished and very dim. Under the yellow light of a lamp sat Doctor Hubert—a middle aged man with a bushy, long moustache full of gray hair, and tired brown eyes. He indicated the armchair with his hand but his mind seemed elsewhere.

  “How can I help you?” he asked absently.

  “Well, I…I’ve been working as a caretaker in the hospital for a while, but I’m a medical student at the University of Vienna.”

  “I know. I’m on the board, and I’ve checked your file. I’m happy that we have such intelligent and promising young men like you still left after the war. What can I do for you?”

  “Actually, how can I say this? I came here to talk about your patient, Maria Orsic.”

  For the first time, the doctor made eye contact with me. “And?”

  “Well…is it possible that there’s a mistake in her diagnosis and treatment? I mean, could someone possibly have left something out? I…” I struggled to say what I wanted. My face was red now, and I wrung my hands.

  Dr. Hubert studied me for a long moment, and took a deep breath.

  “You’re very young, and you’re at the beginning of your medical education. I appreciate your ambition and your commitment to Ms. Orsic.”

  “Thank you,” I said, nervous about what was coming.

  “What you learn in school is important, but when you become a doctor and have the responsibility of caring for a person, you’ll see that experience is even more important. Although you’ll judge me and not understand what I’ll tell you now, let me try to explain something. Your conclusions are limited by your basic medical education and an observation of only five to six days.”

  “With all due respect, doctor, I’ve experienced a lot. I served in the war and I’ve read a lot of books,” I objected feebly.

  “That is all valuable, but of no use in this issue. It won’t help you reach the right conclusions. Although you’ll successfully finish your schooling, you will need to specialize in psychiatry, and that’s still not enough. You need to work for years to gain the proper experience.”

  The old man was trying to cover his mistake by praising himself. He probably hadn’t even read the most recent publications on schizophrenia. Who knew what kind of treatment he used on the patients?

  Dr. Hubert saw the disdain in my eyes and continued.

  “My point is you are not objective. Maria’s a very beautiful girl. You interpret all the symptoms as different from what they actually are. There are hundreds of patients in this hospital, and, if you aren’t showing the same concern for one of the old, worn-out patients to whom you haven’t even paid any attention, then I’m sorry. I don’t trust your judgment.”

  “How can you talk like that?” I protested. “You don’t even know me, and I assure you, there’s nothing like that going on.”

  “Calm down, young man. This is something between you and yourself, and it’s none of my business as long as it doesn’t affect the orderly functioning of the hospital. I’ve been aware of what you’ve been doing. I had to become aware because you’ve begun to affect Ms. Orsic’s treatment in a negative way. Just as we’ve advanced slightly toward having her accept that her delusions don’t exist in the real world, your intervention and talks with her have given her false hope and set her recovery back.”

  He was speaking louder now and glaring at me.

  “Do you know how many hospitals and doctors this patient visited before coming here? If you saw the files, you wouldn’t understand most of them. You don’t have my colleagues’ years of experience. You’re a young, clever man, but experience is a must in such situations.” His voice was now more controlled, and he seemed calmer, but there was still a glint of anger in his eyes.

  “But she probably has logical and reasonable thoughts that she hasn’t shared with you,” I responded weakly. “She’s scared, like everyone else.”

  “The girl is 4A, which meets all the criteria of schizophrenia. The only anomaly is that her illness has advanced to this stage at a very young age. Do you know what 4A is?”

  “The classification system; flattened affect in schizophrenia…”

  “Okay, don’t push it. I’m not giving you an examination. Just do whatever I tell you to do without question. I don’t want to see you around this girl again. Don’t talk to her or try to get in touch with her. Not unless you want to be dismissed from this hospital and have a letter of
complaint sent to your school.”

  “Sir, won’t you even give me a chance to—”

  “End of discussion. If you want my advice . . . go out and use your energy on another, healthier girl.”

  I clenched my jaw.

  “Can I leave, sir?”

  “You can.”

  …

  Later in the evening I received a paper from the chief of staff restricting my duties, and I was immediately forced to hand in the keys to the women’s ward. It hurt so much to know that she was in the same building as me, only a few walls away. Crazy ideas ran through my head. The thought of not seeing her ever again was miserable. But I wouldn’t give up.

  All night long, I struggled to prepare a file with all the information I had along with my own ideas.

  When dawn came, I shaved, put on clean, proper clothes, and went to the campus. I found my way to the private office of Dr. Freud, gathered all my courage, and passed through the corridor where patients and their relatives were waiting for him. I stopped at the secretary’s desk and asked about an opening. She buried her head in the appointment book and we shared a long silence.

  Without lifting her head, she said finally, “What about Wednesday next week? Is that okay for you?”

  “I’m not a patient, I’m a doctor… I mean, I’m going to be a doctor. I want to get some information about a patient. I just need ten minutes.”

  “We’re so busy. Appointments are made months beforehand. There’s not even a single gap until the evening. Here, you see?”

  “I’m a medical student, first year, and I also work in a mental hospital. I’m here to talk to him about something that’ll take only a short time,” I said, sounding ever more urgent.

  “Interesting, a medical student who wants to talk to me,” I heard a familiar voice say.

  “Dr. Freud,” the secretary said standing up. I turned and saw a man with a gray beard and a penetrating look smirking at us.