K-PAX

Session Twelve

WHILE prot was munching peaches and plums I brought up the subject of Howie and his tasks. I explained that the first one he had assigned to him (to find the "bluebird of happiness") had produced a positive effect not only on Howie, but on the rest of the ward as well. Though it had turned out successfully also, the second (to "cure" Ernie) was more problematical. I asked him if he had anything else in mind for my patient.

"Only one final task."

"Do you mind telling me what it is?"

"That would spoil the surprise."

"I think we've had enough surprises around here for a while. Can you guarantee this task will cause no harm to anyone?"

"If he does it well, it will be a very happy day for everyone, including yourself." I was not so certain about that, but my doubts were swallowed up by his self-confidence.

My father once lay down on the living room floor and asked me to make a run at him. He wanted me to push off on his knees, flip over him, and land on my feet above his head. It sounded like suicide. "Trust me," he said. So I put my life in his hands, made a run at him, and, with his help, miraculously landed on my feet. I. never did it again. Prot had the same "trust me" look in his eyes when he told me about Howie's last task. And on that note we began our twelfth session.

The minute I started to count, prot fell into a deep trance. I asked whether he could hear me.

"Of course."

"Good. Now I want you to think back to the year 1979; that is, 1979 on Earth. It's Christmas Day, 1979. Where are you and what do you see?"

"I am on the PLANET TERSIPION in what you would call the CONSTELLATION TAURUS. I see orange and green everywhere. It's quite remarkable. The flora on this WORLD are not chlorophyll based as they are on EARTH and K-PAX. Instead, light is gathered by a pigment similar to that of your red algae. The sky is green because of the chlorine in the atmosphere. There are all kinds of interesting beings, most of whom you would characterize as insects. Some are bigger than your dinosaurs. All of them are quite slow-moving, fortunately, but you have to-"

"Excuse me, prot. I would love to hear about this planet, and all the other places you have visited, but right now I would prefer to concentrate on your passages to Earth."

"Anything you say. But you asked me where I was and what I was doing on christmas of 1979."

"Yes I did, but only as a point of reference. What I'd like to ask you to do now is to come forward in time to your next visit to Earth. Can you do that?"

"Of course. Um, let's see. January? No, I was still on TERSIPION. February? No. I was back on K-PAX then, learning to play the patuse, though I'll never be any good at it. It must have been in march. Yes, it was march, that delightful time in your northern hemisphere when the ice on the streams is melting and the mayapples and crocuses are coming up."

"This is March 1980?"

"Precisely."

"And he called you?"

"Well, not for anything in particular. He just wants someone to talk things over with now and then."

"Tell me about him. What's he like? Is he married?"

"Yes, he's married to a girl he knew in-oh, I told you about that already, didn't I?

"The Catholic girl who was pregnant when they were seniors in high school?"

"What a memory! She's still a catholic, but no longer pregnant. That was five and a half years ago."

"I've forgotten her name."

"I never told you her name."

"Can you tell me now?"

After a lengthy hesitation, during which he seemed to study my haircut (or the need thereof) he said, quietly, "saran "

Barely concealing my elation: "Did they have a son or a daughter?"

"Yes."

"I mean which?"

"You should do something about that sense of humor, doctor brewer. A daughter."

"So she's about five?"

"Her birthday is next week."

"Any other children?"

"No. Sarah developed endometriosis and they gave her a hysterectomy. Stupid."

"Because she was so young?"

"No. Because there is a simple treatment for it that your medical people should have figured out long ago."

"Can you tell me the daughter's name? Or is that a secret?"

After only a moment's hesitation: "rebecca." When this was divulged so readily I wondered whether Pete had relented and had decided to allow prot to tell me his real name. Perhaps he was beginning to trust me! But prot must have anticipated my question. "Forget it," he said.

"Forget what?"

"He's not going to tell you that."

"Why not? Will he at least tell me why not?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You'll just use the answer to chip away at him."

"All right. Then tell me this: Do they live in the same town he was born in?"

"Yes and no."

"Can you be more specific?"

"They live in a trailer outside of town."

"How far outside of town is it?"

"Not far. It's in a trailer park. But they want to get a house farther out in the country."

A shot in the dark: "Do they have a sprinkler?"

"A what?"

"A lawn sprinkler."

"In a trailer park?"

"All right. Do they both work?"

His mouth puckered slightly, as if the fruit hadn't agreed with him. "He has a full-time job, as you would call it. She earns some money making children's clothing."

"Where does your friend work?"

"The same place his father and his grandfather did. Just about the only place in town there is to work, unless you're a grocer or a banker."

"The slaughterhouse?"

"Yessir, the old butchery."

"What does he do there?"

"He's a knocker."

"What's a 'knocker'?"

"The knocker is the guy who knocks the cows in the head so they don't struggle so much when you cut their throats."

"Does he like his job?"

"Are you kidding?"

"What else does he do? At home, for example?"

"Not much. He reads the newspaper in the evening, after his daughter has gone to bed. On weekends he tinkers with his car and watches tv like everybody else in town."

"Does he still hike in the woods?"

"Sarah would like him to do that, but he doesn't."

"Why not?"

"It depresses him."

"Does he still collect butterflies?"

"He threw out his collection a long time ago. There was no room for it in the trailer."

"Does he regret his decision to get married and raise a family?"

"Oh, no. He is truly devoted to his wife and daughter, whatever that means."

"Tell me about his wife."

"Cheerful. Energetic. Dull. Like most of the housewives you see at the a&p."

"And the daughter?"

"A carbon copy of her mother."

"Do they all get along well?"

"They idolize one another."

"Do they have a lot of friends?"

"None."

"None?"

"Sarah's a catholic. I told you-it's a small town...."

"They never see anyone else?"

"Only her family. And his mother."

"What about his sisters?"

"One lives in alaska. The other is just like everyone else in town."

"Would you say he hates her?"

"He doesn't hate anyone."

"What about male friends?"

"There ain't none."

"What about the bully. and the kid he beat up?"

"One is in prison, the other was killed in lebanon. "

"And he never stops off at a tavern after work for a beer with his fellow knockers?"

"Not any more."

"He did earlier?"

"He used to joke around with the others, have a beer or two. But whenever he invited someone for supper, they always found some excuse not to come. And no one ever invited him and his family for a barbecue or anything else. After a while he began to get the idea. Now they stick to their trailer most of the time. I tried to tell him this would happen."

"Sounds like a pretty lonely existence."

"Not really. Sarah has a million brothers and sisters."

"And now they're going to buy a house?"

"Maybe. Or build one. They've got their eye on a few acres of land. It's a beautiful spot, a part of a farm that someone split up. It has a stream and a couple of acres of trees. A lovely place. Reminds me of home. Except for the stream."

"Tell him I hope he gets it."

"I'll do that, but he still won't tell you his name."

At that point Mrs. Trexler barged in, out of breath, whispering frantically about a disturbance in the psychopathic ward: Someone had kidnapped Giselle! I quickly hushed her up and reluctantly brought prot back from his hypnotic state, left him with Mrs. T, and took off for the fourth floor.

Giselle! It is hard to express the feelings I had in the few seconds it took me to make it downstairs. I couldn't have been more distressed if it had been Abby or Jenny in the hands of whichever lunatic had grabbed her. I saw her slouched down in my office chair, heard her childish voice, smelled her sweet, piney scent. Giselle! All my fault. All my fault. Allowing a helpless girl to "cruise the corridors" of the psych ward. I tried not to imagine a pair of hairy arms wrapped around her neck, or worse....

I banged into Four. Everyone was milling around or chatting amiably, some even beginning to return to their regular routines. I couldn't believe how unconcerned they seemed to be. All I could think' of was: What kind of people are these?

The kidnapper's name was Ed. He was a handsome, white, fifty-year-old man who had gone berserk six years earlier and gunned down eight people with a semiautomatic rifle in a shopping mall parking lot. Until that time he had been a successful stockbroker, a model husband and father, sports fan, church elder, six-handicap golfer, and all the rest. Afterward, even with regular medication, he suffered periods of episodic dyscontrol accompanied by significant electrical activity in his brain, which usually ended with utter exhaustion and fists bloodied by pounding them against the walls of his room.

But it wasn't Giselle he had kidnapped. It was La Belle.

I never did find out whether Mrs. Trexler's tongue had slipped or whether I misheard her-I had been worried about Giselle's safety all along. In any case the kitten had gotten into the psychopathic ward, and when the orderlies opened Ed's door to take away his dirty laundry, she slipped inside. It wasn't long before he was banging on the bars of his window and threatening to wring La Belle's little neck unless he could talk to "the guy from outer space."

Villers was there to remind me that he had opposed the idea of having animals in the wards, and perhaps he was right-this would never have happened without the kitten and, furthermore, if anything happened to it, the effect on Bess and the others could be quite demoralizing. I thought Ed was bluffing; he was not in one of his violent phases. But I could see no compelling reason not to let him talk briefly with prot, and I asked Betty to send for him. Prot, however, was already there. Apparently he had followed me down the stairs.

There was no need to explain the situation, only to tell him to assure Ed there would be no reprisal if he let the kitten go. Prot, requesting that no one accompany him, headed for Ed's room. I assumed they would talk through the barred window, but suddenly the door opened and prot darted inside, slamming it behind him.

After a few minutes I cautiously approached the window and peered into the room. They were standing over by the far wall, talking quietly. I couldn't hear what they were saying. Ed was holding La Belle, stroking her gently. When he glanced toward me I backed off.

Prot finally came out, but without the kitten. After making sure the security guard had locked Ed's door, I turned to him, puzzled. Anticipating my question, he said, "He won't harm her."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me."

"Uh-huh. What else did he tell you?"

"He wants to go to K-PAX."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said I couldn't take him with me."

"What did he say to that?"

"He was disappointed until I told him I would come back for him later."

"And that satisfied him?"

"He said he would wait if he could keep the kitten."

"But-"

"Don't worry. He won't hurt her. And he won't cause you any more trouble, either."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because he thinks that if he does, I won't come back for him. I would anyway, but he doesn't know that."

"You would? Why?"

"Because I told him I would. By the way, he said as we were walking out together, "you'll need to find a few more furry beings for the other wards."

HERE was Howie's final task: to be ready for anything. To respond at a moment's notice to whatever prot, without warning, might challenge him with.

For a day or two he raced at tachyon speed from the library to his room and back to the library-same old Howie. He didn't sleep for forty-eight hours. He was reading Cervantes, Schopenhauer, the Bible. But suddenly, as he was darting past the lounge window where he had spotted the bluebird, he stopped and took his old seat on the ledge. He began to chuckle, then to roar. Pretty soon the whole ward, except perhaps for Bess, was giggling, then the whole hospital, staff and all. The absurdity of prot's charge, that he be ready for anything that might possibly happen, had sunk in.

"It's stupid to try to prepare for life," Howie told me later, on the lawn. "It happens, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it." Prot was over by the side wall examining a sunflower. I wondered what he saw in it that we didn't.

"What about your task?" I asked him.

"Que sera, sera, " he whistled, leaning back to soak up the warm sunshine. "I think I'll take a nap."I suggested he think about the possibility of moving to Ward One. "I'll wait until Ernie's ready," he said.

The problem was that Ernie didn't want to leave. I had already proposed, at the last staff meeting, that Ernie be transferred to One as well. He had shown no sign of the debilitating phobia since his "cure"-no mask, no complaints about the food, no hog-tying himself at night or sleeping on the floor. He was, in fact, spending most of his time with the other patients, particularly Bess and Maria. He had already become quite adept at recognizing the Tatter's various alters, learning all their names and characteristics, waiting patiently for the "real" Maria to make an appearance, then going out of his way to keep her around, gently encouraging her interests in needlepoint and macrame. It was obvious that Ernie had a talent for helping others, and I encouraged him to consider going into one of the health or social professions. His reply was, "But there's so much that needs to be done here. "

It was about this time that Chuck organized an essay contest to decide who would be the one to go with prot on August seventeenth. The plan called for submission of all entries by the tenth, a week before his "departure," a date that was rapidly approaching. Prot had apparently agreed to read all the essays by the seventeenth.

Several staff members noted that Ward Two was unusually quiet during that two-week period with everyone sitting off by him/herself, thinking hard, bending over periodically to write something down. The only patients who didn't seem to want to go to k-PAX were Ernie and Bess-Ernie because there was work to be done here, and Bess because she felt she didn't deserve a free trip. And, of course, Russell, who called the contest "the work of the devil."