K-PAX IV: A New Visitor From The Constellation Lyra

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next morning I was just getting into the car when a disembodied voice whispered, “Dr. Brewer!”

“Huh? Where are you?”

“Up here.” In the oak tree nearest the garage was Wang, proffering his badge. Dartmouth was at the end of the driveway guarding the house from terrorists with his huge, ugly weapon.

“Dammit, Wang, I haven’t had time to—”

“We’ve learned from one of our most reliable sources that your visitor is planning to send some violent aliens to wipe out the human race. Is that true or false?”

I saw no point in withholding this information, which was already on record. “Fled told us in a television interview that if we humans don’t shape up and learn to share the Earth with one another and with all the other species living on the planet, some alien beings might come and—uh—terminate us. But she’s not ‘sending’ them. She’s just passing on their warning.”

“What country are they working for?”

“They’re not working for any country, Wang. They’re aliens.”

“I know they’re aliens. Are they Russian or Chinese? What kind of weapons do they have?”

“Viruses.”

“Ah. Biological warfare! I knew we should have put more effort into that. Somebody’s head is going to roll for this one. But it’s not going to be mine!”

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to hear that.”

“What are they going to use? Bird flu? West Nile? SARS? We can lick anything they throw at us….”

“No, I think this is a new one they’ve produced just for us.”

“Even better! A clean slate. Just give us four or five years and we’ll beat this thing, no matter how many lives it costs!”

“We may only have a few hours.”

“What?? We can’t come up with a defense for some foreign virus in a few hours.”

“That may be all we’ll have.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Was there something else? I’ve got to get to the hospital.”

“We’ll be there afore ye.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. We have a court order to come in and talk to some of the patients. See what they might be able to tell us.”

“About what?”

“About when and from where your visitor is leaving.”

“What makes you think they know anything about that?”

“That’s why we’re going in. To find out if they know anything!” He leapt from the tree and ran down the driveway. Out of nowhere a huge helicopter roared into view above the road. Dartmouth grabbed the ladder dangling from it and started up, followed immediately by Wang, and they were still climbing toward the hatch as the chopper rumbled off toward the south. I saw Dartmouth slip once, but his partner grabbed him and pushed him back up the ladder. Perhaps they were finally even.

Karen came out of the house. “Bill Siegel’s on the phone. He wants to know what the hell is going on over here.”

“Tell him the elephants just left.”

* * *

When I got to the hospital the empty helicopter was sitting on the lawn, its rotor blades drooping; it looked for all the world like a huge dead insert. Several of the patients were milling around it, pointing and laughing. Dartmouth stood nearby, guarding it with his massive weapon. Wang was in the building looking for fled and interviewing some of the other residents, the rest of whom were huddled together on the back forty. All except for Georgie, the football star with the IQ of forty. Dartmouth watched him suspiciously as he spiraled the ball far into the air, then ran and caught it before it hit the ground. As long as he’s been here, I’ve never seen him miss it.

I don’t know which I enjoyed more: Georgie’s athletic ability or Dartmouth’s fascination with it. Up and up went the football along with the G-man’s dull, narrowly-spaced eyes. Over and over again—ten, fifteen, twenty times, neither of them losing an iota of interest. As luck would have it, the twenty-first toss went high into the air and plummeted straight down to where Dartmouth was standing. I could see his indecision mount as the ball came down and down and down…. At the last second, with Georgie running hard toward him, he dropped his weapon and lunged for the ball. There was a collision. Georgie and the football bounced a few feet away. While our athletic patient climbed to his feet, a look of surprise on his face, Dartmouth went for the ball. As he bent down to pick it up he accidentally kicked it instead. He went after it again, reached down with his hand, kicked the ball with his foot. All over the lawn the charade proceeded, Dartmouth following the football: kick, reach, kick, while Georgie watched in bewilderment.

Whether it was the size sixteen AAA wingtip shoes stabbing the ball, or his uniform: worn blue suit and red tie flapping in the breeze that produced the eruption I can’t say, but suddenly from the back forty came the sound of laughter—giggles, howls, roars, guffaws—and leading the pack was Barney. Dartmouth, oblivious to the commotion, chased the football as it bounced off walls and patients, reached down for it, kicked it again. He might be out there even now but for a perfect tackle by Georgie, who grabbed the fumble and ran the entire length of the lawn for a touchdown, to deafening cheers from his fellow inmates.

By the time Dartmouth came to his senses, picked himself up, and ran for the helicopter, it was crawling with patients. There came a whine, and the rotor started to turn. The lanky agent went for his weapon, still lying where he had left it, but it flew out of his hands, end over end, seemingly in slow motion, and when he finally grabbed it he promptly shot himself in the foot. The rotor turned faster, and in a matter of seconds the aircraft was up in the air and over the wall, fled at the controls. The pilot, who had gone into the building to use the facilities, came running out, followed immediately by Wang, waving his own huge sidearm, but it was far too late—the helicopter was already circling over the Hudson. It turned southeast toward the Empire State Building, the first stop on a city-wide tour, as Dartmouth hopped around the lawn, yelping like an injured animal.

Cliff Roberts and some of the nurses appeared and began to attend to him while someone called for an ambulance. The patients who hadn’t made it to the helicopter in time scrutinized the proceedings with considerable interest. Cliff was very much in command the whole time and quite solicitous toward the injured agent, who was in considerable pain and crying like a baby, and I thought: even Roberts has redeeming qualities. He may have seemed less than serious about his profession, but perhaps that was all an act to compensate for some buried neurosis or innate kindness, and when the crunch came he didn’t hesitate to pitch in. This was the kind of doctor I would want if I were a patient here. I found myself hoping that the Bullocks were aware of our good points, despite the obvious negatives. Whether they came or not, I realized, we would all survive this world or perish together.

Barney was still giggling softly as he watched Georgie toss the football high into the air, run and catch it, toss it again.

* * *

That afternoon fled dumped the helicopter at LaGuardia, much to the chagrin of the traffic controllers and the FAA, and brought the patients “home” in the usual way—by light and mirror. Fortunately, Wang and the pilot had accompanied Dartmouth to the hospital, so there was no problem attending her arrival. Nevertheless, she didn’t stay long; presumably she still had a few last-minute arrangements to make. Just before she left the lawn she waved at me, but whether it was just a “See you later, doc,” or a final farewell, I couldn’t be sure. I waited the rest of the day for her to return, and finally decided to stay overnight at the hospital in case she came back after hours.

In the meantime I took a fresh look at the patients I encountered. I saw them now in a different light, not the cold, clinical one necessary for their treatment, but as fellow human beings who had made it this far despite devastating travails, the horrible ordeals they had experienced (and, in their minds, always would) at the hands of their parents and others whom they should have been able to trust. Yet, despite the cruel and even sadistic treatment, they were still in there pitching, refusing to give up. Suddenly I felt great pride in knowing them and what they had tried courageously to overcome.

I watched Phyllis as she hid in front of a small shrub. She was no longer merely the psychiatric problem that I and the rest of the staff had dealt with, but a human being who had suffered terrible damage to her psyche, someone who hurt every single minute with never a letup. After experiencing God knows what pain and suffering, is it any wonder that she tried to become invisible, desperately hoping that no one, especially her parents, could see her and inflict further unbearable damage? What else had she gone through that even I, a trained psychiatrist, didn’t know and didn’t want to know about? How much have countless others outside these walls had to endure as the price for being born in this world? Even for those of us who escaped parental or sibling abuse, the world is a harsh enough reality. How much longer must we turn on the television set and see the faces of millions of people starving all over the world? Or count the arms and legs blown off by the weapons you and I sell to whomever will buy them? Is it any wonder that so many people want to go to K-PAX, or perhaps take their chances on any planet other than this one? At least a hundred thousand, according to fled’s website. And with the roster filled well before the departure date, how many had to be turned away?

After dinner several of the patients came, one by one, to say good-bye. They all seemed sad, as if they might rather stay if conditions were otherwise. But perhaps they just wanted to express their thanks and hint that they would miss those of us who had tried unsuccessfully to help them. In any case they had all made the decision to go, and weren’t about to change their minds. Their leader in this unified front was Howard, who summed up their feelings this way: “For the first time in our lives, we’ll be able to create new memories.”

When the evening finally came to a close I was almost afraid to take to my nice, soft bed. I had had nightmares the evening before; who knew what terrible dreams I would have this night, filled with barely-overcome horrors, harsh disappointments, unfulfilled desires. I was lucky to have a wonderful wife and family, and good health for my age, but was that only a hologram masking what was really lurking just below the surface? Nevertheless, I finally turned off the light and closed my eyes.

It wasn’t long before I was awakened by fled. Or perhaps it was only a dream, though I hadn’t had any mushrooms for days. “It’s time,” she whispered.

I sat up in my white hospital pajamas. “I thought you’d never leave.”

“Keep working on that sense of humor, doctor b. And by the way, you look cute in those.”

“Thank you. Everything is arranged, then?”

“Not only arranged, but the canyon is full and everyone else is in the lounge waiting for me. I just stopped in to say farewell.”

“You couldn’t find a way to cure any of them?”

“You saw the holograms, gene. Even if I could cure them, they’d rather be somewhere else. They don’t seem to like this PLANET for some reason.”

“And the other 99,900 or so?”

“Them, too.”

“Can you tell me: are they all mental patients?”

She seemed puzzled. “Not to my knowledge.”

There didn’t seem to be much more to say. I offered a hand, which she didn’t take. Instead, she leaned over whispered, “Last chance for a quickie!” I could smell her breath, which reminded me of a fresh salad.

“No, thanks. It’s tempting, but no thanks.”

“It’s your loss.” She kissed me on the cheek. It was wet and sloppy, like Filbert’s, but warm and tender, too. As she turned around to leave, she called over her shoulder, “Come up and see me sometime.”

After she had gone I found the blood and urine samples she had left on the little end table.

I dressed quickly, but was too late. According to the night crew, fled had reappeared briefly in the lounge, where she found Howard and the others waiting with their little traveling bags. Most were sound asleep. A moment later they were gone.

* * *

Early that morning we took stock. Missing from the hospital were all the patients (except Jerry and Georgie) I have described in this book, including old Mrs. Weathers, who apparently decided to have one last fling after all, as well as most of the other residents of the Manhattan Psychiatric Institute. All left their rooms clean and tidy except for Darryl, who had torn all his pictures of Meg Ryan into little bits and tossed them everywhere. His floor was a confetti of shattered hopes and dreams. There was no trace of the little cakes and cookies, however.

I was surprised that Barney went with them—he had finally found something to awaken his sense of humor. But maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe his deeper unhappiness, whatever its origin (perhaps underneath it all he abhorred the thought of going into the family dry cleaning business) couldn’t be overcome by a few laughs. Or perhaps fled convinced him that there was far more genuine humor on K-PAX than on Earth, where most people will laugh at almost anything, even if it isn’t funny, to momentarily mask their chronic sadness. Charlotte and former patient Ed went along, too. I hope they find the peace they desperately needed and longed for. What I hadn’t expected, however, was that Kathy Rothstein embarked on the journey as well, along with former colleague Arthur Beamish and some of the nurses. As did our perky secretary, Margie Garafoli. Underneath her bubbly exterior must have simmered a cauldron of pain and suffering.

Despite the loss of a few of the staff members, Goldfarb wasn’t disappointed with this turn of events. On the contrary she was delighted, as any good psychiatrist would have been, that most of her charges had finally found a measure of peace, and maybe even happiness, somewhere, anywhere. “Now,” she calmly observed, “we have room for a few new patients. A hundred and ten, to be precise.”

It wasn’t until I got home later that morning that I found an e-mail message on my computer:

to my dear gene with love (whatever that means)

thank you for putting me up

your friend fled

ps the door to K-PAX is always open for you

* * *

The media reports were sketchy. For one thing, there were no reporters at the Grand Canyon in the predawn hours and no one witnessed the event except, perhaps, for a few sleepy burros (for all we know some of them might have gone along, too). For another, barely a handful of notes were left by the travelers for worried families or places of employment. Only gradually did it become clear that the 100,000 “people” fled had taken with her were almost entirely great apes: chimpanzees (including Filbert and, of course, Dr. Tewksbury), gorillas, orangutans. Most of these came from the mountains and jungles of Africa and Southeast Asia, though many of the zoos and research laboratories around the world reported missing animals as well (although fled didn’t mention this to me, she must have visited quite a few of those during her visit). There was a great outcry among the researchers involved, most of whom were heavily funded by government grants, lamenting the theft of their “property.” The zoos, too, loudly resented the taking of their prime exhibits, complaining primarily about the expense of replacing them.

But maybe fled had little choice. Perhaps hardly any of Earth’s humans were able to fulfill the requirements for the trip. How many pacifist, agnostic vegans with two children or less are there in the world, anyway? Well, at least one. Our daughter Abby managed to be invited along on the trip, and is, at this moment, somewhere on K-PAX. Steve was quite upset by this at first—she didn’t tell him she had applied—but he soon became too busy to dwell on it. And when he finally found time to do so, he was very proud and happy for her. In any case, she left a note explaining that she would be back “in a few years.” Perhaps she’ll accompany Giselle and Gene when they make their promised return visit. In the meantime, we all miss her terribly.

The rest of the story we learned from fled’s website, which she had somehow updated at the last minute while traveling the world accumulating her fellow passengers. To explain why she regarded her travel companions as “people,” I quote directly from the site:

… The great apes share between 96% and 99% of the human genome. Homo sapiens are genetically more closely related to the chimpanzees than are two species of finch! They share with you many emotions that are indistinguishable from your own: they feel pain and anguish, they intensely love their children, feel deep fears, form close friendships, and grieve the loss of a parent or sibling (sometimes to the death). By your own standards of measurement, the IQ’s of the ape species are equivalent to those of human children. They are curious about their environment and hate being bored (in this regard, of course, they are different from most sapiens). And, like humans, they can sometimes be cruel and devious. Go to an ape prison [zoo or laboratory] and look into their eyes. What you will see is yourselves looking back.

The apes are, in fact, members of your own genus (homo). They have been classified otherwise because of their physical appearance, without regard for the countless mental and physical similarities between you. Regarding them as something else merely underscores your own prejudices. You and they evolved from a common ancestor, a fact that has been vigorously denied by your religions, which unanimously insist that human beings are in a special category, elevated above every other form of life on EARTH, or anywhere else. Discounting your biological history clearly illustrates this human bigotry. Treating the great apes as “inferior” is like considering all women, all humans of other races, all those with different sexual orientations, or anyone who exhibits differences of any kind as being of less value than yourselves.

I have left you a few thousand of your relatives, enough to maintain their species if you are willing to set aside territory which is theirs alone, and never violating it. If you were to do this, you would be taking a great step toward joining the civilized beings in the rest of the UNIVERSE as partners. Otherwise, it will not look good on your record, which, even now, is being scrutinized by the bullocks.

Taking some of your cousins with me in no way suggests that beings other than humans or apes are inferior in any way to either of you. I could only take 100,000 of you with me on this trip. Perhaps other K-PAXians will come to bring some of your fellow beings to K-PAX, where we will all live in harmony with one another. If you should learn to co-exist on EARTH, of course, there will be no need. If you cannot, they will not miss you when the badguys come. Either way, their short lives of terror will soon be over, and your WORLD will again be the paradise it was before the sapiens arrived on the scene. And when that happens, those who have emigrated to K-PAX may wish to return to your beautiful PLANET.

A few days after fled and her companions departed, Dartmouth (hobbling on old-fashioned wooden crutches) and Wang paid us a final call. “We have decided to allow her—uh—child to be born,” the latter informed me, “provided that she agrees to certain experimental procedures. We’d appreciate it if you would tell us where we can find her. The boss is very keen to have this matter successfully resolved in the interest of national security.”

“That’s classified,” I told him, and went back into the house, thinking: perhaps we ought to be glad that our governments are so inept. Imagine the damage they could do if they were competent….

* * *

The following Monday Goldfarb called and requested that I come in one last time for lunch and to fill in some paperwork. Karen decided to go, too. I supposed my long-suffering wife was worried that while I was there I’d find some puzzling case to become involved with, though I assured her there was no chance whatever of that.

She rolled her eyes. “All it would take would be an alien visitor or someone equally interesting and you’d be off and running again.”

“I don’t think I could take another alien visitor!”

We went in a few days later. The plywood barricade blocking the grounds from prying eyes had already been removed, but the lawn and lounge were eerily deserted, and there was little to see. As we proceeded to the doctors’ dining room I vaguely wondered how long it would be until the hospital would be filled again with impossible patients of all possible kinds.

“Surprise!” a few dozen voices shouted. It was a long-postponed retirement party for moi.

Well, I won’t go into the gory details on that. Except to say that it had been organized by Will (with the assistance of Hannah Rudqvist). But how did they know I would be hanging up my yellow pad for good as soon as fled had gone? “I knew you would consider anything that happened after she left to be anticlimactic,” Will later told me. Another good indication that it’s time for permanent retirement: when your family and co-workers know you better than you know yourself.

All the remaining patients were also there, including Jerry and the other autists, along with Georgie and his football. Their obvious joy served as a reminder to everyone, especially those of us who had forgotten, that being mentally ill doesn’t always mean sadness and despair.

We all had a wonderful lunch, including a huge chocolate cake (my favorite dessert) with thirty-five candles on it, one for every year I had been at the hospital. There were speeches by Goldfarb, Will, and even Roberts, who openly confided, “To tell you the truth, I never liked you much.”

What else could I say but, “I didn’t like you much either, but now that I’ve gotten to know you better, I like you even less.” His roar of laughter indicated that he accepted the joke in the spirit that had been intended, though it probably covered up a little unconscious prejudice on both our parts. But, of course, we’re both human.

Finally it was my turn. I hadn’t prepared anything, so it was pretty rambling. The easiest part was thanking everyone for so many enjoyable years as their colleague at the Manhattan Psychiatric Institute. All of them, particularly Virginia Goldfarb, had made everything about my difficult job easier and more rewarding. As much as I had sometimes complained about the workload, the frustration, and the stress of treating some very demanding patients, it had been thirty-five years of fascination and wonder. And being able to help a lot of miserable people to live happier lives than they might have otherwise was the icing on the cake. I was almost sorry I had decided to retire.

I confessed that I had been extremely fortunate, of course, in having been in the right place at the right time when prot showed up, followed by fled a few years later. It’s impossible to really explain how much they have enriched my life. Until you’ve been privileged to know beings who represent cultures that have been around far longer than ours, it’s difficult to fully appreciate how very young we are on the cosmological scale, how enormously much we have to learn. In a similar vein, we could also ascertain a great deal from our close cousins, the great apes, who have been around for at least as long as we have, and who have learned to live within the prescribed bounds that a benevolent nature allows, and never try to take more than they need.

After the yawns had died down I pointed out that MPI has a wonderful young staff, doctors and nurses who, I am sure, will give their best until their turn to exit the stage comes along, as it inevitably must. I hoped they would all have lives, both professional and personal, as enjoyable as the one I have had. If I died tomorrow I would die happily, knowing I had done the best I could with what little talent I had.

But, I added, none of it would have been possible without my wonderful wife, who unflaggingly helped me get through the difficult times with her unquestioning love and support. I don’t know how many years we have left together, but I know they will be good ones, happy ones, if not very productive.

I ended with the hope that many of the staff would visit us once in a while in the Andirondacks, knowing that most would not. That’s okay, too. They will have plenty of other things to do.

As would I. I looked forward to getting back to travel planning, my telescope, my rented Cessna, and to reading the vast number of books accumulating dust in my study—MobyDick and all the rest.

And I had one last book of my own to write.