“You think they should try to wipe each other off the—”
“Did I say that?”
“Not exactly.” We listened to the rain for another moment before I advised her, “You’re making our government nervous.”
“They’re always nervous. Or, more correctly, you’re always nervous. Your government is just a reflection of your own fears and desires, isn’t that true?”
“Well, theoretically, at least.”
“Theoretically? Remind me again: how does a ‘democracy’ work?”
“All right. You made your point. But that’s not what I wanted to discuss with you today.”
“Okay, tell me: what’s bothering them now?”
“They want to know how you read minds. Evidently the military people are very much interested in that.”
“Should I tell them?”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Uh…Uh…”
She reached over and patted my hand. “Don’t worry, gino. I’m not going to spill any beans. Go ahead—send them in.”
“They’re not here right now.” I glanced around the room. “As far as I know. But here’s the thing: they want to bring in a neurobiologist to take a look at you. He’d like to conduct some tests. That okay with you?”
“Love to meet one of your high-powered biologists. Maybe I could learn something from him.”
“Will you be here Friday?”
She went for a zucchini. “If you ask me nicely.”
“What about Congo?”
“Oh, I’m finished in Congo for the moment.”
“For the moment?”
“I’ll be making one last trip to pick up a few traveling companions. Otherwise, I’m off to see the rest of your WORLD.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll set something up with the neurologist. By the way, the British journalist is in town now, unless the weather delayed his flight. He wants to have that interview with you after we finish here. Any problem with that?”
“Can I fool around with the bloke?”
I sighed—disgustedly, I’m afraid. “Not unless you arrange something with him for later. I’ll be there, too, by the way.”
“When I meet him later on?”
“No, damn it, for the interview.”
“To chaperone, is that it?”
“Something like that. Now before we discuss last Monday’s meeting, how are your plans for the return trip to K-PAX shaping up? Cassandra has been—”
“Have you been on the web lately?”
“Uh—not since yesterday. Why?”
“I’ve set up a website listing the requirements people must fulfill in order to emigrate. If you’re interested, you can check it out at www.K-PAXtrip.com.”
“You’ve got a website??”
“I don’t think there’s anything seriously wrong with your hearing, chief. I think it may be a comprehension problem.”
“I mean, how did you—”
“Why don’t you just check out the site? Save yourself a lot of valuable time.”
I jotted myself a little note to do that. “And what about the football stadium?”
“What about it?”
“Dammit, fled, have you got one lined up yet? That can’t be an easy thing to arrange.”
“Oh, you mean where am I going to get the rent money and all that. I don’t think it’s going to be very difficult. A lot of people are prepared to spend millions of dollars for a trip into outer space. I can do better than that. I can take one of the owners to Mars or Jupiter if he wants, in exchange for a few hours’ stadium rental. No big deal.”
“And how will you advertise this offer?”
“It’s already on the website.” Her eyes fluttered innocently. “Do you think I should mention it in the TV and magazine interviews?”
“I doubt if they’d be available in time. Of course it depends on when you’re leaving….”
“Asap.”
“What’s the rush?”
“It’s depressing here.” Still munching, she stood up, scratched her ribs, farted. The phony demure act had been set aside for the time being, apparently. “Is that all you wanted to talk about today?”
“No. I wanted to discuss the results of the hypnosis we did last Friday.”
The back of a hairy hand flapped against her forehead. “There are results??”
“Yes and no. There’s an affliction called dissociative—”
“Identity disorder. That’s what you accused prot of having, right?”
“That’s right. And I think you may have caught it.”
“I didn’t know it was catching!”
“It’s not. That was a joke.” I shook my head. “You K-PAXians have no sense of—”
“I know it was a joke, you ninny. So who are my other alleged ‘identities’?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t even know how many you have.”
“I hope one of them is male. I’ve always wondered what it would be like for a guy.”
“I don’t know what gender any of them are. Shut up and let me talk for a minute, will you?”
After swallowing the last of the zucchini, she clamped her lips tightly together and nodded solemnly.
“All right, let’s cut the clowning, shall we? When I put you under hypnosis and asked if there were anyone else with you, someone seemed to come forward. For the moment I’m assuming it’s a ‘she.’ Anyway, whoever it was seemed very timid. Withdrawn, I would say. In fact, she seemed to be trying to hide from me.”
Fled waited for me to go on. When I didn’t, she said, through tight lips, “Are you finished? Am I allowed to speak now?”
“Yes, goddamm it, speak. Doesn’t having an alter ego like that interest you at all?”
“Okay, I’ll play your little game for a minute. Why should it interest me? If you’re right about all these ‘alter egos,’ doesn’t everyone have a few?”
“No.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a psychiatrist, remember?”
“Yes, I do remember, and I think you’ve said on more than one occasion that we can never be sure what is going on in someone’s brain, human or otherwise. For all you know, every being on EARTH may have hundreds of these ‘egos’ wandering around in their heads. Eating potato chips, playing baseball, whatever—right?”
“Well, technically, that’s right. However, in the absence of symptoms….” But the fact is, she was absolutely correct. We still know very little about how the brain operates, and in particular, how individual personalities are formed. “In your case, though, there’s a complication.”
“Oh, my god!”
“Look—do you want to discuss this or not?”
“Sure.” She yawned loudly. “It’s fascinating.”
I luxuriated in a momentary glower before moving on. “The fact that you’ve made several trips to Congo suggests to me that your alter ego may be Congolese. She might even be a chimpanzee. What do you think about that idea?”
“Interesting speculation.”
“The question I wanted to ask you about all this is: how do I communicate with her?”
“What languages does she speak?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t talk to me. So here’s my suggestion. Actually it’s my son Will’s suggestion: I’d like to videotape today’s ses—I mean discussion—and ask you to watch it. See if you can figure out who your apparent alter is and what she’s trying to communicate to me, if anything. Even a gesture might tell us something. Maybe you can at least determine whether she’s a chimpanzee, an abused human being, or maybe something else.”
“Sure. Tape the hell out of it.”
“Fine. Then let’s not waste any more time.” I went to the camera Will had set up for me. There was a sign hanging off one of the switches, complete with instructions indicating which way to flip it. When I did that, a satisfying whirring sound came from the thing and I returned to fled. She was calmly waiting for me, and in less than a minute she was under.