But how did he get to this state in the first place? It would be simplistic to note that his childhood was a hell on Earth, but that pretty well describes it. He was one of those unfortunates who was kept locked in a dark, damp basement almost from birth by his mother (his father disappeared early on), and fed almost nothing. To keep him confined, he was vaguely warned about the vicious monsters lurking upstairs and prowling around outside. It’s hard to imagine what grotesque beasts and ogres he conjured up in his mind. He nearly starved to death until, at nine, his survival instincts (and considerable bravery) drove him out of the house, where he was discovered pawing through the trash cans in the back alley. He ran back inside when the neighbor called out to him (who knows what kind of monster he thought she was), but she correctly concluded that something was seriously wrong and had the good sense to call the police.
This situation, and others like it, occurs more often than you might imagine. Some parents, having been badly treated as children themselves, attempt to “get even” with the world by mistreating their own children. If they were physically or mentally abused, they are often equally abusive themselves. Some even hand their son or daughter over to molesters or pornographers in an attempt to “make up” for their own abuses, acting as pimps for their own children.
You might think that Rick would be unable to see the reality of food on the table, and would refuse to eat. Fortunately, it doesn’t work that way, not in his case, at least. It’s true that after years of eating dirt or peelings to stay alive, a slice of warm bread or an orange are as unreal as a unicorn. But whatever they are to him he accepts implicitly because they have to fit the bigger picture already painted on the canvas of his life. He might believe he’s eating rubber balls, for instance, or wooden pegs. So when he tells Barney that the sky is green, he probably believes it himself. To think otherwise would mean starting down the slippery slope toward the realization that the world is as horrible as his childhood experience suggested it was. Who knows what would happen to him if he were to begin that slide?
A similar fate might have befallen Phyllis, but it’s impossible to get any information from her. Whatever her background, she is unable to face up to it or anything else, even her very existence. Her early life must have been quite horrible indeed, maybe even worse than Rick’s or any of the other patients’.
Thus, with Phyllis, as for many of our residents, there is little meaning in the concept of a cure, which could actually be far worse than the affliction. How do we restore these Humpty Dumpties of the mind that were crushed and broken years earlier? Even fled, I suspected, wouldn’t be able to put them back together again, to rearrange all the synapses in their brains to make them whole and functional once more.
Suddenly I had a brainstorm. Would it be possible somehow, through surgery or medication, to create a kind of amnesia in patients like these and start them over with clean slates? Perhaps fled couldn’t fix them, but maybe she could do this much, give them a new lease on their miserable lives.
* * *
I wanted to touch base with Will, but he wasn’t in his office. His desk, I was pleased to note, was piled high with books and papers just like mine used to be. On the wall hung a photo of him and Dawn and their daughter Jennifer. As I gazed at my granddaughter’s pretty face, I suddenly found myself feeling very sorry for her. What if Tewksbury and others were right: in a century or so, by the time Jennifer left this planet, would the Earth be stuffed with human beings, devoid of most other life forms, and, as if that weren’t enough, a veritable hothouse? Or worse—would we survive even that long without making some hard choices, as prot and fled have suggested. I didn’t like to think about that.
On Will’s calendar I spotted a scribbled note: coffee with Hannah, 11:00. I headed dismally for the doctors’ dining room, where I found them huddled closely together at a table in the corner. My first thought was that if it had been anyone else but my son, I might have suspected they were having an affair. My second thought was about the same. When they saw me they quickly straightened up and Will (unenthusiastically, I thought) waved me over. Hannah’s face was so red that I wondered whether she, in fact, suffered from a serious circulation, rather than an emotional, problem. I brushed off my unwelcome suspicions as the paranoia of a concerned parent.
They said they had been discussing Jerry, who was neither Will’s nor Hannah’s patient. Apparently Laura Chang had told the latter that, although there was no reason to keep him in the hospital any longer, the former autist didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go anywhere. Feeling a bit out of place, I took a seat and asked them why they thought Jerry was suddenly so reluctant to get on with his life. “If it were me,” I remarked fatuously, “I’d be eager to get out of here and see what I’ve been missing.”
Hanna, still blushing noticeably, related that “He spends most of his time studying his matchstick sculptures, trying to understand why he doesn’t know how to do them anymore.”
“In fact,” Will added, carefully studying his empty cup, “he took some of the matches away from his Eiffel Tower, and when he tried to put them back in, the whole thing collapsed. Now all he has is a pile of sticks.”
“What is Laura doing about this?”
“Just as you might expect,” said Hannah. “She wants to give him more time. It’s like a blind man who is suddenly able to see. You would think it should be easy, but it takes him awhile to adjust.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“She’s going to present his case at the staff meeting on Monday. You want to come?”
“I’ll try to be there.”
Will stood up. “Maybe we should invite fled, too. Right now, I’ve got to run. Patient time!”
“Me, too!” said Hannah, who quickly jumped up and followed him out. The hospital equivalent of Dartmouth and Wang.
* * *
It was already approaching noon, and I had planned to be home for lunch. But I wanted to speak with fled before I left, particularly since the television people would be at the hospital the next day with all their cameras and other paraphernalia, which might make a simple discourse with her, or anyone else, more difficult than it already was. If, in fact, she showed up for the taping.
I searched for half an hour and was beginning to think she had left the premises. She had promised to stay around “for a while,” but to an alien that could mean anything. The last place I looked was Room 520, where I had left her. Surprisingly, she was still there. She seemed a bit morose. “Is something wrong?” I asked her.
“Prot was right,” she said. “But I had to come and see for myself.”
“Right about what?”
“If anything characterizes your species, besides your greed and your violent nature, it’s your amazing indifference to damn near everything outside your immediate experience. For someone from another PLANET it takes some getting used to.”
“Dammit, fled, I told you I’m worried about the Earth, too. But right now there are more pressing matters to discuss.”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“Please listen to me. The television cameras are coming the day after tomorrow. You gave me your word that you would be here for that. I expect you to honor that commitment, and I need to know: are you going to keep your promise?”
“No one taught me to lie, my dubious friend. We don’t even have a word for it on K-PAX. That’s a human thing.”
“Maybe you could be lying and you don’t even know it.”