“Maybe this is all fiction, and I don’t really exist.”
“We’ll have to discuss that some other time. So you’re sure you’re not going off to Africa or Asia or anywhere tomorrow?”
“And miss my chance at television stardom? Don’t make me laugh.”
We stared at each other for a while. “Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell the people of Earth about our indifference during your TV interview?”
“Will there be editors? Sponsors?”
“Of course.”
“There’s your answer.”
“All right. Have it your way. Right now I need to ask you about some of the patients.”
“I’m listening.”
“You somehow rewired Jerry. He’s having a hard time coping with that.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“Perhaps he’d like a free trip to K-PAX.”
“That the best you can do?”
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“The point is, you turned him into a ‘normal’ human being. For that we are all grateful, even though it might take him some time to adjust to the idea. What I want to know is whether you can do the same for the other patients.”
“I might be able to fix some of the other autists. The rest are a little more tricky.”
“Why is that?”
“You know why. Their problems aren’t about wiring. They’re like a chess game that went wrong on the first move. You’d have to turn back the clock and start them all over again. With different parents, preferably.”
“That’s precisely what I wanted to know: can you somehow erase their memories and start the games over?”
“No one can do that, doctor b. If you erased everything, there’d be nothing left to build new memories on. The brain isn’t like a videotape. Memories are an integral part of the structure itself. If I erased everything they’d be zombies.” She must have noticed my dejection, because she quickly added, “But I’ll talk to them if you like, see if I can find out if there’s something you missed.”
“Thank you. Now about your alters…”
“What ‘alters’?”
“You’ve got several. Maybe hundreds. It’s impossible to know.”
“Is this your first attempt at humor?”
“I wouldn’t joke about this.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Let me further enlighten you, doc. You may think you have evidence for a thousand of me, but forget it. I’m it.”
“Do you mean that after reading my books about prot—”
“He doesn’t buy it, either.”
“But what about Naraba? You admit that she’s—”
“She’s a friend and a travel companion.”
“But you saw the first alter, remember? Rwanda or Cameroon? And you didn’t even recognize her!”
“She must have been hiding somewhere when we got here.”
“All right, I give up. You win. Uh—”
“Oh no, please don’t ask me again whether the travel list is finished yet.”
“Well—”
“Or whether I’ve found a football stadium to leave from.”
“You’re reading my mind again, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and may I say you’re as sick as the rest of the sapiens.”
“What—”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve got Margie half-undressed, and who’s that you’ve got tied to the bed—why it looks like Dr. Rudqvist! And Meg Ryan is with her! What’s your wife going to say about all of this, mister hyde?”
“All right! I’m human! Surprised?”
She wagged her head and grinned/grimaced. “You poor sapien,” she said as she headed for the window.
“When will I see you again?”
“Never fear, dear gene, I’ll be here in time for makeup call.” From somewhere she pulled out a flashlight.
“Wait! I wasn’t finished.”
“Finished with what? Your obscene daydream?”
“Dr. Sauer and a few of his colleagues want to see you again. As a group.”
“Sounds like fun, but I’m pretty booked.”
“And the government wants you to come to Washington for an interview with an unnamed high-ranking official. Maybe the highest one of all. Would you be willing to do that?”
“Please convey my apologies for passing up this great honor. And I hope you’ll tell your boys not to try to stop us from leaving. That could be bad for everyone concerned. Especially the boys.”
“If there’s anything I’ve learned from you, dear fled, it’s that no one can stop you from doing whatever you want.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” She got up and headed for the window, where she gave her tush a good scratch.
“If you like.”
“Will that be all for now?”
“They aren’t happy that you’re promoting veganism, either.”
She wagged her hairy head. “Bad for the economy, right? Are all you people mere corporate puppets?”
I declined to answer that. “There’s one more thing.”
“There always is.”
“Are you taking any of our staff members with you when you return to K-PAX?”
“A few.”
“Which—”
Before I could say another word, she produced a mirror. I shouted, “Don’t forget about Steve!” But she was no longer in the room. Nor, quite probably, in the hemisphere.
* * *
I was exhausted again, and almost fell asleep on the drive home. The thought of Will having a fling with our newest staff member didn’t relax my tired brain in the slightest. Should I tell his mother about my suspicions? I decided to hold off on that until I had talked with some of the staff, see if anyone else had taken notice of this absurdity.
On top of everything else there was another traffic delay—an accident this time, with the inevitable gawker’s block—and I almost ran out of gas on the highway. The idea of never seeing MPI again was beginning to sound very attractive.
But by the time I got home I was wide awake, revived, no doubt, by unwelcome visions of government agents hiding in the rhododendrons. I discovered that I was actually sweating. It really dampens your spirit not knowing who might be watching every move you make. 1984 was a couple of decades late, perhaps, but it seemed to me that it had finally arrived.
Before I got out of the car I listened carefully, and my eyes probed every tree and bush. But nobody jumped out from anything. Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t in there, along with half the neighbors.
Karen, who had kept a pot of hot soup on the stove, was way ahead of me. “When are you going to get out of the psychiatry business?” was the way she put it. “It’s turning into a full-time job again.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I was thinking of hanging up my yellow pad for good when fled leaves. Permanently. Irreversibly. My old noodle isn’t up to it anymore.”
“It’s still up to a lot of things. But a complete change of perspective might do it some good. Summer’s almost here. What are we going to do about it?”
I took a spoonful of soup. “No doubt you’ve already got something in mind.”
“I was thinking of sitting on a lake somewhere and watching the fish jump.”
“Where?”
“Canada, maybe.”
“Flower would like that. But can we afford the gas?”
“Maybe we can get fled to drop us off before she goes.”
“How would we get back?”
“Maybe we won’t want to come back.”