"I don't deserve to eat."We had been around this circle many times before. Bess's battle with reality had not responded well to treatment. Her periods of depression had been barely managed with ECT and Clozaril and, more recently, by the presence of La Belle Chatte. She perked up a little when I told her that Betty was planning to bring in another half dozen cats from the animal shelter. Until further progress was made in the treatment of paranoid schizophrenia and psychotic depression there wasn't much more we could do for her. I almost wished she had been among those who had submitted an application for passage to K-PAX.
The kitten, incidentally, was doing fine with Ed. The only problem was that everyone in the psychopathic ward now wanted an animal. One patient demanded we get him a horse!
ON Tuesday, August fourteenth, prot called everyone to the lounge. It was generally assumed he was going to make some kind of farewell speech and announce the results of the essay contest Chuck had organized. When all of Wards One and Two and some of Three and Four, including Whacky and Ed and La Belle, had gathered around, along with most of the professional and support staff, prot disappeared for a minute and came back with-a violin! He handed it to Howie and said, "Play something."
Howie froze. "I can't remember how," he said. "I've forgotten everything."
"It will come back," prot assured him.
Howie looked at the violin for a long time. Finally he placed it under his chin, ran the bow across the strings, reached for the rosin that prot had thoughtfully provided, and immediately broke into a Fritz Kreisler etude. He stopped a few times, but didn't start over and try to get it perfect. Grinning like a monkey he went right into a Mozart sonata. He played it pretty badly, but, after the last note had faded into perfect silence, the room broke into thunderous applause. It had been the greatest performance of his career.
With one or two exceptions the patients were in a fine mood all that day. I suppose everyone was on his best behavior so as not to jeopardize his chances for an allexpense-paid-trip to paradise. But prot made no speech, no decision on a space companion. Apparently he was still hoping to talk Robert into going with him.
Oddly, no one seemed particularly disappointed. Everyone knew it was only a matter of days-hours until "departure" time, and his selection would have to be made by then.
Session Sixteen
DESPITE facing what should have been a very long and presumably exhausting journey prot seemed his usual relaxed self. He marched right into my examining room, looked around for his basket of fruit. I switched on my backup tape recorder and checked to see that it was working properly. "We'll have the fruit at the end of today's session, if you don't object."
"Oh. Very well. And the top o' the afternoon to ye."
"Sit down, sit down."
"Thankee kindly, sir."
"How's your report coming?"
"I'll have it finished by the time I leave."
"May I see it before you go?"
"When it's finished. But I doubt you'd be interested."
"Believe me, I would like to see it as soon as possible. And the questions for Dr. Flynn?"
"There are only so many hours in a day, gino, even for a K-PAXian."
"Are you still planning to return to your home planet on the seventeenth?"
"I must."
"That's only thirty-eight hours from now."
"You're very quick today, doctor."
"And Robert is going with you?"
"I don't know."
"Why not?"
"He's still not talking to me."
"And if he decides not to accompany you?"
"Then there would be room for someone else. You want to go?"
"I think I'd like that some day. Right now I've got a lot of things to do here."
"I thought you'd say that."
"Tell me-how did you know that Robert might want to go back with you when you arrived on Earth five years ago?"
"Just a hunch. I had a feeling he wished to depart this world."
"What would happen exactly if neither of you went back on that date?"
"Nothing. Except that if we didn't go back then, we never could."
"Would that be so terrible?"
"Would you want to stay here if you could go home to K-PAX?"
"Couldn't you just send a message that you're going to be delayed for a while?"
"It doesn't work that way. Owing to the nature of light ... Well, it's a long story."
"There are plenty of reasons for you to stay."
"You're wasting your time," he said, yawning. I had been told that he hadn't slept for the last three days, preferring instead to work on his report.
The moment had come for my last desperate shot. I wondered whether Freud had ever tried this. "In that case, I wonder if you'd care to join me in a drink?"
"If that's your custom," he said with an enigmatic smile. "Something fruity, I suppose?"
"Are you insinuating that I'm a fruit?"
"Not at all."
"Just kidding, doc. I'll have whatever you're having."
"Stay right there. Don't move." I retreated to my inner office, where Mrs. Trexler was waiting sardonically with a laboratory cart stocked with ice and liquor-Scotch, gin, vodka, rye-plus the usual accompaniments.
"I'll be right here if you need anything," she growled.
I thanked her and wheeled the cart into my examining room. "I think I'll have a little Scotch," I said, trying to appear calm. "I like a martini before dinner, but on special occasions like this one I prefer something else. Not that there are that many special occasions," I added quickly, as if I were applying for the directorship of the hospital. "And what about you?"
"Scotch is fine."
I poured two stiff ones on the rocks, and handed one to prot. "Bon voyage," I said, raising my glass. "To a safe trip home."
"Thank you," he said, lifting his own. "I'm looking forward to it." I had no idea how long it had been since his last drink, or if he had ever taken one at all, but he appeared to enjoy the first sip.
"To tell you the truth," I confessed, "K-PAX does sound like a beautiful place."
"I think you would like it there."
"You know, I've only been out of this country two or three times."
"You should see more of your own WORLD, too. It's an interesting PLANET." He took a deep slug, bared his teeth and swallowed, but his timing wasn't right and he choked and coughed for several seconds. While watching him try to get his breath I remembered the day my father taught me to drink wine. I hated the stuff, but I knew it signified the beginning of adulthood, so I held my nose and gulped it down. My timing wasn't right either, and I spewed some burgundy all over the living room carpet, which retains a ghostly stain to this day. I'm not sure he ever forgave me for that....
"You don't hate your father," prot said. "What?"
"You've always blamed your father for the inadequacies you perceive in yourself. In order to do that you had to hate him. But you never really hated him. You loved your father."
"I don't know who told you all of this, but you don't know what you're talking about."
He shrugged and was silent. After a few more swallows (he wasn't choking anymore) he persisted: "That's how you rationalized ignoring your children so you could have more time for your work. You told yourself you didn't want to make the same mistake as your father."
"I didn't ignore my children!"
"Then why do you not know that your son is a cocaine addict?"
"What? Which son?"
"The younger one. 'Chip,' you call him."
There had been certain signs-a distinct personality change, a constant shortage of funds-signs I chose to disregard until I found time to deal with them. Like most parents I didn't want to know that my son was a drug addict, and I was just putting off finding out the truth. But I certainly didn't want to learn about the problem from one of my patients. "Anything else you want to get off your chest?"