“Ah, yes, therapy. There is none of that here. We regard our eccentrics as horses of the gods. We feed them and treat them well. They are not ill; just ridden hard.”
Mary inclined dubiously. “We recognize a great many mental malfunctions. We have the means to correct them. A clear mind is the pathway to a free will.”
“You have been therapied?”
“I haven’t needed it,” she said. “But I wouldn’t object if I did need it.”
“How many therapied in Los Angeles?”
“About sixty five percent have had some form of therapy, however minor. Some therapy helps improve performance in difficult jobs. Socially oriented therapies help people work better with each other.”
“And criminals? They are therapied?”
“Yes,” she said. “Depending on the severity of their crime.”
“Murderers?”
“Whenever possible. I’m not a therapist or a psychologist. I don’t know all the details.”
“What do you do with criminals who cannot be therapied?”
“They’re very rare. They’re kept in institutions where they can’t harm others.”
“These institutions, are they also for punishment?”
“No,” Mary said.
“We believe in punishment here. Do you believe in punishment in the United States?”
Mary did not know how to answer that. “I don’t believe in punishment,” she said, wondering if she spoke the complete truth. “It doesn’t seem very useful.”
“But there are many in your country who do. Your President Raphkind.”
“He’s dead,” Mary said.
She noticed Soulavier had become less graceful and less mobile, more stern and intent. He was homing in on some point and she was not sure it would be pleasant.
“A man and a woman, they are responsible for their lives. In Hispaniola, especially in Haiti, we are very tolerant of what people do. But if they are bad, if they become the horses of bad gods—and that is metaphor, Mademoiselle Choy…” He paused. “Vodoun is not widely practiced now. Not by my generation. But there is belief, and there is culture…If they become the horses of bad gods it is the individual’s fault, too. You do them a favor by punishment. You alert their souls to error.”
“That sounds like the Spanish Inquisition,” she said.
Soulavier shrugged. “Colonel Sir is not a cruel man. He does not impose punishment on his people. He lets them choose in their own courts. We have a just system, but punishment not therapy is part of it. You cannot change a man’s soul. That is white man’s illusion. Perhaps in the United States you have lost the truth of these things.”
Mary did not argue the point. Soulavier’s sternness passed and he smiled broadly. “I appreciate conversation with people from outside.” He touched his head. “Sometimes we grow too used to where we live.” Standing, brushing grains of sand from his black pants, he looked past the boardwalk to the police station. “The Inspector General may be ready now.”
42
“You didn’t sleep last night,” Nadine said, puffy features betraying crossness, her own lack of sleep, her closeness to the edge. + It must be a strain looking after someone who acts crazy when that is one’s own chosen mode.
She sat on the bedroom chair with legs crossed and flimsy nightie pulled up over her knees. “I’m not making breakfast today. You didn’t eat my dinner last night.”
Richard lay on the bed tracking with his eyes an ancient earthquake line through the ceiling plaster. “I dreamed he escaped to Hispaniola,” he said casually.
“Who, Goldsmith?”
“I dreamed he’s there now, and they’re putting him under a clamp.”
“Why would they do that if Colonel Sir is his friend? That would be awful,” Nadine said, fidgeting. “But there’s no way of knowing.”
“I’m connected with him,” Richard said. “I know.”
“You couldn’t know,” she said softly.
“A mystical connection.” He stared at her intently, without hostility. “I know what he’s all about. I can feel it.”
“That’s silly,” she said even more softly.
He looked back to the ceiling. “He wouldn’t just leave us without a reason.”
“Richard…He’s hiding from the pd.”
Richard shook his head, convinced otherwise. “He’s where he always wanted to be, but they’ve got a few surprises in store for him. He talked about Guinée sometimes.”
“Where the hens come from.” Nadine laughed.
“It was a dream Africa. He thought Yardley was making the best spot on Earth. He thought Hispaniolans were the best people on Earth. He said they were sweet and kind and didn’t deserve their history. The USA betrayed the black people there, just as they betrayed the black people here.”
“Not I,” Nadine said archly. “Listen, I’ll make breakfast.”
“We’re all responsible. We all need to break away from what we are, from our failures. Maybe war is a kind of breaking away, a nation becoming something else. Do you think so?
“No opinion,” Nadine said. “You must be hungry, Richard. It’s been twenty four hours since you last ate. Let’s eat and talk about your manuscript.”
He flung his hand up as if tossing something. “Gone. Worthless. I have it inside me but I can’t express it. Emanuel wouldn’t betray me. He meant me to learn something through our connection. To learn what it takes to triumph over our desperate histories.”
Nadine closed her eyes and pressed her temples with her knuckles. “Why am I staying with you?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Richard said sharply, sitting upright with a jerk. She jumped in surprise.
“Please don’t keep on.”
“I don’t need you. I need time to think.”
“Richard,” she beseeched, “you’re hungry. You’re not thinking straight. I know the Selector scared you. He scared me too. But they weren’t looking for you or me. They were looking for him. If they come back, we’ll tell them he’s in Hispaniola and they won’t bother us anymore.”
He stretched deliberately, like an aging cat. His joints popped. “Selectors are full of shit,” he said calmly. “Almost everybody I know is full of shit.”
“Agreed,” Nadine said. “Maybe even we are full of shit.”
He disregarded that and stood as if about to make a pronouncement. She stood also. “Juice? Some food? I’ll make breakfast if you promise to eat it.”
He nodded. “All right. I’ll eat.”
From the kitchen Nadine said, “Can you really feel a connection to him? I’ve heard about that, you know. In twins.” She laughed. “You couldn’t possibly be twins, could you?”
In the living room Richard watched the LitVid intently. There was no news on AXIS’s explorations. That was significant. Even the far stars showed the truth: things were out of balance. Something drastic had to be done to set them back in order.
43
…those of us black people carried from Africa to other parts of the world, especially to the United States, are known to be in total ignorance of many truths, including what we are really like, what we have been made into by slavery and/or colonialism, and above all, how to care for our lares and penates, our household gods.