"Garth, I played that music for you because I'd hoped it would help you, not hurt you."
"It did help. Without the music, Garth would still be lying in bed. He would not be talking to you."
"Well, now that it's done its job, maybe it's time for you to stop listening to it."
"No," Garth replied evenly. "Not listening to the music will not make the thoughts go away. That would be like killing the messenger. Siegmund Loge's message was valid when he delivered it, and it still is. He demonstrated not only that our species is doomed, but why; one proof was mathematical, the other emotional. The music makes Garth think of that, yes; but without the music, the thoughts would be worse and Garth would sink back to the place where he was."
I smiled tentatively. "Listen, brother, if I'd known how my little experiment in music therapy was going to work out, I definitely wouldn't have brought you anything stronger than 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.' "
Once, Garth would have thought that funny; now the big man with the wheat-colored hair and piercing eyes who was my brother simply stared at me, a fixed, stony expression on his face. I decided it was time to change the subject.
"Why do you keep referring to yourself in the third person?" I continued. "What happened to I?"
"Garth feels a great distance away, Mongo."
"That doesn't seem like an answer."
"Garth's 'I' is at the bottom of an ocean. It was too heavy. Garth had to leave 'I' behind in order to come back to the surface."
"What ocean are you talking about?"
"Garth can say 'I' if it makes you feel more comfortable with him."
"Jesus Christ," I said, then sighed and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. I forced myself to reach out and touch his hand, which was resting on the table next to his Walkman. The gesture felt unnatural. "I don't want you to do me any favors, brother; I'm just trying to understand what you're saying and feeling. I want to help Garth get his 'I' back."
"Garth's 'I' is dead, Mongo. If Garth ever went back down to look for it, he'd die too. The music keeps him from sinking."
I sighed again, took my hand away from his. "Garth, I have to say something."
"Go ahead."
"I feel like I'm talking to a stranger, and I don't like it."
"Garth's sorry he makes you uncomfortable."
"Don't be sorry; it's not your fault. I've been making myself uncomfortable, because I've been searching for some new kind of way to talk to you. If you were somebody else's brother, I think I could do that without any trouble. I know how sick you've been, and I can't tell you how happy I am to see you out of that Goddamn bed, walking around and talking-even if I don't understand what you're talking about. I should be patient and understanding, grateful that you're talking at all; I should just sit here and listen, and nod my head a lot-but I can't, Garth. I've got too much feeling; I can't find a new way to talk to you. I don't care how-or even if-you respond; I'm going to speak the way I always have to the Garth I know and love-the brother who once had a very powerful 'I'. It's the only way I can deal with this situation, and with you."
"Garth understands," my brother replied evenly. "You should speak to him in any way that makes you comfortable."
"But I want you to feel comfortable with me."
"Garth is not uncomfortable with you, Mongo. Garth hasn't forgotten."
"You haven't forgotten what?"
"All that we've been through together, and what Garth owes you."
"You don't owe me anything; if anything, it's the other way around."
"Garth hasn't forgotten how you loved and cared for him when he was sick."
"I still love you, and you're still sick. And I'm still going to take care of you."
Garth cocked his head slightly, and a sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Garth feels strongly that you love and miss someone else. Garth doesn't feel that you can love him when he has no 'I'."
"Let me tell you something, brother," I said tightly. My stomach was hurting badly, and I had to fight back tears. "My old buddy Garth is going to get his 'I' back. That's a promise. If you can't do it, and the doctors here can't do it, then I am personally going to paddle to the bottom of whatever ocean you dropped it in and haul it back up. And I still think you should give Wagner a break for a little while. You won't sink anywhere; I won't let you."
"You should eat. The food's very good."
"I don't care how good it is," I said curtly. "I'm not hungry, and I don't want to eat. All I want to do is just sit here and talk to my brother."
Garth stared at me strangely for a long time, and then tears suddenly welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. "You're a dwarf," he murmured.
"No shit," I said bitterly. I knew I was behaving atrociously, and couldn't help it. Garth's tears had startled and frightened me. Now, for the first time, I was struck with the realization that Garth really could be insane, and might stay that way. For some reason, I felt threatened, and my immediate, defensive response was anger-and shame for the thought that it might have been better if Garth had never regained consciousness. I had never lost hope for the unconscious Garth, and now the madman sitting across from me was draining that hope away from me. "Did you just notice?"
"But it doesn't bother you."
"What the fuck are you talking about, Garth?"
"You've never suffered because you're a dwarf."
"That's bullshit. I distinctly remember it bothering me when some of our nastier classmates in high school insisted on trying to use me for a medicine ball. You should remember, because you were the one who punched their lights out when they did it."
"You've had bad experiences, but they only made you stronger. You're a very strong man, Mongo; you would have grown up to be a strong man in any case, but being born a dwarf made you stronger. It gave you a great challenge, something to test yourself against constantly. You've won. You've always won, because you've never allowed yourself to be beaten. That makes it very difficult for you to understand … the rest of us."
"More bullshit, Garth. I've been beaten down a good many times, and you damn well know it."
"But you always got back up again. You've never been crushed."
"Neither have you."
"Now Garth has been crushed."
"You've always been as strong as me, if not stronger."
"No. Your 'I' could never be lost, because you would die before you gave it up. You don't really need anyone. You don't need Garth."
"I need Garth to be well. What do you need?"
"The reason you can't understand is because you've never really suffered any serious damage to the part of you that is you. If you weren't so strong, Garth believes you would understand what he is saying, and you would feel more comfortable with him."
"Garth, what do you need?"
"Garth. . just needs."
"You need what?"
"Garth. . isn't certain, Mongo. Right now, he knows only that he needs this music to stay on the surface."
"Listen, brother," I said through clenched teeth, "what Mongo feels right now is like punching you in the mouth, and maybe Mongo will do it if you don't stop talking crazy. I mean it. How's that for a therapeutic prescription?! You have to fight madness, and you're not doing it!"
Garth's response was to abruptly reach up and snatch off his earphones. His hands were trembling slightly as he set the earphones down on top of the Walkman, shut the player off. He clasped his hands together on top of the table, leaned toward me.
"Garth was lost before you brought him the music of the Ring," my brother said in a low, earnest voice. The muscles in his jaw and throat clenched, unclenched. "He was drowning. It is impossible to describe what it was like-what Garth really means when he says 'drowning.' Garth's mind was still working; he could remember killing Orville Madison, and wounding Veil Kendry, just before he. . sank into this vast ocean of despair and unconsolable sadness. There was no hope in this ocean, Mongo-no reason whatsoever to live, much less to move or talk. Garth could hear voices; he knew what was happening all around him, but he couldn't move or talk under the weight of all that sadness. He couldn't-"