"We know, of course, the stories the music conjures up. Do you know of any real incidents Garth experienced which could form the basis for this kind of fantasy?"
"Which one? Killing Orville Madison, or doing battle with Siegmund Loge?"
"Either."
"No," I said in a flat voice. Garth had certainly been downright chatty with the doctors who'd examined him during the day, and he was blithely letting a lot of ugly cats out of a lot of ugly bags. These cats had poisonous fangs and claws, and letting them loose wasn't going to do anyone any good. "What does the murder fantasy have to do with the end-of-the-world business?"
"I'm not sure there is a connection. However, your brother insists that he shot Madison."
"Everyone knows that Orville Madison died in a hunting accident."
"Garth says that the hunting accident never happened, that it was a cover-up engineered by, among other people, no less than the president of the United States."
"Well, certainly no one can accuse Garth of not casting his fantasies with the biggest names in show business."
Slycke glanced up sharply at me. "Do you find this amusing, Dr. Frederickson?"
"No, Dr. Slycke, I most certainly do not. I apologize if I sounded flippant. It's just my way."
Slycke thought about it, apparently decided to accept my apology. "In Garth's mind, the murder of the secretary of state is somehow tied in with a search for an angel. This aspect of the fantasy isn't quite clear to me, and I'll have to listen to the tapes when I'm more rested."
"What about his constant use of the third person when he's referring to himself?"
"A loss of identity-diminishment of ego and the persistent feeling that one is living in someone else's body-isn't all that rare in certain schizoid types."
"Didn't Garth explain his angel fantasy to you?"
"Not exactly. He simply said that the two of you-yes, you're involved in this fantasy, also-were searching for an angel that the secretary of state wanted to kill. Garth had a lot of things to say about all sorts of incidents, but his method of telling them was. . well, perfunctory. He seemed to have a need to talk about these fantasies, but not to explain them in any detail; once he had said something, no matter how bizarre, that seemed to be the end of the matter. He resisted answering questions-another reason why I have to listen carefully to the tapes. I was hoping you might be able to shed light on some of these matters. Wagner's music is clearly connected to his quest fantasy, but it doesn't seem to explain the murder and angel fantasies. There must be some basis in reality for these fantasies."
"I guess maybe I should listen to the tapes too, Doctor."
"Surely you understand that records of conversations between doctor and patient must be kept confidential."
"I'd just like to be helpful." And find out just how much, about how many things, Garth had told these doctors-one of whom could be a K.G.B. informant. Mr. Lippitt was not going to be pleased.
Slycke grunted noncommittally. "Garth has also developed a most intense empathic facet to his personality. Indeed, it's the most powerful sense of empathy I've ever encountered. Most unusual."
"Meaning what, Doctor?"
"Your brother is obsessed with human suffering, virtually to the exclusion of everything else. Human misery is all he seems to think or really care about."
"Garth has always been a kind and sympathetic man."
"This is more than mere kindness and sympathy, Frederickson. This is empathy — almost total identification. Any decent individual is sensitive to the suffering of others, but with Garth this goes a step-or many steps-further. With Garth, it's almost as if he not only imagines but actually experiences the suffering of others. This intense empathy clearly seems to be linked to the music of Richard Wagner-specifically, Der Ring des Nibelungen."
"Yes," I said softly.
"Yes?"
"I can see that."
"Can you explain why this should be? Does that music have specific associations for him?"
"What does Garth say?"
"Nothing edifying, since it's bound up in his quest fantasy. He claims that Siegmund Loge used that music to torture the two of you in some way."
"The Ring has always had a powerful effect on Garth."
"The anomalies in Garth's blood which I mentioned previously: Do you suppose the same unique antibodies would show up in your blood, Frederickson?"
"I don't know."
"Your brother says that both of you were tortured and infected with this strange disease. If that were the case, you would also carry those same antibodies."
"Are you saying that you believe Garth's stories may be true?"
Slycke shook his head impatiently. "Of course not. The point is that he believes them to be true, and I'm trying to establish whether there may be some basis in reality for that belief. His fantasies are highly complex and structured, and he holds to them with remarkable consistency."
"Even if I did carry the same antibodies in my blood, it wouldn't mean anything, would it? It would just indicate that I'd picked up whatever Garth had had, but it was such a mild case that I wasn't even aware I had it."
"But you don't recall Garth ever suffering from any exotic disease?"
"No."
"I hope you're not concealing anything from me that could be useful in the treatment of your brother, Frederickson."
"I'm sorry I can't be more helpful, Doctor."
"So am I, Frederickson, so am I." Slycke paused, rubbed his temples with his middle fingers, grimaced as if he had hurt himself. "You shouldn't have brought those tapes of the Ring to your brother."
"I think I might agree with you. But that's a moot question now, isn't it?"
"We're looking at symptoms; we still don't know the deep structure of Garth's psychosis, or the mechanics of what's causing it. We could speculate that one effect of NPPD poisoning is to wipe the mind clean of most emotions associated with people and events, past and present. In essence, the mind becomes a kind of emotional blank tape, and the result is a state of profound depression leading to a paralysis of thought, will, and movement which closely mimicks classic catatonia. But that blank tape can be imprinted-if a stimulus can be found that is powerful enough to pierce the profound depression. You pierced the depression, and imprinted the tape, when you played the Ring for him. But that's all you did; you didn't reawaken the whole person, or heal the real hurt. Indeed, you've probably compounded the injury."
"Why do I get the impression that you're trying to make me feel bad?"
"I'm trying to construct a psychiatric model of your brother's problem that I can work with, Frederickson. If you get the impression that you've made my work more difficult, and possibly endangered your brother's health, by taking unauthorized actions, it's a correct one. But what's done is done, and recriminations are useless. We have to go on from where we are."
"I'm glad you feel that way."
"Whatever experiences and feelings Garth associates with that music now form the core of his emotional being, and he behaves accordingly. As a result of that imprinting, Garth's personality is now focused almost completely on physical and emotional pain. You know, your brother actually suffers when he listens to that music."
"So you told me."
"Yet he won't stop listening." There was a faint note of disbelief in the psychiatrist's voice.
"Maybe the music is the only thing that's holding him together," I ventured carefully.
"Then he's holding himself together with barbed wire; eventually, that will shred him."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm not sure, frankly, that there's anything we can do about it," Slycke said with a heavy sigh. "Psychiatry is very effective with neurotics, but-I'm sad to say-not so effective with psychotics. At the moment, your brother is definitely displaying psychotic symptomology. Usually, the best we can do with psychotics is to attempt to change their brain chemistry in order to alleviate their symptoms and allow them to function to whatever degree they're capable of." The doctor smiled thinly, without humor, and for a moment frustration and real pain moved in his eyes. "We dope them up."