“I almost called you at home yesterday,” Giselle blustered as she paced around my office.
I was trying to find the paper I still hadn’t reviewed, to send it back with apologies. “What’s the matter now?” I asked irritably, wondering what had stopped her.
“Where’s prot? What have you done with him?”
“What—he’s disappeared again?”
“Nobody has seen him since Friday.”
“Robert, too?”
“No, he’s around, but prot’s gone.”
“Oh. I don’t think he’s gone back to K-PAX, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“He might as well have.”
“Giselle, you knew he wouldn’t be here forever. He must have told you that.”
“But he told me he wouldn’t go without letting me know.”
“Me, too. That’s why I don’t think he’s gone.”
“But it’s more than that. When I saw him on Friday he seemed—I don’t know—different. Preoccupied or something. He just wasn’t his old self.”
“It doesn’t always happen that way, but I’m not surprised to hear it.”
She plopped down in the vinyl chair. “He’s dying, isn’t he?”
Her disconsolation softened my irritability. “It isn’t like that, Giselle. What’s happening, I think, is that he’s slowly becoming integrated into Robert’s personality. In other words, you still have him. You’ll have both of them.”
“You mean Robert will become more like him?”
“A bit more like him, perhaps.”
“I understand what you’re saying. But it’s still hard to believe.”
“It’s hard for Rob to believe, too.”
“Either way, you’re going to have a difficult time explaining it to the patients. They combed the hospital yesterday looking for him.”
“What do they think when they see Robert?”
“They see a fellow patient. But they don’t see prot.”
“Maybe they will eventually.”
“I doubt it.”
“That reminds me of the favor I requested of you— remember?”
“You mean to make friends with Robert, and all of that?”
“That’s right. It’s very important.”
She looked at her hands for a long time. “We’re already friends. In fact, I like him a lot. It’s just that he’s not prot.”
“Part of him is. Will you continue to cultivate that friendship?”
She turned away for a long moment. Finally she said, “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you, Giselle. I need all the help I can get. I’m counting on you.”
She nodded and got up to leave. At the door she whirled around. “What about the cetologist? I promised him that prot—”
“Trust me. It’ll be all right.”
“Okay, Doctor B. I’m counting on you, too.”
By a show of hands I was confirmed as acting director. No one else wanted the job, not even Thorstein, at least not on a temporary basis and with the worms crawling out of the can. The remainder of the meeting was spent dividing up Villers’s few patients for the duration of his absence. I took Jerry and Frankie. And Cassandra, not because I saw a fortune in milking her for predictions, but because I didn’t want anyone else to be tempted. There were some objections to this, but as acting director I was able to over-rule them.
This was followed by a brief discussion of upcoming events: visits by the cetologist and the famous TV “folk psychiatrist,” as well as prot’s own television appearance. Goldfarb remarked that he seemed to be disappearing like a Cheshire cat, and questioned (again) whether he could be counted on to show up for the interview. I tried to calm those fears by disclosing that I was planning to try to get us out of that commitment, and that seemed to end the matter, at least for the time being.
As the conversation turned to matters of great golf games and mellow Merlots, I gazed at former patient “Catherine Deneuve”’s perfect copy of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers and pretended I was a bee buzzing around the back forty, able to see the flowers and grass and trees in astonishing vividness, much as prot seemed to be able to do. I wondered what bees thought about. The only thing that came to mind was what Hamlet said to Horatio: “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy....”
I decided to treat Rob as if he were a boy who was more or less ignorant about sexual matters, as indeed he was. I would explain the process to him in general terms and, if I thought he could handle it, show him some videotapes that would fill in the details. In short, I was going to have to be his surrogate father, the father he never really had.
This was not an entirely unfamiliar situation. Many times a psychiatrist must play the role of parent to a patient whose experiences with his own father or mother have been disastrous. Indeed, it would not be an exaggeration to say that many analysts are the foster heads of some very large families.
Rob came in for his twenty-ninth session a couple of hours earlier than usual, as I had requested. He seemed relatively cheerful and relaxed. We chatted for a few minutes about the weekend, which he was happy to discuss in great detail. Being in the wards on his own was a new and pleasant experience for him.
“But some of the patients don’t seem to like me very much,” he lamented.
“Give them time,” I assured him. “They’ll come around.”
“I hope so.”
“We’re going to do something a little different today, Rob.”
His demeanor changed instantly. “I thought we were through with all that.”
“No hypnosis today, Rob.”
A sigh of relief.
“Today the subject is sex.”
His reaction was perfectly normal: “Oh. Okay.”
“I’m going to give you the fundamentals, then I’ve got some videotapes for you to watch.”
He reached for an apple, his only sign of nervousness.
I explained the basic features to him. Of course he knew what I was talking about, having been exposed to the subject throughout his school years and beyond. I merely wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding, and to observe him as we discussed the matter. He dealt with it quite well. Although he rarely looked me in the eye, neither did he seem apprehensive.
When I had finished my exposition, I pointed to the television set I had conscripted for the occasion. “I’ve brought in some of the tapes we have on the subject. This will give you a far better idea of what we’re talking about than anything I can tell you. I think you’re ready to fill in the rest of the gaps. What do you think?”
“I guess I could give it a try.”
“I warn you: These are quite explicit. X-rated. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
I studied him for any change in demeanor. There was none. “If you feel any discomfort at all, just turn it off and come and get me. I’ll be right next door in my office. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Do you know how to run a VCR?”
“Yes. Dustin showed me.”
“Dustin? No kidding. All right. You’re on your own. I’ve got some phone calls to make. No one will bother you.” I waited for that to sink in. “See the clock behind you? I’ll be back at five.” I left him alone to study them in whatever way he found most informative.
I was on the phone for the next several hours canceling as many of Villers’s meetings and appointments and speeches as I could get away with, and trying to fit some of the others into my own crowded schedule. I also called the hospital’s chief attorney, hoping to get prot out of the TV appearance. It was too late. The papers had been signed, and there was nothing left but to go ahead with it or face a lawsuit for breach of contract. After that I spent some time shuffling things around on my desk, moving piles from here to there and back again. When five o’clock finally came I tapped on the door of my examining room.
Someone yelled, “Come in!”
I found Robert slouched down in his chair, exactly as I had left him. “How are you doing?”
He was watching a film on foreplay. “Fine,” he answered, without looking up. I was pleased to see it was still Rob.
“Good. That’s enough for today, I think. Would you like to see some of these again sometime?”
“It doesn’t seem very complicated,” he replied ingenuously. “I think I’m ready to try it on my own.”
I said, quietly, “I think we can manage to find someone to help you.” To myself I shouted, “Right on!”
Abby phoned us at home that evening. Karen took the call. After catching up on our various activities, Rain and Star came on. They wanted to talk to me. A new word had cropped up into their vocabulary. For example, I opined that “the Giants are going all the way this year.”
“That’s bullshit, Grandpa.” In fact, everything I said was “bullshit.”
I asked to speak with their mother.
“Sure they say ‘bullshit’ once in a while,” she sighed. “So what?”
“They’re too young for that. It gives a bad impression.”
“Dad, lots of yuppie kids keep their hair neatly trimmed and wear ties and watch what they say, and they couldn’t give a good goddamn about their planet or the animals they share it with. Which would you rather have for a grandson?”
“I’ve met some very nice yuppies.”
“Oh, Dad, you’re impossible. But I love you anyway. Here’s Steve. He wants to tell you something.”
“Hello, Steve. What’s up?”
“Ah just thought you’d like to know”—his chortle sounded a bit like that of a chimpanzee—“that Charlie Flynn broke his big toe this afternoon.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“He had hauled some high-intensity spotlights up into the big telescope and was trying to shine them down onto the mirror. Danged if he didn’t fall off.”
“Why was he doing that?”
“Light-travel,” he said, giggling. “He was tryin’ to get to K-PAX!”
Before hanging up we chatted a while about how absentminded scientists can be. “For example,” he related, “a plumber came into the department the other day to fix a clogged sink. He took off the trap underneath, caught the dirty water in a bucket, and handed it out to one of the graduate students standin’ there. He said, ‘Here—get rid of this.’ The kid promptly dumped the water right back into the sink!” It sounded like a whole barrel of monkeys on the other end of the phone.
As soon as we finished our conversation and I dropped the receiver down, the phone rang again. It was the head night nurse. Her voice was shaking. “Dr. Brewer?”
“Yes?”
“Dr. Brewer, you’re not going to believe this.”
“Believe what?”
“I don’t know how to begin.”
“Jane! What is it?”
“Lou just had a baby!”
“You’re kidding!”
“I told you you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Where is he now?”
“In the infirmary. Dr. Chakraborty says he and the baby are doing fine. It’s a girl. Six pounds eight ounces. Seventeen inches.” I could almost see the woman grinning. When she does that, her eyes almost disappear.
“But—but—when did it happen? How did it happen?”
“No one knows. Except prot.”
“Prot? What did he have to do with it?”
“He delivered the baby.”
My head was swimming. Did prot somehow find an abandoned child somewhere and bring it in without being seen? “All right, Jane. Thank you. I’ll speak to prot and Dr. Chak in the morning.”
“She’s a beautiful baby,” was all she had to add.
Still reeling from the news, I came in early the next morning to see Lou’s impossible child for myself. I still felt it had to be some trick of prot’s. But when I got to the hospital I found a big truck parked on Amsterdam Avenue. I had forgotten that Giselle’s cetologist friend was coming.
In the trailer was a dolphin he wanted prot to speak to. I wasn’t sure, however, that prot would be available, despite his sudden reappearance last evening. In fact, it was Robert who came out of the building and greeted me and the other patients milling around the grounds. Giselle was with him.
She introduced me to the marine biologist, a tanned young man in jeans and a T-shirt bearing a great blue whale and the phrase “Cetaceans Unlimited.” He couldn’t wait to get started.
“Are you going to speak to the dolphin, Rob?”
“You know I can’t go outside, Dr. Brewer.”
“Just wondered whether you were planning to try.”
“Not quite yet.” In fact, as soon as we got to the big wrought-iron gate, prot flipped on his dark glasses and chirped, “Hi, Giselle. Got something for you.” He gave her a handwritten version of his conversation with the zoo animals. “Hiya, gino. How are things?”
I said, “Prot, where did you get that baby?”
“She came from Lou. Pretty shitty delivery, doc. I told you it should’ve been a cesarean. Now, if you’ll excuse me....”
I was flabbergasted by this glib remark, but I followed him into the trailer without a word. For once I didn’t want to miss anything. I left Betty to try to explain to the patients why everybody couldn’t climb aboard.
The tank was big enough for the dolphin to swim around in a tight oval, but not much else. As soon as I was inside I heard prot whooping some kind of call. The dolphin swam faster and began to make sounds of his own. There were lesions on his skin, perhaps from some kind of infection. Suddenly it stopped and faced prot directly. Giselle leaned over the top of the tank and watched with a huge smile; I stood a little farther away. The cetologist scrambled to get his recording equipment going. I wished I had thought to invite Abby to see this.
The conversation, or whatever it was, continued for several minutes. The pattern of sound was not regular, but varied in pitch and duration as does the dialogue between two human beings. At the end of the whole thing the dolphin, whose name, according to the hand-painted sign stuck to the side of the tank, was “Moby,” uttered a pathetic wail, as if his heart were breaking.
Suddenly it was silent, except for the sounds still echoing around and around the trailer. Prot leaned over and offered his face to the dolphin, who licked it. The cetologist said, “I’ve tried to get him to do that for months.” Prot, in turn, licked the dolphin’s snout. He then wailed something of his own before jumping down and heading for the door.
“Wait!” shouted the scientist. “Aren’t you going to tell me what he said?”
Prot stopped and turned around. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“You have the tapes. You figure it out.”
“But I don’t have anything to go on. Giselle, you told me he’d cooperate. Talk to him!”
She shrugged.
Prot turned and said, “I’ll tell you what. If you quit ‘studying’ him and put him back in the ocean, and get all the others to do the same, I’ll tell you everything he said to me.”
“Please! Give me something—anything!”
“Sacré bleu! All right—I’ll give you a hint. What he’s expressing is almost pure emotion. Unabashed joy, high excitement, terrible sorrow—things you humans have forgotten about, even your children. Are you blind and deaf? He’s in pain. He wants to go home. Is that such an alien concept?” He marched out of the trailer, presumably to tell the patients what he and the dolphin had been talking about.
The youthful scientist, looking like a would-be prince who had been given three impossible tasks to complete, glumly watched him leave. He whimpered, “I wanted to ask him why so many of them are beaching themselves lately.” All I could do was shrug, too. The dolphin, I noticed, was staring at us.
But it was Robert, not prot, who joined the patients waiting outside. Yet, when he headed off toward Adonis, some of them trailed after him! Was it Robert or prot they were following? Or someone in-between?
As I was going up the walk I heard a familiar patter behind me. Giselle caught up. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“And?”
“And I think you’re right. Rob is a lot like prot.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.”
“And even if you’re wrong,” she added, “I think he needs me.”
“We both do,” I assured her as I hurried off to the clinic to see Lou.
I found Chakraborty poring over some sonograms and X-rays. “What do you make of it?” I asked him.
“According to the pictures, he has a uterus and one small ovary. They are connected with the rectum.” There were stars in his eyes. “I have not seen anything ever like it.”
“Prot has always told me we should listen more to what our patients are saying to us. After this, I’m inclined to agree. How soon can he leave here?”
“He is okay to go away in one day. Should I send him back to Ward Number Two?”
“That’s up to Beamish. I’ll speak to him. Let’s go see Lou.”
“One final thing. I am very sorry to tell you, but I took a call from the big hospital one moment ago. Russell has died. Do you want them to bring him back here? After the autopsy, of course.”
I had been expecting this news, but I was nonetheless stunned. I had known Russell for many years. He was a nuisance, a pain in the neck sometimes, but I had gotten used to having him around, and so had the rest of the staff and patients. In a peculiar way, he was a sincere and good friend to all of us. Yet, only Maria, a former MPI patient who had become a nun, was with him when he died. “Yes, have them send him back here. We’ll bury him on the back forty.”
“I think he would be liking that very much.”
Lou was sitting up drinking some apple juice. One of the nurses was nearby feeding the baby from a bottle. I shook my head in wonder. “She’s a pretty little girl, Lou. Have you decided on a name for her yet?”
“When I first got here, the other patients and I decided to call her ‘Protista.’”