'You can? How?'
'There's a room that has a window without bars on it, the laundry room.'
'Really? But how can I get to it?'
'I'll show you . . . later. They let us go outside if we want after lunch and there's a way into the laundry room from the yard.'
My heart lifted with hope.
'How do you know all this?'
'I know everything about this place,' he replied.
'You do? How long have you been here?' I asked.
'Since I was seven,' he said. 'Ten years.'
'Ten years! Don't you ever want to leave?' I asked. He stared ahead for a moment. A tear escaped his right eye and slid down his cheek.
'No,' he said. He turned to me with the saddest eyes. 'I belong here. I told you,' he continued, 'I can't make a decision. I told you I'd help you, but later, when it comes time to do it, I don't know if I can.' He stared ahead. 'I don't know if I can.'
My brightened spirits darkened again when I realized he might just be doing what he said everyone did here— lying.
A bell was rung and Mrs. Whidden announced it was time to go to lunch. I brightened again. At least now, I would see Uncle Jean. Unless of course, that was a lie, too.
21
Betrayed Again
It wasn't a lie and I didn't need to have Uncle Jean pointed out to me. He hadn't changed very much from the young man in the photos, and he was, as Lyle had described, the best-dressed patient in the cafeteria, coming to lunch in a light blue seersucker sports jacket and matching slacks, a white shirt with a blue cravat, and spotless white deck shoes. His golden brown hair was neatly trimmed and brushed back on the sides. I could see that he still had his trim figure. He looked like someone on vacation who had stopped by to visit a sick relative. He ate mechanically and gazed around the cafeteria with little or no interest.
'There he is,' Lyle said, nodding in Uncle Jean's direction.
'I know.' My heart began to tap a rapid beat on the inside of my chest.
'As you see, despite his problem, whatever that may be,' Lyle said dryly, 'he remains very concerned about his appearance. You should see his room, how neatly he keeps everything, too. In the beginning, I thought he had a cleanliness fetish or something. If you touch anything in his room, he'll go to it and make sure you didn't smudge it or move it an iota of an inch out of place.
'I'm practically the only one he permits in his room,' Lyle added proudly. 'He doesn't talk to me as such. He doesn't speak to anyone, but he tolerates me at least. If someone else sits at that table, he'll create a stir.'
'What will he do?' I asked.
'He might start beating a spoon on his plate or he might just scream this horrid, beastlike sound until one of the attendants comes over and moves him or the other person away,' Lyle explained.
'Maybe I shouldn't go near him,' I said fearfully.
'Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you should. Don't ask me to decide for you, but if you want me to, I'll tell him who you are at least.'
'He might recognize me,' I said.
'I thought he never saw you.'
'He saw my twin sister and will just think that's who I am.'
'Really? You have a twin sister? Now that's interesting,' Lyle replied.
'If you two want to eat, you had better get in line,' an attendant advised us.
'I don't know if I want to eat,' Lyle muttered.
'Now, Lyle,' the attendant said, 'you know you don't have all day to make this decision.'
'I'm hungry,' I said to help move him along. I went to the stack of trays and got one. Then I started down the line, gazing back once to see Lyle still considering. My action moved him finally and he joined me.
'Please, get two of whatever you choose,' he said. 'What if you don't like it?'
'I don't know what I like anymore. It all tastes the same to me,' he said.
I chose the stew and got us both some Jell-O for dessert. After we had our food, we turned to decide where to sit and I stared at Uncle Jean, wondering if I should approach him.
'Go on,' Lyle said. 'I'll sit wherever you want.'
With my eyes glued to him, I walked directly toward Uncle Jean. He continued to eat mechanically and move his eyes from side to side, almost in synchronization with each forkful of food. He didn't appear to notice me until I was nearly upon him. Then his eyes stopped scanning the room and he paused, his hand holding the fork about midway between the plate and his mouth. Slowly, he scanned my face. He didn't smile, but it was apparent he
