'They are not 'lower.' Just different.'
'How do these species compare with those we have on Earth?'
'You have more variety, but, on the other hand, we have no carnivores. And,' he beamed, 'no flies, no mosquitoes, no cockroaches.'
'Sounds too good to be true.'
'Oh, it's true all right, believe me.'
'Let's get back to the people.'
'There are no 'people' on K-PAX.'
'I meant the beings of your own species. The-uhdremers.'
'As you wish.'
'Tell me more about your friend mano.'
'I told you: She is fascinated by the behavior of the horns.'
'Tell me more about her.'
'She has soft brown hair and a smooth forehead and she likes to make things.'
'Do you get along well with her?'
'Of course.'
'Better than with other K-PAXians?'
'I get along well with everyone.'
'Aren't there a few of your fellow dremers that you get along with-that you like-better than others?'
'I like all of them.'
'Name a few.'
That was a mistake. He named thirty-odd K-PAXians before I stopped him with: 'Do you get along well with your father?'
'Really, gene, you've got to do something about that memory of yours. I can give you some tips if-'
'How about your mother?'
'Of course.'
'Would you say you love her?'
'Love implies hate.'
'You didn't answer my question.'
'Love ... like ... it's all a matter of semantics.'
'All right. Let me turn that around. Is there anyone you don't like? Is there anyone you actually dislike?'
'Everyone on K-PAX is just like me! Why would I hate anyone? Should I hate myself?'
'On Earth there are those who do hate themselves. Those who haven't lived up to their own standards or expectations. Those who have failed to achieve their goals. Those who have made disastrous mistakes. Those who have caused harm to someone and regretted it later on....'
'I told you before-no one on K-PAX would cause harm. to anyone else!'
'Not even unintentionally?'
'No!'
'Never?'
Yelling: 'Are you deaf?'
'No. I hear you quite clearly. Please calm down. I'm sorry if I upset you.' He nodded brusquely.
I knew I was onto something here, but I wasn't certain as to the best way to proceed. While he was composing himself we talked about some of the patients, including Maria and her protective alter egos he seemed quite interested in her condition. Who knows where inspiration comes from? Or is it merely a momentary clearing in the fog of stupidity? In any case I realized at that moment that I had been focusing, perhaps for reasons of self- interest, on his delusion. What I should have been attacking was the hysterical amnesia! 'Prot?'
His fists slowly unclenched. 'What?'
'Something has occurred to me.'
'Bully for you, doctor brewer.'
'I was wondering whether you'd be willing to undergo hypnosis at our next session?'
'What for?'
'Let's call it an experiment. Sometimes hypnosis can call up recollections and feelings that are too painful to recall otherwise.'
'I remember everything I have ever done. There is no need.'
'Will you do it as a personal favor to me?' He eyed me suspiciously. 'Why do you hesitate-are you afraid to be hypnotized?'
It was a cheap trick, but it worked. 'Of course not!'
'Next Wednesday all right?'
'Next wednesday is the fourth of july. Do you work on your american holidays?'
'God, is it July already? All right. We'll test your susceptibility to the procedure next Tuesday, and begin the week after that. Does that suit you?'
Suddenly calm: 'Perfectly, my dear sir.'
'You're not planning on leaving again, are you?'
'I'll say it one more time: not until 3:31 A.M. on the seventeenth of August.'
And he returned to Ward Two, where he was welcomed back like the prodigal son.
THE next morning Giselle was waiting at my office door when I arrived at the hospital. She was wearing the same outfit as before, or perhaps one of its clones. She was all tiny-tooth smiles. 'Why didn't you tell me about prot?' she demanded.
I had stayed up until two o'clock to finish some editorial work, had come in early to prepare a speech for a. Rotary Club luncheon, and was still distraught over prot's temporary disappearance. My office clock began to chime, further jangling my nerves and telling me what I didn't want to know. 'What about him?' I snapped.
'I decided to make him the focus of the piece. With your permission, of course.'
I dropped my bulging briefcase onto my desk. 'Why prot?'
She literally fell into the brown leather chair and curled into the already familiar ball. I wondered whether this was premeditated or whether she was unaware of the charming effect it had on middle aged men, especially those suffering from Brown's syndrome. I began to understand why she was such a successful reporter. 'Because he fascinates me,' she said.
'Did you know that he is my patient?'
'Betty told me. That's why I'm here. To see if you would let me look at his records.' Her eyelids were fluttering like the wings. of some exotic butterfly.
I busied myself with transferring the contents of my case to some logical place on the already overcrowded desk. 'Prot is a special patient,' I told her. 'He requires very delicate treatment.'
'I'll be careful. I wouldn't do anything that would jeopardize my own story. Or divulge any confidences,' she added in a playful whisper. Then: 'I know you're planning to write a book about him.'
'Who told you that?' I practically shouted. 'Why, he-prot-told me.'
'Prot? Who told him?'
'I don't know. But I want to assure you that my piece won't affect your book in any way. If anything, it should drum up some business for it. And I'll show it to you before I submit it for publication-how's that?' I stared at her for a moment, trying to think of some way out of this unwanted complication. She must have sensed my doubt. 'I'll tell you what,' she said. 'If I can identify him for you, I get my story. Fair enough?' She had me and she knew it. 'Plus any expenses I might incur,' she added immediately.
OVER the weekend I reviewed the transcripts of all eight sessions with prot. Everything pointed to at least one violent episode in his past which precipitated his hysterical 'escape' from the real world, which he deeply hated, to a nonexistent, idyllic place where there are no human interactions to cause all the problems, large and small, that the rest of us have to live with every day. Nor the joys that make it all worthwhile....
I decided to ask prot to spend the Fourth of July at my home in order to see if a more or less normal family environment would bring anything out of him I hadn't seen before. I had done this with a few other patients, sometimes with beneficial results. My wife was in favor of the idea, even though I mentioned to her that prot may have been involved in some sort of violent affair, and there was a possibility that 'Don't be silly,' she interrupted.
