In The House Of Secret Enemies

you're going to apologize to her for acting like such a. . jerk. Then maybe the three of us can go out for a drink and discuss the curious vagaries of the human mind.' I smiled to soften the blow of my words, but Pram continued to stare blankly, shaking his head.

'I am a candala,' he said, his words strung together like a chant. 'What I did was an act of pride. Candalas are not allowed pride. I must learn to accept what my life has-'

I couldn't stand the monotonous tones, the corroding, poisonous mist that was creeping into his brain and shining out through his eyes; I struck at that sick light with my hand. Pram took the blow across his face without flinching, as if it were someone else I had hit. The nurse who had come into the room had no doubts as to whom I had hit and she didn't like it one bit. I shook off her hand and screamed into Pram's face.

'A name means nothing!' I shouted, my voice trembling with rage. 'What the hell's the matter with you?! You can't allow yourself to be defined by someone else! You must define yourself. Only you can determine what you are. Now stop talking crazy and pull yourself together!'

But I was the one being pulled-out of the room by two very husky young interns. I continued to scream at the dull-faced youth in the bed even as they pulled me out through the door. I could not explain my own behavior, except in terms of blind rage and hatred in the presence of some great evil that I was unable to even see, much less fight.

Outside in the corridor I braced my heels against the tiles of the floor. 'Get your goddamn hands off me,' I said quietly. The two men released me and I hurried out of the hospital, anxious to get home and into a hot bath. Still, I suspected even then that the smell I carried with me out of that room was in my mind, and would not be so easily expunged.

'He's changed, Dr. Frederickson,' Indiri sobbed. I pushed back from my desk and the Indian girl rushed into my arms. I held her until the violent shuddering of her shoulders began to subside.

'He's told you what the problem is?' Pram had been released from the hospital that morning, and it had been my suggestion that Indiri go to meet him.

Indiri nodded. 'He's becoming what Dr. Dev Reja says he is.'

I didn't need Indiri to tell me that. I knew the psychiatrist assigned to Pram and a little gentle prodding had elicited the opinion that Pram had, indeed, accepted Dev Reja's definition of himself and was adjusting his personality, character, and behavior accordingly. It had all been couched in psychiatric mumbo jumbo, but I had read Jean-Paul Sartre's existential masterpiece Saint Genet, and that was all the explanation I needed.

'How do you feel about what he told you?' I said gently. Indiri's eyes were suddenly dry and flashing angrily. 'Sorry,' I added quickly. 'I just had to be sure where we stood.'

'What can we do, Dr. Frederickson?'

If she was surprised when I didn't answer she didn't show it. Perhaps she hadn't really expected a reply, or perhaps she already knew the answer. And I knew that I was afraid, afraid as I had not been since, as a child, I had first learned I was different from other children and had lain awake at night listening to strange sounds inside my mind.

4

I burst into the room and slammed the door behind me. My timing was perfect; Dev Reja was about halfway through his lecture.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' I intoned, 'class is dismissed. Professor Dev Reja and I have business to discuss.'

Dev Reja and the students stared at me, uncomprehending. Dev Reja recovered first, drawing himself up to his full height and stalking across the room. I stepped around him and positioned myself behind his lectern. 'Dismiss them now,' I said, drumming my fingers on the wood, 'or I deliver my own impromptu lecture on bigotry, Indian style.'

That stopped him. Dev Reja glared at me, then waved his hand in the direction of the students. The students rose and filed quickly out of the room, embarrassed, eager to escape the suppressed anger that crackled in the air like heat lightning before a summer storm.

'What do you think you're doing, Frederickson?' Dev Reja's voice shook with outrage. 'This behavior is an utter breach of professional ethics, not to mention common courtesy. I will have this brought up-'

'Shut up,' I said easily. It caught him by surprise and stopped the flow of words. He stared at me, his mouth open. My own voice was calm, completely belying the anger and frustration behind the words. 'If there's anyone who should be brought before the Ethics Committee, it's you. You're absolutely unfit to teach.'

Dev Reja walked past me to the window, but not before I caught a flash of what looked like pain in his eyes. I found that incongruous in Dev Reja, and it slowed me. But not for long.

'Let me tell you exactly what you're going to do,' I said to the broad back. 'I don't pretend to understand all that's involved in this caste business, but I certainly can recognize rank prejudice when I see it. For some reason that's completely beyond me, Pram has accepted what you told him about himself, and it's destroying him. Do you know that he tried to kill himself?'

'Of course I know, you fool,' Dev Reja said, wheeling on me. I was startled to see that the other man's eyes were glistening with tears. I was prepared for anything but that. I continued with what I had come to say, but the rage was largely dissipated; now I was close to pleading.

'You're the one who put this 'untouchable' crap into his head, Dev Reja, and you're the one who's going to have to take it out. I don't care how you do it; just do it. Tell him you were mistaken; tell him he's really the reincarnation of Buddha, or Gandhi. Anything. Just make it so that Pram can get back to the business of living. If you don't, you can be certain that I'm going to make your stay at this university-and in this country-very uncomfortable. I'll start with our Ethics Committee, then work my way up to your embassy. I don't think they'd like it if they knew you were airing India's dirty laundry on an American campus.'

'There's nothing that can be done now,' Dev Reja said in a tortured voice that grated on my senses precisely because it did not fit the script I had written for this confrontation. Dev Reja was not reacting the way I had expected him to.

'What kind of man are you, Dev Reja?'

'I am an Indian.'

'Uh-huh. Like Hitler was a German.'

The remark had no seeming effect on the other man, and I found that disappointing.

'Dr. Frederickson, may I speak to you for a few minutes without any interruption?'

'Be my guest.'

'I detest the caste system, as any right-thinking man detests a system that traps and dehumanizes men. However, I can assure you that Pram's mentality and way of looking at things is much more representative of Indian thinking than is mine. The caste system is a stain upon our national character, just as your enslavement and discrimination against blacks is a stain upon yours. But it does exist, and must be dealt with. The ways of India are deeply ingrained in the human being that is Pram Sakhuntala. I can assure you this is true. I know Pram much better than you do, and his reaction to the information I gave him proves that I am correct.'

'Then why did you give him that information? Why did you give him something you knew he probably couldn't handle?'

'Because it was inevitable,' Dev Reja said quietly. 'You see, Dr. Frederickson, you or I could have overcome this thing. Pram cannot, simply because he is not strong enough. Because he is weak, and because he would have found out anyway, for reasons which I think will become clear to you, he would have destroyed himself, and Indiri as well. This way, there is a great deal of pain for Pram, but the catastrophe that would otherwise be is prevented.'

'I don't understand.'