I Can Hear the Mourning Dove (11 page)

“I wasn't making fun of you, Grace, lighten up.”

“I see the schizophrenics every day. I study their details. Schizophrenia means your life is over. I'd like to hear you deny that I have it.”

She says, “Since I can't think of a better name for it, we'll go ahead and call it a schizophrenic episode. But it is an
episode
. I'll tell you what I've told you before: I've seen many people recover from such episodes and live completely normal lives. I've never told you a lie, have I? Can you trust what I'm telling you?”

I have to listen to all this through the static. I don't know why she talks to me like a little child. “I would like very much to trust you,” I say.

“You are more in touch, whether you like the phrase or not. You've been here for two weeks, do you realize that?”

“The time has no meaning. There are the days and nights. Mrs. Grant tells me the days and I take her word for it.”

“Has your voice spoken to you lately?”

“My preparation is not yet complete. The sky voice warns me of the one called Luke.”

“Does the sky voice speak as your father?”

“It is my father's voice. The light comes from above, from the other side. I think the eye and the voice are one.”

“And who is Luke?”

“You already know him. He's a new patient.”

“I know who you mean. Actually, he's not new to the hospital, but he's new to your group.”

“If you say so. I would never tell you how to do your job, but could you please move him to a different group?”

“Why?”

“The sky gives me warnings about him. I wonder if I've ever told you about the train?”

“Yes, you have. What warnings?”

“The one called Luke is one of the Surly People.”

“Nonsense. He is a patient here. It's that simple.”

The static pops in her voice and a flashbulb breaks in my brain. I say, “The truth is, I don't want to be in a group. I hate it when they want me to talk in group. Would it be okay if I just worked on crafts instead?”

“We can't do it that way, Grace. If you're in our program, you're a member of a group. If there's more to tell about the warnings though, I would like to hear it.”

“The sky warns me of him. He is one of the Surly People, and it's no accident that he is here. It's important for me to keep away from him; can you please move him to a different group?”

She shakes her head. “You're suggesting that there's a link between Luke and the hoodlums who assaulted you.”

“Not only that but linked also to the evil that permeates the world at all times and everywhere.”

She goes on, “Grace, let's get the sheep separated from the goats. What those hoodlums did to you was very cruel, but it wasn't part of anything that is organized. That event had nothing to do with any person, other than yourself, in this hospital.”

Her voice is shorting out, I can't get all the words. She is lecturing me, which I probably deserve, but it makes me feel unworthy. Suddenly, the memory of the Surly People in the hallway is so strong I feel my bones have turned to pudding. The tears are blurring my eyes. The one called DeWayne with his seared eyebrow and his hot breath and the way he tore at my underpants with his horny fingers. It's safer with Dr. Rowe, but I think I've told her too much. The sky won't like it.

“One of them had arrows shaved in his head,” I say. “They sprayed swastikas on my science project. They tore at my underwear, I hope they didn't rape me.” Now the tears are rolling down my cheeks. Dr. Rowe hands me the box of Kleenex.

She says, “According to our examination, you were not raped, but it was a horrible thing they did to you.”

“Why do they persecute me, Dr. Rowe? Where does such cruelty come from?”

“I'm not sure there's an easy answer for that. Sometimes people are very cruel.”

The sky won't like that answer. I could tell her so, but she would just dismiss it. I wipe some of the tears which are still flowing, but at least I'm not sobbing. “I don't know why anyone would want to rape me,” I say. “I'm not much to look at.”

Dr. Rowe smiles at me. “I think you're attractive. You would probably be more attractive if you took more interest in your personal appearance.”

I think for a moment of the hand clutching at the waistband of my underpants; I can't imagine what advantage there could be in being more attractive. “Dr. Rowe, are you going to lecture me about shaving my armpits and taking better care of my complexion?”

“I'd rather not lecture you about anything. I hope you don't perceive me that way.”

I think suddenly of DeeDee's skin and her shining hair. “My friend DeeDee is very beautiful.”

“I thought you told me you don't have any friends.”

“DeeDee is the most open person. She has so much trust. I think she actually likes me.”

“Why should it surprise you if someone likes you?”

“Or she did, anyway, before all of this. She feeds the fish in her underwear. Her skin is so tan and smooth. Sometimes I feel like touching her and holding my arms around her. Is it okay for me to have that feeling?”

“I don't know why not.”

“You don't think I'm becoming a lesbian, do you?”

“Of course not.”

Her words give me some relief. Dr. Rowe is very perceptive about many things. I'm not sure she understands about the sky voice, but I won't bring it up again. Someday, maybe the two of us will go to tea, and we will talk. Maybe we could go to the Shakespeare festival first. It would be perfect, no doctor and no patient, just two women having tea and talking about
A Midsummer Night's Dream
.

She lights one of her cigarettes and blows a stream of smoke up at the ceiling. The sockets of her eyes are dark. I wonder if she knows how to blow smoke rings. I've been told my Uncle Larry was very good at blowing smoke rings, but it would be completely inappropriate for a psychiatrist to blow smoke rings in her office. She wouldn't blow smoke rings at tea, either.

Five

Mrs. Youngblood has put the one called Luke in the chair next to me. It makes me very tense. I sit very straight and still with my eyes down. There are lots of chairs available, it seems so unfair.

A patient called Professor Sarbanes is doing most of the talking. He is impatient and irritable and quite electrical.

It frightens me when we have group. I don't want to speak and I don't want to listen to these hopeless stories of lives that don't work. As crazy wild as I am, it could become even worse, and the thought fills me with fresh panic.

Mrs. Youngblood has turned to me. She is speaking to me.

“Did you hear me, Grace?”

Oh please no. I sit up even straighter.

“Grace, the group would like to hear from you.”

“What group?” asks the one called Luke. “You're the only one askin' the questions.” He is so near to me, I mustn't look at him. What meaning his remark holds, I do not know. My breath is coming short and the panic is rising in my stomach; I can't let myself get scrambled.

Mrs. Youngblood ignores Luke's remark. She says, “Recently, Grace suffered a very traumatic experience at her school. She was molested by a gang of hoodlums. Grace, would you like to tell the group about it?”

“Please no.”

Mrs. Youngblood smiles. “I'm not sure we know exactly what
please no
means.”

“Please, Mrs. Youngblood, I'd rather not talk about it.”

“I'm sure part of you feels that way, but you might be surprised how talking about it would make you feel better.”

I keep my eyes down. “I'd just rather not, please. I've talked to Dr. Rowe about it.”

“I'm glad to hear that you've talked to Dr. Rowe about it, but you're also a member of this group, and that membership carries some responsibility.”

Why can't she let me alone?
“Please no,” I say again.

The one called Luke lights a Marlboro and says, “I get the impression she doesn't want to talk about it.”

Mrs. Youngblood says, “I appreciate your observation, Luke, but what Grace wants to do and what is good for her, may be two different things entirely. And let me remind you that it's not your job to decide what's best for other patients.”

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

“Before we go any further with the group, Luke, don't you think it would be a good idea if you asked if your cigarette smoke bothers anybody?”

“I could care less if it bothers anybody.”

“I'm afraid that's not a very responsible group attitude.”

He sprawls back in his chair and blows out some smoke. I watch him from the corner of my eye. His dark hair is long and curly, nearly to his shoulders. He wears a red and blue headband. He says to Mrs. Youngblood, “So kick me out. I don't want to be here anyway.”

“How do you get the cigarettes, Luke?” she asks.

“I buy them.”

“How?”

“With money.”

“Am I supposed to think that's funny?”

“Does it look like I give a shit what you think?”

“Stores aren't supposed to sell cigarettes to minors,” she says. “Where do you get them?”

“I have a secret supplier; a contact from Colombia. Why don't you get real?”

I can't comprehend the scope of his insolence. Is there nothing in heaven and earth that the Surly People fear or hold in respect?

Professor Sarbanes is irritated and impatient. He says to Mrs. Youngblood, “Will you please tell me, what is the point of this quibbling about cigarettes?”

I can see the anger rising in Mrs. Youngblood. She says to Professor Sarbanes, “Would you like to take over this group?”

“What I'd like to do, as long as we have to be here, is talk about something more important than the policy of stores selling cigarettes to minors.”

Mrs. Youngblood glares at him and then turns back to me. She hasn't forgotten. She is a little more composed but her eyes are still bright with anger. Like ice. I can't understand the anger; it confuses me.

“Grace,” she says, “the group is still waiting to hear from you.”

“Please, Mrs. Youngblood, can you please move on to someone else?” My tears are like a torrent.

She says, “Grace, try to stop crying.”

I reach for the tissues. I can't speak.

“Did you hear me, Grace? All these tears are not necessary.”

“Mrs. Youngblood, you have too much static. I'm afraid I'm going to get scrambled. I get so confused.”

“Wipe your eyes and blow your nose, Grace. You'll feel a lot better. We'll let you off the hook today, but sooner or later you'll have to share with the group.”

I start wiping my face. The one called Luke says to me, “I don't know what the punks did to you, but if they ever try it again, give 'em a kick in the nuts.”

I look at him and our eyes meet. It feels as though his eyes are piercing my whole brain and right on out through the back of my head.
He can look clear through me
. I want to look away but I don't. Why is he so clean, even his fingernails are clean. It's not consistent with the way of the Surly People. Is he giving me advice? The sky would warn that he is setting a very subtle trap. I don't always listen to the sky the way I should. It's very confusing and I still have tears on my face.

“I don't understand you,” I say.

“My advice is, a shot to the gonads. You'd be amazed how quick the fight goes out of 'em.”

I turn away quickly and blow my nose. His eyes have chilled me. “You made Mrs. Youngblood mad,” I say. “You caused her anger.”

“I can't make her do anything. That's her problem.”

In a stern voice Mrs. Youngblood says, “Is that the way you solve your problems, Luke? A kick in the groin?”

“You know a better way?”

Mrs. Youngblood ignores his question. She opens a folder and begins to leaf through it. “Since you're a new member of this group, Luke, maybe you'd like to tell us a little something about yourself.”

“You've got the folder, why don't you save me the trouble?”

She is still studying the folder. “It seems to me you don't learn very much from experience.”

“The way they usually tell me, is that I'm unsocialized. Whatever that means.”

“Maybe you'd like to tell the group why you're here in the first place.”

He lights another Marlboro. “I was in the south wing lockup,” he says. “Dr. Rowe decided I needed to be over here instead, so here I am.”

“Why were you on lockup?” asks Mrs. Youngblood.

“I'm waitin' to go to trial for murder. A friend of mine was paralyzed in the hospital, so I pulled the plug on his respirator.”

“You killed your friend?”

“Clean the wax out of your ears. I just told you I pulled his plug.”

“You killed your friend, Luke. Let's talk plain. And I don't hear much remorse in your voice.”

“You want me to lay on the floor and bawl like a baby? Would that make you feel better?”

“If this person is a murderer,” says Professor Sarbanes, “why is he here with us?”

“Not so fast, please,” says Mrs. Youngblood. “Luke, you caused the death of your friend. Do you feel remorse for what you did?”

“It's too bad, but he's better off dead. Lots better. He wanted to die.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me with blinks. He couldn't talk but he could blink for yes and no.”

Someone asks, “Why was he in the hospital?”

“He was in a bike accident.”

“Do you mean a motorcycle?”

“Yeah, man, a Harley. He skidded off the road on some bluff over by the Quad Cities. It didn't hurt the bike too much, but there was a lot of damage to John's spinal cord. He was paralyzed.”