On a Beam of Light Read Free Page A

researching his story for Conundrum magazine. Of course she was often traveling far and wide, her most recent project (possibly anticipating prot’s return) being an article on UFO’s, which have been sighted almost everywhere. Nevertheless, she always left a beeper number and made it clear that she wanted to be informed of any change in Robert’s condition.
    She was very excited to hear about prot’s reappearance and said she would be there “ASAP. ” I requested, however, that she not come to see him until he had recovered from his “journey” (i. e., the catatonia) and I had had a chance to speak with him, assuring her, perhaps erroneously, that there would be plenty of time to get reacquainted when he was stronger.
    After the session with prot I phoned her again or, more accurately, left a message that she could call and set up an appointment to see him. After that I dictated a letter to Robert’s mother in Hawaii, advising her that her son was no longer catatonic, but suggesting she also not visit until things were more certain. Then I toured the lower wards, intending to inform all the residents who were interested that prot was back, to pave the way for his return to Ward Two the following day.
    The institute is structured so that the most seriously ill or dangerous patients occupy the top floors, while the least afflicted roam the first and second (Wards One and Two). Ward One, in fact, is primarily a temporary home for certain transient patients who come in periodically for a “tune-up, ” usually an adjustment in their medication, and for those who have made substantial progress toward recovery and are nearly ready for discharge. Prot was about to rejoin the inhabitants of Two, patients suffering serious psychoses ranging from manic depression to acute obsessive-compulsive disorder, but who are not a menace to the staff or each other.
    I needn’t have bothered. It was obvious from the moment I entered the ward that everyone already knew about prot’s return. A psychiatric hospital is similar to a small town in some ways—news travels fast, and moods seem almost communicable. On this, the day before prot was to take up residence among them, the atmosphere was virtually electric with anticipation. Even some of the severe depressives greeted me relatively cheerfully, and a chronic schizophrenic, who hadn’t uttered an intelligible sentence in months, inquired, I believe, after my health. And most of these patients, except for Russell and a few others, had never even met him.
    Giselle showed up at my office on Tuesday morning, sans appointment, as I expected. I had not seen her for several weeks, but I had not forgotten her piney fragrance, the doelike eyes.
    She was dressed, as always, in an old shirt, faded jeans, and running shoes with no socks. Though pushing forty, she still looked like a kid—a sixteen-year-old girl with crow’s-feet. Yet, there was something different about her. She was not so ebullient as she was five years ago. Gone was the coy smile I had once mistaken for coquettishness but which I had learned was a part of her truly ingenuous nature. Instead, she seemed uncharacteristically nervous. It occurred to me that she might be apprehensive about meeting prot again, distressed, I supposed, that he might have changed, or perhaps had even forgotten her.
    “Don’t worry, ” I reassured her. “He’s exactly the same. “
    She nodded, but the distant look in those big brown eyes suggested she hadn’t heard me.
    “Tell me what you’ve been up to the last couple of months. “
    Her eyes suddenly came into focus. “Oh. I’m almost finished with the piece on UFO’s. That’s why I haven’t been around for a while. “
    “Good. Are they real or—”
    “Depends on who you talk to. “
    “What if you talked to yourself?”
    “I’d say no. But there are plenty of sane, normal people who would disagree. “
    “Yet you believe that prot came from K-PAX. “
    “Yes, but he didn’t