The American Delusion,a parody of life. L'illusion Américaine, une Parodie de Vie

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Prologue to EBook.

Prologue

“That diamond is having a very important family. From the Golconda mines in Kollur, come such purest of all diamonds - as they lack the element that would corrupt them.

Its history begins many, many, hundreds of years past, in the household of Babur - relation to the greatest Khan, Genghis . Named the ‘Great Mogul’ after the Mogul Emperor Shah Jehan ...the same such who built the Taj Mahal....it was split into two of the world’s most powerful diamonds.

Whomever owned one, was foretold to rule the world; and it resided in the infamous peacock throne until Jehan’s son, Aurangzeb , stole all from his father and began the quick decline of the Mogul Emperors. Also then, Jean Baptiste Tavernier , the same cursed French jewel thief who purloined the Great Blue for the French Emperor, purposely created confusion by poorly identifying this part as the whole - while pretending to elucidate. Falling then into the hands of Nadar Shah, the King of Persia, it was dubbed the ‘Koh-I-Noor’ - ‘Mountain of Light,’ in Urdu tongue - and, eventually, demanded by Victoria, Queen of England.

The second part of the ‘Great Mogul’ remained the powerful eye of Deity in holy Brahmin Temple in Mahishuru - until stolen by a French sailor, and later given to the Empress Catherine The Great , as the Orlov Both diamonds shine today, as the stars of the British and Romanov Crown Jewels; and, profited none, as they worked their way to preeminence - such is their power.

Thus, the rape of ancient India is illustrated; providing yet another example of the perpetuation of Samsara. Unbridled thirst for wealth, power and supremacy always results in the squandering of all, and spiritual desolation. Will my people never learn the debt of bad Karma? Are other peoples destined to succumb to the same tortured fate of mother India? Sad is the thought...”

-Lamentations of a Hindu Brahman

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"A high crowned rose stone with a flaw at the bottom, and a small speck within..."

Chapter 1: INTO VARANASI. Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World

Chapter 1

Into Varanasi

-Jean-Baptiste Tavernier’s misleading description of ‘Great Mogul’ Diamond

The metal wheels screeched, as the train moved slowly into the station. If it could be called a station. Located in lowland swampy surroundings, bent gnarled trees dotted the landscape around the ramshackle building. Surrounding small fields of sun browned hay lay interspersed amongst half-acre plots of green sugar cane stalks. The steel bars over the train windows added a horizontal view to the world of contrasting colors, feelings, and perspectives. As the train slowed to a stop at the station, the standing people parted quietly, and a brave little gray monkey came directly to the open window.... looking in for a treat. She was a nursing mother. Her two offspring scampered away, up the station railings, with innocent and quizzical looks in their eyes.

“Hey, look at the monkeys!”

“Aren't they incredible?”

“Here come some more! Hurry up, and hand me my camera Susan. I’ve got to get pictures for my kids - they won’t believe it.”

The small group of Indians sharing the train car exchanged knowing smiles, as they laughed kindly at the obvious tourists in a strange land. The train pulled away slowly, and moisture-laden air flowed through the crowded train car. As the visitor’s minds and hearts tried to assimilate the mysteries that they had been observing during the long train ride, the silence was broken sharply by the food vendor hawking his spicy fried chick pea and onion mixture from car to car; and calling out, loudly, about his milk tea.

“Chai, Chai. Hot Chai!”

The strong smell of spices lingered long after he had passed through the train car; held captive by the heavy, sultry, air. It nearly masked the almost forgotten, urine-like, smell of the slums through which they had passed. As fresh air began to waft through the slowly moving train car, the travelers sighed a collective sigh of relief. They had finally passed from the horrors of tenement cities, to the beguiling countryside of Northern India. The train was bound for Varanasi. Varanasi, one of the oldest continually occupied cities in the world...some say, for over 5,000 years. A holy city to Hindu pilgrims. The train was scheduled to arrive at 5:00 a.m., and Tom hoped that their arrival would be timed so that he would see his first sunrise over the Himalayas. He wanted to watch, from the shores of the Ganges, as thousands of people made their morning descent down the wide stone steps, into the water to perform their daily ablutions. Thereby cleansing their souls of sins. This was the romantic image of India that he desired so much to see, feel, and experience…an image that would erase the pain in his heart from the all too real, brutal, images of Delhi.

Tom saw the Chai wallah pass through his peripheral vision. His movement woke Tom from his reverie, a beautiful vision of the scene playing out within his mind, and he called out to him.

“Hey! Hello? How much for a cup?”

“Four Rupee sir.”

”Here, I’ll take one.”

Tom pulled a handful of well worn currency out of his sweat stained pocket, and handed the man a 10 Rupee note.

“Sir, I have no change.”

“Oh, I guess I’ll wait then.”

“No, no, sir. Here, I find what I can…”

After the gaunt man handed Tom a steaming cup of sugared goats milk with a floating tea bag, he dug in his pockets for coins. He handed Thomas a five Rupee piece, and swore to bring back the remaining rupee later. Tom and the other people in the train car shared understanding glances. They all recognized that the man would never return - savoring the extra nickel that he had scammed.

“Such is the life of many in India,“ thought Thomas, “scraping out a meager existence any way they can. Honorably, if possible - or not so, if it means hungry kids at home.”

Tom had experienced similar short shrift in Mexico, but it was maddening there - due to the mocking of the ’Gringo’ that accompanied it.

“In India it’s accepted as benign tribute to the guilt in our hearts. Guilt from the pervasive suffering of those around us, and our failure to do anything about it,” his silent thoughts ran on.

Philip smiled at Tom with a warm look. His sparkling and intelligent eyes accentuated his serene countenance.

“Where are your thoughts, Thomas?” he asked gently, and with sincere interest.

“Oh, all over the place. I feel like a dam has broken in my emotions, and I’m trying to ride the waves of them without being overwhelmed.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, for most of my life I’ve felt really strong emotions; and I thought I was expressing them clearly through my actions. I tried through my work, large sacrifices for others, things for my family, or in my gardens. But everything I did was misinterpreted. So now I’m allowing the feelings to wash through me, and trying my best to communicate them verbally. It’s something new to me...”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I guess like most men, I expected that the passion inherent in my actions was self evident to those around me. That they understood how I felt, by how diligently I supported them, or how expansive my creations were, or how elaborate my construction projects became. I only recently began to understand that most people interpret other’s actions relative to their own perspective, and their feelings. I thought I was accomplishing something through my actions, while they only related to how it affected them.”

Philip's smile widened, showing that he understood and could relate to what Tom was trying to convey.

“Men are often taught to do, rather than to talk, Thomas. Miscommunication of our emotions is both our greatest weakness; and, our greatest refuge from hurtful people,” Philip commented, then fell silent.

Soon after, Philip slid out of his seat and walked to the end of the train car to smoke of one of his ‘famous’ hand rolled cigarettes. As Tom reflected upon how they had connected so deeply in less than 24 hours, he noticed Sinjin - entranced by the same feelings of India. With one leg propped up in the window, and his knee to his chin, his face reflected a pensive look.... held in a quiet stasis. He lifted his camera to capture what he could of the passing countryside. Susan sat next to Tom, with her legs crudely extended to the opposite seat alongside Sinjin. She was similarly captivated by the pregnant moment of reflection. A bit numb, jaded, and worn out after three months in Delhi; she was trying to cope with realities that her mind didn’t want to accept. Denial of the painful and harsh reality of life in India was her mind’s only safeguard to the overwhelming press of sensory and emotional information.

So the day went, delimited by the sounds of clicking train tracks and lulling cruises in and out of minor station stops. Gentle, heavy, breezes passed through the train car - easing the heat, and soothing the passengers. With a calming whistle, many cars ahead of theirs, the engine warned the cows and people off of the train tracks.

“On and on we go,” thought Thomas. “On to Varanasi. On through the waning day. On with the melancholy reflections in our hearts.”

Tom felt a now familiar pull towards something. Something calling to his heart. He knew not how, when, or even if he would find it in his travels. But it was reassuring in its reoccurrence. It helped calm his mind, and heart, of all that was troublesome.

“It’s preparing me to accept what I must,” mused Tom.

Philip returned, and began talking quietly to Sinjin about his camera. Sinjin smiled, because of Philip’s genuine interest. Watching the happy duo lifted Tom’s flowing thoughts and emotions. But he sat quietly, observing; just letting the feelings flow through him...savoring the experience.

As the day progressed, the countryside transformed into neat plots of vegetables, waving sugar cane, and small mango groves. At first glance, the little villages seemed to epitomize squalor. Yet on closer inspection, Tom saw that they were comprised of simple homes shaped by three walls of bricks and rocks, with rush roofs. Many courtyards contained a black cow. Some held a large pig; while others housed random chickens.

While Tom surveyed the scenery, two eager brown dogs began running alongside the moderately moving train - with their little boy masters leading their way. The boys smiled benignly, and appeared happy to be alive. Tom’s attention then shifted to conical-shaped mounds of wheat, which rose randomly in the fields...many right next to similarly shaped, larger, mounds of dried cow manure ‘chips.’

“Food and feces,” mused Tom. “Beginning, and end. Life, and death. All accepted as part of nature. Part of life, part of the very fabric of their existence. Poor of money, they aren’t poor of spirit...accepting their lot in life as the will of whatever Gods they worship,” his silent voice spoke to his conscious mind...attempting to ameliorate the emotional shock of the mysterious world through which he traveled.

And so the day wore on, and Tom’s mind drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep; like station stops, for his roiling emotions.

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Chapter 2: OBLIVION. Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World

Chapter 2

Oblivion.....

“In visions of the dark night, I have dreamed of joy departed. But a waking dream of life and light, hath left me broken-hearted” – E.A. Poe, “A Dream”

“Do you remember yesterday?”

“Some....”

“Is there someone you would like to call?”

“No, I left notes to anyone who might care.”

“Would you like to have a roommate?”

“You mean I don’t have to stay in there anymore?” he said, pointing at the lock-down ward which contained more than twenty people milling about -each oblivious, each wrestling with his or her demons.

“Well, you can move to one of the rooms with two beds in them, if you can sign this ‘promise’

document. It essentially says that you won’t try to hurt yourself.”

Silence met the question, as he tuned out of the world again, into his ‘safe place.’ A place where he felt no pain. A place where everything meant nothing; and the world, and all of its words, were a peripheral image...an image that was safely blurred into obscurity. It was the place where he felt like staying - as if safely resident within a fuzzy impressionist garden painting.

After waiting a few minutes, the doctor realized that his patient wasn’t responding, and therefore not ready to leave 24-hour observation.

“Well, I have to leave now; there are people to meet. We’ll talk again. Tomorrow....”

He continued to stare, his near catatonic stare, at a blank wall. The doctor recognized that his patient wasn’t ‘with’ him any longer. He didn’t show any recognition of the question, and his facial expression remained blank. As blank as the wall, he sat perfectly still. The doctor added instructions to his chart to increase his medication, to keep him under observation; and stood to leave. The patient responded to the Doctor’s movement by rising rose from his chair. Lifeless and limp, he followed the doctor’s lead. He felt the doctors’ gentle hand on his shoulder.

“That hand means something, doesn't it?” he thought randomly. “But what? No, nothing. Well...” his thoughts faded.

Then, his interest was captured….when he saw a familiar face in the loud and disrupted room.

“Oh, there is Sarah...”

His thoughts tried to focus on something, but he couldn‘t quite grasp it all. He forgot about the doctor’s existence.

“I should let her talk to me, it’ll do her good,” he thought with some random purpose.

Then he was gone. He walked directly to the scariest inhabitant of the large, sterile, and cold white room.

The doctor shook his head, and thought: “We’re going to have to watch this one!”

“Nurse?”

“Yes doctor?” the middle aged woman answered him from the observation desk.

Walking up to her, while still making a few more notes on the patient’s chart, he didn’t even look up as he spoke.

“Lets keep this one under close supervision for a couple of days. If you see that he’s having trouble sleeping with all of the activity around him, then give him 500 milligrams of Ambien. O.k.?”

“Yes Doctor. Its been really rough in here...what, with the large number of people, and Sarah’s outbursts. She’s refusing her meds again, slips right back into extreme paranoia, and isn’t shy in voicing her fears,” she said in exasperation.

The doctor heard frustration in her voice, so he tried to let her feel included in the decision by explaining his logic.

“We could isolate her if need be, but she’s been here two weeks already without much progress and I’d like to keep her with people. By herself...” his voiced trailed off, as he observed her troubled countenance. "O.k., I agree with you. I’ll call Alice up in the office, and we’ll get a couple of orderlies to help give her the Meds. That should help.”

“Well, keeping her cigarettes from her doesn’t seem to be working. It plays into her paranoia of people plotting against her. A direct approach isn’t as easy, but at least she’ll understand it. She’s adapted to the cigarette trade, and just gets louder and louder, trying to raise a ruckus so we’ll give up and give her cigarettes to shut her up - and frankly, I’m tempted. But she really needs her Meds!”

The doctor drifted off into his thoughts. He knew all the things that the nurse was saying, but he also knew that she had to be able to vent it. Working in this ward was tough on everyone, and a patient ear was the least he could do to make it bearable. Looking out, and surveying as many of the patients as he could, his eyes picked up the large woman who was screaming obscenities…while engaging in alternating periods of serious ‘self discussion.’ Her long dirty grayish-brown hair was matted like an unkempt dog; and her clothes, mismatched and threadbare, looked as though they’d never been washed. She calmed down, as soon as his last patient sat down close to her.

“Jesus!” said the Doctor. “Of all places, he chooses to sit close to Sarah. What’s that about? He’s going to be an interesting case. Obviously self destructive, severely depressed to the point where he’s nonfunctional, in a near catatonic state; and yet he goes and helps a woman in pain?” he exclaimed, puzzled.

“Curious, very curious,” he thought.

Then he commented aloud: “Well, thank you Ann. I’ll look into it!” he said absently, with apparent concern. But he couldn’t remember exactly what he had to ‘look into.’

“Oh, well,” he thought, “its a good generic response, when I need to cut off the ranting nicely.”

The nurse gave him an exasperated look, and commented under her breath: ”Doctors, when will I ever learn? I’d better just go do what needs to be done!”

The doctor’s sharp mind turned to other matters, even as he was finishing his sentence; and he strode confidently down the hall towards the adjoining building.

He left ‘Cottage A,’ the entry point for all nonviolent suicide cases; and began rounds in ‘Cottage B,’ where the chemically addicted patients were housed. Thoughts of all his patients swam around in his head. Most people would have been overwhelmed, but not Dr. Randolph. He enjoyed the challenge, and treasured his “successes.”

“God, she stinks like nasty old shit. I hope I don’t throw up. That certainly won’t help anything,” the disheveled and disoriented patient thought, as he purposely sat down close to Sarah, and forced himself not to wince.

“She has to know that I’m not making any judgments, otherwise she’ll never open up to me; and she has to open up, so I can convince her to stop screaming.”

The pain in her screams chilled him to the bone. It felt like small daggers being stuck all over his body.

“I’ll go nuts,” he thought, “if she doesn’t stop. And God knows that she needs rest, food, and her medications - whatever those are.”

He wasn’t really sure if drugs helped, or hurt, in the long run; but in this case, he was certain that they would help the tortured woman.

“If she doesn't calm down soon, she’ll really blow.”

He wasn’t sure that he could handle the resulting psychic shock waves of that possible event.

“God, isn’t there a quiet place to go?” he wondered.

Every noise and movement grated on his psyche. So the combined pain projected by all the people around him was devastating. It was an ongoing emotional assault. He literally felt their pain being transferred to him, and he wasn’t sure how much more of that he could take in his highly sensitized state before he started screaming too - if to just release the growing, unbearable, pain. He was normally very empathetic, but he was now highly sensitized to everything - especially pain. The place felt physically safe, although some people were a bit scary. After a few hours of being crouched in a corner, he realized that few if any of the people were dangerous...though many were very disconcerting.

“But Jesus, they’re in such mental agony; and their bodies reflect it.”

Some were fat; others were only skin and bones. None were remotely calm. He knew he appeared calm, although inside his feelings and pain matched or exceeded that of those around him.

“Maybe I should scream and let it all out - like those crazy new-age primal scream people on TV?” he thought at first.

He had tried to scream, but no sound would come out - or even start. He just didn’t have the will to care whether it came out or not, whether he ate or not, what he looked like, or where he was ‘to go.’ He had given up on everything, and just didn’t care. If he drove off of a bridge, he wouldn’t have cared.

“If anything, it would be a relief...to stop this pain,” he thought.

A delivery from the unbearable internal pain.

“Where did it come from? How? Why?”

His questions always withered out into confused and conflicting thoughts- so he didn’t try to think, worry, control, understand, or do anything anymore. It was enough to just “be.”

But when faced with this pitiful woman; his mind gave him answers, directions, and seemingly clear solutions. He finally decided that of all of the people in the hospital, Sarah was the worse off- displaying her pain and agony as a camouflaged plea for help.

“All I have to do is to work into her confidences enough to give her a big hug,” he thought. “But it won’t work unless it’s sincere, or if I do it right away as a stranger.”

No, they had to become friends for her to desire, and then be relieved by, a big hug. A hug? How could it be that simple? Was he right, or dead wrong? God knew. All he knew was it was the thing that he wanted, and needed.

“We can’t be that much different, she’s just much more extreme,” he reasoned. “And God knows that she hasn’t gotten any loving attention in her present physical shape. It may not work, but I’ve got to try.”

While the doctors’ existence quickly faded from his damaged memory, her exhibition of pain glared like a beacon. She was a siren of agony, and he was strangely drawn to her pleas.

“What are you doing here?”

She was skeptical of a handsome young man choosing to sit close to her, and paranoia kicked in.

“They sent you here, didn’t they? They wants what's up here,” she said; pointing to her brain.

“I’m smart, and they know it. I know their ways! I know their tricks! They want what I know, and will pump me full of drugs to get it!”

“No,” he said. “I could see that you were smart. The bastards! I’m here because I didn’t want to sit by the crazies, and you remind me of my favorite aunt.”

“They think that I’ll give in! They think if they torture me by keeping my cigarettes, I’ll voluntarily submit to their mind-bending drugs. No way! I‘ll die first, and torture them in the process. They can’t get away with this!”

“Well,” he started. “I think that it’s working some, but it’s also upsetting the crazies. That's not cool. I’ve got a better idea!”

And feigning a conspiracy, he started. He felt that her paranoid mind needed some game, so “let’s give her a benign one,” he reasoned.

“What are you thinking of?” she whispered.

She shrank down, and her bright intelligent bluish-gray eyes looked directly into his eyes.

“I’ll sit by you, and when they bring the Meds over I’ll look at them- so they won’t dare give you the bad ones! Then, you make sure they give you your cigarettes. After that we can talk in the courtyard, where they can’t hear us.”

“You’re a smart one,” she said with a warm smile. “I knew it, the minute I saw you! We’ll trick them, we will, and get them good!”

"Ok, agreed! Now start talking louder about other things. Otherwise, they’ll suspect something. ”

“Deal!” she said with the gusto of a marine sergeant, giving him a firm slap on his back for emphasis.

So they talked. It wore him out, but he kept talking. He asked her questions about her family.

“My daughter put me in here, the bitch!”

He asked her about her husband, deftly changing the subject.

“He was a good man, but the alcohol got the better of ‘em.”

And, he asked about education.

“I went to college, and had a good career. I’m smart. Smarter than they think!”

A nurse started walking in their direction.

“See her?”

“Yes. I’ve been watching them. They’re curious about us talking so much. It’s kind of odd, given your screaming and all. Anyway, that bitch nurse carried Meds in a paper cup to the supervisor and the staff doctor at the main desk. She said something to them, and the other nurse and the doctor seemed puzzled, and didn’t seem too happy. Then they shook their heads, like they were saying ‘no.’ The nice nurse took the Meds from the bitch, looked at them closely, and showed the doctor. He took some of the pills out, and threw them into the trashcan! Boy, was the bitch nurse pissed! He gave the rest to the nice nurse, and walked over here with the safe Meds. You’re right, that bitch was going to give you some horrible shit!”

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“Shush now, she’ll hear us. Be real nice, and tell her that there’s no problem, so long as she brings you the Meds. Otherwise, let ’em know that you’ll start screaming again- even louder than before, ok?”

"Ok.”

The nurse was half way across the cavernous room when two white-coated orderlies joined her, and bore straight towards the two conspirators.

“Sarah,” she said nicely. “I have your Meds, you need to take them, ok? These two men will help you if you cause problems, ok?” she added as sweet as could be.

"Ok, I’ll take my Meds. Even regular like. But, it has to be you bringing them every time, and then giving me cigs.”

Unable to hide her shock at the unexpected easy compliance, the nurse visibly regained her composure before speaking.

“Why sure, Sarah. Whatever you want. That’ll be fine. We just want you to be happy.”

“Bullshit, you’re all commie whores! Don’t ever forget that I know it either! I just want my cigarettes!”

“Well ok,” she said meekly. “Here are your Meds, and some water. Take them now, and I’ll get your cigarettes back.”

She handed her the Meds with shaky hands, and smiled when Sarah quickly swallowed them.

“Good, good! Now drink this glass of water so your stomach won’t be upset.”

Sarah drank it in a few large gulps, and threw down the empty cup.

“Now bring me my cigs!”

"Ok, I’ll make sure that they give them to you on the next break in the courtyard; which will be soon.”

“Uhhmmmmm, make sure you do! And tell that bitch nurse to steer clear of me,” she spat; pointing directly at the other nurse who was visibly surprised.

"Ok, I’ll bring you your Meds from now on.”

“Thanks,” she grunted.

Soon they were gone, and chatting with animated gestures at the station.

“That went well,” he said to Sarah. “But you were a bit rough with her.”

“Yeah, I know. Gotta keep them on their toes. Don’t ever trust ‘em, they’ll betray you. Last week they injected me with something that knocked me out for two days!”

“Jeez, that sounds bad.”

“Don’t ever trust ‘em. Your plan was great, but lets see if they give me my cigarettes.”

“I think that they will,” he interjected. “I’ll make a point of stopping by there on my way to the toilet, and warn them if they don’t.”

“You’re real smart,” she said with a warm appreciative smile.

“I’m going to watch TV for awhile, and then go to the toilet. That way they won’t suspect we were working together, or anything, ok?”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

"Ok, I’ll see you. Good luck, partner!” he said with a warm smile.

He crashed on one of the couches in the TV room for a few minutes; spent and exhausted.

"Ok, hang in there,” he told himself. “You’re almost done,” he reassured himself.

Then, he forced his wobbly legs to walk the distance to the toilet; telling himself that he only had a little more to do before relaxing fully. Sarah perked up when he entered the main room, and intently watched him enter, then later leave, the bathroom. He casually walked alongside the nurse’s station, and right up to the ‘good’ nurse. She ignored his presence for a while. They always did, as a matter of policy. He didn’t let her speak, however, as she raised her head to look at her visitor.

"Ok, be quiet and listen up. I don’t have long to talk. Sarah will take her Meds if you give them to her. If you want to play good nurse/bad nurse with that other nurse, then it’ll convince her even more and she’ll begin to trust you. But you have to give her cigarettes too. I got her to trust you, provisionally, ok?”

A little surprised, and obviously amused by the good nurse/bad nurse remark, she quickly caught onto his plan.

“We will. Thanks.”

“No, thank you. That poor woman needs serious help, and none of us can handle her screaming any longer.”

“Well, she has a history, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, this is her third time in. She’s ok when she’s on her medications, but she’s chemically imbalanced and stops taking them at home when she seems to feel better. Then, she falls hard. Her daughter brought her in the first time. The last two times, it was the police. She was found roaming the streets for God knows how long.”

“Well I can’t talk too much, she’ll think I’m on your side,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks again.”

“Me too. I feel really weak now. It’s been a lot to even focus on this, and I can feel myself slipping again. You’d better look upset with me, to be convincing. I guess once her Meds kick in, she’ll be over the hump, eh? I hope so; it seriously hurts too much to hear her pain. It’s real to her, and it hits me hard.”

“Why don’t you go to sleep in that little room over there?”

“Can I? That would be great. This is all too overwhelming for me. Its just too much...” his voice trailed off, as the stress of the events kicked in.

“No problem, now go away!” she said with an over dramatized scowl.

He tried hard not to laugh. She was so funny. He turned away quickly, and back to Sarah...pretending like he was walking into the TV area. As he passed her, he said: “alls cool, you’ll get your cigarettes. But you can’t give that bitch nurse any ammunition. You have to take your Meds without any more fussing, ok?”

"Ok,” she said sheepishly.

He could tell that deep down inside, she knew it was all a charade; but like most people, she turned a blind eye to incongruent things when they knew deep down that it was for their benefit. Sarah knew that she could trust his sincerity, so she went along with everything he asked. He understood her feelings of hurt, sadness, and anger; caused by people pretending to be good, and then betraying the trust they intended to engender by their apparent sincerity. It hurt him worse than any bad news ever could; and when vulnerable, it was devastating because his fragile trust was violated and he felt even more alone, feeling then that he couldn’t trust anyone. He’d taken so many blows of betrayal that he couldn’t cope with anything anymore. While the current situation was upsetting, it helped him understand the source of some of his own pain- by seeing it glaringly in the hapless woman.

“Maybe that's why her pain affects me so much?” He could identify with it deeply.

Most patients in the ward felt beaten up by deceptions and betrayals, and were only reaching out...however oddly...for help and protection from an onslaught of now overwhelming emotions.

“Sanctuary, sanctuary, sanctuary,” Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre-Dame, beseeched.

He’d sought refuge, in order to escape his societal-driven tormentors. The unbidden quote pierced his awareness, like an unexpected arrow.

“That’s what I need,” he realized, as the last of his energy drained out of his worn body; and he collapsed on the small cot.

His last thoughts were: “Thank God she’s going to be quiet. I can sleep without fear. It’s good for her to have her medication. She’s a nice person ...just scared as hell, and lashing out with anger at an increasingly insensitive world. My anger and hurt is similar, it’s just turned inside and against myself. I need rest, silence, time...” his mind rambled off into oblivion.

He woke, because someone shook him. He didn’t want to get up, but everyone was forced to move out of the ward. He hardly knew where he was, being pulled from a very deep sleep brought on by his medication. His brief period of semi-clarity with the Sarah situation had been a last effort fluke, and it drained him even further. He felt like a zombie. His thoughts were incoherent, confused, jumbled; and it was frustrating for him to try and hold them in his conscious awareness. Nothing ‘stuck’ in his short-term memory. His mind got wiped clean, or things didn’t even register. He’d let himself totally collapse. It had been a relief to find sanctuary at the hospital…so he checked himself in. Then, when his newfound peace had been threatened with psychic disturbance, he’d used the last of his reserves.... from somewhere deep inside.... to deal with it. But it took his last energies. Maybe he allowed that, knowing that there was a safety net for him to fall into when totally spent. After all, he had only allowed himself the respite of the hospital after feeling assured that his kids would be safe without him. It was only when he knew that he had done his best by them, gotten them safely through the treacherous emotional storm that had threatened to damage them for life; that he could let go totally. For seven years he did everything in his power to assure than the worst of the divorce consequences fell on him, not them. Protecting them, until they could stand on their own; independent of the twisted thoughts, and warped values, of his ex-wife.

“Come on now. We have to clean the room, and you need fresh air,“ a disembodied voice spoke.

“Lets go,” the orderly directed insistently.

Corralled like limping sheep, the patients ambled inside a small, totally enclosed, courtyard. Sarah was way ahead, but her presence didn’t register with him any more than anything else. He felt remotely good about her, but his memories were fuzzy at best. Sarah stopped by the nurse’s station on her way out, and was handed two cigarettes.

She scowled a “cheapskate” look at the nurse, but caused no incident. She’d been mercifully quiet for a long time, and was somewhat defused as her meds kicked in. He was punchy, and not attempting to process anything. His mind wouldn’t even try. It had been overloaded, chemically drained through prolonged and continued stress, and was misfiring. He felt like he was in a fog. Never quite getting past that place between sleep and awake. It was an emotional gray space… a numb and quiet space. He recognized Sarah when they were outside, and she smiled to see him.

“It worked!” she said brightly.

It was nice to see her feeling something other than pain, but he couldn’t feel anything other than the absence of her pain. He was just slightly less oppressed by her slice of happiness. Not much else registered in his worn out cerebrum.

“I keep giving pieces of myself away,” he thought, “without someone giving some in.”

Knowing that Sarah was on track helped somehow, but he was still drained. He did, however, remember his last responsibility as he saw it.... the hug. He girded himself for the smell, actually holding his breath, and gave her a big bear hug. He slowly let out the air that was trapped in his lungs, so not to run away too quickly and display olfactory disgust. That would have defeated the purpose of all his work, and hurt her terribly. She smiled broadly, as she left his embrace. He let out the rest of his breath, and simply said: “You’re a good person, Sarah. Don’t ever forget it again, ok?” Shocked into silence, she stood enthralled. She glowed with appreciation.

He headed for the nearest bench and collapsed. Someone eventually helped him back into the building when the break was over. Dropping onto a makeshift cot, he thankfully fell into a deep, nearly comatose, sleep. The medications insured that, but he didn’t know, or care.

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