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Earth and Mars- the complete novella
By Jeffrey M. Manchur
© 2002 Jeffrey M. Manchur
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“ ‘But if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap burning coals upon his head.’ “
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
Romans 12: 19-21
“Who committed no sin, nor was any deceit found in His mouth;…”
1Peter 2:22
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Are you going to tell me your name today?”
“No, just as it always was going to be. You’ll refer to me as Mr. X for now…and forever.”
“We’ve been in sessions together for two weeks now. Ten o’clock, every Tuesday and Thursday. Are you going to continue that?”
“Of course. And to save your breath: Your check will be in your mailbox tomorrow, I guarantee it.”
“Are you going to come to my office for a session sometime?”
“No.”
“Why do you disguise your voice? Is it a defense mechanism, just like your not coming to see me? Like you only meet with me by phone?”
“I don’t put myself through worthless defense mechanisms. I’m not only saving myself by not talking with you in person. And you watch your mouth. If your tone of voice were only slightly different, I’d think you were making fun of me. I don’t like, and I don’t take bullying.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Mr. X. I’m only trying to break through this wall that we’ve agreed on previous occasions has developed in your mind. I’m hoping that soon, you’d start to show me some emotions.”
“Who needs emotions, Mr. Psychiatrist? Are they not only a way for journalists and the government to make a profit off ordinary citizens?”
“I beg you to differ.”
“Why?”
“Mr. X, you’ve come to me willingly for help. Society and I appreciate that. But without you giving me a few traces of…something, we can’t make any progress.” Silence. “Are you still there?”
“I was only waiting for you to continue. I found nothing to respond to.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“How about I ask you a question?”
The Psychiatrist pondered. “Alright.”
“I’d like to know why you think I come to you.”
“That’s not really a question.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t, but doctor, I’m curious all the same.”
“Well…I think you began to realise that you were subject to some dangerous mental illness. Quite possibly you thought you’d be a danger to society. You did your fellow citizens a favour by in-listing in my services.”
“Alright and now here comes the real question. Why do you think I only talk to you by phone, as we’re doing now?”
“Most definitely, it’s a defense mechanism, even if you deny that that’s what it really is. I also think you disguise your voice to hide your identity. Perhaps you’re a public figure who hides what he really is. Now let me ask you a question, Mr. X. Do you sometimes fell, emotionally, that you are two feet tall?”
Laughs. “Doctor, you’ve succeeded in bringing some emotions out of me. I lost my hair naturally at 16. Don’t you think I would have felt two feet tall? Of course. I was a public disgrace. My parents locked me inside. So I pretended I couldn’t remember my hereditary disability. That worked well.”
“What do you do now?”
“Mister Doctor, please, don’t insult my intelligence. True, I may have some physical differences, but I’m not stupid. In fact, I’m quite smart. I won’t tell you my actual career, but I’ll tell you what I do in my spare time.”
“Please tell me, Mr. X.”
“Fliers.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Fliers.”
“Okay, I heard you correctly. Tell me this: what do you do with fliers in your spare time?”
“I look at them.”
“If you do have intentions of getting better, Mr. X, I urge you to be as specific to me about everything that you possibly can be. Please, explain.”
“In my spare time, I look at fliers. Fliers that people hang on hydro-poles, bulletin boards, other posts which have no name.”
“And this gives you pleasure?”
“In a way. Indirectly, it did. But remember, I don’t show emotions all too much. And I don’t just hold them in, just letting them well up inside, as I know psychiatrists like to say. I don’t show many emotions. But the fliers, indirectly, do give me pleasure.”
“Would you mind telling me how?”
“No.”
“Would you like to move on? To another subject?”
“Yes.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
A pause. “Me.”
“Are we not always talking about you?”
“We are. But doctor, I want to talk with you about my mind. Have you ever heard of Hannibal Lecter? Or Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?”
“Of course. Hannibal Lecter is a perfect example of a psychiatrist gone wrong. People in my profession are continually thinking about what Thomas Harris set out to create. A madman, or just a revenging cannibal. It’s a mystery.
“Jekyll and Hyde is known, now, as a supernatural case of schizophrenia. Split mind. It’s a classic case of a madman.
“Why do you ask?”
“That’s me.”
“That’s…you, you say?”
“Oh yes, and I’m more. I have ideals, bigger then Hannibal Lecter of Doctor Jekyll. I have no ideals to take over the world. I’m no Hitler or Napoleon. But I have ideals. Ideals to bring me success. I’m an entrepreneur.”
“So you say, in you’re mind, that you’re Hannibal Lecter and a Doctor Jekyll/Mr. Hyde?”
“And a second party, and that’s what I want to talk about.”
“The second party in your mind. Is it controlling you?”
More laughter. “No, but you crack me up. One part of my mind does not control the other. But my own mind is made up two characters.
“And you want to know something else, psychiatrist? I have devoted my life to my country. If it is necessary for the happiness of my country that should cease to live, I leave it to the Providence of my God.”
“Is this a suicide, Mr. X? IF it is, I beg you to hear me out…”
“I’ve prayed. People have suffered at the hands of a government’s inactivity. I maintain with dignity that I am not insane. I will not be given up upon for reasons of insanity. I’ve been in a mental hospital, but doctors certified that I was cured. My visions, prophecies, and my missions do not signify insanity. I have made a sacrifice; I ask for justice.” Doctor tries to talk. Cut off. “And you want to know something else?
“I have devoted my life to my country. If it is necessary for the happiness of my country that should cease to live, I leave it to the Providence of my God. And I’d give up my hard-earned status as fabulous freak of nature. I too thought that when proved wrong I lost somehow. And I too once thought that life was cruel. I too once that I was owed something. Heaven forbid I be ignored.
A pause. “You want to know one more thing? This is a set up. It’s to my knowledge that you receive mail on this day, at about this time. I’ve been waiting three years to get this time slot. Give us a few moment.”
The psychiatrist listened into the silent earpiece of the telephone. The patient, Mr. X, had shown a huge range of emotions during the conversation; culmination in an array of excitedness and eeriness, and a tone of powerfulness. It was scary.
Excerpts of their sessions passed through his mind, as those few silent moments progressed.
The patient, known only as Mr. X, said, “It’s time.”
And the secretary knocked on his door for his mail. He let her in, took the mail, and pushed her out quickly. She couldn’t see that, for the first time, he was sweating from being scared by a patient. Scared shitless.
From the desk, the phone on the speakerphone brought him the voice of Mr. X. “Open the one in the old brown envelope.” He did. “You see the poor photo? That’s me, and my people.” Mr. X screamed, now, into the phone.
A photo of a hideous creature slipped through the psychiatrist’s hands, and landed facedown to the floor.
On the back read, ‘C U Soon. No offense.”
On the desk, the phone clicked, and a familiar dial tone flooded the office.
Session over…
© 2002 Jeffrey M. Manchur
