On a Beam of Light by Gene Brewer Read Free Book Online Page B

important attributes a psychiatrist can have. He spends part of his lunch hours and every spare minute of his time with Dustin. Of course he is quite taken with prot, too, as is everyone, but he gets little chance to talk with him because the line is so long. It’s only when everyone else goes off to bed that our alien friend gets any time to himself. I only wished I knew what he was thinking about during those long, dark hours of the night.

SESSION TWENTY
    Contrary to popular belief, physicians do not hesitate to criticize each other’s work, at least in private. Thus, at the regular Monday-morning staff meeting, considerable doubt was expressed about whether a simple post-hypnotic suggestion (the whistle) would summon Robert from the depths of hell. One of my colleagues, Carl Thorstein, went so far as to call it a “nutty” idea (Carl has often been a thorn in my side, but he’s a good psychiatrist). On the other hand, it was generally agreed that little could be lost by doing the experiment, which had not been tried before.
    Nor was there much enthusiasm for Giselle’s plan to get prot to talk to animals, though the broader suggestion of a zoo outing for the inmates was well received, and I was nominated a committee of one to look into the matter. Villers admonished me “to keep ze costs as low as possible. “
    Some of the staff members were on vacation, so there was little further discussion of patients and their progress, if any. However, Virginia Goldfarb mentioned a remarkable improvement in one of her charges, the histrionic narcissistic dancer we call “Rudolph Nureyev. “
    Rudolph was an only child who was reminded constantly that he was perfect in every way, and getting better. When he decided to take up ballet his parents responded with high praise and strong financial support. With that kind of encouragement (and considerable talent), he went on to become one of America’s finest dancers.
    His only problem was one of attitude. He expected everyone, even music directors and choreographers, to defer to his impeccable taste and judgment. Eventually he became so important (in his own mind) that he began to voice other demands, and finally became so impossible to work with that he was fired by the management of his dance company. When this news spread, no one else in the world would take him in. He ended up a voluntary patient at MPI when his last and only friend encouraged him to seek professional help.
    His sudden improvement came about following a single lengthy conversation with prot, who described to Rudolph the breathtaking beauty and grace of the performers in a balletlike dance he had seen on the planet J-MUT. He encouraged Rudolph to try some of the steps, but it required such fantastic speed, exquisite timing, and contortion of limb that Rudolph found the work impossible to execute. He suddenly realized that he was not the greatest dancer in the universe. Goldfarb reported that his supreme arrogance had vanished immediately, and she was thinking of moving him to Ward One. There was no objection.
    Beamish, peering at me over his tiny glasses, joked that we should give prot an office and send all the patients to him. Ron Menninger (no relation to the famous clinic) remarked, a little less facetiously, that perhaps I ought to delay Robert’s treatment until prot had done whatever he could for the other inmates, a notion I had grappled with myself.
    Villers reminded us that we were expecting three distinguished visitors over the next month or so, including the chair of our board of directors, one of the wealthiest men in America. Klaus wasted no words in emphasizing the importance of this visit, suggesting that we put our very best feet forward that day, funding efforts for the new wing having fallen below expectations.
    After some other matters were disposed of, he announced that a major TV network had offered the hospital a healthy sum for an exclusive appearance by prot on one of its talk shows.