The Madman's Tale by John Katzenbach Read Free Book Online

is it not? I think we should speak again.” The doctor had leaned forward, trying to inject some familiarity in his demeanor. “Yes, I think some additional conversations will be in order. Would that be acceptable to you, Mister Petrel?”
    He didn’t reply. It was a little like the doctor’s voice had faded, as if someone had turned the volume down on the doctor, or as if his words were being transmitted over a great distance.
    “May I call you Francis?” the doctor asked.
    Again, he did not respond. He did not trust his voice, for it was beginning to mix together with a swelling of emotions within his chest.
    Doctor Gulptilil watched him for an instant, then asked, “Say, Francis do you recall what it was that I asked you to remember, earlier in our talk?”
    This question seemed to bring him back to the room. He looked up at the doctor, who wore a slyly inquisitive look on his face.
    “What?”
    “I asked you to remember something.”
    “I don’t recall.” Francis snapped his reply.
    The doctor nodded his head slightly. “But perhaps, you could remind me, then what day of the week it is …”
    “What day?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is it important?”
    “Let us imagine that it is.”
    “Are you sure you asked me this earlier?” Francis said, stalling for time. But this simple fact suddenly seemed elusive, as if concealed behind a cloud within him.
    “Yes,” Doctor Gulptilil said. “I’m quite sure. What day is it?”
    Francis thought hard, battling against the anxiety that abruptly crowded past all his other thoughts. Again he paused, hoping that one of the voices might come to his aid, but again, they had fallen silent.
    “I believe it is Saturday,” Francis said cautiously. He said each word slowly, tentatively.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.” But this word fell out of his mouth with little conviction.
    “Do you not recall me telling you earlier it was Wednesday?”
    “No. That would be a mistake. It is Saturday.” Francis could feel his head spinning, as if the doctor’s questions were forcing him to run in ever-concentric circles.
    “I think not,” said the doctor, “But it is of no importance. You will be staying with us for some time, Francis, and we will have another opportunity to speak of these things. I’m certain that in the future you will remember things better.”
    “I don’t want to stay,” Francis replied quickly. He could feel a sudden sense of panic, mingling with despair, instantly welling up within him. “I want to go home. Really, I believe they are expecting me, and it is close to dinnertime, and my parents and my sisters, they all want everyone home for dinner. That’s the rule in the house, you see. You need to be there by six, hands and face washed clean. No dirty clothes if you’ve been playing outside. Ready to say grace. We have a blessing before we eat. We always do. It’s my job some days to say the blessing. We need to thank God for putting the food on the table. I believe today it’s my turn—yes, I’m sure of it—so I need to be there, and I can’t be late.”
    He could feel tears stinging at his eyes, and he could hear sobs choking some of his words. These things were happening to a mirror image of himself, and not quite him, but himself slightly apart and distant from the real him. He struggled hard to make all these parts of himself come together and focus as one, but it was difficult.
    “Perhaps,” Doctor Gulptilil said gently, “you might have a question or two for me?”
    “Why can’t I go home?” Francis coughed the question out between tears.
    “Because people are frightened for you, Francis, and because you frighten people.”
    “What sort of place is this?”
    “It’s a place where we will help you,” the doctor said.
    Liar! Liar! Liar!
    Doctor Gulptilil looked up at the two attendants and spoke next to them. “Mister Moses, will you and your brother please take Mister Petrel to the Amherst Building. I have written out a scrip for