acknowledge. The cities are safer, whatever it takes.
—I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more, Doctor. Has he tried to contact you since his last visit?
—No, he hasn’t.
Perhaps spoken too quickly, and Joe’s head jerked up ever so slightly as a result. There came a slight change in his tone.
—You understand that the law requires you to cooperate fully with the Department.
—Absolutely. I understand. Of course.
—Do you think he’s had other intrusions—those random thoughts—Doctor, running around in that brain of his? The lion and the red car, the baby, what next? What have you made of these strands?
He had accessed my records. Hardly unusual, it is what we expect DIS to do and we don’t want to be reminded of it; it was rather the casual display of power here and now that was suddenly so disconcerting. To be reminded that you are nobody special, just one entity among a faceless public that is the often invoked nation, to whose collective demands you must submit. Any privacy you possess is a privilege that can be casually and briskly withdrawn.
Joe Green caught my look but didn’t flinch. His entire approach, all the charm and deference, had the strength of authority behind it, and the potential to alter or turn off at any moment. He’d not even told me the purpose of his visit, though the threat it contained was evident. Inside those loose features hid a hard man. Dauda was all voice.
I told him,—The last time he came here he said that these thoughts which had been plaguing him were under control. The lion, and so on. He could evade them, or push them back. The accompanying depression and racing heartbeat were gone too. He was using some mind exercises—yoga, counting numbers, and so on—to help him. He wasn’t in need of a treatment any longer. He was confident.
—He’s not the best judge of that, as we both know. What do you think they mean—the lion, etc.? Sorry to pester you, Doctor, but you are the expert. Perhaps you should come work for us! What is the lion, if you were to venture a guess?
—The lion could symbolize a king—it does in many cultures, including ours. Real, or from a national myth, or a children’s story, who knows—the lion and the unicorn and so on. And if you go back far enough, perhaps the lion represents a primal human fear of the predator. Or it could be a private code. Maybe Presley was a zookeeper in his previous life.
That last bit was a joke, and I delivered it with a smile, but Joe Green was not impressed. He looked disappointed. He stood up, shook hands.
—Thank you, Dr Sina. I appreciate your time. Don’t hesitate to call me if you hear from him.
—You’re welcome. I will.
—Well. Goodbye. And with a quick nod he hurried on his way out. At the door, however, like a vintage detective he turned around and fired off one final question:
—Dr Sina, what do you think of these Karmics? I couldn’t help seeing that pamphlet on your desk.
—They are entitled to their beliefs. As long as they don’t push us older people in front of trains.
He laughed.—Yes, but they can be dangerous. Beware of them. Well, goodbye and thanks again, Doctor.
—
Shortly after Joe Green’s departure, Lamar knocked and beckoned me from the door. There was a wide grin on his face.
—Come and have a look here, Doc.
I followed him outside, but there seemed nothing unusual there. The phone rang and the call was answered at the control desk nearby. I turned to Lamar.
—What’s the matter, Lamar?
—Look around—see anything unusual, Doc?
I didn’t, but before I could respond with irritation, he took a step sideways and flung a hand behind, towards the partition.
I stepped back.—What?
Lamar gave a chuckle.—I knew you’d say that! Rather mod, wouldn’t you say?
The calming northern landscape that used to adorn the light grey softboard was gone, and in its place was an equally large abstract reproduction. It was the famous Warhol, with Presley’s
—I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more, Doctor. Has he tried to contact you since his last visit?
—No, he hasn’t.
Perhaps spoken too quickly, and Joe’s head jerked up ever so slightly as a result. There came a slight change in his tone.
—You understand that the law requires you to cooperate fully with the Department.
—Absolutely. I understand. Of course.
—Do you think he’s had other intrusions—those random thoughts—Doctor, running around in that brain of his? The lion and the red car, the baby, what next? What have you made of these strands?
He had accessed my records. Hardly unusual, it is what we expect DIS to do and we don’t want to be reminded of it; it was rather the casual display of power here and now that was suddenly so disconcerting. To be reminded that you are nobody special, just one entity among a faceless public that is the often invoked nation, to whose collective demands you must submit. Any privacy you possess is a privilege that can be casually and briskly withdrawn.
Joe Green caught my look but didn’t flinch. His entire approach, all the charm and deference, had the strength of authority behind it, and the potential to alter or turn off at any moment. He’d not even told me the purpose of his visit, though the threat it contained was evident. Inside those loose features hid a hard man. Dauda was all voice.
I told him,—The last time he came here he said that these thoughts which had been plaguing him were under control. The lion, and so on. He could evade them, or push them back. The accompanying depression and racing heartbeat were gone too. He was using some mind exercises—yoga, counting numbers, and so on—to help him. He wasn’t in need of a treatment any longer. He was confident.
—He’s not the best judge of that, as we both know. What do you think they mean—the lion, etc.? Sorry to pester you, Doctor, but you are the expert. Perhaps you should come work for us! What is the lion, if you were to venture a guess?
—The lion could symbolize a king—it does in many cultures, including ours. Real, or from a national myth, or a children’s story, who knows—the lion and the unicorn and so on. And if you go back far enough, perhaps the lion represents a primal human fear of the predator. Or it could be a private code. Maybe Presley was a zookeeper in his previous life.
That last bit was a joke, and I delivered it with a smile, but Joe Green was not impressed. He looked disappointed. He stood up, shook hands.
—Thank you, Dr Sina. I appreciate your time. Don’t hesitate to call me if you hear from him.
—You’re welcome. I will.
—Well. Goodbye. And with a quick nod he hurried on his way out. At the door, however, like a vintage detective he turned around and fired off one final question:
—Dr Sina, what do you think of these Karmics? I couldn’t help seeing that pamphlet on your desk.
—They are entitled to their beliefs. As long as they don’t push us older people in front of trains.
He laughed.—Yes, but they can be dangerous. Beware of them. Well, goodbye and thanks again, Doctor.
—
Shortly after Joe Green’s departure, Lamar knocked and beckoned me from the door. There was a wide grin on his face.
—Come and have a look here, Doc.
I followed him outside, but there seemed nothing unusual there. The phone rang and the call was answered at the control desk nearby. I turned to Lamar.
—What’s the matter, Lamar?
—Look around—see anything unusual, Doc?
I didn’t, but before I could respond with irritation, he took a step sideways and flung a hand behind, towards the partition.
I stepped back.—What?
Lamar gave a chuckle.—I knew you’d say that! Rather mod, wouldn’t you say?
The calming northern landscape that used to adorn the light grey softboard was gone, and in its place was an equally large abstract reproduction. It was the famous Warhol, with Presley’s
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