The Flex of the Thumb

by James Bennett

  Dr. Hicks buried his face in his hands. Baker, who had fallen asleep, began to snore in his chair. John said, “Lllllll.”

  Vano began, “There was the time about the end of May. We were on our senior class trip at Magic Mountain. I was standing under the sky chute when a girl fell out of her harness. She fell all the way down and landed on the blacktop real close to me. She was wearing a white blouse and blue shorts. Her whole body just busted apart. There was blood and guts on the pavement like a run-over possum on the road.”

  “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Herne Hill. “Big time roadkill! That’s a great fucking story.”

  “And then what?” asked Burgemeister.

  “I just looked all around me. Everybody was going about their business. All the rides were still going, people were buying hot dogs and Polish sausages, all that amusement park stuff. There was this group of strolling banjo players playing songs, and some actors in gorilla costumes were goofing on little kids and giving them candy. That’s when I went into a very shallow hooommm. I could see and hear everything, but it was like everything was housed in this chamber of vibrations. Everything seemed unreal, and there was no emotion connected to anything.”

  “And then what?”

  “That’s about it. I just stood there in hooommm, looking all around, and everything seemed to be whizzing. It only lasted a few minutes, then I was myself again.”

  “That’s a great fucking story,” said Herne Hill. Hill whacked John on the thigh before he said, “Isn’t that a killer story, Little Buddy?” Turning toward Dr. Hicks, he said, “I figure me ’n’ John is going to be compadres in no time flat.”

  “How fortuitous,” replied Hicks, without lifting his face from his hands.

  “That’s very interesting,” Burgemeister told Vano. “Now maybe you could tell us about the time when you had the deep one.”

  Vano was still smiling. “I’d be happy to,” he said. He took the time to gather himself first. “It happened with our housekeeper, Sister Cecilia. She’s about thirty something. She has a last name, but I’m not sure what it is. Ever since she started playing in the Salvation Army band, she just goes by Sister.”

  Dr. Hicks interrupted by holding up his wristwatch. “We really don’t have all day, Vano. Is there any way you could speed this up?”

  “She’s really a Catholic, though; it seems like a paradox, doesn’t it?”

  “The rest of it, please?”

  Vano told the whole story, precisely as it had happened, the night before he left for college. He tried to quote Sister word-for-word, although he couldn’t rely absolutely on the accuracy of his memory. He concluded by saying, “When I left her room, I went to my own room and entered the deepest hooommm I’d ever known. The earth seemed to vibrate and there was a throbbing orange glow. After I went to sleep I had the dream about the pyramid. Of course all this happened after the accident with Jose’s bat.”

  Herne Hill whacked himself on both thighs and exclaimed, “Hot damn! That’s another great story!”

  Briefly, Burgemeister was tempted to try and untangle the bats and pyramid threads, but decided he’d be wiser to stay the course by doing first things first. He asked Vano, “How long were you in this deep hoom?”

  Again, Vano didn’t bother to correct the pronunciation. “I was in for good after that. I’ve never been out.”

  “And what do you do in hoom?”

  “I do the same things I usually do. I go to classes, do my homework, read my books, talk to friends. Even if I’m in deep, I do all the things I usually do. It’s just the state of mind that’s different.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” said Herne Hill. “That’s one of the best stories I ever heard. Is it true?”

  “Mr. Hill, this is not the hot stove league,” said Dr. Hicks acidly. “We don’t put people in group therapy so they can invent stories. This is not the neighborhood poker game.”

  Hill raised his French horn long enough to blow a sour note in Dr. Hicks’ direction.

  Dr. Burgemeister asked, “Does anybody have anything to say to Vano? Are there any questions?”

  “Yeah, you bet.” said Herne. “I’d like to hear a little more about Sister Cecilia’s tits.”

  “Oh my!” exclaimed Mrs. Applewhite.

  Nurse Cubbage spoke up for the first time. “This is preposterous,” she declared.

  Vano turned in Dr. Burgemeister’s direction. “Do you want me to go into more detail about Sister’s tits?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  “How ’bout her bush, then?” Hill persisted. “He never said word one about her bush.”

  “This man is exceedingly vulgar!” proclaimed Mrs. Applewhite. “Do you mean to say that he’s going to be in our group every single day?”

  Perceiving that Mrs. Applewhite did not approve of him, Herne Hill turned the bell of his instrument near her ear and blew a piercing A flat. Mrs. Applewhite bolted from her chair like a missile and collided with Nurse Cubbage. The impact, which sent both women to the floor, also scattered the nurse’s papers and folders. From the prone position she protested, “This is preposterous!”

  Dr. Burgemeister decided it was time to end the session. “We are dismissed for today!” he announced in a loud voice.

  The session concluded, the staff returned to a conference room for the post-mortem. Burgemeister sat on one side of the table, Hicks on the other. Nurse Cubbage occupied the end of the table nearest the window.

  At the other end of the table sat Herne Hill.

  Burgemeister assumed a grave countenance. He chewed the tip of his Bic pen thoughtfully before he said, “The Vano Lucas case is intriguing, to say the least. The delusional pattern is provocative. We seem to be dealing with disorganized cognitive process as well as some withdrawal. It may be a form of undifferentiated schizophrenia on the subacute level. It may even have a catatonic element.”

  Dr. Hicks sighed aloud. He wondered for the umpteenth time why he had chosen to spend his life farting around with society’s lunatics. But then he remembered: I do it for the money. This recovery established, he said, “Let’s increase his medication.”

  Nurse Cubbage, who was studying Vano’s chart, said, “He’s not on any medication.”

  Dr. Hicks produced a vial of nose drops. He began irrigating his right nostril. “So there’s the problem then. What’s the point of having a patient and no medication?”

  Still pensive, Dr. Burgemeister continued, “It must be some form of schizophreniform disorder, undifferentiated type. There’s a catatonic element involved, or I’ll put in with you!”

  The three staff members were suddenly startled by the loud voice of Herne Hill, from the end of the table: “Maybe he’s just a numbnuts.”

  Turning abruptly, they noticed Hill for the first time. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here??” demanded Dr. Hicks.

  “Just trying to be helpful, I suppose.”

  Hicks said caustically, “For your information, the term numbnuts is not included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. Furthermore, you have no business in this room.”

  Without a word, Hill handed Dr. Hicks a white card the size of a calling card, whereupon Hicks read its printed message:

  You are a suck-off

  After pocketing the card, Hicks ordered Herne Hill to leave the room, which he did promptly.

  Hicks stood up to close the door after him. Turning back to his two colleagues, he asked, “Do we have any recommendations for Vano Lucas?”

  Hicks flushed his left nostril while waiting for an answer, but none was forthcoming. He capped the bottle. “I’ve got a 2:30 tee time. Let’s increase his medication and keep an eye on him.”

  It wasn’t until four days later in group that Dr. Burgemeister got around to asking Vano for more information about hooommm. Burgemeister, Dr. Hicks, and Nurse Cubbage arrived in the day room where patients were watching Sylvester and Tweetie cartoons. Dr. Hicks switched off the set. “Let’s get start
ed, shall we?”

  Burgemeister suggested that it might be helpful if the group could know a little more about Vano’s lifestyle. He asked Vano how he liked to spend his time.

  “I spend most of my time deep in,” explained Vano. “I like to read and I like to contemplate.”

  “You say reading and contemplation. What do you like to read?”

  Following his customary pause, Vano said, “I like to read about religions, philosophy, and the supernatural. I’m currently reading Kon-Tiki and In My Own Way. As for contemplation, I like to contemplate the things I read about. When I’m basking with Oboe Meel, sometimes I just like to absorb the conversation which surrounds me.” Vano smiled the pleasant smile.

  Burgemeister said, “I take it hoom is not unpleasant.”

  “Hooommm is very pleasant,” answered Vano. “Especially deep in. It has a certain transcendence to it.”

  Dr. Hicks was losing what little patience he had. “It may seem pleasant, but it happens to be a very serious problem. Do you understand that?”

  Vano smiled. “It must seem to be,” he said.

  “It’s turning you into a zero, a cipher, a non-entity, a vegetable. It’s making you invisible. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  It took a while before he could construct an answer. He finally said, “In my brain I can understand the point you are making, but it lacks emotional impact because I’m hearing you from deep in. I wouldn’t want to offend you, but you are a tiny blip on the distant side of a vast landscape. Your words are as neutral as grains of sand.”

  Hicks stood up abruptly and began to pace. “Where is Hill?” he asked. “Where is Herne Hill?”

  “He’s down in the print shop,” Gayle informed him.

  Hicks made the observation that Herne spent too much time in the print room. “He is a member of this group, the same as anyone else.”

  “Can’t we just leave him down there?” suggested Mrs. Applewhite.

  Hicks ignored this option when he said to Vano, “Would you please go get him?”

  “I’d be happy to get him,” was Vano’s pleasant reply. He left the room to fetch Herne Hill.

  No sooner did Vano leave the room than Baker arrived. He was carrying a split-leaf philidendron, four feet tall, in a large clay pot.

  “What is that?” Hicks asked him.

  Instead of answering, Baker walked swiftly so as to occupy the seat next to Gayle.

  “You can’t bring that in here,” Hicks continued; “There’s no telling what debris it might be carrying.”

  “Besides that, you’re late.” added Dr. Burgemeister. “This group begins promptly at nine o’clock.”

  Baker peered at the staffers from between the generous leaves. “I’m only late by 15 minutes. Dr. Radabiancakrishna says it would be good for me to be less compulsive.”

  Hicks produced a small bottle of Murine and began applying eyedrops. “You can’t bring that in here. The invisible flotsam and jetsam must be enormous.”

  “It would be a good idea for you to be less compulsive, I agree with that,” said Dr. Burgemeister. “But if we want to have a successful group, we need to begin promptly.”

  “Who is Dr. Radabiancakrishna?” asked Nurse Cubbage.

  “He’s a new consult,” said Hicks. “Get that thing out of here,” he directed Baker.

  “I ain’t sitting next to a plant,” said Gayle firmly.

  Hicks was out of patience again. “A few days ago, you refused to sit next to John. Maybe you’d like to draw up a seating chart.”

  Baker said, “Dr. Radabiancakrishna says it’s okay for me to have a placebo. It gives me confidence.”

  “That is a plant, not a placebo. I’m only going to say this one more time: take it out of here.” Hicks screwed the cap back in place on his eyedrop bottle before returning it to the inside pocket of his jacket. Baker left in a huff, without speaking.

  Vano returned with Herne Hill. Hill was still wearing his leather ensemble, but in addition, he wore a printer’s apron. He took an aggressive look around the room, then turned on the television and exclaimed: “Hot damn! Sylvester and Tweetie!”

  Dr. Hicks immediately turned it off. “If you don’t mind, we are trying to conduct group.”

  Herne Hill did mind. “Watch this,” he said to Dr. Hicks. He picked up a square, green ashtray and sailed it like a frisbee through a window. The sound of shattering glass was frightening.

  “Lllllll.” said John.

  “Okay,” said Dr. Burgemeister. “For that outburst, you lose your television privileges for the whole weekend. What do you think of that?”

  Herne Hill folded his arms across his chest; he was staring at his engineer boots. “You can’t take away my TV privileges,” he declared. “I have unlimited TV privileges. As a matter of fact, I have lifetime TV privileges.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “Yes it’s so.”

  “And who authorized these TV privileges, I’d like to know?”

  “Nurse Cubbage did,” asserted Herne Hill. “I gave her a dry hump in the kitchen. She wanted to return the favor, so she gave me special TV privileges.”

  “This is preposterous!” snorted Nurse Cubbage.

  “What’s a dry hump?” asked Burgemeister.

  “This is preposterous!” repeated the nurse.

  “That’s where you hump ’em, but with all your clothes still on,” explained Hill. “If you actually shoot your wad, it gets kind of messy.”

  “This is preposterous!”

  “It’s not only that, it’s also vulgar,” Mrs. Applewhite pointed out.

  Dr. Hicks could stand no more. “Do you all mind terribly?? Maybe we could return to the business of this group?”

  Even though intrigued by the phenomenon known as dry humping, Burgemeister recognized the wisdom of Dr. Hicks’ suggestion. He said, “Let’s do just that.” He turned again to Vano Lucas.

  “Vano, there’s an important piece of your hoom experience which you haven’t shared with the group. Would you like to tell us about the particular people?”

  “It was the particle people,” said Vano, “Not the particular people.”

  “Fine. Tell us about the particle people.”

  “I only had one visit with the particle people. I was on my way out of the coma. I only had one conversation with them. You might say they live in space, or you might say space lives in them. They can break themselves down into their individual atomic particles. They move throughout the universe at the speed of light.”

  “I see,” said Burgemeister, wondering if in truth he saw anything at all.

  Vano continued, after a short hiatus: “Sometimes the diffused particles can come together. When such a coalition occurs, the particle people can assume a humanoid shape.”

  Dr. Hicks sighed audibly just before he buried his face in his hands. He said to himself, Oh my god.

  At this point, Herne Hill rose from his chair. He fished out a small white card, about the size of a business card, from his apron pocket, and presented it to Dr. Burgemeister without speaking. Dr. Burgemeister read the printing on the card:

  Pisces: hold your water and keep a tight asshole.

  Herne returned quietly to his seat. Dr. Burgemeister made no comment about the card, but slid it into his jacket pocket.

  Gayle was curious. Her question for Vano was, “What do the particle people look like?”

  “They look like a collection of tiny lights. Tiny as pinpoints. When they coalesce, the lights twinkle more rapidly.”

  “What conversation did you have with the particle people?” asked Burgemeister.

  “After they explained to me about the particle mode, they informed me that human beings living on earth live in the ego mode. It’s because of the ego mode handicap that human relationships usually don’t work out. They said that the logical side of hooommm was the understanding of the ego mode and the particle mode.”

  “They knew about hoom?”

  “In a se
nse, hooommm is what they are. It was because of my experience in hooommm that they contacted me. They even told me of something they call ultimate hooommm.”

  “What is ultimate hoom?”

  “I don’t know. The particle people told me that they were only giving me a partial understanding of the true meaning of existence. They told me they hoped that some day my understanding would be complete.”

  Dr. Hicks’ face was still buried. Without looking up he said, “I’ve seen some disorganized cognitive process in my time, but this takes the cake. And I do mean fruitcake, if you get my drift.”

  Herne Hill rose once again to bring Dr. Burgemeister another card. His mission accomplished, he returned quietly to his seat. Burgemeister read the card:

  If you hope for longevity, drink the water with

  the extra molecule; find the heavy water.

  The printing was very neat and regular, as had been the case with the earlier card. Burgemeister put it into his pocket before he turned back to Vano. “You say the particle people talked to you about fundamental truths. Does this mean you believe you spoke to God?”

  Vano had no idea this question was meant to locate him within the classic paradigm of delusional disorganization. He smiled before he answered, “They say on planets like ours, people imagine a big man in the sky. But in truth, there is just the universe, expanding and contracting. There are the waves, and there are the particles. They told me the Book of Revelation is just a small fragment of a long epic poem from an advanced people who inhabited the earth millions of years ago.”

  “God damn,” said Herne Hill. “Does this guy tell great fucking stories or what?” With this remark, Hill rose a third time to bring Dr. Burgemeister another printed card. Burgemeister read it to himself:

  Show me the crevices in your hands and feet.

  Consider the cats which scavenge the dumpsters

  in your neighborhood.

  Dr. Hicks had reached the end of his rope. He went and stood in front of Herne Hill. Palm up, he held out his hand. “Give me the cards. All of them.”