The Hospital: . . . the outstanding feature of a mental institution is a kind of formless, bizarre despair overlaid with a veneer of glossy hope and good intentions concealing a, power struggle to the death between patients and staff, coated with a quality of continual confusion. The basic art of schizophrenia lies in a genius for dealing with power struggles, and of course in a mental hospital the problem of power is central. It should not be thought that the struggle between patient and staff is unequal. True, the staff has drugs, tubs, cold packs, shock treatments (both insulin and electric), brain operations, isolation cells, control of food and all privileges, and the ability to form in gangs composed of aides, nurses, social workers, psychologists and psychiatrists. The schizophrenic Jacks all these appurtenances of power, including the use of gang tactics, since he is essentially a loner, but he has his manner and his words and a stout and determined heart.
(For those who would like to read more. Voices is a publication of the American Academy of Psychotherapists. Mr. Haley is director of the Family Experiment Project at the Palo Alto Mental Research Institute, and the author of several books, including Strategies of Psychotherapy.)
* * * *
THERE’S A STARMAN IN WARD 7
DAVID ROME
when i woke this morning the starman had been put in the bed next to mine! ! !
(Let me tell you about him, Papa. His head which is the only part I see of him in the mornings is bald as an egg and gray like old newspaper soaked in water. But his gray eyes smiled up at me friendlily.)
It was almost light, and they had forgotten to pull the blinds down last night, so the dawn was coming in. There was a lot of noise in A and the Starman sat up slowly and said jesus god where am i?
Jesus God, mother of all
Rolled me in porridge
And let me fall
The Starman was skinny, and he wore pajama top and no bottom. They don’t give you pants if they find out you -------- the bed.
what is the name of this place, asked the Starman.
“Ward 7,” I told him. Then I said he was lucky they put him here. 8 is the one to scream about, jesus (love him!) 8888 is the place I get scared about. You’d be scared too, Papa, if you could hear them talk about 8. I won’t ever go there though, they don’t put little kids in 8. I hope.
8
8
8
The Starman didn’t even look happy about being in 7. He got out of bed and stood gaping down at his white legs, then he saw his locker which was beside his bed, and he opened it as though he expected something to jump out at him.
just then the hooter started hooting and everybody groaned and the keys rattled in the lock and the door came open.
When the lights came on everybody looked to see who it was today. It was john. That was good for some, like Daddy, but not so good for me. john is okay, Papa, but he hurts (no he doesn’t!) some of us sometimes (it’s a lie!) Papa, when we don’t do our work like sweeping the veranda and picking papers off the yard.
john came down the rows of beds, pulling back the sheets and telling us to get out of bed you lazy -------- (-------- you I said to him under my breath). But I got out and started getting dressed.
I take the chance to peek at the Starman’s locker and I see it got his name on it: Charlie.
(Big Jim wouldn’t get out of bed and john just hit him. Big Jim is hollering now and getting out of bed.)
Some of the guys are washing themselves, but I led the Starman past them and out through the open doors. It was a cold morning, the sky a kind of purple colour along the horizon and blue higher up. The garden looked dark, and it was empty. Across the road a light was burning in the dispensary. A work party went by, snuffling and coughing in the cold. (They’re lucky — they get to wheel gravel down by the highway and see the cars.)
I opened the door to the TV room and showed the Starman in. Most of the chairs was still empty. I said we should sit down until our names were called for medicine, but the Starman stood looking about him as though he didn’t hear.
It’s a nice room. Very big but warm, with the Office fitting snugly in one corner, some tables with flowers in vases, rows of chairs in front of the TV set which stands on a high shelf where we can’t reach it.
The room was starting to fill. We stood watching the stragglers come in, and I told the Starman their names and he seemed to remember even though I only told him once. (I was surprised because I didn’t know he was the Starman then, Papa, I thought he was just Charlie!)! ! !
Charlie is
my darling
Eric came in with john holding his arm. This is because Eric falls over most of the time, so he wears a cushion around his head for the times when they aren’t around to stop him.
phillipcameinwithouthisclotheson
and everybody laughed, john kicked him on the b u m and sent him back to his dormitory and we all laughed except the Starman.
The Starman told me where he was from. A place called Alfa Sentori, Papa, which sounds like it is in Italy.
I checked with Alice. She took me down Grove Street to the library. It was a nice day, and the air smelled clean and fresh. Alice and I sat at the long table in the library and read all about Alfa Sentori (Alpha Centauri, says the Starman). I saw a lot of my friends, and then Alice and I walked home through souter woods! ! !
The Starman wanted to know why I killed Alice. I tell him because she said dirty words to me after I loved her. I also told him about the mother in the moon.
Mother in the moon
Rolled me in porridge
Turned me into a boy
When I was three
Years old
The Starman came from Alpha Centauri in a spaceship. He says nobody believes him, that’s why he’s here.
I said what happened to the spaceship. He said it’s still hidden in the swamp and when he gets the chance he’s getting out of here and going home.
After we got our pills they served us coffee on the veranda. We get one cup of coffee each and one biscuit, except Daddy who gets two when john is on. The Starman asked john for another biscuit.
It was funny, john gave the Starman a look, then pushed him and made him stumble against the wall. But the Starman went straight back and asked for another biscuit, john got mad and took him to the dormitory and shut the door.
(all this is a lie!)
(ward 7 is fine)
(everybody here treats us right)
(I’m a dirty liar about john)
There was a scream from the dormitory, then the door shot open and the Starman came out, his face all twisted. The Charge came and took him away to one of the rooms in the corridor.
The Starman is out of the corridor and back in our dormitory. We lay awake talking last night, and he asked me about my second head. I told him he couldn’t see it because it was inside my first head (natch!).
I told him I used to be a writer. I told him how Alice threw that stone which hit me on the head on the beach that day.
The Starman didn’t say anything for a while, then he asked me if I was happy.
I said I was but I wished mother had let me stay a girl. Girls have all the fun. (Like Alice!)
the starman says he’s going to make me better! ! !
If he’s going to make me better why doesn’t he get started? He said he would start right away, but this morning there was ot which meant I had to sweep the yard and clean out the lavatory. This afternoon there was rt and some of us were taken for a walk around the grounds. I was allowed to go, but not the Starman.
peter took us for the walk. He told me once that I’m an ep and a schizo. He said nobody can cure me, that’s why I’m in this dump, Papa, instead of one of those modern hospitals where they don’t hurt (lie!) anybody and where somebody gets cured once in a while.
Still, it could be worse. 8 ! ! !
There’s a high fence around 8 and only a low one round 7 ! ! !
When I asked peter about the Starman he said he’d hea
rd he was a quack head-doctor. He said his real name was Charlie Nebraska and he came from somewhere out west.
The Starman got to talking to himself today. He’s over a hundred years old and he left Alpha Centauri four years ago.
The Starman keeps asking the Charge when a psychiatrist will be coming around. We see the foot-doctor regularly, and we get our hair cuts and shaves, but no head-doctor. The Charge says they’re using all their doctors in other hospitals where people get cured.
Somebody said maybe they’d cure us if they tried!
888
888
! ! !
! ! ! theStarmanisgoingto try. Not just me! ! He’s going to cure everybody! ! !
He says he can cure us all in time, and he’s going to work nights at it. He says at least some of us might get well enough to know what kind of death-sentence society has pronounced on us.
I wouldn’t have known what he meant a couple of days ago, so maybe he’s already started on me! ! !
I’ve discovered a strange thing. I’m not a kid. I’m almost forty years old. Yesterday morning I stood in front of the mirror and took a look at myself. I was pretty awful! The clothes they give us here are for bums. Somebody gave me a jacket that was two sizes too big.
But when I looked at myself I thought I might have been not so bad once. I’m tall! ! ! I’ve got dark hair and brown eyes. I gave myself a grin, but that wasn’t so good. I’ll need new teeth when I get out, Papa, if I’m going to find a girl.
everybody
doesn’t
want
to be
cured!
There are only a dozen want it in A dormitory, out of thirty. The rest think the Starman is crazy and they lie in their beds grinning at us while we work.
It isn’t easy! ! !
We sit on the floor around the Starman, and nobody has to speak or laugh, or think about anything except being well again.
I woke feeling better than ever before. When I opened my eyes and felt the blood singing through my head I wanted to cry! It’s like being born again, Papa, only without that helpless scared feeling.
Most of the others are feeling better, too -------- even the ones who don’t join in our circle. When john came in to get us out of bed we all told him to ------- off, and he hurried straight back out again looking scared.
He’s a fat toad of a boy. I could break him in half and maybe I will one day soon.
The Starman worked with us for three hours. Each time the night nurse came nosing around we dived into bed. Then when the coast was clear we gathered around again. There are only two who don’t join in now, and one of them is Eric, who sits up in bed and listens.
john has left! ! ! He went last night without notice. they are short of staff now, and there aren’t so many to watch us. The Starman says that when he goes, I can come with him. There’s room for two aboard the ship — so it’s Alpha Centauri or bust!
Talking about bust, there’s a pretty girl working in the kitchen here. She’s got the nicest --------- you could imagine, Papa, and a few of us are keeping her in mind when we get out !
The Starman said we needn’t take our pills any more. So we just queued to get them from mike, waited until he had marked our names off the list, then went one by one and flushed them down the can! !
Later, when mike told me to sweep the yard, I asked him why the hell he didn’t sweep it himself. He said while I was sweeping I couldn’t think about sticking a knife in his back — and that gave me an idea.
they count our knives and forks when we finish our meals. But that wouldn’t stop us using them on the b — s in the dining room! (yuk-yuk.)
Six of us are locked in the corridor rooms today. We attacked the Charge with chairs and split his skull.
Visiting day.
Nobody came to see me, but the Starman had a visitor. A blond woman in a grey coat. I asked him who she was and he said she was a friend who had come to tell him his ship was still okay.
I’m getting smarter and wiser every day.
We said a prayer tonight.
he will make us well
he will make us
strong
There’ll be twenty-eight of us from A dormitory, and only four of them. We’re going to deal with them in the dining room, take their keys and let ourselves out.
I’m coming home, Papa! ! ! Why didn’t you visit me?
tonight while they were busy serving us the starman gave the order and we grabbed up our knives and went into action! It only took a minute. I ripped the Charge’s keys off his belt and we ran outside into the yard. Next moment the gate was open and we were free! ! !
88888
88888
88888
i trusted the starman and he let me down! He ran off and left me. I’ll fix him when they bring him back! ! !
8 is hell. I might as well be dead.
My room looks out on the yard of 7 and I can see all the smart ones who didn’t listen to Crazy Charlie Nebraska.
Look where it got me.
! ! !
I can see the sky at night from my room, and I’ll keep watching! If he’s a dirty liar I’ll deal with him when they bring him to 8! If he’s not a dirty liar I’ll see his ship coming down from the stars soon like a silver angel.
Angel mother
In the moon
love the world
I’ll be waiting! ! !
<
* * * *
I was a teenage space-nut. I’m still a space-nut—but, I mean, space. Not the Space Race. Not the Missile Gap, or even Rocket Generations. Not even (to my own surprise) most of the Astronauts.
Planets—other worlds with, maybe, other people on them—I’m hot for planets.
And space itself, the big wide universe out there—the sheer volume of it; its unimaginable dimensions; the remoteness, apartness, the difference—I want to know what’s really out there, find out what that difference really is. (If we get far enough out, we might get enough perspective to see what our own world really is.)
This, I believe, is the true burden of the odd (and ever odder) assortment of literature that makes up the broad spectrum of s-f: What do you mean, “real?”
When, from what viewpoint, with what cause, does a “delusion” become a “dream” instead? And where does dream merge into concept, ambition into prospect, effort into accomplishment? Just where along the line does “psychosis” turn into “imagination,” or “fantasy” become “realized?”
The Science Fiction Writers of America held their first annual-awards dinner this year, and there were a lot of new faces. But in among them—in black ties and formals instead of with torn pockets, and some sporting a (distinguished) touch of gray—were quite a few of the old s-f-and-space nuts: the people who (like me) begged, stole, and faked invitations, fifteen (or closer now to twenty) years ago, for the press preview of Destination Moon projected on the Hayden Planetarium dome.
We held, as it were, one long joint breath, watching that preview, and came out starry-eyed, more sold than ever on the wild idea that such things would really come to be.
And so they did. Now we are not space-nuts; we are Prophets and Experts. As long as we talk about realities—like rockets, satellites, and the missile gap, that is.
(Please check your daydreams at the door.)
Well, if “reality” actually does have something to do with hardware, or with the classified (either meaning) body of scientific knowledge, there are at least two of the old s-f hands who ought to have some grasp on it: Arthur Clarke, the Prophet of Telstar, and Isaac Asimov, who is not only an officially certified Learned Doctor, but proved his right to the title all over again last year with The New Intelligent Man’s Guide to Science (Basic Books). But remember:
They were both teenage space-nuts too.
* * * *
EYES DO MORE THAN SEE
ISAAC ASIMOV
After hundreds of billions of years, he suddenly thought of himself as Ame
s. Not the wavelength combination which, through all the universe was now the equivalent of Ames-but the sound itself. A faint memory came back of the sound waves he no longer heard and no longer could hear.
The new project was sharpening his memory for so many more of the old, old, eons-old things. He flattened the energy vortex that made up the total of his individuality and its lines of force stretched beyond the stars.
The Year's Best Science Fiction 11 - [Anthology] Page 14
