Goblin Fruit

by S. E. Burr

  When he told her he was a psychiatrist, she laughed and asked if he thought she was crazy. When he told her no, she laughed again, and said, “I wouldn't be so sure about that, Frank.”

  He asked her what she meant, and she waved her hand in the air, brushing the question away. “Don't worry about it,” she said. “The whole world is crazy.” And then she said she wanted to show him something, and she showed him a book.

  Dad stopped talking then and gestured to the book in my hands. Reaching out, he closed it and then ran his hand across the front cover, which had a picture of two golden haired girls and the words “Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti.”

  “I told her that I'd read the poem in college,” Dad said, “I told her it was one of my favorites. I saw the inscription.” He opened the book and looked at it. “To Clara, with love, Mom.”

  He turned the page revealing the first words of the poem and an image of different kinds of fruit—berries, peaches, and oranges—all together in a great, mouth-watering pile. “I asked her if she did the art herself and she said that she had. I was amazed by her talent.”

  “It's beautiful," Dad told me, looking down at it. He kept turning pages until he got to one of the goblins, scary little monsters, part-human, part-animal. Some were mostly animal—rats, snails, wombats. Others, though not fully human, didn’t look like anything from real life. The central creature in the drawing looked mostly human, but had a strange, cat-like look to its slanting eyes, and its mustache looked like whiskers.

  Dad told me he said, “It's frightening, isn't it?” and she said, “The world is frightening. I want her to be ready.”

  He looked at me and shook his head. “I know that for a psychiatrist, I'm not always particularly good at reading people,” he said. “In my work, as much as possible, I've focused on research rather than therapy, but I couldn't help but notice a tinge of fear in her voice and manner, so foreign in someone so daring. I said, 'Can you tell me more about that?'

  He went on. “She laughed sardonically. She said, 'And there's your psychiatrist training at work.' Her voice was laced with irony. 'No, I can't tell you more about it,' she said, 'You know it's frightening just like I do.'”

  Dad grimaced. “Let me tell you, I felt pretty sheepish then. She said 'If Clarity were your daughter would you give the book to her?' I said yes but I'd wait a few years until she knew the difference between real and pretend.”

  I cut in. “A few years! How about twelve!” He’d finally given the book to me four years ago. Before that, when I was actually young enough to be looking at picture books, he’d only let me see a few pages of it here and there. Ok, so it was kind of intense and graphic. Maybe it would have frightened me when I was little, but ever since he’d finally let me have it, I’d been completely entranced by the book. I loved it. I loved the poem itself, and I loved the incredible artwork that my mother had created to go with it.

  Dad chuckled. “Better safe than sorry,” he said, and then went on with the story. “She repeated what I said, 'The difference between real and pretend...' and her voice trailed off like she was lost in thought. We stayed there like that for a while, in silence. Then suddenly she came out of her reverie, her eyes darting to the corner of the room.”

  He hesitated for a second. “It was creepy like she saw something there and for an instant I imagined that I saw something too, a shadow, a hint of movement, but there was nothing...”

  He shook himself and went on. “Then she took the book back from me and said I'd better go. I was a little worried. I didn't want to leave, but she said she had paperwork to do and that I should come and see her the next day, so I left...”

  Dad’s voice had become all serious. I thought maybe he was wondering what would have happened if he hadn't left. It was very sad.

  He sighed. “Nick had come by to visit Anna and was by the nurses’ station talking to her. She was still holding you. I remember he was wearing a maroon dress shirt and a black tie, his sleeves rolled up to display his toned arms. He was always very concerned with the way he dressed. It was before he’d gotten his big promotion and I remember thinking it was a bit much for the low-level job he had at the pharmaceutical lab, but he made me feel a bit self-conscious in my wrinkled lab coat and T-shirt, let me tell you…I led Anna away a little and said that I thought Sara seemed okay, but that I'd check back the next day. I looked down at you in Anna's arms. You were fully awake; your eyes were wide open. I asked if I could hold you and she said 'certainly' and handed you to me.”

  He smiled at me. “You were the sweetest little baby I ever saw,” he said. “Anna grabbed Sara’s cup from the water dispenser, snapped the lid on, and carried it into her. While she was gone, I rocked you, and kind of cooed to you. 'Such a pretty baby. So smart.' That sort of thing. I think I made Nick a little uncomfortable. I don't think he thought I was being very manly. As soon as Anna came back, he kissed her and left.”

  Dad took a deep breath and then plunged into the next part of the story, the bad part. “A minute or two later, I said 'I should probably be getting back,' so we went to the nursery and laid you down in a bassinet. You were starting to nod off. That's when we heard the scream.

  Anna and I both ran from the nursery and into Sara's room. She was curled into a fetal position on the bed, her eyes clamped shut.

  I asked her if she was alright, and she said, 'Goblins!' and 'Help.' One of her arms was flailing in the air as though she were trying to slap away some unseen assailant. 'Help!' she screamed.

  Anna grabbed the phone and called for a rapid response team.

  Sara knocked against me with her flailing hand, and I grabbed onto her. She opened her eyes for a brief moment and said 'Don't let go,' and then she started to convulse, her legs kicking out. She was thrashing violently, and she hit the rolling tray, knocking it over and sending the book and a bunch of papers flying. I lost my grip on her hand. She went limp...

  The rapid response team showed up. They bustled around and then wheeled her out of the room toward the ICU.

  You were crying in the nursery, so Anna went to get you. I just stayed in Sara's room, staring at the empty space where she had been…”

  I leaned my head against Dad’s shoulder. “It’s OK,” I said. “The next part’s better.”

  He looked down at me and smiled. “When Anna came back, she asked me if I was alright. I nodded, and she handed you to me and started picking things up, Sara’s cup, and the tray, and all the papers. Picking up the last paper, she looked from it to me and back again.

  I said, 'What?' and she said, 'It says you're the father.'

  'What?' I said again, and she showed it to me. She said, 'This is the birth certificate application, and Sara wrote your name down as the baby's father.'

  I just stood there staring at it, and she said, 'You knew her. Are you the father?'

  'What?' I said. 'No. I hadn't seen her in years.'

  Anna gave a small, relieved laugh and said 'No. Of course not. Sorry...but she wrote your name down.'

  I said, 'Do you think she knew this was going to happen?'

  She shrugged. 'How could she?'

  I looked down at you, and I said that I didn't think there was a father involved. I asked Anna about the friend of Nick's she'd mentioned who dated her—Marcos. Anna said she'd already asked Nick, and he'd said the timing was wrong. I was surprised that they'd been talking about Sara, but Anna said that he'd seen her through the open door as he walked by and he asked about her.”

  Dad shrugged. “Of course, Marcos wasn’t your biological father. I asked him about it later, and then you asked him that time when you were ten—”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know, Dad. Go on.”

  “Oh, well, we didn’t know who your biological father was. I looked down at you in my arms, and I said, 'There's no family either, so if Sara doesn't get better...' and Anna finished what I was saying. She said, 'Then CPS will step in,' and I said, 'Foster care,' and I held you more tightly to me. Watching me,
Anna said, 'Sara's already signed that paper. If you sign it too, as far as anyone's going to know, you're Clarity's father.'

  The story over, Dad looked at me, squeezing me to him with his closed hand. “And she was right,” he said. “I got custody of you, and I opened this center to help your mom and the many catatonia patients that followed. I hired Anna to help out, and that's it.”

  The light had faded as Dad told the story and I could just barely make out the words of the book in my lap.

  Looking up, I saw—I thought I saw—a vague, moving figure outside under the trees. At first, I thought it was a really big cat, gigantic, like two feet tall, but there was something strangely human about it, a look to the eyes.

  I gave a quick look at my dad, to see if he’d seen it, but he was looking down at the book. I looked back out the window. Whatever it had been, it was gone now. I shook my head and then leaned into Dad’s shoulder. It had looked kind of like one of the goblins in my book, an after image maybe. I’d spent too much time staring at the pictures.

  There was a knock at the door, and Dad stood and answered it. For a second I kind of freaked, almost expecting it to be the cat goblin, but of course it wasn’t.

  7

  Audrey stood on the front porch of the catatonia center feeling nervous. She’d made a fool of herself that morning running away from her brother’s room, and then, of course, there was the fight in the cafeteria. Clarity was nice, but Audrey didn’t know yet what to think about Dr. Harman, and she was a little uncomfortable about seeing him again. He probably didn’t have a very high opinion of her. "Is it too late?" she asked when he answered the door.

  "No, come in," said Dr. Harman, ushering her inside. "We don't exactly keep regular office hours. You're welcome here anytime." It was dim in the room, so he switched on the light.

  Clarity was sitting on the loveseat in the living room. "Hi, Audrey," she said with a smile.

  "Hey," Audrey answered.

  "Andrew's eating dinner right now," said Dr. Harman, leading her to the dining room doorway.

  All the patients, six total, were sitting around the table, eating together. Anna was standing at the side of the room, supervising. The patients were oddly in sync, their six spoons going from their bowls to their mouths in almost perfect time. Audrey cringed.

  "Anna puts them in rhythm on purpose," said Dr. Harman. "It's a bit creepy."

  Anna was playfully indignant. "Creepy or not, it helps me keep track of them," she said. "If one of them chokes, they'll fall out of sync, and I'll know right away."

  Turning to Audrey, Dr. Harman said loudly, "We don't want to doubt Anna's expertise. She knows what she's doing."

  "Thanks, Frank," said Anna.

  "But it's still creepy," he muttered.

  "What'd he say?" Anna demanded.

  Audrey laughed, feeling a little more at ease.

  "Would you like to go into my office and talk?" Dr. Harman asked. "They should be done with dinner in a few minutes."

  She nodded, and Dr. Harman led her up the stairs to a narrow hallway and into the first door on the right. The office was small and a little cramped. The walls were lined with bookshelves full of books on psychology and catalepsy, and a few on parenting. On the back wall, which slanted with the slope of the roof, were taped numerous paintings and drawings, all signed "Clara" or "Clarity" and dated.

  The pictures showed real talent, and Audrey could see why Mrs. Nelson had suggested the mural. In the earliest picture, a watercolor of a rainbow done thirteen years before, the colors were carefully blended between the rainbow’s bands, and in the background beams of light broke through the shadows of dark clouds. The most recent, a laughing image of Dr. Harman, could almost pass for a photograph.

  Audrey’s gaze was drawn to an illustration of a golden haired girl being attacked by a number of small animal-like creatures. In their hands were oranges, peaches, and various other kinds of fruit, which they seemed to be beating her with, covering her with juice and pulp. Dated several months ago, the drawing was very well done, and a little disturbing. As Audrey looked at the picture, a shadow seemed to move in the corner of the room. She turned to look, but there was nothing there.

  Dr. Harman didn’t seem to notice. “Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk. She sat in one, and he sat in the other, facing her. “I have your brother’s file here,” he said taking it from the top of the desk. He opened it, glancing through. “Andrew Ortiz. Classic goblin fruit induced catatonia. Onset, three months ago. Treatment with benzodiazepines and NMDA antagonists produced no effect…confirming the diagnosis.”

  He glanced up from the file, looking at Audrey. “One day we’ll find a treatment that works for this type of catatonia, one that will change everything.”

  “One day,” she repeated, hollowly.

  Dr. Harman shook his head sadly. “I’ve been working to find a treatment for sixteen years, and I'm not about to give up. I know our progress has been slow, but many of the things that hold us back may change soon."

  He leaned forward, his voice fervent. "There's a bill before Congress to ease some of the restrictions on research. This center, like most centers, hasn't been able to test patients' bodily fluids or the secretions from their hands. Currently, we have to incinerate or sterilize gloves and other contaminated materials immediately. If the law changes, it'll open up the field for much more research and many more researchers."

  "I heard about that bill," said Audrey, rubbing her hands against her pants, nervously. "But they say there have been bills like it before, and they haven't passed."

  Dr. Harman sat back. "That doesn't mean that this one won't." Looking at Audrey, he spoke slowly and with conviction. "There’s a lot of fear and misinformation out there about the dangers of Goblin Fruit contamination. It’s held back our research, but we will find a cure. It just takes time."

  She clasped and unclasped her hands. "How much time do you think my brother has?"

  He tapped the folder and smiled. "I think he'll be with us a long time yet. The fatality rate at this center is very low."

  She nodded. “I know. But people still die here.”

  “Yes,” he said. “The affliction eventually claims their lives, but there’s plenty of reason for hope.”

  “Clarity said her mom’s been cataleptic a long time—like sixteen years?”

  “Yes.”

  Audrey looked at him hopefully. “And she’s fine?”

  He gave a glum smile. “None of them are fine, but she’s still with us. It’s a record.”

  “And she’s not dying or anything? She’s as healthy as the day she became catatonic?”

  He hesitated. “I’ve seen no signs of decline.”

  “And you’d be able to tell?” Audrey said.

  Dr. Harman sighed. “No, honestly I probably wouldn't. Death for catalepsy patients is generally sudden and fast. They don’t suffer much. One morning we can’t get them out of bed, can’t get them to eat or move at all. Then we feed them intravenously, but they pass in a matter of days.”

  She slumped in her chair. “So I won’t know…when...I won't know when it's going to happen to Andrew?”

  “On average, a patient is cataleptic eight years before they die,” he said. “At this center, it’s more like ten. In ten years there’s a good chance that a cure will be found.”

  The TV was switched on downstairs and the indecipherable, but loud, sounds of dialog were heard.

  "Well," said Dr. Harman. "It sounds like they're done with dinner."

  They went back down the stairs to the living room where Clarity and Anna were guiding patients to seats around the TV, an older model on a small TV table. Clarity smiled when she saw them. “Come watch with us."

  Audrey looked at Dr. Harman, who nodded.

  "Go ahead," he said. "I’m going to go cook dinner for those of us not on a special catalepsy diet. You're welcome to stay if you like."

  When she hesitated, he smile
d and said, “Well, think about it.”

  He disappeared through the dining room door, and Clarity plopped down on the floor in front of the TV. She leaned back, resting against the bottom of the couch, between the legs of two patients. Audrey sat down on the floor near her, but closer to the TV and well away from the patients.

  A news program came on and, uninterested, Audrey mostly watched Andrew. Sitting in an armchair nearby, he was totally still. His head wasn't at quite the right angle to see the TV, so he stared off into space. Occasionally he blinked, but otherwise, he seemed entirely frozen in time.

  The news was uneventful except for a report about the first goblin fruit catalepsy in China. The drug, previously confined to America and southern Europe, was apparently beginning to infiltrate Asia.

  When the news program ended, Anna shook her head. “Well, Maria’s late. Come on, Clarity. Let’s get the patients to bed.”

  She and Clarity began moving patients away to their rooms.

  As Audrey stood up, a commercial came on with “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash as its theme music. “That’s one of Andrew’s favorite songs,” she said. Looking at her brother, she noticed the corner of Andrew’s mouth turn up. “He’s smiling!” she said and gestured frantically in the air for Anna and Clarity to come and look.

  They left the patients they were leading away where they were standing and came toward her.

  “What?” said Anna.

  Audrey was exuberant. “Andrew’s smiling! He loves this song!”

  The commercial ended as they looked toward Andrew.

  “It may have been a twitch,” said Anna. “Their muscles twitch sometimes.”

  “No, it was a smile.” Audrey looked at Clarity. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

  Clarity glanced from Audrey to Andrew and back again. “Maybe.”

  Anna shook her head, and Audrey’s face fell. “I’ll help you get him to bed,” she said and then turning her back to them, began pulling Andrew up by his shoulders.