Transorbital Read online

  “Could you?”

  Harriet, Marie and Dorothy Kayland were their names, but I could not get a handle on which was who and whatnot. You would have taken them for triplets if you didn’t know better, and no fooling.

  The Kayland Gals shared a tidy little nest in suburban Wheeling, paid for by a modest but significant trust fund. As far as I could tell, they spent their days tending to their vast array of white orchids and shopping for matching powder-blue bonnets. If I were to wager on their ages, I would say somewhere in the mid-to-late 50s. But truthfully, I could not gauge it. Their pure white smiles and only vaguely vacant expressions indicated nothing in the way of life experience. Such is the wonder of the procedure, after all. It wipes the boards clean.

  The ladies must have been patients after my time (or possibly before), as I had no memory of them. However, they were positive that they had met me before.

  “Oh yes, most definitely, you were with Doctor Freeman!”

  “Yes, you were with him for sure!”

  “For sure.”

  “Could you tell us,” Chris asked them as we munched on ladyfingers and sipped Darjeeling, “about the last time you saw Doctor Freeman?”

  “Oh, Walter Freeman is such a lovely man.”

  “Yes, he really is just lovely.”

  “Just lovely.”

  It seemed clear to me early on in the visit that we were not going to get far, and began trying to concoct a polite exit strategy. All the while Chris asked them about medications they may be taking (aspirin and calcium supplements), any difficulties they may have experienced since their respective surgeries (None they said, although I’d beg to differ), and if they’ve ever seen another doctor besides Walter Freeman.

  “Oh, there have been a few other doctors.”

  “Yes, a few of them have stopped by.”

  “Just a few.”

  They could not seem to name any, however two of them were sure that one young physician come a-calling, in fact, was yours truly.

  “Wasn’t that you, good sir?”

  “You’re the young doctor who came some years ago, yes?”

  “Ma’ams,” I said, “I assure you, I’ve never been here before. And I’m not a doctor, I’m simply a—”

  “No no,” said the voice of dissent, “that young doctor was taller than he is. Yes. The one with the hair? He was taller. And darker. Much darker.”

  “What do you mean darker?” Chris asked.

  “Darker like you, Doctor,” she replied to Chris.

  I looked over at Chris’s fair hair and pale skin and wondered what the fuck we thought we were doing there.

  “Don’t mind her,” her sister and/or cousin said, “she confuses easily.”

  “Yes, on occasion, she confuses dreams for real life.”

  “Yes, don’t mind me.”

  We thanked the Ladies Kayland for their time and hospitality and made our exit. They extended an open invitation to visit any time and to give our regards to Dr. Freeman. We said we surely would. I heard a bottle calling out to me. And an ampoule as well.

  That night we stayed at the McClure Hotel in lovely downtown Wheeling, and I thought it really was something special. Chris said he thought it was “just fine,” but it was the fanciest joint I had ever stayed in, I can tell you that much.

  For dinner we had steaks, scalloped potatoes and Cognac. I was informed that brandy is meant to be drunk after dinner, but why wait, I say. Chris shrugged and drank his with the meal as well.

  “You know what I have not seen in Wheeling, West Virginia?” I said, somewhat rhetorically. “The rock n’ roll kids.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “You know, the cats with long hair, the girls with no shoes on, the beads and ripped dungarees. You know. Rock n’ roll. I mean, there are a few. But not many at all. Not that I’ve seen.”

  “I saw one earlier today,” he said. “Across the street in fact. When we were coming to check in. Big fellow. Black rain jacket. You could barely see his face for the hair and the beard.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice him.”

  “You were already inside. I waved, but he just shuffled away. They take a lot of drugs, those kids. It’s a sad thing.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, feeling more than a bit hypocritical. “I’ve heard that.” I shoveled a forkful of potatoes into my mouth and hoped the subject would change.

  “I thought West Virginia would be the mother lode for our purposes,” Chris said. “I thought we’d have our pick of patients with whom to speak.”

  “Because of Operation Ice Pick?” I said. “I thought so too.”

  “Nearly three hundred transorbital lobotomies in…what was it, two weeks?”

  “Something like that. Two hundred and eighty-eight, if I remember correctly.”

  “Where did they all go,” he asked the air all around. “Where did they go?”

  All of those state-sponsored operations through West Virginia, and the only patients we could find were the Kayland Gals. And we only discovered them by accident.

  “You think those three women we saw today were part of that Operation Ice Pick thing?” Chris asked. “That would explain why they thought they recognized you but you don’t remember them. You may have been their last memory pre-lobotomy, but they’d just be three faces in a big crowd to you.”

  “It’s entirely possible,” I said. “I have almost no tangible memory of that time at all. I split from Doc Freeman not too long after that. Course I don’t have much tangible memory of that either.”

  “Were you just drunk?” he asked. “Or were you high?”

  That was the first time he ever openly mentioned my habit. I never got the sense that he disapproved, but I was sure that the curiosity regarding its effects would get the best of him eventually.

  “Now Chris,” I said, “you should know better. You’re a doctor after all. Thorazine doesn’t get you high.”

  “I only know what I’ve read,” he said. “I’ve never bought the line that it was in any way comparable to an actual prefrontal lobotomy.”

  “Couldn’t tell ya, man,” I said. “I don’t have enough to go on. But I can say that it does make life slightly less of an excruciating ordeal.”

  “It seemed like one shouldn’t drink alcohol in tandem with it, though.”

  “One probably shouldn’t drink alcohol in tandem with anything, Doc. But here we are.”

  “Touché.”

  We clinked glasses.

  “Here’s the thing on the two-eighty-eight,” I said, “because of the assembly-line nature of that whole scene, there wasn’t much in the way of paperwork I think. They weren’t our regulars. If there are records, I sure don’t know where they are.”

  “Perhaps Freeman does.”

  “Maybe. But I doubt it. I’ll bet I can find out more, but I’ll need some time. We may have to double back down this way. In the meanwhile, we’re hitting Louisville, Kentucky tomorrow. Bout a five-hour drive.”

  “Oh joy.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Would you gentlemen care for any dessert?” the waiter asked. I hadn’t noticed him approach the table.

  “Just a bit more Cognac,” Chris said, “yeah?”

  “You know I’m game,” I said. The waiter nodded and went off to fetch a fresh bottle.

  “Word of warning,” Chris said, “Brandy is pretty much a guaranteed hangover.”

  “Oh well,” I said, scraping the last bit of meat that I could from my T-bone. “I tend not to worry too much about how I’m going to feel the next day. It’s a general philosophy I live by.”

  Chris laughed heartily. He tended toward the dour side, and this was the first true laugh I had ever heard come out of him.

  “What a philosophy,” he said.

  “It’s what has made me the success I am today.”

  We shot the shit for a little while longer, then headed on up to our respective rooms. Because the
y had no double suites available, Chris went ahead and got me my own room for the night. I flipped on the television briefly, but there was nothing but the war on every channel. I’d also ended up with the bottle of Cognac, and proceeded to take it to bed with me. Despite the dire warning, it was the best night’s sleep I’d had since as long as I could remember…

  …Until I found myself awakened by a broom handle jabbing repeatedly into my ribcage.

  “Hey hey hey!” I said, dizzy and disoriented, my eyes a blur. “What’s the gag?”

  The jabbing ceased, and I sat up straight. The mist cleared, and I saw Chris standing near my bed, but a good distance off, brandishing a broom like a jouster’s lance. Next to him stood an elderly, dark-skinned woman in a maid’s uniform, her head cocked cryptically to the side.

  “It’s time to get up,” Chris said, more than slightly perturbed. “We’re late. We should have gotten on the road two hours ago. I tried calling your room several times and you didn’t answer. The hotel was about to call an ambulance. Thankfully this fine woman here opened the door for me with her master key.”

  “All right, all right,” I said with a stretch, “and poking me in the ribs with a long stick was called for?”

  “I thought it safer for all concerned,” he said.

  I looked down at myself and realized that I was still fully dressed, boots and all, and laying atop a still-made bed. The bottle lay empty on its side next to me. And clutched in my right hand was my buck knife, sharp and fully extended.

  “Um yes…” I said, more than a bit embarrassed. I flipped the blade closed, returned it to its holster on my belt, and stood up to brush out the wrinkles from my clothes. “Always good to be prepared for any contingency, that’s my motto. It’s kind of a scout thing, you understand. Always prepared.”

  “Absolutely,” Chris said, not lowering the stick, “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Chapter 16

  “Hello?” I said, knocking on the cracked oak door. “Mrs. O’Dell?”

  In the twenty years that had passed since the last time I had set foot on this porch, not a tremendous amount appeared to have changed. The livestock were gone, and there appeared to be new construction across the duck pond, but that was a ways off.

  “I’m a-comin’,” we heard a voice say from within. “I’m a-comin’.”

  “Nice place,” Chris said, rocking back on his heels. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

  Of the people I had called on the telephone to meet with us, Gertrude O’Dell was far and away the most enthusiastic. Without needing much of anything in the way of details she invited us out to their Louisville, Kentucky farmhouse for a chat. It was heartening to speak with someone so unambiguously pleased with the results of her husband’s procedure. I doubted Eugene O’Dell would have much to offer in the way of clues or information, but part of me really just wanted to show off a success to Dr. Williams.

  The door opened with a creak, and Gertrude O’Dell appeared on the other side, smiling warmly in what I would assume was her Sunday best. A plain and pleasant woman of a certain age, clearly she had fixed herself up for company.

  “Hello, Mrs. O’Dell. You remember me, ma’am?” I asked.

  “Well, of course, darlin’,” she laughed, throwing her arms around me in an embrace I surely didn’t deserve. “It’s so good to see you again after all this time!”

  “Twenty years, nearly.”

  “My heavens, where does the time go.”

  “This is my friend, Dr. Chris Williams.”

  “Welcome, Dr. Williams, welcome,” she said, shaking Chris’s hand. “Welcome to the O’Dell estate.” She laughed a bit at her own joke, and we did as well.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Come in, please!”

  We did. The décor was just as I had remembered, but blessedly gone were the piglets and chickens. In their stead was a well-worn softness. The house smelled of cinnamon apples.

  “We really appreciate you meeting with us, Mrs. O’Dell,” Chris said.

  “Nothing of it. My pleasure. Have a sit,” she replied. “Can I git y’all a soda? Or ice water? Or pie?”

  “Ice water would be lovely, ma’am,” Chris said.

  “Comin’ right up!” and she scurried off as we took our places on the flowered sofa.

  “Twenty years,” I whispered to Chris. “Jesus. Last time I was here they didn’t even have a refrigerator.” No sooner did the words leave my mouth, when the sound of a block of ice being broken with an ice pick was heard. Some things, indeed, never change.

  “So Mrs. O’Dell,” I shouted toward the kitchen, “how have you been?”

  “Couldn’t be better, darlin’!” she chirped in reply.

  “And Mr. O’Dell?”

  “Good as gold and sweeter’n honey! I’ll fetch him in a jiffer.”

  She entered with two glasses of ice water and a plate of Nutter Butter cookies. I hopped up to help her with the plate.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Chris, taking his drink.

  “I do have to warn y’all,” she said as she sat down on the opposing divan, “Eugene ain’t a big one fer chattin’ these days…but then, he never was at that.”

  “We understand,” I said. “So over the years, there have never been any adverse reactions to the procedure? Nothing at all? We’ve heard of occasional short-term memory loss. Some difficulty with numbers. Nothing of that sort?”

  “We got no complaints, hon. Not a one in the world.”

  “Has Dr. Freeman been by to see you folks recently?” I asked.

  “Well he surely has, and plenty too. I been a-wonderin’ where you done gone to, sweetheart. I thought you and ol’ Doc Freeman was like two peas.”

  “Well, you know how it is, ma’am,” I said. “Sometimes people just go their separate ways.” She smiled sweetly, but clearly had no comprehension of people going their separate ways. “So,” I went on, “were these visits business or pleasure?”

  “Oh, you know Doc Freeman. There really ain’t no separatin’ the two.”

  “Ain’t it the truth.”

  We laughed and clinked our glasses.

  “Could we speak with your husband, Mrs. O’Dell?” Chris asked, eager to move this thing along.

  “Reckon he’s right in the other room,” she said.

  She turned her head to the side and said in a slightly higher voice, as if she were calling to a small child, “Gene-y? Some folks is here to visit with you, sweetie.” Nothing. She shrugged, sighed lightly, and said to us, “Be right back.”

  She walked into the other room. A moment later she returned, guiding the large man very slowly by the hand. Eugene shuffled awkwardly, a bland grin across his otherwise blank face. His eyes were barely open and his head shook ever so slightly. Holy Christ in heaven…Not knowing what else to do, I stood to help, but Gertrude waved me off. I felt as though I may get sick.

  “Hell…Hello, Mr. O’Dell,” I said trying to mask my horror. “It’s…great to see you again…after all this time.”

  “Huuuunnnnnn…” Eugene replied, humming like a small electric generator. “The thingssssss…”

  “Mr. O’Dell,” Chris said, cool and professional, although I could tell he was taken aback as well, “My name is Dr. Williams. I would really like to speak with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ynnnnngggsssss…”

  “How are you feeling today, sir?”

  “Huuunnnnn…the thingsssss…Like that…thingssss…”

  “Git used to that,” Gertrude chuckled, “You gonna hear a mess of it.” She helped him sit on the couch. “You want a glass of water, honey-pie?”

  He murmured and shook his head No like an enormous toddler. She sat next to him, continuing to hold his hand lovingly. I struggled to hold back my nausea.

  You did this to him…you did this…you did this…

  “Mr. O’Dell,” Chris asked, “Eugene, do you recall m
eeting with Dr. Freeman recently?”

  “Hnnnnnnnn…” Eugene replied, nodding slightly, “Things…hnnnn…”

  “And was he happy with your progress?”

  Eugene continued to nod. “Thingsss…good things…like that…hnnnn…”

  “And…” I interjected, although perhaps I should not have, “how…how are you? Sir? Are you…are you happy, Mr. O’Dell?” I couldn’t help myself.

  “We couldn’t be happier, could we Gene-y?” Gertrude piped in, squeezing Eugene’s large bicep. Eugene’s head proceeded to both nod and shake.

  “Hnnnnnn…things…”

  “Good things!” Gertrude chirped.

  “Hnnnn…Love…you…Trudie…”

  “Oh,” she beamed, kissing him on the cheek, “you silly ol’ bear.”

  I was astonished at how pleased she seemed. How could she possibly be so happy being married to someone who was, in effect, a large, mindless infant? I couldn’t restrain myself any longer.

  “Mrs. O’Dell,” I said, “Ma’am…”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I feel like I…Oh God. I owe you…I mean to say…there are no words to express how…sorry…I mean…”

  “Sorry, dear?” she said, furrowing her brow ever so slightly. “What for?”

  “You’ve been left as a…as a full-time caregiver. And this was…NEVER…Never was my…never was our intention…to…” My voice shook. My hands shook. I needed a drink and a needle and I needed to run. Chris and Mrs. O’Dell stared at me, and I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. But I couldn’t. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” This was why. This was why I had to get away from Dr. Freeman. Because he…because we…created idiot children like Eugene O’Dell. “I’m…just…” This was our medicine. This is what we had done. “I’m so sorry.”

  And the room fell still.

  Gertrude released Eugene’s hand. He continued to sit, grinning blankly, his head shaking slightly. She, however, was suddenly more serious than she had been. Not angry or severe…but more serious. She eyed me closely for a moment. Suddenly, in a high voice she said,

  “Ooooo, thunder, Gene-y!”

  Eugene shut his eyes tightly and covered his ears.