Frank De Felitta - For Love of Audrey Rose

“Kiss me, Janice.”

She kissed him on his closed eyes. As she left, she saw him wave weakly to her. She knew that as soon as she closed the door behind her, he would start reading again.

She found Dr. Geddes sipping coffee in the clinic dining hall. He looked up from a journal, sensing her footsteps. Immediately, he pulled aside a second red metal chair for her. As she sat down, his smile faded.

“Dr. Geddes,” Janice said, “are you aware that Bill has developed a fixation about certain subjects?”

“No. Frankly, I was not aware. What kind of subjects?”

“Well, at first it was the poetry you had him read. Keats. It was innocuous enough. Then he passed on to Eastern verses—”

“What Eastern verses?”

Janice blushed.

“I brought him a stack of books, as you suggested. About consolation and endurance. One of them was a collection from the Bhagavad Gita. ”

Dr. Geddes frowned, slid his journal away from his coffee mug, and lit a cigarette.

“The Bhagavad Gita, ” Dr. Geddes said. “That’s the sacred writings of the Hindus. What’s wrong with that?”

“He keeps rereading it.”

“He’s probably read Keats again, too. It’s just what any man would do who’s coming out of an experience like Bill’s.”

“Then I’m not getting through to you,” she protested. “He’s not only memorized half of it, he told me to bring him some more.”

“On Hinduism?”

“A sect called the Jains.”

Dr. Geddes shrugged, then scratched his head.

“I frankly don’t know what to make of it,” he admitted, “only it doesn’t seem like something to worry about.”

“How can you say that?” Janice spluttered. “Bill never cared for that sort of thing. in fact, it made him sick!”

“I’ll tell you quite frankly what I think,” Dr. Geddes said thoughtfully, “but you’ll have to calm down first.”

“All right,” Janice conceded. “I’m sorry if I—”

“The reason that Bill broke down and you didn’t,” Dr. Geddes said, “was that you had support. Whether you really believed in these religious ideas—”

“I don’t know what I believed. I was too confused.”

“Please let me finish. During the trial, and in the hospital, you gave at least partial credence to a viewpoint that allowed you to accept what in fact finally happened. Do you follow? And after, as you explained to me, you attended several services — Buddhist or whatever — which amplified that support. Bill had nothing. He just cracked open like an eggshell and fell to pieces. Now he wants some support, too.”

“So that’s why he’s reading all this?”

“I’ll bet my state license on it. You were helped over a rough spell. Now he wants the same help. It worked with you. Why shouldn’t it work with Bill?”

Janice stared out of the cafeteria window.

“There’s a second reason why you shouldn’t worry,” Dr. Geddes continued. “Bill needs to develop his thinking muscles. His memory. Actually, I’m very glad to see him develop an outside interest.”

Janice said nothing.

“If Bill seems a little edgy on the subject,” he said, “it’s because he’s trying so desperately hard to organize his thinking. You see what I mean? His mind is still fragile.”

“Maybe I jumped the gun,” she said. “I’m probably the edgy one.”

Dr. Geddes laughed, but added seriously, “I think you’ve hit the nail on the head.”

She smiled, embarrassed, all defenses melted away.

Wearily, Janice took the long train back, once again, to New York. She could hardly keep awake. The trips to the clinic were draining her, and she was frightened to realize just how much.

At 9:30 the following night, Bill telephoned.

“Hello, darling,” he said brightly.

“Bill?” Janice questioned worriedly. “Are you feeling all right?”

“A bit better. They’ve given me some antibiotics, so I’m still woozy from it. How are you?”

“Dragging. It’s so miserable being here alone. The weather is creepy. As long as you asked.”

Bill laughed pleasantly. “New York has a patent on gloom sometimes, doesn’t it? Listen, I have a small favor to ask of you.”

“What’s that?”

“Could you get some more books for me?”

Janice paused. For a while she wanted not even to answer.

“The same kind of books?” she finally asked.

“Well, not exactly,” Bill conceded. “Let me explain. The Jains do not believe in God, at least not as you and I were taught. They don’t even believe in a universal soul. According to them, there is a countless number of souls, all—”

“Bill, darling, I don’t mean to be unresponsive, but…”

“But what?”

“It — it just gives me the creeps, somehow. Being here alone. In this apartment. Hearing what you’re talking about.”

There was a pause at the other end. She heard him sigh, though whether in resignation or anger, she did not know.

“Look, Janice,” he said in a voice slightly strained. “I’m trying to explain that there’s nothing creepy about it. Didn’t I just say they don’t believe in a universal soul and all that malarky?”

“Yes. All right, Bill. You did say that.”

“It’s a very old sect. According to them, everything has a soul. Rocks, trees, people, animals. And the whole universe goes through these incredible long cycles—”

“Bill, please.”

“And each soul in it, according to the cycle, transmigrates; that is, it moves on to another animal, or tree or person, and—”

Janice pulled the receiver away from her ear.

“Are you there, Janice?” Bill demanded.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“So this doesn’t hold water at all,” Bill explained feverishly. “Aren’t you listening at all? Have you gone deaf?”

“Bill, you’re so angry. Why?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to explain a few very simple facts. Now, if that girl — you know — the daughter of…”

“Audrey Rose.”

“If she — I mean, if there was a problem, she could have come back as a rock. Or a television set. Or a pair of spectacles. Who the hell knows? You get what I mean? Well, we know that’s not true.”

Janice paused a long time, trying to think of a way of luring Bill to some other topic of conversation. But he pursued his line of questioning relentlessly, almost as though he were talking to himself.

“If there was a question of her returning in our Ivy — I guess I’m not being clear. I’m just trying to say that, good as these Jains are, it’s not right, Janice. It doesn’t explain anything!”

Bill’s last words were shouted in hysterical anger and frustration.

“Calm down, Bill,” Janice said. “Nothing has to explain anything.”

“I need to know, Janice! I can’t live like this!”

It was a heartbreaking voice, vulnerable and barely articulate, conscious of its own weakness, of grappling with things it might never truly understand. Bill was clutching, and he expected Janice to pull him up out of the quicksand.

“All right, Bill,” she said quietly. “Tell me what you want me to bring you.”

“Well, there’s an even older religion. It exists in the mountains of Tibet.”

“Tibet?”

“Yeah. It’s a part of Buddhism now, but it goes back to the time when human beings first learned how to talk.”

“All right. If that’s what you need. Just Tibetan Buddhism?”

“Yeah,” Bill said, already cooling off. “I’d — I’d really appreciate that, Janice.”

“Bill.”

“What is it, honey?”

“Does Dr. Geddes know you’re reading all this sort of thing?”

“Dr. Geddes? Why should he know? I mean, sure, he knows everything I do. That doesn’t mean I have to go tell him every time I pee, does it?”