This is Part 4 of Obsidian. Part 3 is here.
I awoke in a liminal twilight. I lay in the fetal position on a bed. My head felt heavy as I made myself upright. I stood and walked to a window with metal bars across it. Outside the gardens were still and silent. I sat on the bed and turned on an electric lamp. A plain white smock hung just above my knees. My clothes had been neatly folded and placed on a chair. Silence rang in my ears. The stillness was eerie. There was another unmade bed in the cell. I felt drowsy and it took all my effort to sit. A migraine throbbed in my forehead. I remembered clearly how I came to be in this place. The elevated mood had evaporated. I felt a simmering anguish. How had I allowed myself to become so unbalanced? It was clear I had momentarily lost my mind and become untethered from reality. I stood up and woozily walked over to the door. I was unbalanced and used the chair to steady myself. I tried the door. It was unlocked. It opened into a long hall lined on either side with similar doors. I stuck my head out and looked down the long empty halls looking for a nurse or doctor but there was no one. I did not possess the strength to go searching so I retreated to the cell. I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I tried to gather my thoughts. I had been committed to an asylum. This much was clear. Eventually, a doctor or nurse would come, and I’d have to convince them of my sanity so I could return home. I thought back through the previous day and shuddered when I thought of how I had conducted myself. Never before had I been in the grip of such pure madness. My thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of footsteps echoing in the hall. They grew closer until they came to a halt outside the room. The knob of the door turned and opened. A short fellow walked in. He stuck his chin out and peered down from behind it. He crossed his arms across his chest.
“Commoner, what is your name?” I did not like the man’s tone.
“What’s it to you?” I sat up.
“What’s it to me? Answer me or I'll have you sent to the guillotine.”
“Well, I doubt you have that power you fool.” This riled him up.
“Do you not recognize me, commoner?” He spoke in a biting whisper.
“I can't say that I do.”
“I am Napoleon Bonaparte, emperor of France.” I could not help but laugh.
“Of course, you are and I suppose this is what? The isle of Elba?”
The man looked surprised.
“How did you know that?” his gaze then drifted out to the window, and he fell silent. He stayed like that for a few moments before he sat on the side of the bed and began weeping. I could not help but feel for him.
“Oh, how I miss France.” He said in between sobs. He then lay down and faced the wall.
I didn’t know what to make of all this. I sat for some time looking out the window. The moon rose and lit the gardens in an ethereal light. The little emperor began to snore softly. I thought of the cottage longingly and wished to go home. Who would feed the chickens? I heard footsteps again. A nurse appeared in the doorway pushing a trolley.
“Hello there, you must be Mr. Johnathon.”
“Ah yes.”
“How are you feeling?
“I feel fine. A little tired.”
“That’s great.” The nurse smiled.
“I would like to go home. Is there someone I can see about that?’
“Oh of course.”
“Really? Right now?”
“Well not right now, you’ll have to speak with a doctor. When he says your fine you can leave.”
“And when can I do that?”
“In the morning he will do his rounds you can speak with him then.”
“I’m sorry but I'd like to leave now. Is this possible?”
“No, it's not. It's late and you need to speak with the doctor first.” She smiled again. I felt dejected. I did not have the energy to argue with her.
“It’s time for your evening medication.” She picked up a paper cup from the trolley.
“Hold out your hand.” She dropped a pill in it.
“What this?” I asked.
“It will help you sleep.” I swallowed the pill.
“Now you get a good night’s sleep. The doctor will see you in the morning.”
With that, she closed the door. I listened as the trolley continued down the hall. I turned off the light and lay looking at the ceiling. I felt very alone. I hoped the doctor would recognize sanity in me and grant a release in the morning. Eventually, the pill must have worked as I drifted off into a deep sleep.
When I awoke the sun had already lit the room. The din of conversation in the hall woke me. I opened the window to let some fresh air in. I sat on the edge of the bed rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Outside the birds sang. Napoleon was still asleep and snoring peacefully. I stood up. The tiles of the floor were still cool underfoot. I felt rested and not further affected by the medication. I tightened the smock. Napoleon was wearing his own clothes and I wondered if it was too presumptuous to change back into mine. I opened the door. A man walked towards me in an animated conversation with himself. I went to meet.
his gaze, but he looked right through me with glazed eyes and continued walking. I stepped into the hallway and followed him. In the distance, I could hear voices and walked towards them. I peeked into the open doorways I passed. Some were empty with unmade beds others revealed occupants who stared back wide-eyed with madness. The hallway opened into a large hall. On either side of the room, patients sat taking their breakfast on long tables. Some talked amongst themselves. Others to themselves. Occasionally someone would shout. I took in the strange scene. I felt hungry and looked for where to obtain some food. There was a silver urn of hot water and some cereal set out on the far side of the room. I walked over to it and started making some tea. There was no toast but a large pot of porridge. I fixed myself a bowl and then went to take a seat. I stood there awkwardly not knowing where or whom to sit with. I surveyed the room. There was a seat across from a man with his back to me. I walked over. I stood in front of the man and motioned with my hand for his attention.
“Do you mind if I…” The man looked up from his breakfast.
I could hardly believe it. There was no recognition in his eyes but there was no doubting it was him. The dark hair. The scar on his chin. It was the man from the beach, Sabine’s boyfriend. I stood staring for perhaps too long.
“Are you alright? Would you like to sit down?” The man offered a tired smile.
I placed the tea and porridge on the table pulled out the chair and nervously sat down. He held out his hand across the table.
“Antoine.” I shook his hand.
“Johnathon.” My voice quivered ever so slightly.
“You are a foreigner?”
“Yes.”
“And why are you in this place?”
“The police they brought me here.”
“Why?” There was something about the intensity of his manner that made me nervous.
“I, I took off all my clothes.” He started laughing.
“You took off all your clothes? And did what.”
“I walked through the village to my home.” He laughed even harder. I felt embarrassed.
“You must see the humour in this. Why did you take off your clothes.?”
“Well, I can’t be sure exactly. Something came over me. A certain energy.”
“What did it feel like?”
“It felt incredible.” He looked impressed. We sat in silence for a few moments.
“And how about you? Why are you here?”
“I suffer from a low mood.” He said this earnestly.
“You’re a depressive?”
“Yes, I want to kill myself. I’ve tried a few times.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be.”
“How long have you been here?” He thought for a few seconds.
“About a month.”
“And when did you last try to die.” I already knew the answer but probed to see what he remembered.
“A little before that. I tried to drown myself.”
“And what happened?” I feigned ignorance.
“I swam out to sea drunk and then I came to alone on the beach.” I felt relieved he did not remember me.
“Well, I’m glad you failed.” I tried to sound sincere.
“And how do you feel now?”
“I want to die.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
“When I wake up in the morning, I’m miserable, my limbs feel like they are made of lead and I drag myself around all day, you think the abyss of sleep would be an escape but every night I have nightmares.”
“I can relate to what you’re saying, I’ve often felt like that, but I’ve never tried to kill myself.”
“It's even more depressing.”
“What is?”
“Not even being able to get that right.” We both laughed. I started on my porridge.
“Why do you think you’re so unhappy?”
“I’m not sure. Ever since I can remember I’ve been this way. Lately, though I’ve been in a torrid love affair and its pushed me over the edge.”
“Oh, there’s a woman involved?” I played dumb.
“Yes. I'm in love with a whore.” I felt a tinge of something in my stomach. I was ever so slightly riled.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s my girlfriend...” His shoulders dropped at her mention.
“Yes.” I blinked repeatedly as if it helped me process the information quicker.
“She’s a prostitute in the city. I’m deeply ashamed. She must have slept with half the town. When I walk hand in hand with her it drives me insane. Whenever I pass another man, I think ‘Has she lay with him?’” Then I’m consumed by the most unbelievable anger.”
“They say that’s what depression is you know?”
“Who says what?” His fists were balled as if he was experiencing the humiliation over afresh.
“That depression is internalized anger.” His eyes had turned cold and mean and something told me to be careful.
“Can you not get rid of her and go with someone else?”
“I tried but it's like she has cast a spell on me. The pain becomes too much, and I swear never to see her again, but I always come crawling back.”
“I see and what is it about her?” His gaze softened.
“It's her look, her smell, how she talks of her interests, art, fashion, music... It's so intoxicating when we are together I just don’t understand why she needs to do that.”
“Sell herself?”
“Yes.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Of course.”
“And…?”
“She says she likes it.” He looked pained.
“She says she enjoys the attention, the sex and she loves the money. The freedom it gives her. She says it's liberating for her as a woman.”
“Gosh, it's hard to argue with that.”
“And she loves to tell me about it. Whom she lay with, in what manner he took her.” He spat the last words out and his face flushed red.
“And you endured this humiliation?”
“I could not find the voice to speak up. I pretended it was of no consequence to me.”
“Have you asked her to stop this line of work?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
“Because the answer would hurt too much.”
It seemed I really had dodged a bullet with the enigmatic Sabine. I felt for him. Here was a man driven to distraction and I could definitely relate.
He looked over my shoulder. Someone was standing behind me. I turned to see it was the doctor.
“Sorry to interrupt. You must be Johnathon. I’m Dr. Vachon.”
“Hello Doctor pleased to meet you.” I tried to sound sane.
“Can you come with me so we can have a chat? Don’t worry about cleaning up Antoine will take care of it. Won’t you Antoine?”
“Yes, no problem.” He seemed uneasy around the bespeckled, little doctor.
I stood up and pushed my chair in.
“Bye Antoine, pleased to meet you.”
“See you, glad to make your acquaintance.”
I turned and followed the doctor. He walked to a door at the edge of the hall. He opened it and motioned for me to enter. I walked into the office.
“Please take a seat.” I sat on a chair crossing my legs under the smock.
“Now Johnathon how are you feeling today?”
“I feel ok. More or less myself.”
“That’s good do you remember what happened yesterday.”
“Yes.” The doctor opened a drawer and removed a pad.
“And what happened yesterday?” He made direct eye contact as if searching for the unvarnished truth.
“Well, I was in the Town. I went to pick up a letter and some groceries. I was in the post office, and something came over me.”
“Something came over you?”
“Yes, it was if I was...” I searched for the word.
“Enlightened.”
“Enlightened?” He started taking notes.
“Yes, I felt amazing like my spirit was limitless. That I could do or achieve anything.”
“I see. And when did you take off your clothes.”
“Right there and then.”
“And why did you do that.” I looked out the window for a second. There was a fountain in the garden.
“It just seemed the right thing to do in that moment.”
“I see and then what happened?”
“I walked home.”
“Naked?”
“Yes, naked.”
“Did you hear or see anything when you were walking? Perhaps you felt like someone, or something was sending you messages?”
“Yes, I did feel like that as a matter of fact.” I registered a slight embarrassment.
“It was as if the television, radios and powerlines were sending me messages.”
“Ok and what were the messages?”
“Well, it's quite embarrassing now I think about it.”
“You’ve no reason to be embarrassed, we are only here to help.”
“They were saying I was a god. A limitless child of light. That I could change the course of history.”
“Do you feel like that today? Have you received any messages since you’ve been here?”
“No, I feel normal today. Nothing strange since I’ve been here.”
“Ok, that’s good. Make sure you tell me or one of the staff if you start feeling that way, ok?”
“Ok.”
“Johnathon, had you taken any substances yesterday?”
“You mean like drugs?”
“Yes, Drugs.”
“No.” He scribbled in his notepad.
“And has this ever happened before?”
“No. Never.”
“And have you experienced let’s say the opposite of yesterday, a low mood recently?”
“Oh yes very much so.” My hands felt clammy and I hunched over and rubbed them together.
“How low did you feel? Any ideation of hurting yourself or others?”
“Just myself.”
“And did anything trigger this?”
“A woman.”
“A woman?” He cocked an expectant eye behind his spectacles.
“Yes, I met a woman who I fancied. Nothing came of it, and I descended into a misery of sorts.”
“What was her name?”
“Anita.” He wrote down the lie.
“Johnathon considering what you’ve told me I believe you are suffering from manic depression and that your mania triggered a psychotic episode.”
“Ok.” I shifted in my seat.
“I don’t suppose you have any family you can call upon.”
“No, they all live abroad.”
“Well, you will have to stay here for a while. The police are not impressed, and I'd personally like to keep you here to stabilize.” I felt an anxiety rising in my stomach.
“How, how long?” He smiled.
“Let’s just see how we go.”
“In the meantime, I'll put you on some medication and I’ll check back in with you in a few days. How does that sound?”
“Fine. Thank you, doctor.”
“If you go find Antoine, he will tell you the schedule.”
“Ok.” And with that, I got up and left the office.