It was fully a minute of silence before I realized that Sygar had stopped speaking. Slowly, and in wonder, I reached over and shut off the tape recorder. I was at a complete loss for words; it seemed as though this cold, hard warrior had just poured his heart out to me. What could I say?
"So... that is what it's like," I said, dumbly.
"Do you still long for the life of a jikai?" Sygar said to me with a wry grin, both sad and ironic at once.
"I didn't say I did.." I said, but it was as though he could read my thoughts.
"I can see it in your eyes," he commented. "The eyes alone can betray one's ib." He sat back, streching in his chair. "Your world has few places for men like me," he continued. "But it is a great world, do not misunderstand me. You have a mighty city with no walls, and men travel about unarmed. They do not fear invaders, or aragorn, or bandits, nor does their honour require the spilling of blood to avenge insults. You have a city that not only has peace, but has become used to peace being the norm. That, my friend, is a greater achievement that any act of valour on the battlefield."
I was certainly surprised by Sygar's remarks. Here was a savage warrior extoling the virtues of peace.
"Well, I wouldn't say life is perfect here," I countered. "We have crime, and murders, and hate. People are violent, and they steal, and betray one another. And much of the technology we have made just makes it easier for us to be ruled over."
Sygar responded: "This is true wherever you go. People do as people do. As long as men have hearts there will be hate as well as love, greed as well as charity, brutality as well as tenderness. And do not tell me how you are ruled by evil men here, for you choose your leaders in this land. That alone makes it foolish to complain of tyrranny."
Well, well. So Sygar was a philosopher, as well as a berzerker. Things could be stranger, I suppose.
After our session was over, I was called before Dr. Mortenhoe, who wanted an appraisal of my progress. Somehow I didn't like the kinds of questions Mortenhoe was asking, and it was clear to me that he was getting impatient. When he discovered that I had taped our session, he insisted that the tapes I had made were the property of the institution, and could not be removed from the premises. He told me to hand them over.
Fuming, I sputtered some response, but Mortenhoe was adamant. Since I was not a psychologist, I could not be trusted to maintain patient-doctor confidentiality, and for the institute to retain the tapes constituted a form of protection for Sygar. Well, I didn't buy that, and I reminded Dr. Mortenhoe that I had already signed a non-disclosure waiver, but there didn't seem to convince him. Finally, with the taste of bile in my mouth, I surrendered the tapes.
However, Dr. Mortenhoe called me the next day, and he had listened to the tapes. He was quite annoyed, because he found himself unable to understand most of what was being said on the tapes. Sygar and I had cobbled together a pidgin language combining Kregish and English elements, and thus someone who had not been part of our learning process could likely only understand every other word.
Naturally he was miffed, and he berated me for not getting Sygar to speak English exclusively. By communicating to him is his "made-up" language I was "reinforcing his delusion". Dr. Mortenhoe told me that I must make transcripts of the tape readable in English.
Well, my "volunteer" work was starting to interfere with my life; I had another job and was not too keen on spending large blocks of time typing stuff out for some popmous psychologist. However, I realized that I would miss my sessions with Sygar. To be cut off from his story now... well, I didn't want to contemplate that. I realized that I was hooked; I had to find out more about the story. Sygar's tale had cast a spell over me.
So, dutifully I made a transcript of the story. Fortunately, since I had to listen to the tape to transcribe it, I also was able to sneak in another tape, and I made a copy while apparently only innocently listening to it. This copy was not of especially high quality, and had frequent and annoying clicks and stops, but nevertheless gave me a real record of what had been said.
Doctor Mortenhoe insisted on joining me for my next session. He told me that I had to translate, while he would speak. Sygar's psychotherapy was to begin in earnest.
I had a bad feeling in my gut about the whole thing. I believed Sygar's tale, I knew now, and therefore I had a hard time reconciling him being "treated". Uncomfortably, I introduced Sygar to Dr. Mortenhoe, and I explained to him that Dr. Mortenhoe was one of the men who decides if people such as Sygar are healthy and may leave. Sygar eyed him cautiously.
Dr. Motenhoe started off with a few pleasantries, asking Sygar how he felt, and so on. Sygar had caught my uncomfortable vibe and seemed to be answering very cautiously. He also seemed to be using Kregish terms wherever he could, and avoided many English words that I knew he had learned. Dr. Mortenhoe began asking him about his sleeping patterns, and if he had many dreams. Sygar responded that eh had been sleeping quite well, thak you very much. No, he had not had any dreams, as far as he could remember.
Dr. Mortenhoe cleared his throat, and shuffled some papers, and I knew that he was building up to a big pronouncement. After a moment, he began:
"Sygar, I know that things must seem very strange to you right now. You are in a strange place, and you cannot come and go as you please. But there is a good and important reason for this. This is a hospital, and the people here are sick. You are one of them."
Sygar did not answer; he just eyed Dr. Mortenhoe stonily.
"You see, Sygar, people who are here have lost some sort of part of their reason. You should not be ashamed that you are one of them; it can happen to anyone and for a great many reasons. And we want one thing here; that is to help you get better."
Sygar still said nothing.
"Understand that in order for us to help you, you must trust us. We do this for hundreds of people and we can help you just like we have helped them. We know what we're doing. All I'm asking you to do is to take seriously some of the things I am going to say. These things, if you can accept them, will help you on your way to recovery.
Sygar finally stirred. "Like what?" he asked.
"Well, Sygar, most importantly you need to think about this. I know your memories of Kregen seem very real to you, and very vivid. But you must understand that all of these memories are part of your mind, and it is your mind that is the organ which is sick. All of these memories of Kregen are from your imagination; they are not real. Kregen is not a real place; it's a fictional world invented by an Englishman about 30 years ago."
Sygar scowled most ferociously. He stood up, and began to pace arounfd the room. Mortenhoe had hit a nerve.
"I know that seems difficult to believe," Mortenhoe continued, "but I have no reason to lie to you. Kregen is a mde up place, and I know that you must have read about it at some point in your life. You were born here, on Earth, and not on an alien world somewhere far off in the galaxy. You have a real family here, and a real name. Even the name 'Sygar' is a part of this fantasy."
"I don't expect you to accept this right away, Sygar. What I want you to do is just to think about it. Ask yourself: 'Is it possible that I might have imagined this other world?' Once you start to recognize that this really is a delusion, then you might start to remember your real life again."
"I know that the world of Kregen might seem to be a wonderful place, full of excitement and adventure, where the heroes always win; the men are all mighty and the women are all beautiful. But that is a fantasy world; those things are all the way we would want the world to be. It's not real."
As I translated Mortenhoe's diatribe, I found Sygar looking at me periodically. I could not meet his eyes. I felt ashamed, as if I had betrayed him. When I got to the part about adventure, Sygar's nostrils flared up, and he began addressing Mortenhoe. He was not quite shouting, but he had raised his voice slightly, and had a stern tone that made me tremble.
"You think Kregen is all about fun and adventure? You think I long to swing from chandeliers and fence with dastardly villains, rescuing fair maidens? Well let me tell you this: while I have had many 'adventures' on the face of Kregen, most of them turned out badly. Many honest men have been killed, with no one to explain to their wives and children why it had to be so. I have seen the flesh flayed from a man's back, not once but a dozen times. The work of evil and cruel men is never finished, and after a sea of blood has been spilled in the defense of goodness you are merely left with things the way they were before the trouble began.
"Adventure! Hah! A wise man never seeks adventure. It is adventure that seeks men, to carry out those deeds that must be done. We are the hapless victims of adventure."
That shut Mortenhoe up for a while. After a moment, it seemed like he would respond, but then he thought better of it, and just stood up and went out, indicating that I should follow.
In the corridor, he said to me:
"Well, Sygar's need for this delusion is different than I expected. Rather than making him important, he seems to feel that his Kregis background makes him something of a martyr. The delusion serves to both reinforce his self worth, as he is a warior of some repute and therefore independent, but also serves as a rationale for why his life is so hard."
I was surprised that Dr. Mortenhoe was sharing this with me. He never seemed to have much confidence in me before. Hesitantly, I said "So... what now?"
Mortenhoe eyed me cautiously. "Deconstructin a delusion is a delicate thing. If we are too forceful we can damage his psyche further, while not enough pressure will cause him to retreat within his delusion."
"Okay," I said, "so where does that leave us?"
"Well, our job is not to force him to admit that he is wrong so much as to get him to accept the possibility that he might be delusional. We must always treat Kregen as if it is fantasy; we should get him to agree not to talk about it, and concentrate on other things."
"Like what?"
"Well, for starters, we will have him go through a variety of exercises to help him regain his memory. We must also encourage him to speak English as much as possible. And under no circumstances are you to encourage him to indulge in any more fantasy storytelling. You may not ask him anything of his background on Kregen. Sygar's story is over."
Chapter 1: Sygar and I make the Pappatu
Chapter 2: Language Lessons
Chapter 3: A Long Way from Home
Chapter 4: The Road to Raviksmot
Chapter 5: The Battle of the Barrels
Chapter 6: Wrangling
Chapter 7: Saved by the Bell
Chapter 8: I am Invited to Dinner