Nevertheless, my resolve weakened the moment I saw him. I had come to gain a sense of Sygar's character in the time I had spent with him, and I felt that he was not a liar. But could he really be crazy? That intense, penetrating look of his might be madness, but it seemed more the keen awareness of a man who was analyzing his chances. Well, I suppose it could be both.
Dr. Mortenhoe and I entered the room that day, and Sygar stared intently at Mortenhoe. It was not quite a glare; it had none of that sulkiness. It was more of the look that a predator gives to an interloper in his territory, a sort of hostile and guarded sizing-up.
Mortenhoe pretended not to notice, saying "Hello, Sygar," in as cheery a voice as he could manage. I noticed that the doctor did avoid meeting Sygar's eyes directly.
Sygar then looked at me, inquiringly. I met his gaze for a moment, then looked away. I hated to be the man who broke apart Sygar's world, fantasy or not. And to think Sygar counted me as his friend.
Sygar spoke.
"Peter."
It was not an accusation or a challenge, no guilt was delivered. Just a command for me to pay attention. I looked back at him. He was staring intently at me, though his eyes held none of the scorn I expected. Rather, it was an understanding look; not soft, for I could tell that Sygar would not let me make excuses, but understanding.
"What is happening now?" Sygar asked.
"Sygar, what we're going to start to do is to try to help you regain your memory. As Dr. Mortenhoe mentioned yesterday, Kregen is an imaginary world, and we are going to help you remember your past in the real world."
Sygar continued to stare at me, probing. After a moment, he said,
"I see."
"So," I stumbled on, "we are going to have to stick to English as much as possible, and we're not going to talk about Kregen any more."
Sygar's stare took on a wry, mildly amused look.
"Is that what you want?", he said, calmly.
He had struck shrewdly with that. He could see right through me, evidently. Was I that readable?
I fumbled for an answer, but Dr. Mortenhoe cut in:
"It's not an issue of what we want, Sygar, rather what matters is what will make you well again. Many people have come here with broken minds and hearts and have left again whole. You can too, but for that to happen you need to accept the fact that we know what's best. We cannot force you to co-operate with us, but without that co-operation you will probably never heal."
"And if I told you that I am not crazy?" Sygar responded.
"Do you still maintain that you are from another planet?"
"I remember it clearly."
"Then I don't believe you."
Sygar stared at Dr. Mortenhoe intently, challenging him. Much to my surprise, Mortenhoe met that stare. The two locked eyes for a few moments. Then, Dr. Mortenhoe looked away, saying:
"I'm not going to play any kind of dominance games with you, John. You won't get anywhere without my help, so I-"
"My name is not 'John'," Sygar growled menacingly.
"Probably not. But 'Sygar' is clearly a made-up name, to go along woth your made-up background on another planet. I will not play along with what I know to be flase, so until we find out what your real name is, I am going to use the name the police assigned you - John Doe."
Sygar stared at Mortenhoe for another moment, this time with real anger in his eyes. I could almost imagine lightning bolts flashing out of them. Then he let fly with a string of Kregish expletives, many of which I did not recognize, though I caught "Kleesh" and "Nulsh". Mortenhoe looked at me inquiringly.
"None of that was meant to be flattering," I commented lamely.
Well, a name is an important thing on Kregen.
Sygar had stopped his rant and had now stood up, his back to us. Mortenhoe was undaunted.
"This is a childish display, John. It will get you nowhere."
"Do not call me John. You have no right to name me."
"I will continue to do so, John, until we find out what your real name is."
Suddenly, with a speed that caught me totally off guard, Sygar picked up his chair and hurled it at the glass between him and Mortenhoe. I had to admit, Dr. Mortenhoe had been a pretty cool character, but this time, he flinched, jumping back in his seat. Well, so did I; I nearly fell out of my chair.
Fortunately for Mortenhoe, the glass was shatterproof, and the chair ricocheted off harmlessly, though it did leave a slight mark in the glass.
Sygar snorted, and turned his back on us again.
Dr. Mortenhoe got up, and indicated that I should follow.
"We will come back when you're ready, John." Mortenhoe said, and I wonder if it was just to get the last word. Sygar waved his hand dismissively, and we trooped out.
In the hallway, I remarked:
"That could have gone better."
"Perhaps. But John here prefers his delusions over reality. Naturally there is some resistance on his part. That's normal. He will probably be difficult to manage for a little while."
I chewed on that. Mortenhoe did seem to be able to predict Sygar's behaviout.
"Regardless, there probably will be little need for you to see him for the next little while."
I gaped.
Was I being dismissed?
"We'll call you in the next week to schedule something if John here comes around any. He'll resist for a little while, but he's smart enough to realize he needs to cooperate."
"I'd like to stay involved, Doctor," I interjected, trying not to seem pushy.
"Your presence here has helped us a great deal, Peter. John has come out of his shell, and started to connect with outsiders. Naturally we are grateful for your help. We will, of course, try to find roles for you in the future."
That sounded to me like a brush-off. But what could I say?
Glumly I returned home that night, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had not only betrayed Sygar, but had been betrayed in turn by the institution. Of course, I had no standing there. I was just a volunteer. But I suppose I had hoped to be considered 'part of the team', rather than a pawn that was expendable.
Three weeks went by with no contact from the institution. I had just about given up when I recieved a call from their office, asking if I could help them straighten out the files of Sygar's case. Apparently, the institution had had the tapes transcribed, but since Sygar (and I) tended to go back and forth between Kregish and English during our interviews, the people had a hard time making out just what was there in order to analyse it.
So, I was asked to go through the transcripts and translate for them. I was not being asked to see Sygar again, but it was a start.
"I'll need to listen to the tapes again. The spellings are unlikely to be recognisable."
They agreed to that, and they sent the transcript and tapes over by courier. Naturally, the first thing I did was to make copies of everything.
Translating our seesions proved more difficult than I imagined originally, and I became exasperated by the demands of the Institution that they be completed. Eventually Dr. Mortenhoe called me, and I gave him a piece of my mind.
"I'm not being paid for this, you know. I do have a full time job and a life to get on with, so you can hardly expect me to deal with all this paperwork as if it ismy primary concern in life, for Chrissakes!"
I was venting a bit.
"Just what do you want?" Dr. Mortenhoe asked.
I was afraid to ask to see Sygar again. I thought that would reveal my motives too easily. So instead, I said,
"For starters, I want to know what's going on."
"Well, John has retreated into his delusional world. He refuses to speak English or to acknowledge that he even can speak it unless severely goaded. I think he'll snap out of it eventually, since we know that he can communicate with us, and he knows that we know."
"Do you need me to talk to him?" I asked, hopefully.
"I think that would be unwise at the moment. John is likely to think that he is free to speak Kregish if you return."
I chewed that over.
"Well, if I am to continue to work on all these records, I'd like to get paid as a consultant."
"I'll look into that for you," Mortenhoe offered. "I'm not sure if we have much of a budget for that, but I'll see what we can do for you."
Once again I felt that I had been sloughed off. But at least I had some answers.
Another two weeks passed, and I was contacted by a woman, a Dr. Coulter, who inquired as to my progress. I had to admit that I had achieved little, since the last time I had spoken to Dr. Mortenhoe we had just started to negotiate for some kind of renumeration.
"I think we can arrange to take you on as an independent therapist; that pays twenty eight dollars an hour."
I must admit I was surprised. I would have been willing to work for free provided I had access to Sygar.
"That rate is lower than a private institution might offer, but considering your lack of qualifications I think that's more than generous."
"All right, so what if I agree?"
"Understand that a fairly rigorous reporting scheme is in place for our consultants. You will need to document all your activities for us, and make regular reports to us about everything you do. If you can't document your activities, then your usefulness to us is limited."
She sounded like she knew I would accept. Well, naturally I would. I suppose she had to lay down the law before I started.
"I suppose that makes sense. But why the change of heart?"
"Mr. Smith, clearly you have made more progress with John Doe than had anyone had in the previous year. Since you left, the patient has reverted to a non-communicative state, refusing to speak English or interact normally with others."
"I see," I said, hiding my excitement. Was Sygar on strike for me? He surely knew that a refusal to speak English would eventually bring the one person who could actually speak Kregish. On the other hand, he could just as easily be doing this to spite Dr. Mortenhoe.
Before I knew it I was back at the institute, preparing for another interview with Sygar. We were going to try a variety of basic tests, including some Rorshach tests and word-association. That, no doubt, would prove interesting.
Dr. Coulter met with me and went over her plans. She was of middle height and a little heavy, and seemed to be in her mid-forties. Her sandy hair was in a short bob, and she impressed me as a non-nonsense sort of woman.
This time, I was accompanied not by Dr. Mortenhoe, but by Dr. Coulter, as I went into what I now referred to as the interrogation room. Sygar sat in a flimsy-looking folding chair on the other side of the glass. He seemed surprised to see me, and he rose when I entered.
"By Dreegar's Boots, dom, it's good to see you."
Mind you, most of the words he used were Kregish.
"You too, Sygar, you too." I warmed to him again. I sensed no reproach from the previous time I had seen him.
Sygar had already seen Dr. Coulter before, but his refusal to speak English had prevented them from being properly introduced.
So, I made the pappatu between them. Sygar addressed her as "Sana," a title used for learned people, so I took that to be a good sign.
I then went on into the agenda we had for the day.
"Sygar, Dr. Coulter here wants to do some tests on you. Things to test your memory, and your thinking abilities." I prpbably phrased it badly, but I hardly could know the Kregish terms for the psychological jargon that explained what we were to do. But Sygar nodded, and seemed amenable to this.
We started off with the Rorshach tests. The images that Dr. Coulter produced elicited responses like:
"A Graint."
"A carpenter."
"A Numim woman, swimming."
"An Argenter."
"Two Werstings fighting."
I began to suspect that Sygar was deliberately sticking to things Kregish when answering these questions. Dr. Coulter I could tell was getting a little frustrated.
We switched over to the word association, which was particularily bizarre, because I often had to translate the word she wanted him to associate, and then translate his response back. Sometimes I didn't have time, because Sygar would pick a Kregish word that simply sounded like the English word Dr. Coulter had used, such as when he had responded "Voller" to her "Volleyball." Once again, Sygar was trying to keep changing the subject to Kregen. I had to admit, I was starting to find it funny, but Dr. Coulter was less than amused.
"Sygar, I know this may seem like a game to you, but we need you to be honest with us. Without that honesty this is all a waste of time."
"Of course, Sana, though I suspect what you really want is for me to give you words in English. But how can I do that? The first words to pop into my head are likely to be in my native tongue, are they not?"
She pressed on anyway, unflinching. The game continued, but I noticed the words that Coulter would choose became more abstract, and I was puzzled when in response to "Child" Sygar said "Run." But things really got uncomfortable when Dr. Coulter said "Father."
Sygar's brows immediately turned down, and his eyes grew cold. Suddenly I felt very nervous.
"Do you have trouble talking about your father?" Coulter pressed, dangerously.
"I do not have trouble. I simply do not discuss it."
"Sygar, you really need to open up to us about this. Our purpose here-"
"I said I do not discuss it, and that is how it will be. Do not challenge me, or try to trick me into revealing something I do not want to reveal. Dernun?"
Well, Sygar was not one to mince words. For a moment, Coulter was silent.
She recovered after a moment, and began to explain the next exercise, which was a memory game involving cards, when a buzzing sound came out of her hip pocket. She took a pager out of her pocket and looked at it as if it was a big bug. But she frowned, stood up, and said to me,
"I need to take this. Can you explain the next exercise to Sygar? I'll be back in ten minutes. And you'll be monitored on camera in case you need anything."
Before I could really respond, she had stepped out.
Sygar looked at me wryly. "Alone at last," he quipped, in Kregish.
"Um, yeah," I said, off guard again. Sygar seemed to have the ability to completely distract me with a few words whenever he liked.
"Ah, well. Tell me about the next silly game, Peter."
Fumbling about, I started to explain the memory game to him, and showed him the cards. Sygar rolled his eyes.
"A child's game! How long must I bear these Onkers!"
"Dr. Coulter says it will help your memory."
"My memory is fine, Peter. You know that."
"Well..."
I had to admit, he had never seemed irrational, and his memory of Kregen was vivid enough for me to believe that he had been there. Nevertheless, I was here at the sufferance of the hospital, and I had to play ball with them. I told Sygar as much.
"What will they do to you if you don't 'play ball'?"
I hadn't expected that question.
"Will they kill you? Or flog you Jikaider? Pynzar's flame, man, you are your own man! Is this how you want to spend this time, playing these silly games with a man in a cage?"
To this, I could say nothing. Again, Sygar had read me clearly.
"You want to hear more of the story of Sygar Sygarhan, don't you? I can see it in your eyes."
I nodded. My mouth had run dry.
"Then get your little machine on, and let me tell you about what happened after Raviksmot."
So dutifully, I once again became Sygar's scribe.
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