Chapter 11

The faces that peered out at Bob from the gates of Pima State Hospital were all the same. like the faces of lost children, heads swaying like heavy-headed flowers. He parked the car and entered the clinical white-tiled corridor of the main building, walked it with heels clicking then came face to face with a sea of vacant wicker rockers. A nut house, God!, he thought. And Ardis here? What have I done, what have I done? His imagination filled the rocking chairs with drowning faces that would sit and rock forever, staring at nothing, seeing only mixed-up glimpses of the past.

The phone call had come from the local sheriffs office. Ardis had been arrested-gone crazy or something-after she had taken all her clothes off in front of a church. She'd been dragged away in a sheet wrapped hastily around her by a not too calm deputy. He had only been a rookie, had never been trained for that sort of thing. He had handcuffed the hysterical woman, shoved her into the back of his patrol car and driven her to the women's jail. From there a judge had hastily committed Ardis for mental observation.

Standing in the corridor and staring at the empty chairs, Bob was confronted by a hairless man in a white coat and fish-eye glasses.

"Can I help you?" fish-eyes asked, sticking a pencil in his lapel pocket.

"Uh ... I was asked to come to see a Doctor Diamond. It's about my wife, Ardis Birmingham."

He was escorted to a small office in the rear of the building. The office was empty and he was told to wait, and, while he did, he thought about Ardis. What have I done, what have I done to her? kept echoing in his confused brain.

Doctor Kathryn Diamond entered her office, sat behind her desk, motioned for Bob to sit down. She was elderly, plump, with bright kindly eyes and a warm smile. She placed a folder on her desk, took out several pages of medical reports. She fanned them out on the desk as one would a deck of cards, topping them with a batch of handwritten letters. Bob recognized the writing as Ardis'. They all began: Dear God, Dear God, in bright blue ink. The writing was very neat, very steady.

Doctor Diamond changed glasses, then she examined the letters carefully, calmly. She said nothing and Bob felt he had to.

"What's happening here? I came home from work and..."

"We know all that," she said crisply.

"And?"

She paused for a long time. Dr. Diamond patted her gray hair into place. "These letters were in your wife's pocketbook when she was brought in. I ... don't think it would be good for you to read them at present."

"Is she sick? What the hell's the matter with her?"

"When she was escorted in, she complained of feeling a strong constriction in her throat. I examined her, could find nothing wrong. We even had a throat specialist look at her, and he reported that while there was nothing whatever wrong with your wife's throat, he sensed that she was carrying a heavy mental burden and suggested psychoanalysis. Your wife was desperately afraid, but would unburden herself to me only so far as to say she felt herself 'possessed. "

"Possessed?" Bob asked, an eyebrow raising. "By an evil spirit, do you mean?"

"Yes. She associated it with the pain in her throat. I examined her again. There was no vestige of inflammation of throat or larynx. Then she broke down crying, saying over and over again, 'There is evil in me. The evil was in him, and now his evil is in me and on me'. I can only gather from these letters she wrote to herself that she means you, Mister Birmingham."

"Let me see those letters!"

"Not just now. We must talk about her treatment. I think hypnotic therapy might work very well in this case. She should respond. There's no need for her to stay with us more than a few days, then she can take out-patient treatment. But part 'of that treatment will have to come from you ... at home, I mean."

"From me?"

"Yes. You must be very careful the way you treat her. She seems to associate sex with a sort of guilt complex she's nursing. A religious syndrome, I would say. So there must be no sexual contact for a while. It may very well deepen the obsession and she could rebel again."

"What the hell are you telling me, that I'm some kinda sex maniac?"

"Of course not. From her letters, I'd say you are very normally adjusted in your sex drives, but don't you see, she doesn't think so."

"Well," Bob said, "that' pretty interesting. Do you mind if I smoke, Doctor?" With the cigarette between his lips, he permitted himself a little laugh. "Ardis going off her rocker. I can't believe it!"

"I wouldn't put it that way. Just a temporary emotional setback. With the proper treatment, she'll be just fine in a few weeks."

Bob flipped the ash of the cigarette into the desk ashtray. 'Way in the back of his mind, an idea was beginning to take root.

"Lissen," he started. "I don't know nothin' about this headshrinking business. If Ardis got somethin' wrong in her head, maybe she oughta stay here awhile." Couldn't you get a divorce real easy if your wife was nuts and in an asylum? The idea loomed larger, and a new sparkle came into his eyes. Perhaps Dr. Diamond caught it.

"There is really very little for you to know. Sometimes a little knowledge can be dangerous. Just omit any sexual advances for a few weeks. Is that too much to ask?" She smiled.

"But if she's insane..."

"Whoever said that? I told you it's just a temporary..."

"I know, I know. But I know her too ... she ... well, this isn't the first time she's done something nutty."

"Oh? Tell me about it." The smile faded from Dr. Diamond's face.

Bob couldn't. He stuttered, put his cigarette out, shook his head. "It's all this religious crap," was all he could say. "You know...."

"Yes, the letters she wrote have deep religious overtones. But nothing serious, really. Now, I do have a heavy case load today, and if you will drive your wife home Friday, I'll see to her discharge. Of course, there will be the authorities that you Will have to deal with. Indecent exposure, I think the charge was. But I think with my report the charges should be dropped." Dr. Diamond smiled, a thin but steady smile.

His easy way out vanished in that moment. He would have to take Ardis home, and she'd be worse than ever after this.

He picked Ardis up on Friday morning. She said nothing, absolutely nothing. All the way home, she said nothing. He tried to make light conversation several times, but she didn't respond. Just stared out at the hills along the side of the road as he drove.

"You'll have a nice rest, Ardis."

Nothing.

"Do some sewing, mebbe; you'll like that" Nothing.

"It's nothin', ya know. People have little breakdowns all the time. A little rest, a little sunshine..."

Nothing.

"And I'll help you. Help you all I can. Mebbe git a woman in to do the cleaning."

Nothing.

"I'll take a few days off; you can go fishing with me. like we did when we were first married."

Nothing.

"Tell me what it is you want me to do and I'll do it, Ardis."

Nothing. Just staring out the window, staring, staring...

"No cookin' tonight. I'll git us some Southern fried chicken in a basket. We'll just sit and munch and watch television . ... "

Nothing.

And then he rode in silence too. He was thinking of the law; he'd have to get a lawyer for sure. What could they do to her? After all, she hadn't hurt anyone. Except maybe a few old stuffy women who were gossiping about the "dreadful exhibition." Shit. Well ... good. Maybe they wouldn't let her in that damned church again; that might cure a lot of things. And then his thoughts turned to Penny.

Penny was like another world, an escape from this madness. He would not give up Penny. He'd do anything to help Ardis. Christ, anyone would help a sick person-but give up Penny, no! She was the only sanity left on this rotten earth!

When they arrived home, Ardis walked into the living room as if she had never been there before. She looked around at the walls, the furniture, the curtains. Finally she spoke, saying something that left Bob completely befuddled. "The loving is easy; it's the living that's hard."

Then she went into the bedroom. Bob was actually afraid to follow.