Exiles in America(34)

thing, but only a few want to hurt you. The occasional violent cases here could

do physical harm, but the more cunning patients hoped to break your heart.

“Rebecca? Do you remember what you did the night that you were ar-

rested?”

She gave her head an irritable shiver, like a wolf shaking off fleas. “I know

what they told me I did. I don’t believe it.”

Zack glanced down at his clipboard. “That you pursued your mother with

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

7 7

a heavy knife and called her a cunt and a bitch and said you were going to kill

her?”

Zack had interviewed the mother this morning, a frail, frightened, owl-

eyed lady in her sixties, a retired schoolteacher.

“If I said those things,” said Rebecca, “then I must’ve been drunk. Be-

cause I love my mama. Even when she’s a cunt.”

“The police report indicates no alcohol in your blood.”

“I’d never try to kill her. No matter what I said.”

“It wasn’t just you who tried to kill her. It was also your illness. But that

doesn’t mean you’re not responsible for your actions.”

She shook her head again, an angry shiver. “My illness, my illness? You

keep talking about my illness. Why? You need me to admit that I’m mentally

ill before you’ll let me go, is that it?”

“You need to understand it, yes. But we’re not going to release you, Re-

becca. Not today. You’re going to have to stay here, for a week or maybe two,

until everyone involved, including you and your mother, can decide on the

next course of action.”

She took a deep breath through clenched teeth. “Fuck,” she said. “A cig?

When can I get a cig? The assholes here won’t let me smoke!”

Even in mental hospitals now, one had to go outside for a cigarette, al-

though smoking was one of the few legal things the mentally ill could do to

medicate themselves.

“There is a smoking porch,” Zack told her again, “but access to it is a priv-

ilege. You don’t get privileges here unless you cooperate.”

“I’m cooperating, ain’t I?”

“You are, yes,” said Zack. She had refused to come to his office for this in-

terview, so Zack had gone to her. But he wasn’t going to use that against her.

“I’ll write out a pass for you when we finish and put your name on the privi-

lege board.”

“So what else do you need from me? You want me to sign something?”

“No, I just need to talk to you for a few minutes. Get to know you a little

better.”

“You’ll never know me,” she said with a sneer.

“Probably not. You’re very a complicated woman.”

7 8

C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m

He meant to flatter her—he didn’t mean to sound sarcastic—but the pa-

tient heard nothing.

All Zack really wanted to do was confirm his suspicion that Rebecca Mays

was bipolar rather than borderline. The heavy doses of sedative administered

when she first arrived had been cut back, and she was more her “normal” self

today. He already knew she wasn’t schizophrenic. Schizophrenics were the

most tedious cases on earth, flat and one-note and too lost in their delusions

to respond to other people, not even in anger.

“Your mother told me you were the smartest, funniest girl in your class in

high school.”

“Damn straight. I’m still smart. Still funny.”

“What’s your favorite joke?”

She narrowed her eyes at him: hard, mean, blue eyes. “Is that a trick ques-

tion?”

“I’m just making small talk. Just trying to know you better.” She was para-

noid, thought Zack, although who wouldn’t be in these circumstances?

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Too bad,” said Zack. “I needed a good joke today.” He glanced back at

the clipboard. “You didn’t go to college?”

“I went. I dropped out after a year. Fucking waste of time. But I’ll go back.

When I decide what to do with my life.”

She’d been deciding for eight years, while living with her mother, who not

only supported her daughter financially but had shielded her, and herself,

from any suspicions of mental illness. It was a wonder there hadn’t been trou-

ble until now.

“What are some of the careers you’ve considered?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“No. But the more questions you answer, the sooner you can get rid of me

and go out on the smoking porch.”

She sucked at her front teeth. “I want to be a teacher.”

“Like your mother?”