There were so many things she wanted to ask, but she had to tread carefully. Not unlike him, out in the jungle. She decided to hold off on asking him about combat. He would tell her what he needed to tell her when he was ready, and not before.
“The cool air must be nice now that you’re back. At night, especially. I always sleep better when it’s cool.”
Any trace of softness left his face. “Don’t know if you noticed, but sleeping isn’t my problem. I just stick out my arm and they knock me out.”
“I’m sorry. That was inconsiderate of me.” She hugged her arms around her, suddenly chilled by the small room. “Are you warm enough in here?”
“I don’t feel much anymore.”
“You’ve probably felt more than your share,” she said gently.
His reaction was slight, but she saw it. “You’re talking about my eye.”
“Well, that, and other things. I imagine you’ve seen awful things. That’s got to hurt inside and out.”
That little shrug. He wasn’t taking the bait, but he was testing her a little. “I’m kinda numb all over.”
She felt a pull, an invitation in his tone. He wasn’t speaking purely of physical sensations. And he hadn’t chased her off as her father had; instead, Daniel had shown her a crack of light under a door, if only she could find the right key.
She moved on. “I know you aren’t fond of the sedatives you’ve been given, but do they help at all? Do they take away any of the pain?”
“They knock me out. I feel nothing,” he said flatly.
“I have heard that on rare occasions, sedation can encourage other dreams. Of better times.”
“I haven’t seen anything good for a long time.”
“Can we talk about the episodes you experience when you’re asleep naturally? The nurses report you shouting in your sleep. Do you remember what you see or feel when that is happening?”
She could practically see him thinking through the question, then seeking the right response. Instinct told Marion that any answer he gave to that would be reluctant. He wanted to deny that he had any trauma at all. That what had happened was a part of war, and he accepted it. And yet, his hesitation suggested that a part of him wavered. Deep inside, he cradled a fragile glimmer of hope. If he shared his memories with her, would the pain extinguish itself? Or would talking about what happened supply the oxygen it needed to burn even hotter?
He wouldn’t meet her eyes when he spoke at last. “I don’t know.”
“That’s all right. Do you know if you had vivid dreams when you were a child? Did your parents ever tell you that you yelled in your sleep?”
He shook his head, but he did not slam the door on her questions.
She had to be cautious, take her time. She could be neither overlycompassionate nor clinically objective. Neither insincere nor weak. She had to help him believe in her so she could give him the strength he needed to heal.
“You might not remember clearly,” she said, “but I get a feeling that you sense something, even under medication meant to dull it. Even if it seems strange, I would like you to describe whatever it is to me, if you can.”
He hesitated, thinking it through. “I sense something, yeah,” he said slowly. “But it’s not real. It’s like… It’s like someone took a brush to one of my grandma’s paintings before the paint was dry. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s a nightmare.”
“Let’s talk about when you’re awake. The reason you were initially restrained and heavily sedated was because you were violent and ranting when you were awake. And yet right now, you’re not sedated and you’re quiet. How do you feel at this moment?”
“Everything’s normal—at least, I think it is. I feel like me. Like I always did, I think, except I’m always pissed off these days. And confused, I guess.”
“Reasonable. What about during those other times, when the nurses felt you needed restraints? I am aware that it’s difficult to talk about, but I want to understand your experience.”
“It’s hard to describe.” He cleared his throat. “Right now, I can describe everything in this place. The cheap cot, the stains on it, the two-inch tear in the blanket. But if you ask me another time, I might be in ’Nam. Wherever I am, it’s real. I know that, because it’s not just something I see and remember. Ifeelwhere I am. I’m in ’Nam, and I hear the guns and the bugs and my brothers talking, and I see every leaf and branch in the jungle, like I’m standing right there. I guess that sort of makes sense, because Vietnam’s in my bloodstream now.
“But what’s not clear to me is how I actuallyfeel the heatof the air. When I see fire, I feel it scorching my skin. I smell the hair on my arms burning. When it comes, I feel the urgency to do something, and I have no choice. It’s real.” His fists clenched on his lap. “But then someone comes in here and ties me down, and that’s when I realize none of it was real after all. The needle goes in, and it’s like I’m being sucked out of what I know is real, even though I also know it isn’t.”
She was surprised by how open he was about his confusion and hishallucinations. Maybe her theory had been wrong, imagining that a man in Daniel’s position might construct a defensive wall in his mind. He wasn’t trying to hide anything from her. Not that she could tell, at least.
He dropped his chin. “I gotta be crazy, talking like that.”
“No, Major. Not at all. It’s actually very healthy to be able to explain something that complex. Have you heard of ‘phantom limb’ syndrome? When a person still feels a limb even after it has been amputated? It’s similar to that, in a way.”
