Waiting For Columbus by Thomas Trofimuk

Author:Thomas Trofimuk
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780385532068
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2009-05-18T21:00:00+00:00

“You are suffering from something we big-brained doctors call a dissociative break. These things can manifest when some sort of painful event or loss occurs, and the patient doesn’t want to face the pain. I know this sounds like a bunch of bullshit jargon meant to impress, not communicate. The plain version goes something like this: you’re avoiding something and it’s our job to try and find out what that is. When this dissociation is extreme, and in your case, I believe it is, the emergence of alter personalities can occur. Do you understand what I’ve just said?”

“Yes, I’m not going to sleep with a beautiful woman tonight. Nor am I going to drink three bottles of wine. Nor am I going to sleep in a bed with soft, 600-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. And I won’t have room service to call for coffee and croissants in the morning.”

Dr. Balderas smiles. He’s amused, not pitying. “What I’m seeing in you—and this is based on my reading of Consuela’s notes and my observations—is that you’re exhibiting a dissociative fugue, or a dissociative identity disorder. Sometimes, when a patient is faced with an overwhelming traumatic situation and there’s no physical escape, the patient will resort to going away in his or her head. You persist in your belief that you are, in fact, the Christopher Columbus. And we’ve got to start trying to find a way to unravel this story you’re telling. At the bottom of your story is the thing that happened—the thing you’re avoiding.” Dr. Balderas gets up and walks over to a cabinet behind Columbus, produces a key from his vest pocket, and opens the cabinet door. He pours two hefty glasses of red wine, hands one to Columbus, who is reclined on a black leather Barcelona daybed. Columbus is stunned. He has to sit up to accept the wine. Dr. Balderas locks his office door.

“Is this legal?”

“I’m the boss. And anyway, I don’t believe you’re dangerous. We wine lovers have to stick together.” The doctor raises his glass. “To getting well,” he says.

“To getting out,” Columbus says.

They drink in silence. Dr. Balderas pours more wine.

“I’m wondering if you’ll answer a question for me.”

“Well, I’m the one on the couch. I rather like this new wine therapy you’ve devised. Fire away.”

“I need you to really think about this before you answer. Okay?”

Columbus nods.

“Do you remember anything? I mean the smallest fragment of a fragment of half an imperfect memory—anything? Any minor detail.”

Columbus closes his eyes. He’d love to answer yes. He tries to stop thinking. Listens. Is there anybody in there screaming to get out? Hello? Hello? But no, he is who he is. Then the face comes. There is a man’s face. A bald man. His voice is soft-spoken. He’s looking down at Columbus—asking if he’s all right.

“Nothing,” he says. “I only have these Columbus memories.”

“What about places? Do you remember the Catedral de Santa María de la Sede in Sevilla? Can you close your eyes and see the orange trees in the courtyard, the stained glass? When were you there last?”

Columbus smiles.

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