The Three Christs of Ypsilanti (35 page)

During the three weeks that he wore the mask and earplugs, Leon behaved toward Miss Anderson as if she simply did not exist. But after divesting himself of his shield, he resumed his relationship with her. The next six or seven months of his dealings with her were marked by ambivalent, fluctuating phases of approach and avoidance, of reaching out and pulling away, of expressing his love, dependence, and need, and denying these feelings.

To describe first the positive aspects of his relationship with Miss Anderson: he now looked forward to the daily sessions, not for their own sake, but for the opportunity they provided of seeing her alone afterward. When both she and I were present, he would address himself to her exclusively. He would accept lights from her but not from me. He would go to great lengths to cut the group meetings short in order to have more time with her; what is more, he took the initiative in setting up these tête-à-têtes. He would ask, by way of detaining her, whether she was in a hurry. He often made written notes beforehand of things to talk about when he was alone with her, and he referred to them frequently.
On days when he knew I would be there, he made appointments with her for earlier in the day to insure that he would see her alone.

The strategies Leon employed to maneuver these meetings with Miss Anderson were either direct or transparent. “I would care for a few minutes with you alone, please”; “I would have something to say, but I don't think these two would be interested”; “You, sirs, might want to go out for some fresh air; the air was very fresh this morning, so any motions for adjournments?”; “Mr. Cassel, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a discussion with G. M. Anderson”; “Going outside, Mr. Benson? It's sunshine outdoors.”

By the middle of December the post-meeting sessions had become firmly established, but Leon found he had other problems. He would go to desperate lengths to prolong his time with Miss Anderson. On one occasion, when she said she would have to leave, he entreated: “Oh, could you spare a few more minutes? This wasn't interesting to you, I—”

“That isn't it,” she said. “I have to leave because I have another appointment.”

“I do thank you for your trouble. I would like to finish that conversation.”

“Well, I should have more time tomorrow.”

Again, another time when she said she would have to leave, he stalled by saying: “I'm trying to think of something else.” After a long pause: “That's all I can think of. Thank you for your time.”

And finally, there were the times when he had to ward off interruptions. Once he was telling her: “I'm still a big pile of truthful-idealed dung.” He paused lengthily. “I hope I'm not boring you. I believe I am, but would you care to listen, please.” At this point Joseph came into the room. “Sir,” Leon said testily, “we're not through yet, please, sir!”

The positive relationship he had developed with Miss Anderson manifested itself in many ways, and each time we observed it we were struck by the contrast with Leon's earlier inability to relate himself positively to other human beings. He often moved his chair to face hers or he sat in a chair next to her, looking her
directly in the face, something he had rarely been able to do. Once he noticed a pin she was wearing and spontaneously commented on the design, wondering if it was African. Another time he reported a dream in which he saw the face and eyes of Miss Anderson “in relationship to the cosmos.” He more frequently reported that he felt good. “Today I felt relief that I haven't felt for years—imposition taken off.”

He was even able to take some ever-so-small steps toward permitting himself to receive, and to give, and to share experiences. Miss Anderson reports:

Once, when there was a party on the ward, an aide came in and offered them ice cream and cake. “No, thank you, sir,” Leon said, “I don't care for any.” Then, addressing Miss Anderson: “Would you care for some?” She also declined. Leon went on to say that his shoe had broken last night and that it flapped when he walked; squelches came out and hundreds of people received squelches from his shoe. Miss Anderson told him he needed a new pair of shoes. Leon replied: “No, please, these are comfortable.” At this they laughed together.

During this time, too, Leon's general behavior in the ward improved markedly. He socialized more with the other patients. He partook of evening snacks, something he normally did not do. He sat closer to the other patients when watching television. The
aides noted especially that he was
singing
while taking his showers.

But it would be a mistake to think that Leon was always friendly toward Miss Anderson. Far from it. While his behavior to her was in marked contrast to his earlier withdrawal from all social contact, his reactions to her were typically ambivalent and often hostile. The negativism was clearly traceable to the fact that he identified her with his mother: “May I see you for a few minutes, Mom,” he said one day. And another: “What do you think of a person who is thirty-nine or forty years of age who looks like a particular G. M. who passed away, G. M. Eve, Potential Sir, at the same particular age. Is there such thing as differential twins through delayed timing?” On still another occasion, he said that he and Miss Anderson were together as one person and that he had to breathe and eat for her because she was invisible. One day he claimed that Miss Anderson had tortured him for over thirty years. Shortly thereafter, fearful of getting too close to her, he drew back by saying: “I have had enough experience with the lame-brain I used to live with. I don't care to tangle with another one at that age. I cannot have no direct attachments.”

He sought to contain within strictly rigid bounds whatever positive feelings he had for Miss Anderson, and resisted all attempts to broaden the range of such experiences. Once he gave her a lecture about trying to push patients beyond the patients' acceptance. Another time, he said he would like to see her after the meeting. She had another appointment, she told him, but she would be glad to see him later in the day. Would he like to meet her at three o'clock in the lobby of A building? Leon hesitated and then declined, saying he would see her instead the following day at the usual hour. But shortly after three o'clock, she observed him loitering in front of A building, and called to ask him if he would like to come inside to talk. He replied no, he would wait until tomorrow, and immediately sauntered away.

How did Leon cope with his emotional and sexual feelings toward Miss Anderson during these months? Could all the time, devotion, assurance, and reassurance she tried to give him countervail
against the gigantic proportions of his anxiety and guilt over sexual expression, his stupendous fear of becoming dependent on her, his fear that she, like his mother, would overwhelm and stifle him, and against his gigantic doubts of his adequacy, indeed, his identity, as a man? On the one hand, in contrast to his typically detached, emotionless, coldly hostile take-it-or-leave-it relationship with others, he went to great lengths to maintain, solidify, and perpetuate his relationship with her. On the other hand, he could not let the relationship develop, but had to contain it within strict bounds, and he was therefore compelled to employ a whole gamut of defense mechanisms to alleviate his guilt and anxiety, and deny his dependency on her. These defensive maneuvers intermingled and alternated with his positive approaches in a series of predictable fluctuations. If a particular session with Miss Anderson was human and warm, we could reasonably expect that the next would be difficult, characterized by withdrawal or hostility, or muteness, or an excessive concern with squelches.

Moreover, as it turned out, we were wrong in believing that Leon's routine of seeing Miss Anderson alone after the group meeting was firmly established. Never, in all the time we knew him, did Leon refuse to attend the daily meetings. But on many occasions, of durations from a day to two weeks, he refused to see Miss Anderson afterwards. And even at times when he had asked specifically to see her alone, he might refuse to look at her, “because of the thoughts which come to my mind.” At other times he would simply refuse to talk, or would reply curtly to all queries with: “If it says so on the cosmic parchment, then it's true,” or “Dung is busy with his thoughts, G. M. Anderson,” or “If you don't mind, I'd care to leave. I don't have anything to say. Excuse me,” and then retreat quickly to the toilet. On occasion, in contrast to his refusal to take a light from anyone but Miss Anderson, he would ask for a light from anyone but her. One day, when she commented to him that he seemed so far away, he readily agreed: “I go into a realm where it is more peaceful.”

Leon tried first one technique, then another to cope with the interferences which made him feel the way he did about Miss Anderson. Sometimes he tried to ward off the imposition which emanated from her by grimacing and holding his breath for as long as he could, and by waving ritualistically through the air a small piece of paper he called a “converter static discharger”, which, he insisted, could ward off interferences “up to eighty feet.” He brushed off interferences from his hair, face, beard, and ears with his home-made calling card or his ground card. But he was never satisfied with the results, and he would continually look for other, still better ways.

Throughout this time he continued to address her as “G. M. Anderson,” although he sometimes called her “Mr. Russell Anderson” or “Mrs. Rachel Anderson.” Once she suggested that he call her by her correct name—Mary Lou Anderson—but he adamantly refused on the ground that if he were to agree it would lead only to more demands on her part for him to change. “It so happens if I say that, it's gonna build up to something else.”

Reminiscent of his frequent accusations against his own mother —and at the same time symbolic of his fear of being overwhelmed by her—was his accusation that Miss Anderson had once given him a poisonous octopus drink. He also accused her of forcing him to deny his identity as “R. I. Dung, reincarnation of Jesus Christ.”

And he would deny to her that she meant anything to him. He asserted that his foster sister was much more pleasing to him than she was.

A central issue that came up again and again in his daily, ambivalent, anxiety-ridden, guilt-laden contacts with Miss Anderson was the issue of his sexual feelings toward her. He would discuss these sometimes directly and sometimes metaphorically—metaphor became the preferred mode after she found it necessary to point out to him that patients often develop sexual feelings toward hospital personnel which cannot be reciprocated.

“I forgot to mention that while I was kneeling in there, respecting you, I didn't mention that the bull came once, then a pause,
then twice, then three times. Last night I prayed again. I came fourteen times. It was a complete recession. I tried to pray some more and mine was limber and the bull came once—ah, that was with the squeezing of the anus. I didn't care for that. This morning when I got up I felt a knock in both sides in the lobe of my brain as if my eyes were open. Where is there a woman who could take a hundred and ninety-six duo-orgasms consecutively? The Ten Commandment female part can do it.

“And here's another comical story. I think it was my uncle who said, ‘Did you hear the story of the spinster who didn't like men?' Shit was mentioned and she had a fit—she got so angry she went out to the barn and took some shit and said if it's instrumental I'll see what I can do with it. So she slopped it around, and some fell on a little lily seed and of course the lily grew up and it was beautiful. A particular friend of this spinster came along and happened to see the lily and he dug it up and put it in a flower pot and took it over to her and the story goes that the lily wound up in the parlor window, and when she asked where did you get that from he didn't care to say it was a cheap gift that he dug out of her own backyard in a pile of manure and she was put to shame when he told her because she was the one who put it there and didn't realize it—so dung is very helpful. There's charm there but she didn't see it, he did.”

After a brief silence, very gently: “You didn't make any connection, did you? That's what I thought.”

But the greatest part of Leon's conversation with Miss Anderson was highly delusional talk about “squelches.” The nature of this discourse, which can best be described as Leon's “squelch defense,” was clearly twofold. On the one hand it was designed to keep Miss Anderson there as long as possible, that is, it had a filibustering function. On the other hand, it was a defense designed to ward off a realistic awareness of his emotional and sexual needs for Miss Anderson. The purpose of a “squelch,” Leon often told us, was to keep away the interferences. In his own words a squelch is “a metaphysical phenomenon of energy in the shape that will
suppress, lift, cut, bind, burn, go through solids—all types of feats that are above normal action.”

“A buster squelch is one which can bust up immoral emotions.”

“I was sitting in the toilet sending out squelches to close up the cracks in the partitions between the toilets, so the person in the next toilet wouldn't be affected.”