May You Never Thirst, My Brother

May You Never Thirst, My Brother(Ric Wooldridge) May You Never Thirst, My Brother

“Once again, young man. What is your name?”
Dr. Timothy N. Taylor watched the flat screen monitor display in the observation room as the sixty year old detective questioned his mystery guest. The detective looked tired.
“Valentine Michael Smith.”
The man being questioned was approximately twenty five years old. He was tall and had an athletic build. There was also an odd presence about the man. When he spoke, he spoke with intensity. He made, and held, eye contact. Yet he did not seem threatening. He just gave you his undivided attention to the point that it made the person he was talking to self conscious.
“I know you were asked these questions before, Mister Smith, and its necessary that I ask these questions again. I’m trying to jog your memory, so lets try the next one. Where do you live, Mr. Smith?”
“I live with Jubal and Jill and Anne and Miriam, by the water.”
“Yes, you’ve told me that before, also. But can you tell me WHERE by the water?”
“Jill knows.”
“That’s what you told the nurses and the officers at the hospital. Who is Jill?”
“Jill is my brother.”
“Your . . . . brother.” The detective was rubbing his eyes. He was hoping the shrink was catching all of this. “You know, Mr. Smith, Jill is a different sort of a name for a man.”
“Oh! Jill is not a man. Jill is a woman.”
“But you just said that Jill was your brother.”
“Jill is my brother. Jubal is my brother. Anne is my brother. Miriam is my brother.” Valentine Michael Smith smiled innocently and looked as if he had sincerely explained away all of the mysteries.
Dr. Taylor was watching, with an ever widening smile, as Detective Davies tried to think of a question that wouldn’t take him any farther into the twilight zone. People were interesting. Tim Taylor loved people, and he loved puzzles. It was only natural that he chose a profession that viewed people and their puzzles as all part of the same package.
Tim didn’t usually work with criminals or those who found themselves incarcerated due to their mental or emotional challenges. Dr. Taylor worked with high risk professionals, in the police or fire departments of the city. He was here to check out Mr. Valentine Michael Smith by special request. It wasn’t the Mayor or the chief of police that had made the request. It wasn’t the Dean of the college or some rich kid’s parents. Dr. Taylor could have, and probably would have, ignored those. No, it was tough guy, “I ain’t going to leave the force to these sissy punk, wannabe cops, by retiring,” high and mighty Detective Robert Samson Davies that told him simply, “If you don’t help him, they’ll lock’im up with the pervs. Then he’ll get sick and die. You fix’im Doctor D.” He was probably right.
But that didn’t mean that Tim had to step in right now, exactly. “Valentine Michael Smith” had already given Dr. Taylor something solid that would help him guide his new patient. But officer Davies deserved to earn his pay for a bit.
“Okay Mister Smith,” Detective Davies said. “I’ll accept that for the moment. What I’d like to know next is, why did you sit in the hospital emergency room for forty eight hours, until they finally called the police to have you removed?”
“I was waiting for Jill.”
“Jill is in the hospital.”
Valentine Michael Smith smiled brightly, nodding his head, as he said, “No.”
The detective pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “Jill’s not in the hospital. Then, why did you wait for her there.”
“I first saw my brother, Jill, in the hospital. Then she took me to Father Jubal’s house.”
Detective Davies fought the desire to heave a great sigh of frustration. Instead he tried for a warm, friendly smile. Not something often called for on this job, but this kid was missing most of his playing cards and all the evidence showed that the ones he had left were mostly Jokers. He seemed to be sincerely trying to answer the questions. “Pardon me, Valentine.”
“Excuse me, but Jubal, my brother, calls me Mike.”
“Fair enough, Mike. I know this is difficult. Another couple of questions, please, and we’ll try to finish this. You just said that Jill took you to Father Jubal’s house. Is your brother, Jubal, a priest?”
Dr. Timothy Taylor could hardly stand it. He was laughing so hard it was almost impossible to take notes. It was almost mean to let the interview go on, but the detective was getting helpful answers, and solid confirmation as to the patients prognosis.
Valentine Michael Smith looked puzzled and said, “I do not grok ‘priest.’ Jubal is my brother. He is also my father, as he teaches me to grow with his wisdom.”
Smile still in place, Detective Davies went on, “Good enough! Now, Jill took you from the hospital, where we found you, to Jubal’s house, by the water. Do I have that right?”
Again, Valentine Michael Smith nodded and said, “No.”
Still smiling, kind of, the detective asked, “Which part did I not get right?”
“My brother, Jill, was not where I was waiting before here. The other women that dress like Jill told me, but I grok that waiting is. My brother will come.”
Dr. Taylor went out of the observation room and down the hall to dispatch and reception and spoke with one of the staff. With an odd look and a shrug he replied, “Sure Doc. Take about ten minutes.” With that he returned to hear Detective Davies ask, “Do you know anyone that we could call that would come and get you?”
The detective knew before he asked the question what the answer was going to be, but he had to try. Sure enough Valentine Michael Smith answered, “Jill.”
“What if Jill was busy and couldn’t come, herself? Is there someone else we could call?”
“Probably my brother, Duke. But he’s usually mowing the joyful grasses.”
“Well, that was new,” the detective breathed to himself. “So,” he began aloud. “We would like to contact your brother Duke. Or your brother, Jubal. Or Jill, Anne or Miriam. If we could contact one of them we could see about getting you home.”
“I grok the same.”
Again, under his breath, the detective said, “I bet you do.”
At that moment the detective’s cell phone silently signaled that the shrink was coming in. Less than two seconds later the door opened. Dr. Taylor entered carrying a note pad and a large glass of cold water. The detective introduced him. “Mike, this is Dr. Taylor.”
“You may call me Tim, Mike. May you never thirst.” When he had greeted his new patient, he took a couple generous swallows of the cold water and then handed the glass to the surprised young man.
Valentine Michael Smith’s eyes became large and teary as he drank. Then he handed the glass back and said, seriously, “Grow closer, drink deeply.”
The detective was instantly aware that the atmosphere had become emotionally charged in the extreme. He turned to the Doc to see if he should be worried. “Something just happened. Is there something I should know?”
“Something very serious. I’ve just joined Mike’s family.”
“By sharing a glass of water?”
Dr. Taylor faced Valentine Michael Smith , his newly acquired brother, and said, “Mike, I need to speak privately with the detective. Will you be alright if I leave you alone her for a moment?”
He looked at Dr. Taylor serenely in that intensely focused way he had and smiled as he said, “Yes Tim, my brother. Waiting is, until I grok in full. I am only an egg.”
Dr. Taylor inclined his head in acknowledgement and said, “Thank you, my brother. I shall return in minutes.” He then opened the door for the detective to precede him into the hall.
Before Dr. Taylor could say anything, Detective Davies said, “Its obvious you’re already onto something. He seems ready to do whatever you ask. So, what planet is he from?”
“Mars. And I am now, according to what he believes, completely trustworthy. By taking part in the water ceremony, sharing water, I am now his brother. Forever.”
“Where do people come up with this stuff, and how’d you come across it?”
“Do you do much recreational reading, detective?”
“I’ve always liked historical novels. Writers like Clavel or Churchill. Some fiction, some non-fiction. Lately I’ve been craving adventure. Black hats against the white hats, so I’ve been checking out Cussler.”
“Well, this young man has immersed himself in a classic masterpiece of science fiction written by Robert A. Heinlein, called “Stranger in a Strange Land.” I have a copy in my personal library. It stands out as an original at a time of social and sexual revolution. It puts to the question all religious and moral standards. This leaves the reader with a sense of responsibility stemming from it’s main philosophy, “Thou Art God,” and a confusion that acknowledges that everybody and everything is also God. There have been many others who have tried to adopt this line of philosophy. There are others who lose touch with reality, mostly with non-violent behavior. A very few, though, acquired a disregard for life and adopted cannibalistic practices mentioned in the book. This actually began to take place not long after the book was published, which greatly distressed the author. You are right, Detective Davies. This young man can be helped. I’ve already begun working with him. If you want to be a part of his recuperation, you should probably read this.”
Dr. Timothy. N. Taylor handed a hard bound copy of Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert A. Heinlein, to Detective Davies. The cover had a definite sixties look to it, with a semi-psychedelic swirl of paisleys and smoke that obscured the picture of a male body. High up on the corner above the title was the strange word that Valentine Michael Smith and Dr. Taylor had used. “Grok”.
“I grok I probably should, Dr. Dynamite,” the detective said in a gruff but friendly voice. “Let me know what I can do. It would be nice to know I saved one in forty years.
“Detective, we can only do OUR best. This one didn’t get by you. Now we’ll do our best to figure out why he would rather live as “Valentine Michael Smith” rather than who he really is. When you have his identity and personal data let me know. Before we press the issue of his identity, I’d like to establish a bit of a relationship with him. Get him talking about himself and his viewpoints a bit and check out his temperament.”
“You got it, Doctor D,” Davies said as they shook hands. It wasn’t often that he was involved in an investigation that made him happy. He’d been a cop for forty years, a detective for the last fifteen of them. Lock a man or woman in jail and they came out a victim or a worse criminal than when they first went in. Detective Robert Samson Davies knew he had saved this young man’s life.
Dr. Timothy Taylor returned to the room with Valentine Michael Smith. “So Mike, when was the last time you had a nice relaxing swim in a pool?”
Dr. Timothy Nathan Taylor. Dr. T.N.T.. Dr. Dynamite. People played with his initials for different reasons. Some sought purposely to irritate him, which never happened, because he was entertained by the behavior of such people. Some were trying to be funny, and to these he would smile politely. Some saw him as a truly exceptional personality, and these embarrassed him, even though he, again, acknowledged them with a friendly smile.
Dr. Taylor loved people. He enjoyed helping people. He was especially going to enjoy working with Valentine Michael Smith. How often did a man get to work with the main character from a book written by his favorite writer?