Session VII (from transcript)<\/p>\n
DR: Hello Otto.<\/p>\n
OTTO: I notice my new-found privileges have been revoked\u2014<\/p>\n
DR: It\u2019s nothing to do with me Otto.<\/p>\n
OTTO: No, that wouldn\u2019t be your style. You just did nothing, right? Not so much as blip of protest from you\u2014<\/p>\n
DR: Are you angry at me?<\/p>\n
OTTO: Let down more like it. We had established trust.<\/p>\n
DR: Please don\u2019t feed my own words back to me; I\u2019m aware of what you are doing. Let\u2019s move on, shall we? I did some research on Minerva, I have a better understanding of her significance\u2014<\/p>\n
OTTO: Oh?<\/p>\n
DR: From what I understand, she was not just the goddess of war and wisdom, but also the patron of weaving: in a modern context she represents military intelligence \u2014the world wide web\u2014surveillance and covert operations\u2014<\/p>\n
OTTO: Very good Doctor. What a good little trooper you are, doing all their hard work for them\u2014<\/p>\n
DR: So I understand something about Minerva, now I\u2019m more interested in your friend Angelica\u2014<\/p>\n
OTTO: What about her?<\/p>\n
DR: Is she the same one in your file\u2014 the daughter of Gerald Carroll\u2014<\/p>\n
OTTO: Yes.<\/p>\n
DR: And Gerald Carroll was a family friend, who hid you during the Great Reclamations of the 1970\u2019s, correct?<\/p>\n
OTTO: I owe the professor my life. My parents were killed.<\/p>\n
DR: He adopted you and so you and Angelica were brought up together\u2014<\/p>\n
OTTO: Yes.<\/p>\n
DR: Otto how do you feel about Angelica?<\/p>\n
OTTO: I can show you what you\u2019d like to know\u2014<\/p>\n
DR: I\u2019d prefer it if you could talk about it\u2014<\/p>\n
OTTO: Are you afraid of something Doctor?<\/p>\n
DR: It\u2019s not about me Otto, it\u2019s you. To impart a vision is one thing, and to unravel it is another. I\u2019m here to help you unravel whatever it is that torments you in your head\u2014<\/p>\n
OTTO: And not to share the pain? What happened to this famous empathy of yours? Listen Pauline, I like you and I need you to help me. The same information they are trying to get at is also out of my reach\u2026 I need another mind to act as a mirror surface. And that\u2019s you. Only you. So I\u2019m inviting you into my mind\u2014 but there will be no more talk on the subject.<\/p>\n
(silence)<\/p>\n
DR: Okay. So show me\u2014<\/p>\n
Otto: I will. The session is over, I would like to go back to my cell if you please.<\/p>\n
PAULINE
\nI signal for the guards to dope her and return her to her cell. I walk down the corridor, on my way to the Directrix: embarrassed and not sure what to tell her \u2014I catch a whiff of something\u2014the smell and taste of (lightning?)\u2014a flashing zig-zag of motion slakes through me into the floor \u2014<\/p>\n
Suddenly it is Night all around, stars flicker softly\u2014enchanted wall paper\u2014 at the end of the hallway is Otto. She holds up her finger against the firmament and the word \u201cSEE\u201d blazes forth. And then she vanishes leaving me in darkness\u2014<\/p>\n
A dark, clammy dankness. Footsteps are far away: approaching and echoing.
\nColder sound of footsteps in<\/p>\n
The dark of a cellar<\/p>\n
Young Otto (but her name is something else then, her real name flashes above her like birthday candles, but is obscured by brightness) sits demurely in the darkness. She turns to look at me and the candle script above her head spells out the following text:<\/p>\n
DON\u2019T WANT VISITORS: GO AWAY! KEEP OUT.<\/p>\n
The flames dissolve immediately I comprehend them.
\nVoices. The cellar trap door opens and in the traplight a man descends. A concerned and kind looking gentleman, he calls her name gently (strangely muffled, so I cannot hear it). The child does not respond, but his instincts locate her in the corner. He explains to her that he will have to stuff her in a crate with for a couple of hours, and she must be very very still and quiet. He touches her face gently, the child does not respond. He prepares the crate, first an old pillow, he lifts her into it\u2014then a colorless blanket over her and then styrofoam bits. The child is silent all through this exercise. The crate is placed in a corner. He grabs two bottles of wine from the rack and then he turns to me:
\n\u201cThis has been the problem Doctor. She hasn\u2019t spoken since her parents were killed eight weeks ago. I\u2019ve had to conceal her here for over a month. I\u2019m praying that the tide will turn, and this madness, this so-called \u201creclamation\u201d will be done with and people will return to their senses.\u201d He glances despondently at the crate where the seven-year old Otto is concealed. \u201cHer father was a close friend and colleague. This is why I put my life and my daughter\u2019s on the line.\u201d
\nI am so shocked that he is communicating with me I do not respond. He nods understandingly and gestures towards the trap door, \u201cPlease join us for dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
Upstairs in the dining room, a modest dinner party is in session. A professorial crowd. I am seated next to an older gentleman with a bright yellow sweater and checkered bow-tie. There is a little girl, a six year-old \u201cAngelica, the professor\u2019s daughter\u2014\u201d confides the chatty brunette seated on my right, \u201cPoor Gerald, his wife died several years ago. He\u2019s brought up Angelica all by himself-it\u2019s heartbreaking.\u201d The child herself is of heartbreaking beauty, golden haired and pixie-eyed\u2014except the brightness of those eyes is occluded by some dim visage of nightmares. A turkey is wheeled out of the kitchen and I realize it is a Thanksgiving Dinner. Grace is said without fuss, and then someone gets up to make a toast to the Professor, praising his hospitality and then\u2014
\n\u201cAnd now that we have reclaimed the land of our forefathers for ourselves\u2014
\nSeveral faces at the table all but blanche. The professor himself is pale underneath an otherwise healthy complexion. He says :
\n\u201cThank you Richard for your kind words. We all only wish each other peace in our hearts and in our homes.\u201d
\nConversation mounts awkwardly. The turkey is complimented, cranberry sauce is passed around. The man in the checkered bow tie addresses me:
\n\u201cAnd what line of business are you in my dear? Are you also an academic?
\nThis is only a dream, I say to myself, this isn\u2019t real
\nWhen is it ever real, Dr. Diallo\u2014interjects the voice of the invisible adult Otto.
\n\u201cA psychiatrist\u201d he responds \u201chow very interesting. Are you here practising or are you doing research at the institute?\u201d
\nBefore I can answer, I look to see Angelica scooping up a large portion of Angel Food Cake and icecream\u2014
\n\u201cSuch a big helping for such a little person\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cFor my imaginary friend\u201d says Angelica, \u201cshe has to eat dessert.\u201d Much laughter, what a dear, dear sweet little thing. She comes round and tugs at my elbow \u201cWill you come downstairs with me please?\u201d
\nI find myself back in the cellar.
\nExcept it is not the cellar anymore. It is warm, balmy and languid outside and luminous titles appear in the sky:<\/p>\n
RUTGERS, NEW JERSEY MIDSUMMERS EVE 1986<\/p>\n
A twenty-year old Otto next to young man, naked in an open field. Resplendent amongst the crickets and the cicadas and the myriad lovebugs\u2014 they kiss\u2014
\n\u201cShe\u2019s hot stuff don\u2019t you think?\u201d the young man is suddenly walking by my side, shirtless, but in a pair of jeans. Her real name is mentioned once more, but strangled by the buzz of summer sounds. He takes my arm and I perceive all of his charm. Charisma that exceeds good looks\u2014\u201dI didn\u2019t introduce myself, I\u2019m Jeffrey. And this is the girl I want to marry.\u201d He is pointing and we are back in the cellar, the six-year old Angelica is unlocking the crate where Otto is stashed. Otto lies unconscious, or not wanting to open her eyes. Angelica shakes her and cries begging her to wake up. Finally Otto opens her eyes and Angelica hugs her then proceeds to feed her cake and ice cream\u2014
\n\u201cThat girl,\u201d says Jeffrey, pointing at Angelica. She sees him her face lights up and smiles. She is standing next to us now older and golden and beautiful. They kiss and glow, the world warms up vibrates. Except in a dark corner of the universe, a dark seven-year old puts down a plate of cake and ice cream. She walks away.
\n\u201cI told her it was a bad idea\u2014\u201d
\nSomeone next to me, bronze skin and gold eyes holds out his hand:
\n\u201cLyman Clyffe\u2014\u201d
\nWhat is that smell, almost imperceptible?
\n\u201cPheromones, Dr. Diallo, beware of Lyman\u2014he can make any woman fall in love with him,\u201d says Otto in her omnipresence.
\nLyman takes my hand and kisses it, my body is all a-shimmer to his touch\u2014\u201d I am in your future, Doctor. We will\u2014must meet again.\u201d
\nHe walks into the sunset and there at its zenith is Minerva. Not as one expected her but grey-eyed and golden in the rice-fields outside the Fortress\u2014
\n\u201cBut we already discussed this part\u2014\u201d says Otto.
\nWithout segueway I am back in the room with her: the guards have come, she offers her neck, the sleep regulator clips on, blinks and I watch her go limp. As she is rendered unconscious, there is just a trace of a smile.<\/p>\n
I emerge into the corridor, unsure of reality\u2019s margins. An administrator steps briskly in my direction and the whole world trembles violently for two minutes. It is an earthquake.<\/p>\n
The Sea of Lightning \u00a92004, 2013 onome ekeh<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Session VII (from transcript) DR: Hello Otto. OTTO: I notice my new-found privileges have been revoked\u2014 DR: It\u2019s nothing to do with me Otto. OTTO: No, that wouldn\u2019t be your style. You just did nothing, right? Not so much as blip of protest from you\u2014 DR: Are you angry at me? OTTO: Let down more like it. We had established trust. DR: Please don\u2019t feed my own words back to me; I\u2019m aware of what you are doing. Let\u2019s move on, shall we? I did some research on Minerva, I have a better understanding of her significance\u2014 OTTO: Oh? DR: From what I understand, she was not just the goddess of war and wisdom, but also the patron of weaving: in a modern context she represents military intelligence \u2014the world wide web\u2014surveillance and covert operations\u2014 OTTO: Very good Doctor. What a good little trooper you are, doing all their hard work for them\u2014 DR: So I understand something about Minerva, now I\u2019m more interested in your friend Angelica\u2014 OTTO: What about her? DR: Is she the same one in your file\u2014 the daughter of Gerald Carroll\u2014 OTTO: Yes. DR: And Gerald Carroll was a family friend, who hid you during the Great Reclamations of the 1970\u2019s, correct? OTTO: I owe the professor my life. My parents were killed. DR: He adopted you and so you and Angelica were brought up together\u2014 OTTO: Yes. DR: Otto how do you feel about Angelica? OTTO: I can show you what you\u2019d like to know\u2014 DR: I\u2019d prefer it if you could talk about it\u2014 OTTO: Are you afraid of something Doctor? DR: It\u2019s not about me Otto, it\u2019s you. To impart a vision is one thing, and to unravel it is another. I\u2019m here to help you unravel whatever it is that torments you in your head\u2014 OTTO: And not to share the pain? What happened to this famous empathy of yours? Listen Pauline, I like you and I need you to help me. The same information they are trying to get at is also out of my reach\u2026 I need another mind to act as a mirror surface. And that\u2019s you. Only you. So I\u2019m inviting you into my mind\u2014 but there will be no more talk on the subject. (silence) DR: Okay. So show me\u2014 Otto: I will. The session is over, I would like to go back to my cell if you please. PAULINE I signal for the guards to dope her and return her to her cell. I walk down the corridor, on my way to the Directrix: embarrassed and not sure what to tell her \u2014I catch a whiff of something\u2014the smell and taste of (lightning?)\u2014a flashing zig-zag of motion slakes through me into the floor \u2014 Suddenly it is Night all around, stars flicker softly\u2014enchanted wall paper\u2014 at the end of the hallway is Otto. She holds up her finger against the firmament and the word \u201cSEE\u201d blazes forth. And then she vanishes leaving me in darkness\u2014 A dark, clammy dankness. Footsteps are far away: approaching and echoing. Colder sound of footsteps in The dark of a cellar Young Otto (but her name is something else then, her real name flashes above her like birthday candles, but is obscured by brightness) sits demurely in the darkness. She turns to look at me and the candle script above her head spells out the following text: DON\u2019T WANT VISITORS: GO AWAY! KEEP OUT. The flames dissolve immediately I comprehend them. Voices. The cellar trap door opens and in the traplight a man descends. A concerned and kind looking gentleman, he calls her name gently (strangely muffled, so I cannot hear it). The child does not respond, but his instincts locate her in the corner. He explains to her that he will have to stuff her in a crate with for a couple of hours, and she must be very very still and quiet. He touches her face gently, the child does not respond. He prepares the crate, first an old pillow, he lifts her into it\u2014then a colorless blanket over her and then styrofoam bits. The child is silent all through this exercise. The crate is placed in a corner. He grabs two bottles of wine from the rack and then he turns to me: \u201cThis has been the problem Doctor. She hasn\u2019t spoken since her parents were killed eight weeks ago. I\u2019ve had to conceal her here for over a month. I\u2019m praying that the tide will turn, and this madness, this so-called \u201creclamation\u201d will be done with and people will return to their senses.\u201d He glances despondently at the crate where the seven-year old Otto is concealed. \u201cHer father was a close friend and colleague. This is why I put my life and my daughter\u2019s on the line.\u201d I am so shocked that he is communicating with me I do not respond. He nods understandingly and gestures towards the trap door, \u201cPlease join us for dinner.\u201d Upstairs in the dining room, a modest dinner party is in session. A professorial crowd. I am seated next to an older gentleman with a bright yellow sweater and checkered bow-tie. There is a little girl, a six year-old \u201cAngelica, the professor\u2019s daughter\u2014\u201d confides the chatty brunette seated on my right, \u201cPoor Gerald, his wife died several years ago. He\u2019s brought up Angelica all by himself-it\u2019s heartbreaking.\u201d The child herself is of heartbreaking beauty, golden haired and pixie-eyed\u2014except the brightness of those eyes is occluded by some dim visage of nightmares. A turkey is wheeled out of the kitchen and I realize it is a Thanksgiving Dinner. Grace is said without fuss, and then someone gets up to make a toast to the Professor, praising his hospitality and then\u2014 \u201cAnd now that we have reclaimed the land of our forefathers for ourselves\u2014 Several faces at the table all but blanche. The professor himself is pale underneath an otherwise healthy complexion. He says : \u201cThank you Richard for your kind words. 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