Rufus of Rhodes: Eagle, Caduceus, and Boar

By Allen-Russo

Dr. Aaron Glatzer, skilled in the process of hypnotic regression therapy, brings forward the reincarnated life of a young Roman military physician, Rufus of Rhodes. The hypnotic subject, Edgar Wedge, a 20th century tire salesman, is suffering from compulsive eating and smoking which are now greatly overshadowed by a career- threatening fear of flying. Rufus, through Edgar, relates a story of his own life intertwined with the exploits of Julius Caesar and the political and military objectives of the pre-Christian Roman Empire. Rufus revelations change the lives of Edgar, his family, and the researchers engaged in bringing this voice of the past to the present century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 14, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469102139

Allen-Russo

John E. Allen, M. D. and Raymond M. Russo, M.D., pediatricians and educators, have written articles for both the scientific and lay presses. They have written a number of pediatric textbooks and two novels: The Painkillers, published in 1996 and Arm, The Fastest Yankee, in 2000. Both physicians have held professorships in major American medical schools. Dr. Russo has a special interest and expertise in the history of medicine and is a member of several medical history associations.

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Copyright © 2002 by Allen-Russo.

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Contents

AUTHORS’ NOTE

LIST OF CHARACTERS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

GLOSSARY—

LATIN AND CELTIC

AUTHORS’ NOTE

The historical background of this and subsequent novels in the series is based on extensive research and is believed by the authors to be an accurate portrayal of Roman history at the time of the Gallic Wars and the rise in power of Julius Caesar. Every attempt has been made to preserve historical accuracy within the limits of a fictional historical novel. Of special note are quotations that Rufus attributes to Posidonius. These are largely drawn from the later writings of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius who undoubtedly derived much of their stoic philosophy from the earlier writings of Posidonius.

In order to assist the reader we have included a listing of the characters with brief descriptions of each as well as a glossary of Latin and Gallic words and phrases. Latin words are in italics to allow easier reference to the glossary. Several maps re-drawn from their historical sources by RMR are included to assist the reader in the geography of the involved regions of the ancient world. The novel is written for your reading pleasure and we trust the reader will experience, as we have, this remarkable time of Julius Caesar, the Ciceros, and the Roman Republic in the first century before the Christian Era.

The authors want to acknowledge the invaluable contributions Nancy Allen has made in the preparation and editing of this book.

RMR and JEA

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ROME—58 BC

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GAUL AT THE TIME OF THE GALLIC WARS

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CAMPAIGN OF 58 BC

LIST OF CHARACTERS

Aedua:                            Beautiful Celtic princess.

Allison Wedge:                   Edgar’s young daughter

Allorix:                            Burdigala’s lover and Diviciacus’ Master

                           of Horse

Asclepiades:                   Famous Greek physician and teacher of

                           Rufus

Baculus, Publius:         Roman centurion and close friend of

                           Rufus

Berecynthia:                   Rufus’s ‘slave’ assistant

Burdigala:                   Aedua’s personal maid and companion

Caesar, Julius:                   Roman general and statesman

Casticus:                   Berecynthia’s Helvetian suitor

Chippius Humilis:          A sentry with the Twelfth Legion

Cicero, Marcus Tullius:          Roman statesman; older brother of

or Tully                  Quintus

Cicero, Quintus:          Governor of Asia

or Quint

Crispus:                   A standard bearer in the Twelfth Legion

Deirdre:                   Half sister of Aedua and Caesar’s lover

Diviciacus:                   Dumnorix and Aedua’s brother, Haeduan

                           chief, friend of Rome

Dumnorix :                   Aedua’s brother; an enemy to Rome and

                           to Rufus

Edgar Wedge:                   Regression therapy patient; voice of Rufus

Emily Wedge:                   Edgar’s wife

George Wedge:                   Edgar’s twin brother, a priest and historian

Galfridus:                   Caesar’s secretary

Glatzer, Aaron, M.D.:          Edgar’s regression therapist

or Glatzulus

Harnett, Msgr. Terry:          Colleague of George’s, renowned historian

                           and classicist

Iphinoe:                   Slave from Rhodes and mother of Rufus

Labienus, Titus Atius:          General under Caesar

Lug:                            Celtic warrior attached to the Roman

                           army.

Maximus:                   Medicus under Rufus in Caesar’s army

Messalinus, Caecina:          Optio valetudinarii under Rufus

Molo of Rhodes:          Famous rhetorician; teacher of Rufus and

                           friend of Cicero

Nemeton:                   Gallic Druid and friend of Rufus

Pamphilus:                   Tribune of the soldiers

Pere Dunkeld:                   Haeduan farmer and friend of Aedua

Phillipus:                   Caesar’s scribe

Plancus, Lucius:         General under Caesar and Rufus’

                           commanding officer

Posidonius the Stoic:          Teacher of Rufus and the Ciceros; most

                           learned man of his times

Procillus:                   Caesar’s Gallic interpreter

Rufus of Rhodes:          Legionary physician & freedman. Main

                           protagonist

Rufus, Publius:                  Roman politician and aristocrat, Rufus’

                           father

Stabilius:                   Roman centurion

Thaslamus:                   Baculus’ slave

Tigurine:                   Younger brother of Aedua

Vorenus, Lucius:          Roman centurion.

CHAPTER ONE

It started out like an ordinary day for Edgar Wedge. The weather was fine, warm for April but certainly not uncomfortable. He had spent the previous day, his last full day in Japan, visiting Mount Fujiyama and was rewarded with an exceptionally clear view of its perfectly conical shape topped with a crown of snow. The countryside was a fairy world of cherry blossoms everywhere he looked, a delicate flutter of white and pink and rose. He’d never before seen so many; it was as if he had stepped into a living Monet. He regretted he had only two exposures left of the roll of twenty-four in his camera. He could have used all twenty-four just on the cherry blossoms.

The meeting with his Japanese counterparts had gone exceptionally well and was topped off with a lucrative contract offer that he knew would result in a handsome bonus and, hopefully, a promotion. Edgar was impressed with Japanese hospitality: the sushi, the sake, the late night coffeehouses, even the pizza beautifully decorated with spiral forms of mozzarella and wafer thin circles of tomato crafted into clever, intricate designs. It was too pretty to eat but he knew he never could pass up pizza. His Japanese friends entertained him far into the night. Seeing him well fortified with sake, they had taken him to the door of his hotel room with a promise to return and drive him to the airport in the morning.

A chauffeur driven, stretch limo arrived promptly at the promised hour and drove him to Nerida Airport in plenty of time for his flight home. His new friends smiled, bowed and waved him off as he passed through security, watching as his hand held luggage was X-rayed for concealed ordinance. When his flight was called he headed down the sleeve to the waiting 747 settling comfortably in a first class seat. The attendant brought him a scotch and soda, his favorite drink, although sake now was a strong competitor. Edgar put his seat back after takeoff closing his eyes to think about the kudos he would receive back home with the contract he’d arranged. He alternated those pleasurable thoughts with a vision of Fujiyama sparkling in the sun and hovering over the horizon like a magnificent dream. The aroma of yakatori chicken wafted to him from the galley replacing Fujiyama with a more mundane vision of the meal soon to be served.

He devoured the sumptuous Japanese meal, handed the attendant his tray, and put his seat back again to rest his eyes before the movie began. He felt deliciously comfortable; he was warm, magnificently fed, digesting well, and drowsy from his two scotch and sodas and several glasses of wine. In a short time, he was sleeping soundly.

He was too far gone to be aware that the movie had run its course or to hear the pilot and the cabin attendant’s announcements to fasten seat belts. When the turbulence struck, it struck with a vengeance! The plane shuddered for a short time and the cabin lights flickered. It dropped like a shot duck, six hundred feet at first, then a bit of leveling and then another nine hundred feet. Edgar awoke with a start. What the hell is going on? he asked the middle-aged woman sitting next to him but did not receive an answer from the terrified passenger. The plane chose that moment to drop in an even steeper dive causing the woman to give forth a piercing scream. Edgar, his seat belt unbuckled, was flung out of his chair striking the overhead panel with blinding force. He was groggy from the blow but remained conscious. He was aware of the screaming around him. He, too, opened his mouth to scream but no sound came through his seemingly paralyzed vocal cords. As they relaxed a bit, he let out an otherworldly sound that wasn’t anything like his own voice. He lost his last shred of composure when his vision clouded over and he could no longer see clearly. With increasing panic he realized that blood from a gash on his forehead was streaming into his eyes. Even as the plane continued its dive, an attendant rushed to his side. How she made it with the aisle nearly vertical he would never know, but there she was holding a towel to his head. Don’t worry, she assured him, We’ll have everything under control in a minute. That might have calmed him a bit except his seatmate began wailing, We’re going to die! We’re going to die! The attendant, losing her footing, rolled down the aisle to thud, momentarily stunned, against the cockpit door. I knew it! the terrified passenger shouted. She’s dead. We’re going down. We’ll all die!"

Edgar realized he might have only a few precious moments of life remaining. Thoughts flashed across his mind. He thought of his love for his wife, Emily, and his daughter, Allison. How would they get along without him? Would his twin brother, a Jesuit priest, intercede with God on his behalf? Would his sins be forgiven? These thoughts were quickly interrupted when the aircraft gave another even more ominous shudder as it rolled over on its side. The chorus of moans from the other passengers escalated into a crescendo of unnerving screams. Oddly enough, the din and increasing chaos seemed to briefly clarify Edgar’s thoughts. In this lucid moment, he reasoned that death could not be far away. His wound continued to bleed into his eyes, partially blinding him. He was dangled over the arm of his chair hanging there virtually in a standing position even though he thought he was strapped in his seat. But was he? He realized he could no longer tell. He simply gave up and screamed with the others. He screamed louder than most, an almost endless scream from deep in his soul. He let out all the fear, the despair born of the realization that momentarily his life would end, and he would be consumed in a great, searingly hot ball of fire. He screamed and he screamed and he screamed. Frightened beyond fear.

Miraculously, at the last moment, the plane righted itself and began to climb. As if in a stage play, the dead stewardess got to her feet and efficiently began checking the passengers. In an obviously relieved tone, the pilot’s calm voice came over the loudspeaker, Sorry for that rough ride back there. Hope you all are okay. We’re back on course to L.A. and should arrive as scheduled. Please be sure to keep your seat belts fastened.

It was a long time before Edgar could calm down. He was still trembling when he deplaned at the L.A. International Airport, holding his bandaged head with his free hand and his carry-on with his other. The airline had arranged for an ambulance to transport him to a nearby hospital, but he refused the offer. Instead, his wife, who had driven to the airport to meet him, helped him into the family car and drove him to their community hospital emergency room where his wound was sutured and a tetanus shot given.

By morning he was somewhat better but exhausted and still shaky. A call to his primary care physician resulted in a prescribed tranquilizer, which soon accomplished its purpose. Edgar fell into a long restoring sleep. When he awoke it was already the afternoon of the following day. He was thankful it was Sunday since it would give him time to recover before returning to work. He felt more himself but whenever he thought of flying again, he broke out in a cold sweat and the shivering began all over again.

He shared with Emily the strange feelings he was experiencing. She didn’t like things that were strange, especially mental problems. Edgar’s father had suffered from phobias about such mundane actions as crossing over bridges and excessive heights. She feared that her husband was developing his father’s disability. She found some comfort in that Edgar and his brother George grew up in a middle class suburb of Toms River, New Jersey and, despite their father’s mental phobias, were proper suburbanites who mowed their own lawns, listened to baseball games while barbecuing in the back yard, and watched the Giant’s Sunday football game after church. Emily and her husband led an equally regulated life in Santa Barbara, and the thought that something as awful and uncontrollable as mental illness could steal into their present well-ordered life was unspeakable.

Edgar and his twin, George, had an uneventful childhood. They played Little League sports, dressed up as pirates for trick and treating and, when they were a little older, chased girls with chalk filled blackboard erasers. As adolescents, George was caught climbing up on the high school roof, and Edgar was periodically dragged into the principal’s office for smoking in the boys’ restroom, but that was about the extent of their misbehavior. George, late in adolescence, decided to study for the priesthood. Em, as Edgar called his wife, had just begun dating him as George made the decision. She agreed with his family that George’s commitment was premature, but their attempts to talk him out of his decision were fruitless.

George was considered by all to be the family star. He was a straight A student with a winning personality, an engaging smile, and clear blue eyes which he referred to as his Irish showing. He demonstrated unusual interest in social studies, especially philosophy and history. His parents thought he would be a politician, perhaps a senator or even president, but when his decision to devote himself to the priesthood was final, they knew he was meant to be a cardinal.

Em was relieved that Edgar wasn’t inclined toward the priesthood. In her eyes, he was the more normal of the twins. He was an acceptable student whose aspirations matched her own; to have a nice car, a house in the suburbs, and to raise a family, a daughter for him, a son for her. That would be their slice of the Dream. They spent hours on her family’s back porch discussing the kind of life they would have after they married.

Following his ordination George went on to get a doctoral degree in Theology and History and joined the faculty of Fordham University in New York. A freethinking priest, he was considered somewhat of a maverick but was well liked by his superiors. Given his excellence as an associate professor of history and theology at Fordham coupled with his deep Christian conviction, it appeared certain that he was destined to rise higher in the Church.

Edgar worked at several jobs after graduating from high school, but his big opportunity came at Phlatsko Tires. They spotted more than average ability in the young man strongly advising him to get a college education and an MBA. To show their commitment to him the company offered to pay his tuition. At the university he had developed into a decent halfback which made him popular with the opposite sex, but he was determined to remain true to his high school sweetheart. After graduation he became successful as a salesman for his company, winning the much sought after assignment of negotiating a contract with the Japanese.

As Em was turning these thoughts over in her mind, Edgar got one of the shaking episodes that had plagued him since the ill-fated flight. She put her arms around him, pressing his still bandaged head against her and murmuring over and over again, You’ll be okay, my baby, you’ll be okay. But inside herself, Em knew he wasn’t okay. She was now convinced he needed further medical help. As soon as he relaxed, she called their family physician who agreed he should be evaluated. Before her husband had a chance to say no, an appointment was made for three days later.

Edgar spent the afternoon and evening still in his pajamas, nervously pacing about the house. He forced himself to concentrate on the next day’s meeting with his boss. He found it difficult to concentrate as he head hadn’t cased throbbing since his injury and, if he got up to quickly, he grew lightheaded. Nevertheless, he got the report written and typed and was ready for work the next day.

The meeting with his boss went better than he dared hope. The top management was brought into the CEO’s office to hear his report repeated. Edgar beamed as they pumped his hand and thumped his back. The CEO estimated potential profits would be in the millions and translated his pleasure into an on-the-spot promotion to Vice President in charge of a newly created Division of Far Eastern Sales. Edgar was thunderstruck at this major advance. He rushed home when his boss told him to leave early so he could get over his jet lag.

Emily, pleased and excited at the news, hugged and kissed her equally excited husband. Now we can put in that pool we’ve been wanting! she exclaimed. They pirouetted around the room until Edgar became dizzy and was forced to sit down. Another shaking fit was triggered as Edgar realized as Vice President of Far Eastern Sales and Marketing, he had to fly frequently to the Orient. Fly, he moaned, I can’t even think about an airplane without . . . and he trailed off unable to finish his sentence since the shaking had gotten so severe. Em was glad she had made the doctor’s appointment.

Emily was totally devoted to her husband and their daughter. She had grown up in Toms River where she and Edgar were high school classmates. They married shortly after Edgar’s graduation from Northwestern University. She worked as an assistant office manager in an insurance company prior to Allison’s birth, after which she became a full time housewife. By the time the baby arrived, Edgar was earning enough to enable her to continue staying at home.

Now her lifestyle seemed threatened by his phobic behavior. His fear of flying, she theorized, was something he could solve if he put his mind to it. She had read in one of her women’s magazines that various health problems could be made worse by anxiety. She was fearful that under the stress of his flying phobia, he might develop high blood, or even worse problems, if he didn’t stop smoking and lose some weight.

Three days later, she was pleased when the doctor found his blood pressure normal but shocked when psychiatric care was recommended. You’re a bit crazy, she said, but you’re not a nut! In her range of acceptable medical interventions, she could go as far as acupuncture but not all the way to psychiatric therapy. When Allison came home from school that evening, they held a family conference. Despite Allison’s positive support for the doctor’s recommendation, neither Edgar nor Emily was convinced it was the wisest thing to do. They procrastinated for several more weeks before Allison’s viewpoint that her dad might benefit from psychiatric help prevailed. Edgar made an appointment to see Dr. Aaron Glatzer, a psychiatrist recommended by his HMO. The way Edgar figured it, in the weeks that had passed since that fateful flight from Tokyo he’d not seen any improvement in his fear of flying. He’d gotten by at work since Board approval for the new Division and his formal appointment as Vice President took time. After approval, he needed more time to set up and organize his new division, hire personnel, and get the ball rolling. Now that all that was accomplished, his presence in the Far East could no longer be postponed.

Their new swimming pool was almost finished, and was expected to be ready for the coming summer. It was a handsome, irregularly shaped pool with real rocks along one side set off by elaborate landscaping. Much of Edgar’s increase in salary and the commissions from overseas sales had been spent on the project. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize his new position with this increased financial responsibility.

Edgar was ill prepared for his first visit with Dr. Glatzer. He fantasized that he would lie down on a comfortable couch and relate to the psychiatrist his problem and the trauma that led up to it. He might even be asked about his childhood and his marriage. The white haired doctor would wear a crumpled tweed jacket and look an awful lot like Sigmund Freud. He would scribble furiously on a note pad and say hmmm every once in a while, give him a prescription and send him home. In a short time, his flying phobia would be gone. But he was wrong. It didn’t work that way at all. Dr. Glatzer was a much younger man than the Freud pictured in Edgar’s mind. He was slight of build almost to the point of being ascetic. He wore an immaculate white lab coat instead of a tweed jacket and directed Edgar to a chair rather than a couch. His calm, prophet-like demeanor and deep hypnotic voice gave him something of an oracular presence. He didn’t scribble in a notebook but recorded their conversation on tape.

Dr. Glatzer was born in Brooklyn of second generation immigrant parents. He had overcome many obstacles to graduate at the top of his medical school class at Harvard and complete a prestigious psychiatry residency at Stanford University. He remained in California where he established a private practice of psychiatry. In their home in Santa Barbara, Aaron Glatzer and his family enjoyed the uniformly good weather of southern California and an intellectual climate that supported non-traditional beliefs. A number of celebrities were among his patients including several movie stars. Not all of his colleagues regarded him highly, however. Some believed his views on past life regression analysis were too extreme. Yet those more closely associated with him were ardent supporters, and his patients loved him. A number of his interesting case histories were presented by Dr. Glatzer at professional meetings. These presentations caused a great deal of controversy which brought considerable attention to his work. Glatzer couldn’t know that Edgar was destined to bring far more attention to his revolutionary ideas.

At the end of his first visit, Edgar was disappointed that no medication was prescribed. Instead, the recommendation was made that he be hypnotized during the next visit. And, worst of all, his airplane phobia hadn’t gone away. When he arrived home, he related to Emily what the psychiatrist had said. She listened quietly until he mentioned hypnotism. Em referred to it as the H word. She was sure it was the grossest kind of quackery and wouldn’t hear of it being done to her Edgar! Initially, he was not so disturbed at the thought of hypnotism, but he grew more and more opposed to the idea as Emily repeatedly denounced such a treatment. Not entirely sure of whom to believe or what to do, he turned to the one person he trusted even more than Em—his brother, George.

The next day at work, Edgar locked himself in his office to secure total privacy and sat down at his computer to compose a letter to his brother.

Edgar Wedge

Vice President, Sales & Marketing

Phlatsko Tires

1800 Los Feliz Boulevard

Los Angeles, CA 90027

Fr. George Wedge

History Department

Fordham College at Rose Hill

Bronx, NY 10458

Dear Socks,

Don’t know exactly where to begin. I mean it’s been a helluva a year! I know what you’re thinking, and I’m sorry I haven’t called and kept in touch but after you read this, I think you will understand.

I’m here in my new office writing on my new stationery. As you can see, I’ve been promoted to a vice president. A mixed blessing. I hope I can pull it off. It’s not that I can’t do the job or at least the main part of the job. After twelve years in Sales, I ought to have a good enough handle on it. It’s just that . . . and I don’t want you to get worried about me or think I’m crazy or anything like that. It’s just that, well, the job entails a lot of travel. Not around the city travel. I can hack the driving alright. No, it’s air travel. Ever since that flight back from Tokyo last year, I’m nervous about planes. Come to think of it, I guess I haven’t even told you about that either.

My company sent me to Japan last year. It was a great trip, and I made a real sweetheart of a deal over there. Got me my promotion! Only, on the way back, just before we got into L.A. we hit turbulence and the plane went down like a shot duck. I banged against the overhead locker and blood poured into my eyes. Everyone was screaming, and I have to admit that I was too. I mean I really thought the end had come although my life didn’t pass in front of my eyes . . . nothing like that. I don’t know why exactly, maybe it’s not that much of a life, but anyway we pulled out of the dive and landed just fine, and after my head got stitched up, I was okay. But now I can’t even think about planes without shaking and breaking out in a sweat. Emily thinks it’s something like what they call post-traumatic disease or syndrome. I think you know what I mean. It might have been brought on by the bash on my head, although I wasn’t out cold or anything. I had no problem before—maybe a little nervous about flying but I never even took out traveler’s insurance. At first I just ignored it and hoped it would go away, but it’s a year now and, if anything, it’s worse. The problem is, if I want to stay vice president, I have got to travel by plane. Phlatsko is not going to send me around by tramp steamer!

A related problem is I’m having a hard time with this HMO I’m in. I went to this doctor down there. He’s a family doc—you know—not a specialist. He said I should see this psychiatrist. I wasn’t happy with that. I mean I’m not crazy or anything and half of them are, as I can now prove. But, Em thought it couldn’t hurt and said why not give it a whirl. I’m not so sure I understand where she’s coming from but for the cost of the co-pay, what did I have to lose except time? I can’t afford the time to go to a million specialists, and the company needs me to travel. By the way, Em sends her regards and wants to know when you are coming to visit us.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I went to this shrink. He’s a real nut job. I mean he’s very nice and all that, even brilliant in a scholarly sort of way . . . sounds as normal as you and me . . . it’s . . . well, you will see what I mean when you read on. His name is Glatzer, Aaron Glatzer. In fact he comes from New York originally. Brooklyn, New York. I did a little background check. You know I’m used to doing credit checks and it’s not that different. The guy is great on paper. I mean he’s a Harvard Med School grad. He had his psychiatry training here at Stanford, and a lot of movie stars go to him. He’s nearby in Santa Barbara.

Well anyway, I went to this guy three weeks ago and he seemed to know all about this post-traumatic stuff. Everything was going okay and I was happy enough about it until he wanted to hypnotize me. Now I can take a lot from these shrinks but I stop at hypnosis and really draw the line at psychoanalysis. I mean that stuff is for real nuts and, understandably, it’s very big out here. But, I don’t want to get caught up in it. I’ve got enough on my mind! I went home and told Em, and she said that it certainly sounded crazy to her too. But then she pointed out that it would cost me an arm and a leg to go to a doctor outside our HMO. Right now I can’t afford that but I’m really tempted. We finally decided that I would go back next week but only on the condition that Glatzer not do psychoanalysis on me—ever-, and only hypnosis for a short time. Hard as it is to figure her out, again Em said it might do me some good.

I called Glatzer’s office to make an appointment, and he got on the phone himself. Now, that raised by suspicions already. When did you call a doctor and actually have him come to the phone and all on his own, too? He really got me though when he said that he has had very odd things happen to people under hypnosis. I should understand that he will bring me back to my childhood, and beyond, if necessary to help get rid of my air phobia . . . he called it a phobia. I said beyond? What do you mean ‘beyond’? He said, You know, beyond your childhood . . . an earlier time. An earlier time? I said. What can an earlier time have to do with me or with my fear of airplanes? Oh, he said, it’s just that some of us have had past lives and they can affect us in our present lives.

Now, being a Catholic priest and all of that, I believe you’ll agree with me that the man is not . . . not like the rest of us. He’s a psychiatrist. What can I say? So you see I’m up to my chin in all this doo-doo, and the best that can be said for it is it’s only costing me a small co-pay. But, if it doesn’t do my airplane phobia any good—and real soon—I will be so lost in the doo-doo, no one will every find me. Soooo . . . please, like the great brother you have always been, take a minute to give me your advice. You know I trust your opinion more than anyone else’s in this world, and don’t let on, but that includes Emily’s.

And by the way, I tried to reach you at the Rectory a dozen times by phone! You’re either never home or no one goes looking for you. I thought if I sent this to the Department where there’s a secretary, you would be sure to get it. When are you going to buy a computer so I can reach you by e-mail? I sure don’t want to bother you with a personal call when you’re at work.

As always, your brother,

Shoes

E-MAIL MESSAGE

From Father George Wedge to Edgar Wedge

March 6, 1999

Dearest Shoes,

I received your message and took your advice; that is, I partially took your advice. I haven’t bought a computer, but I’ve located one in our library that I can use to send you e-mail messages. Praise the Lord, it sure is cheaper than having to call coast to coast!

Unfortunately, you are quite right that it is difficult to reach me in the Rectory. And, since this computer is not mine, no e-mail message I receive can truly be said to be confidential. I think it best that non-urgent messages be communicated by regular mail. However, if the occasion should arise where you need me quickly, alert our department secretary, and I will get to you as soon as possible.

I have done some reading on post-traumatic stress syndrome since receiving you letter. Apparently, the problem you’re having can actually become worse with time if it is not properly attended to. Psychological counseling is recommended. By the way, that is not the same as psychoanalysis so you needn’t have any fears on that score. You should know that the Church is not against psychiatrists. On the contrary, we often find them useful. Personally, I prefer to work out my problems direct with Him, but if this isn’t working for you, I would encourage you to continue seeing your psychiatrist.

There is another alternative to consider. I asked a fellow priest in the NY Order, whom I respect greatly, and he advised exorcism. I know that exorcism, to our twentieth century ears sounds, well, a bit out of fashion, but it can be very effective! The difficulty I am having is in locating a qualified exorcist in the L.A. area. I must admit I never thought that would be a problem. In any event, I will continue to work on that.

Without sounding terribly like your parish priest, let me urge you to take care of any dark blots that you may have on your soul. If there are any, go to confession without delay and have them removed. This, too, can go a long way, as I think you know, toward lifting the burdens you are facing. In the meantime, I advise that you continue with your appointment to see Dr. Glatzer. I’m not sure either what he is driving at by referring to past lives. If he means that literally, know that the Church does not believe in reincarnation.

Also, congratulations on your promotion! I, too, hope it will fly. Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t be opening old wounds. Please give all my love to Emily and my favorite niece, Allison. I don’t know when I will be able to come out for a visit. It’s not because I don’t want to, but I’m terribly busy here right now.

As always, in the hand of our Lord, I am your brother,

Socks

Edgar ran off to find Emily. He clutched his brother’s e-mail message tightly in one hand as he coursed through their overpriced suburban L.A. split level.

Emily! Mail from Socks. Come see.

She didn’t respond. He called several times before a distant voice answered, I’m out in the yard. What are you saying? I’ll be right in.

E-mail. An e-mail from George. He wants me to see an exorcist.

He’s crazy . . . only more so than Edgar Wedge!

And what’s that supposed to mean?

Eddie, if you would only relax more. Cut out your smoking. I mean you’re up to three packs a day. Three packs! Get on a good diet and drop twenty pounds. It would do you a world of good. It says right her in the Ladies Home Journal that smoking and overweight can have as much of a bad effect on you mental health as on you blood pressure. Here. Read it for yourself.

Oh, and I suppose the Ladies Home Journal knows more medicine that the HMO.

I wouldn’t be at all surprised.

Edgar handed the e-mail over to his wife and sat down in the overstuffed reclining chair he loved to call his own. Settling himself deeply into its soft brown cushions, he watched Em read it as intently as Effie, the family cat, stalked her prey. He looked for telltale signs of approval or disapproval but Em was being her inscrutable best. She finally lifted her face from the page and looked toward the ceiling without saying a word. He knew, then, that it wasn’t all bad and it wasn’t all good. At least she was thinking about it.

Her meditation concluded as she remarked, Well, as far as the exorcist thing, I would tell your brother not to bother looking. It’s ridiculous. About keeping your appointment with the psychiatrist? As I said to you before, what do you have to lose? I’d keep the appointment. And as far as confession, you haven’t been in years. Come to think of it, maybe you should go.

Em, tell the truth. You don’t think I’m a nut do you?

No, of course not. You’re a little crazy but you are not a real nut. You’re certainly not as nutty as your brother. Imagine! An exorcist in this day and age.

"But Em, you don’t understand. Those priests, they take that stuff seriously.

They . . .

Well, leave me out of it. If you want to be exorcised you just go ahead.

Edgar realized that she had made her final pronouncement on the subject. It would be useless to press her further. He extricated himself from the clutches of the great brown chair and retrieved the e-mail from the table where she had left it. Stuffing it into his pocket, he headed over to the refrigerator to grab a sandwich and a beer. He thought he would catch the Laker’s game on TV and mull this over.

CHAPTER TWO

Edgar pulled up to the curb outside the doctor’s office and reluctantly got out of his Chevy Lumina, fearing he would be in for an unsettling experience. God! Think of it . . . HYPNOTISM!

The receptionist rose to greet him, coming around from her elegant, oval desk and hardly making a sound as she glided over a plush, immaculately white carpet. She was an attractive woman, dressed in white; her clinical coat was tailored to her tall, shapely figure just revealing her long, slender legs as it peeled away with each step she took.

Mr. Wedge, she smiled broadly at him. Doctor has been expecting you. He’s on the phone now but I’ll tell him you’re here. I know he is anxious to see you. Please have a seat.

He couldn’t help feeling a bit intimidated, just as he was during his first visit to Dr. Glatzer’s office. The place exuded wealth and good taste. He unconsciously brushed the back of his pants before sitting down on the settee the receptionist offered to him. He regretted not having put on a jacket and tie.

Can I bring you coffee? An expresso perhaps?

Yeah. I mean yes that would be . . . uh, fine. Regular coffee, no milk or sugar.

As the receptionist went for his coffee, Edgar remembered to sit all the way back into the settee rather than perch on the edge of it. In a moment she was back with the coffee and shortly after, Dr. Glatzer appeared as if by magic, silently materializing from behind an exquisite Japanese screen. Edgar instinctively started to rise to his feet forgetting the coffee on his lap. He wasn’t proud of his heroic attempt to save the immaculate, white carpet . . . it was ugly . . . but it was successful.

Oh excuse me, he groaned. I’m just a bit nervous.

Quite all right Mr. Wedge, the psychiatrist answered. Please don’t be concerned. Not a drop was spilled. Won’t you come into my office?

Glatzer softly closed the door behind them and motioned Edgar to the divan stationed at the center of the graciously appointed room. Edgar, again brushing the back of his pants, sat on it as lightly as his two hundred pound frame permitted. He was conscious of a soft hissing sound emanating from the divan as the cushions slowly settled under him. He wondered if the doctor heard it too. His eyes traveled over to the psychiatrist sitting on a rather austere, elegant armchair. He looked otherworldly to Edgar. His