The Force of Truth

By Eugene Risi

When army recruit, Sean Donoghue, tries to commit suicide, Lieutenant Phillip Selby, is sent to see him in hospital to make a psychological assessment. Selby realizes that this is a delicate case and that unless Sean undergoes psychotherapy, he is likely to try again. As Sean works through the shadows haunting him to confront myriad layers of ab

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Universal Breakthrough
• Release date: Sep 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956094381

Eugene Risi

Eugene Risi was born in Johannesburg, South Africa in 1960. He is married with three children and presently lives in Verona, Italy, where he teaches English and dedicates himself to writing. His interests vary from literature to history and spirituality. He published his first novel, The Force of Truth, in 2021.

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The Force of Truth

A Story of Personal Growth and Redemption

Eugene Risi

Copyright © 2021 Eugene Risi.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without a prior written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by the copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-956094-39-8 (PB)

ISBN: 978-1-956094-40-4 (HB)

ISBN: 978-1-956094-38-1 (E-book)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Dedicated to the force of truth,

that something deep down thing that doesn’t love a wall,

that wants it down……..

Chapter 1

I’m sitting at my desk with my back to the window as the late afternoon summer light filters into my office from behind me. I look at my watch. 5.30 p.m. I’m doing a psychological assessment and I need to finish it by 6.00 at the latest. I have a date with my girlfriend, Leah, tonight and I still need to change and fight through about an hour’s traffic to get from Pretoria to Johannesburg, all before eight o’c lock.

There done, with six minutes to spare!

I sigh with satisfaction, and putting my hands behind my head, pull my elbows back till I feel the stretch in my neck and shoulders. Ahh!

As I get up to go, the phone rings. I contemplate not answering - after all I’m running an hour overtime - but it might be Leah. It won’t be the first time she cancels at the last minute. As an articled clerk for a legal firm in Johannesburg, she often ends up working into the night. The worst part is that she can’t say no!

‘Hello, Lieutenant Selby.’

There is a crackle on the line. It isn’t Leah but it seems to be Major Viljoen, Head of Psychiatry at the Military Hospital here in Pretoria. My heart sinks as I muse that I also won’t be able to say no if there is an emergency. I curse not leaving sooner.

‘Hello, Lieutenant, are you there?’

‘Yes, hello,’ I say again, a trifle impatiently but he doesn’t seem to notice.

‘Lieutenant, sorry about the time. There’s been a suicide attempt. In your unit, this afternoon.’

‘Oh no!’ I start to say, registering my shock, but the voice cuts me off.

‘His condition is stable but if you could come directly to the hospital tomorrow morning, I’d appre……’

Another crackle and the phone goes dead, sparing me the need to answer, but the gist is clear. Tomorrow, not tonight. I don’t want to risk another minute in Personnel Services Unit, so in two ticks I’m out of the office and running towards my car.

At nine o’clock sharp the following morning, I’m in the Psychiatric wing of the Milita Hospital in Pretoria. The major is predictably nowhere to be found so I go in search of the nurse on duty. She fills me in as to what happened.

‘He’s part of this year’s new intake,’ she says affably. ‘He tried to slit his wrists. Fortunately, not too deeply. Perhaps he didn’t know how. Sometimes it happens, at least on the first try. Perhaps he wasn’t quite convinced,’ she adds by way of suggestion.

I nod. ‘Where was he when it happened?’

‘He was absent from PT in the afternoon, and they found him unconscious in a pool of his own blood and rushed him to hospital. He is stable but still sedated. You can go in if you wish, Lieutenant. He is in intensive care.’

I go to his ward. I pull up a chair and just sit and watch him as he drifts between sleep and wakefulness, wondering what his story is, what has led such a young man - still a kid really - to this drastic impasse. His name is Sean Donaghue - Irish descent I would think - although he has a dark, olive complexion (maybe he has a Greek or Italian mother) and short, black, cropped hair. Slim, well-built. Soft features. Long, thin fingers. There are faint calluses on his hands - gardening? I don’t know yet which part of the country he comes from. Or why he ended up in Personnel Services Corps this January in 1983 - if there is a why. Computer selections are random. I have some investigating to do.

Back at the unit, I draw his file. His details are few: Sean Donal Donaghue. Born: 10 October 1964. White (otherwise he wouldn’t be in the army), black hair, brown eyes, 175 cm tall. Parents: mother deceased, foster homes since the age of five: the Durban Catholic Children’s Home, Durban and Smuts House, Pietermaritzburg. Education: Matric, School Leaving Certificate. Religion: Anglican. Contact: Mr. and Mrs. Hall, Pietermaritzburg (the relevant contact number). Not much to go on. I note there is no mention of his father. Deceased or whereabouts unknown? Nor is there anything to suggest prior treatment for depression. No use in thinking the worst either, but all the same, something has led this young man to try and take his own life. Is it something in his past or is it something about coming to the army? Maybe he has relived his parents’ deaths and he feels abandoned all over again?

The phone rings. As I answer, I take in my office: all of the three-by-four metres. After my trip to the hospital, it hits me how bare the white-washed walls look. Apart from the curtains (a nondescript faded beige), the grey filing cabinets and the bookcase on my left near the door, my desk, a few extra chairs for visitors or therapy sessions and my university Master’s degree hanging on the wall on my right, there is no other furniture or colour. A poster or two might be nice. I make a mental note to get some.

It’s Major du Toit, my immediate superior. Sean is out of danger and fully awake. Can I come over and fill out some forms?

After work the next day, I pop over to see Private Donoghue. The military hospital is only ten minutes from Personnel Services’ Base and is in any case on my way home to my flat. The evening is fresh after the rain and I stand for a few seconds in the garden near the parking lot, looking at the sky, streaked as it is by high cirrus clouds.

I find Sean’s ward. He has been moved from intensive care and is in ward 409. He is alone in the ward and is in the bed near the window. He appears to be looking out at the city in the distance. He turns as I enter but the look in his eyes is somewhat vacant. I introduce myself as Lieutenant Selby, offering my hand. He rallies his attention and takes it, greeting me with a limp handshake. There is always much to read in a handshake but this time I simply put it down to the effect of the medication. Each wrist is still bandaged but other than that, and the bags under his eyes, there are no physical signs of his ordeal. After his initial shyness (understandable) he becomes more engaging, although I sense that he is holding back. I have the sense he knows he has done something … well, extreme. In my experience, people who try to commit suicide and survive, suffer a sense of guilt over what they have done, or if not quite guilt, then a sense of shame over what they think other people will think. The first comes from a belief that suicide is a terrible sin, the second from a fear of social exclusion. Sometimes people have both. In Sean’s case, I don’t yet know which but I have a hunch it’s the second since I feel him gauging my attitude towards him and he begins to relax when he senses I am not judging him.

‘You gave us quite a scare there, jong,’ I say. My colloquial tone, my use of ‘jong’, which can mean anything from ‘young man’ to ‘buddy’, reassures him. He smiles shyly but still doesn’t venture to speak.

I anticipate his unuttered question. ‘The major says there will be no charges, as long as you don’t do it again.’ For a moment, I see the relief in his eyes and he manages a sheepish ‘Thank-you.’ Then the confusion returns. He turns towards the window.

‘Is there anyone you want me to call for you?’ I ask. ‘Family, a friend?’ There is no answer. He probably hasn’t registered what I said. I stay with him a few more minutes, then it is time to go.

‘You just hang in there, Private, and I’ll see you in a few days.’ I pat him on the shoulder and walk out.

‘Keep an eye on him,’ I say to the nurse just outside his hearing range. ‘He’s not out of the woods yet. He may still try again.’

Chapter 2

Another few days and I notice a great improvement. Nurse informs me Sean is awake. His medication has been halved and he is quite chatty. It’s not yet time to talk about his attempt to commit suicide but I feel encouraged, not because he is out of danger, but because whatever triggered his attempt on his life is receding. It would appear from her description that his character is sufficiently robust and outgoing. He has that on his side at l east.

As I enter, he turns to greet me. I notice a healthy tan has returned to his cheeks.

‘Hello, Lieutenant,’ he says.

‘Hello, Private,’ I say. I’m glad to see you so much better. The emphasis is on ‘so’.

He smiles.

‘Hey,’ I say, trying to sound friendly, ‘Is there anyone you’d like me to contact. You know, family, a friend. Anyone.’

His eyes darken a moment. A flutter of indecision. Can he trust me?

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’d like you to contact Auntie Meg, umm, Mrs. Hall. Her number is 33……..’

‘That’s okay, I have it on record,’ I say, interrupting him. ‘What would you like me to say?’

‘That I’m in hospital, and that I’m OK.’

‘Can I tell her what happened?’

‘Is it necessary?

‘You’ll have to tell people eventually,’ I say.

Hesitation, then: ‘Well, Okay! But only her.’

I phone Auntie Meg the next day. I introduce myself and tell her briefly what happened. She is shocked. Sean had been so excited about going to the army. School had been difficult. He had been so happy to leave the Foster Home at Smuts House.

‘When