Guests on Earth by Lee Smith

institutions, pioneered by Freud and Jung.
    So my initial encounters with Mrs. Fitzgerald occurred within this larger—this very large and ever-changing—context, being significant, yet no more significant really than my interactions with a score of others, and always superseded in importance by my relationship with the Carrolls. It was only later, in retrospect, and in light of what was to come, that these scenes stand out.
    And one of the most frightening of all, for me, stands out in silhouette against the vision of a leaping fire.

CHAPTER 3
    T HIS INCIDENT OCCURRED IN S eptember when a good-sized group of us, children and adults alike, about thirty in all, including staff, took a picnic hike up to Point Lookout on Balsam Mountain. These outings were much sought after by us all, dangled like carrots before us, the “prize” for the effort we had exerted, the progress we were supposedly making. I was surprised to find Robert in the group, since he was so notoriously resistant to the program. Yet there he was, too, in striped shorts paired incongruously with a white dress shirt, knobby knees and fragile legs ending in those high black socks and big brown boots. He carried a rustic walking stick with the bark still on it and wore a silly straw hat too small for his head. His forehead gleamed hugely, whitely, in the sun. His blue eyes swam behind his glasses. He looked like a crazy professor out for an afternoon nature hike. Suddenly I realized that this was a picture of exactly who he would probably become. The wide smile broke across his face when he saw me. Lily Ponder was right, I realized: he did like me. And I did like him, though I also hated him a little bit, too, for his weakness, his oddness, his frailty.
    I liked others on the picnic trip, as well: Lily herself, for she had turned out to be wonderfully outspoken and acerbic, once she began to communicate; fat, flushed Virginia Day, who was calming down; and of course Miss Tippin, funny and odd as usual.
    Mrs. Fitzgerald, always an enthusiastic participant in any sort of athletic activity, was a part of this group, too. I had not seen her for a while. Someone said that she had been on a family vacation trip to Virginia Beach, which might be why she appeared somewhat moodier and more distant than usual that afternoon as we all waited for the van. Patients generally did not do well when they went to visit their families, returning to us disheveled and nervous. Perhaps I should be thankful to have no family at all, I thought—though I didn’t really believe this, of course. Mrs. Fitzgerald stood apart from the rest of us, smoking and frowning and moving her mouth occasionally, as if she carried on a dialogue with herself.
    F INALLY, THE VAN a nd several cars arrived, followed by a truck carrying our food and other supplies. It would travel by another road, up the back of the mountain, so that our picnic would be ready when we arrived. Mr. Axelrod, the head physical education teacher, was in charge of this outing, wearing his customary cowboy hat and sunglasses as he read our names off a clipboard and directed us into the cars. “Come on now, put that out! No smoking in the van.” He hustled the reluctant Mrs. Fitzgerald along. She got in last, up front with him. Robert went in one of the cars. I sat with Lily in the very back of the van, trying to ignore a new arrival, Melissa Handy, who sat weeping in the seat in front of us.
    The wind from the open windows blew our hair about; it felt wonderful. Miss Phoebe Dean, the music teacher, came down the aisle passing out tangerines, a rare treat. Melissa Handy turned around and gave hers to us without explanation, then said, “Do you ever feel that there is another person, a different person, inside your body clawing at the inside of your head? Clawing to get out?”
    “No,” said Lily.
    “Bitch,” said Melissa.
    We split her tangerine and ate it.
    Miss Phoebe made us sing “The Old Gray Mare” and “Red River