Legends by Robert Littell Page A

even had different ages. One of them was unable to communicate verbally while another spoke a language in his case Yiddish that the others didn’t understand.”
    “How is it possible for one personality to speak a language that another of his personalities doesn’t understand?”
    “It’s a perfect example of how compartmented what you call legends can be in the brain.”
    “Were the seven personalities aware of each other’s existence?”
    “Some were, some weren’t. This aspect can vary from case to case. More often than not several of the personalities seem to be aware of the existence of several other of the personalities they think of them the way you would think of friends who you know exist but haven’t seen in awhile. And there is what we call a trace personality in your case it would appear to be Martin Odum who serves as a repository of information about all of the other personalities except the host personality that experienced the trauma. This would account for the sensation you have that, as you said a moment ago, in a corner of your brain you have access to the specialized knowledge or talents of another alter personality, or as you would put it, another legend.”
    “I have a question, Dr. Treffler.”
    “Listen, since we’re going to be working together for some time, how about if we move on to a first name basis. Call me Bernice and I’ll call you Martin, okay?”
    “Sure. Bernice.”
    “What’s your question, Martin?”
    “I seem to be able to distinguish three operational identities. There’s Martin Odum. There’s Lincoln Dittmann. And there’s one I haven’t introduced you to the Irishman, Dante Pippen. Today of all days, Dante would be out on a pub crawl in Dublin, seeing how many of the city’s pubs he could drink in before the sun set.”
    “What’s so special about today?”
    “It’s Bloomsday, for pete’s sake. All the action in Ulysses takes place ninety years ago today 16 June, 1904.” Martin shut his eyes and angled his head. ” “Bloom entered Davy Byrne’s. Moral pub. The publican doesn’t chat. Stands a drink now and then.” On top of everything, it was a Tuesday, like today. In Ireland, that’s the kind of thing you don’t let pass without praying at what Dante liked to call licensed tabernacles.”
    “Hmmm.”
    “So here’s my question: Is one of my three legends genuine? Or is there a fourth personality lurking in the shadows who’s the original me?
    “Can’t respond to that one yet. Either premise could be correct. There could be a fourth legend, even a fifth. We won’t know until we start to break down the memory barriers, brick by brick, to get to the identity that recognizes himself as the original you.”
    “For that to happen, the childhood trauma will have to surface?”
    “Is that a question or a statement of fact?” Question.
    “I’m going to enjoy working with you, Martin. You’re very quick. You’re not frightened, at least not to the point where you’d walk away from this adventure. The answer to your question is: To get to what you call the original you, you’re almost certainly going to have to experience pain. How do you feel about pain?”
    “Not sure what to answer. Martin Odum may feel one way about it, Lincoln Dittmann and Dante Pippen, another.”
    “On that delightful note, what do you say we call it a day?”
    “Uh-huh.” As an afterthought, Martin asked, “Could I take you up on that aspirin?”
    1997: MARTIN ODUM DISCOVERS THAT NOT MUCH IS SACRED
    From Lower Manhattan, as the crow flies, Crown Heights is a mere four miles across the river but a world away. Since race riots raged in its streets in the early 1990s, this particular section of Brooklyn had enjoyed a degree of extra territoriality Riding in squad cars with the mantra “Courtesy Professionalism Respect” visible on the doors not spattered with mud, police officers patrolled the neighborhood during daylight hours, but only for the most flagrant crimes