On a Beam of Light by Gene Brewer Page A

America by sight or sound and, in fact, usually spends a part of his lunch hour each day on the lawn watching and listening. He remarked once that his wife does the same thing at exactly the same time so that, in a sense, they enjoy the experience together even though they are miles apart.
    The reason I mention this now is that I had not seen him on the lawn with his field glasses for some time, or heard him whistle a bird call as he strode the corridors. In fact, he seemed to be acting a bit strangely in a number of ways, not the least of which was his plan to raise funds for the new wing (his legacy?) by getting prot to go on television. I suspected he was suffering from a mild case of depression, perhaps due to his having reached the standard retirement age of sixty-five. Or maybe he was just overworked—my own tenure as acting director was the most difficult period of my life.
    I wanted to come right out and ask him if there was anything I could do to lighten his load, but I knew that would get nowhere. Besides, I had enough problems without adding him to my already overcrowded schedule.
    When I returned to my office I found Giselle sitting in my chair, her feet resting on the stack of papers covering my desk, oblivious to her surroundings. “Giselle, you can’t have my desk. You’re only here because—”
    “I think I know when he’s leaving. “
    “You do? When?”
    “About the middle of September. “
    “How do you know that?”
    “When I said there may be a trip to the zoo in the next couple of weeks, he said, ‘I can just make it. Count me in. ’”
    “Okay. Good. Keep it up. Do you have any idea yet who he’s taking with him when he leaves?”
    “He won’t say a word about that. Says he has to work out some details. But it could be anyone. ” “That’s what I was afraid of. Anything else?” “I need a place to spread out. ” “Cmon. Let’s see if we can find you a desk somewhere. “
    “All right, ” I said, after watching prot devour a half-dozen oranges. “Let’s get to work. “
    “You call this work? Sitting around chatting and eating fruit? It’s a picnic!”
    “Yes, I know your thoughts about work. Now—is Robert there with you?”
    “Yep, he’s right nearby. “
    “Good. I’d like him to come out for a while. “
    “What—without your hypnosis trick?”
    “Robert? May I speak with you please?”
    Prot sighed, set aside the ragged remains of an orange, and gazed dully at the ceiling.
    “Robert? This is very important. Please come out for a moment. Everything will be all right. No harm will come to you or to anyone…. “
    But prot just sat there with his know-it-all smirk. “You’re wasting your time, gino. One, two—hey—where’s the dot?”
    “I’m not going to hypnotize you just yet. “
    “Why not?”
    “I’ve got another idea. “
    “Will wonders never cease!”
    I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out the whistle. Prot watched me with amusement as I put it to my lips and blew. At that moment the smirk vanished and a different person appeared, only I wasn’t sure who it was. He wasn’t slouched in the chair as Robert usually is. “Robert?”
    “I’m here, Dr. Brewer. I’ve been waiting for you to call. ” Though he seemed quite unhappy about it, he was nonetheless there, apparently ready to talk.
    I stared at him, savoring the moment. It was the first time I had ever seen Robert when he wasn’t catatonic or under hypnosis (with rare exceptions—see K-PAX). But the triumph was undercut by a hint of suspicion. Something wasn’t right—it seemed too easy. On the other hand, he had been pondering his dilemma for years, and perhaps, as sometimes happens, he was simply getting bored with living in a figurative straitjacket. “How are you feeling?”
    “Not so hot. ” He looked much like prot, of course, but there were dissimilarities. For example, he was far more serious, not the least bit cocky. His voice was a little different. And he seemed