“Come on in, Major,” Lieutenant Patrick McGrory, MC, USN, said to Major Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR.
Pickering was in pajamas, a blue bathrobe, and felt slippers. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked into the office.
“Have a seat,” McGrory said. “I’m Pat McGrory.”
He leaned across his desk and put his hand out.
Pick made no move to take the hand.
“Funny about the seat,” Pick said. “I seem to remember that officers are supposed to get out of their seats when a more senior officer enters a room.”
McGrory stood up. “Sorry,” he said.
“As you were,” Pick said.
McGrory smiled.
“Does that mean I can sit down now?” he asked.
“Be my guest, Mr. McGrory,” Pick said.
“Actually, that’s Dr. McGrory, sir.”
“Be my guest, Dr. McGrory.”
“I’m a psychiatrist,” McGrory said as he sat and motioned for Pick to do the same. “And you are in the psychiatric ward of the U.S. Naval Hospital, San Diego. This is our initial—sometimes called ‘the welcoming’—interview.”
“I never would have guessed, with the locked doors and the steel screens on the windows.”
McGrory smiled at him.
“Funny, nobody told me I was nuts in Japan,” Pick said. “They told me—rather unnecessarily—that I was a little underweight and that my teeth are loose in my gums, but the word ‘nuts’ never came up. At least until yesterday when the guy on the airplane threatened to stick a needle in my arm unless I got on his gurney and allowed myself to be strapped in.”
“I heard about that,” McGrory said. “And I understand you said rude things to the nurse when she wouldn’t let you use the telephone.”
“I wanted to call my mother,” Pick said. “And I am unable to understand why I couldn’t.”
“Well, for one thing, you had just got in, and you hadn’t had your initial interview, in which the rules are explained. You can call your mother as soon as we’re finished here.”
“And when will that be?”
“Shortly.”
“Tell me about the rules,” Pick said.
“They vary from patient to patient—”
“Tell me about the ones that apply to me.”
“—depending on that patient’s problems.”
“My problems are my teeth are a little loose in my gums and I’m a little underweight.”
“You have gone through what I understand is one hell of an ordeal. Do you want to tell me about that?”
“No.”
“Any reason why not?”
“I’d prefer to forget about it.”
“That’s understandable,” McGrory said. “But from my viewpoint, the Navy’s viewpoint, we have to wonder what damage your ordeal caused.”
“We’re back to the loose teeth and lost weight,” Pick said.
“The lost weight we can deal with by giving you a lot to eat. The food here’s pretty good. And, I’m told, as you get your weight back, the loose teeth problem will gradually go away.”
“Then why am I locked up in the booby hatch? That’s all that’s wrong with me.”
“And I hope to be able to soon certify, after we’ve talked some, that there are fifty-two cards in your deck.”
“Plus a couple of jokers. Take my word for it.”
“There are three categories of patients here. You—because you just got here and have not been evaluated—are in Category One, which means that you are restricted to the ward. If you need anything from the Ship’s Store, for example, you give a list to the nurse, and she’ll see that you’ll get it. You’re not allowed to have money in your possession. When you move up to Category Two . . .”
“Let me guess. I can have money in my possession?”
“With which you can settle your Ship’s Store bill. Which brings that up. When was the last time you were paid?”
“I guess four months ago, something like that.”
McGrory made a note on a lined pad.
“When you move up to Category Two, they’ll give you a partial pay,” he went on. “It will take some time before your records catch up with you.”
“What other great privileges go with Category Two?”
“You have freedom of the building, which means that you can go to the Ship’s Store, and the movies—”
“Whoopee!”
“—and the Officers’ Club for your meals, if you so desire, and where, I understand, intoxicants of various types are on sale.”
“You trust the loonies with booze, do you?”
“Until they demonstrate they can’t be trusted with it,” McGrory said. “The uniform for Category Two patients is the bathrobe and pajamas. That’s so we can easily recognize them if they give in to temptation and walk out the door. Then they’re brought back and it’s Category One all over again.”
“Fascinating! And Category Three?”
“When you work your way up to Category Three, you are permitted