The nurse cleared her throat. I looked up from my reading and sprang to my feet, pulling her by the arm until we were both outside my office door. “Can you stay?” I asked in a low voice. “In case he takes a turn for the worse?”

“I’m sorry, doctor,” she replied, “I must attend to my rounds. If you need me, just ring the bell.”

As soon as I had closed the door behind me, Artopoulos jumped up, smiled, and, taking a cigarette from his shirt pocket, began to smoke as he sauntered to the couch and let himself plump happily into it.

“Sorry about the histrionics, but it isn’t easy getting an audience with Your Highness these days.”

“Is this one of your pranks, Artopoulos?”

“Not at all, old chap. In fact, this whole war is a little on the serious side, wouldn’t you agree? Not that you would know it, from this island of tranquility.” He flashed one of his trademark smirks, laced with irony.

“I know all about it through my patients. I was assigned this role because somebody thought I might make a difference here. And so far that has tended to be the case.”

“You could have insisted on active combat, I suppose,” said Artopoulos. “But I don’t blame you for avoiding it. It’s hell out there.” He stood and began pacing the room. “Balthazar, you need to get me out of this war.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we’re friends,” he said, turning toward me. He raised an eyebrow. “Are we not?” No, I thought to myself, we are most decidedly not friends.

“How do you suppose I might go about it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. A medical discharge perhaps? Write me off as an incurable case.”

“But you’re not sick.”

“They don’t know it.”

“I wish it were as easy as you presume, but I can’t do that with a stroke of my pen. I don’t have the authority. There are processes in place precisely to avoid that kind of…” I realized I could not finish the sentence politely.

“Of what?”

“Of cheating.”

“Cheating?” Now it was his turn to be taken aback. “I’m sorry you feel that way after I’ve taken such trouble to find you.” There was a hint of menace in his voice.

Artopoulos paused, standing at the windowsill, looking out at the park that surrounded the asylum. “Careful someone doesn’t see you,” I said. He returned to the couch. My mind was bursting with questions. Why had he come to me? Why had he not crossed with someone else?

“Well, since you’re here, why don’t you tell me something. A little talking cure could be very helpful.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about your demotions.”