‘Yeah, guinea-pigs,’ he said. That’s us.’ He blew smoke on to the chill air. ‘It doesn’t figure,’ he said. ‘We’re all so different. You’d think if they were going in for this specialized treatment lark they would lump people together who all had the same problems. Here we are, all being boiled up in the same pot, yet we’re hardly able to have a decent conversation with one another. Doesn’t make sense. Not to me anyhow. Been here six months myself. I’m OK now. Bastards know I’ve nowhere to go, though. I sometimes think they keep me just for when the inspectors come round. I must look presentable or something. They exaggerate everything of course, tell them the worst about me, how sick I was when they brought me here, what stunning progress I’ve made and all that crap. Truth is, I was never that bad. Bit of trouble with my temper, that’s all. The wife cleared off, took the kids. That can’t have helped, I suppose. Drank a bit too. But not now. They reckon I half-killed a guy. Daft thing to say: you either kill someone or you don’t. Personally I remember nothing. They gave me a drug meant to make me remember but all I saw was nig-nogs hiding in the grass. They could discharge me now but they won’t find me anywhere to live. Bastards. I don’t know what they’ve got planned for you. If I did know, you’d be the first to find out. If I find out I’ll tell you. Did the same for Kaufmann. Didn’t help him though, didn’t stop him going clean out of his mind. They got him out first, clever piece of work. But I could tell he wasn’t right. We all could. Time I put pen to paper. There ought to be some sort of investigation into the things that go on round here. One day we’ll all end up like Kaufmann. Mind, you’re a one, aren’t you? I watched them bring you in. You’re putting up a bloody good show. I bet no one’s ever pulled the wool over your eyes. What’s your secret? I’ve never seen such willpower. Nineteen years in the army, two years in a bin before this place and I’ve never met one like you before. What’s your secret? You can tell me. I’d love to know and I shan’t repeat a word to anyone. Go on, Peter. You tell me.’

He looked at me, chuckled. Then he started to cry.

I often wondered what attracted some people to me, what they saw in me. There was a man at the hospital once, someone not dissimilar to the Major, who moaned and wailed a lot of the short time he was in there. He took to taking me for walks in the hospital grounds, long walks, whole afternoons when he would sit on a bench near the bowling green or by the church telling me his problems, reckoning I was the only one who understood. There’s no accounting for some people. Anyway, one day he just seemed to decide he was better, took his discharge and, to my knowledge, was never seen in the place again. Cured? It happens, they say.