It seemed as though the session was over, when all of a sudden I became aware of Nat’s mouth: it was wide open, his green teeth clearly visible as though lit from within. He began to emit morose groans and grim moans, then curled up tightly into a small ball. I turned on a reading lamp; the shock brought Nat firmly back into the present but only for a few seconds. Then he began screaming all over again, and clawed at his limbs, saying that he had no arms and legs, just stumps. The horrid expression on his face tallied all too well with such ugly utterances. Convinced he had an overview of the horrors that were unfolding, I allowed the session to continue. Nat squatted down in a corner then thrust his head up harshly against a bookcase. Manically, he lunged at me and would have attacked had he not abruptly grasped the gravity of what he was doing. Still, his countenance was one of malice, unmistakably aimed in my direction. Swiftly, his eyes settled upon my Buddha statuette and he rapidly assumed a full lotus position—such agility for one who never exercises!

Unfortunately, this phase didn’t last long and Nat became abusive and generally obnoxious, adopting a most odd and unplaceable accent. I couldn’t retrieve him from this state and he kept shouting “kill Nat” and pummelling the floor with his fists. He seemed to think he was in a padded cell. “It was a crime before Nat was born”; this was another memorable if baffling phrase which he kept crying.

This chilling performance finally lapsed into another extreme: he became a fawning namby pamby effeminate homosexual, of the music hall caricature type. Nat continued alternating between these various “characters” for so long and with so much energy that I could not get through to him. (There might be a paper in this, or at least a magazine article.)

In the end I had to call his father and one of my colleagues to help restrain him. At one point Nat escaped out of the front door, heedlessly scuttling barefoot over the wet grass. Fortunately he was in his mincing mode and we were soon able to round him up and take him home.

I tried to administer a sedative but by now his arms were flailing and he was screaming again. I couldn’t locate a vein. He squealed. I made a right pig’s ear of it, covering his arms in bruises and almost gave up the idea of an intravenous tranquiliser, but eventually I succeeded and he soon calmed down for real, indeed becoming very woozy. His parents were very helpful.

TUE MAR 4

Before going to the surgery I looked in on Nat to ensure he was “himself”. I made a time to see him later in the day and explained to his parents what had happened the night before, even though I still don’t fully understand it myself.