Gene Brewer - K-Pax

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K-PAX

Gene Brewer

When we successfully treat a patient ... we experience a burst of joy because we have helped a

suffering person who is happy to have known us. But we also feel a secret joy, because we have come to

know him, and in knowing him we know more of ourselves.

SYLVANO ARIETI

Prologue

IN April, 1990, I received a call from Dr. William Siegel at the Long Island Psychiatric Hospital. Bill

is an old friend of mine, and a distinguished colleague. On this particular occasion the call was a

professional one.

Bill was treating a patient who had been at the hospital for several months. The patient, a white male

in his early thirties, had been picked up by the New York City; police after being found bending over a

mugging victim in the Port Authority Bus Terminal in midtown Manhattan. According to their report his

answers to routine questions were "daffy" and, after they booked him, he was taken to Bellevue Hospital

for evaluation.

Although he was somewhat emaciated, medical examination revealed no organic abnormality, nor

was there evidence of formal thought disorder, aphasia, or auditory hallucination, and he presented a

near-normal affect. However, he did harbor a rather bizarre delusion: He believed he came from another

planet. After a few days' observation he was transferred to Long Island, where he remained for the next

four months.

Bill was unable to do much for him. Although he remained alert and cooperative throughout the

various courses of treatment, the patient was completely unresponsive to the most powerful antipsychotic

drugs. At the end of it all he remained firmly convinced that he was a visitor from "K-PAX." What was

worse, he was able to enlist many of his fellow patients to this fantasy. Even some of the staff were

beginning to listen to him! Knowing that the phenomenology of delusion has long been an interest of mine,

Bill asked me to take a crack at him.

It couldn't have come at a worse time. As acting director of the Manhattan Psychiatric Institute I was

already swamped with more work than I could handle and, indeed, had been phasing out patient

interaction since January of that year. However, the case sounded both interesting and unusual, and I

owed Bill a couple of favors. I asked him to send me a copy of the man's file.

When it arrived I was still bogged down by administrative duties, and a few more days went by

before I found it lying on my desk under a pile of personnel and budget folders. With renewed dismay

over the prospect of another patient I quickly read through the chart. It summarized a puzzling history

indeed. Although our "spaceman" was quite lucid and articulate, and demonstrated a strong awareness

of time and place, he was unable to provide any reliable information as to his actual origin and

background. In short, he was not only delusional, but a total amnesiac as well! I called Bill and asked him

to make arrangements for the transfer of this nameless man, who called himself "prot" not capitalized-to

my own institution.

He arrived the first week in May, and a preliminary session with him was scheduled for the ninth, a

Wednesday, at the time I usually set aside to prepare for my regular "Principles of Psychiatry" lecture at

Columbia University. We met at weekly intervals for several months thereafter. During that period I

developed an extraordinary fondness and regard for this patient, as the following narrative, I trust, will

show.

Although the results of these sessions have been reported in the scientific literature, I am writing this

personal account not only because I think it might be of interest to the general public but also, to

paraphrase Dr. Arieti, because of what he taught me about myself.

Session One

MY First impression, when he was brought into my examining room, was that he was an athlete-a

football player or wrestler. He was a little below average in height, stocky, dark, perhaps even swarthy.

His hair was thick and coal-black. He was wearing sky-blue corduroy pants, a denim shirt, and canvas

shoes. I didn't see his eyes for the first few encounters; despite the relatively soft lighting, he always wore

dark glasses.

I asked him to be seated. Without a word he proceeded to the black vinyl chair and plopped down.

His demeanor was calm and his step agile and well coordinated. He seemed relaxed. I dismissed the

orderlies.

I opened his folder and jotted the date on a clean yellow pad. He watched me quite intently, evincing

a hint of a smile. I asked him whether he was comfortable or needed anything. To my surprise he

requested an apple. His voice was soft but clear, with no detectable regional or foreign accent. I buzzed

our head nurse, Betty McAllister, and asked her to see if there were any available in the hospital

kitchens.

While we waited I reviewed his medical record: Temperature, pulse, blood pressure, EKG, and

blood values were all within the normal range, according to our chief clinic physician, Dr. Chakraborty.

No dental problems. Neurological exam (muscle strength, coordination, reflexes, tone) normal. Left/right

discrimination normal. No problem with visual acuity, hearing, sensing hot or cold or a light touch,

handling platonic solids, describing pictures, copying figures. No difficulty in solving complex problems

and puzzles. The patient was quick-witted, observant, and logical. Except for his peculiar delusion and

total amnesia, he was as healthy as a horse.

Betty came in with two large apples. She glanced at me for approval and, when I nodded, offered

them to the patient. He took them from the little tray. "Red Delicious!" he exclaimed. "My favorite!" After

offering us a taste, which we declined, he took a large, noisy bite. I dismissed my assistant and watched

as "prot" devoured the fruit. I had never seen anyone enjoy anything more. He ate every bit of both

apples, including the seeds. When he had finished, he said, "Thanks and thanks," and waited for me to

begin, his hands on his knees like a little boy's.

Although psychiatric interviews are not normally recorded, we do so routinely at MPI for research

and teaching purposes. What follows is a transcript of that first session, interspersed with occasional

observations on my part. As usual during initial interviews I planned simply to chat with the man, get to

know him, gain his trust.

"Will you tell me your name, please?"

"Yes." Evidence for a sense of humor?

"What is your name?"

"My name is prot." He pronounced it to rhyme with "goat," not "hot."

"Is that your first name or your last?"

"That is all of my name. I am prot."

"Do you know where you are, Mr. prot?"

"Just prot. Yes, of course. I am in the Manhattan psychiatric institute."

I discovered in due course that prot tended to capitalize the names of planets, stars, etc., but not

those of persons, institutions, even countries. For the sake of consistency, and to better depict the

character of my patient, I have adopted that convention throughout this report.

"Good. Do you know who I am?"

"You look like a psychiatrist."

"That's right. I'm Doctor Brewer. What day is it?"

"Ah. You're the acting director. Wednesday."

"Uh-huh. What year?"

"1990."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Very good. Now, Mr.-excuse me-prot: Do you know why you are here?"

"Of course. You think I'm crazy."

"I prefer to use the term `ill.' Do you think you are ill?"

"A little homesick, perhaps."

"And where is `home'?"

"K-PAX."

"Kaypacks?"

"Kay-hyphen-pee-ay-ex. K-PAX."

"With a capital kay?"

"It is all capitals."

"Oh. K-PAX. Is that an island?"

He smiled at this, apparently realizing I already knew he believed himself to be from another world.

But he said, simply, "K-PAX is a PLANET." Then: "But don't worry I’m not going to leap out of your

chest."

I smiled back. "I wasn't worried. Where is K-PAX?" He sighed, tolerantly it seemed, and shook his

head.

"About seven thousand light-years from here. It's in what you would call the CONSTELLATION

LYRA."

"How did you get to Earth?"

"That's somewhat difficult to explain...."

At this point I noted on my pad the surprising observation that, even though we had only been

together a few minutes, and despite all my years of experience, I was becoming a little annoyed by the

patient's obvious condescension. I said, "Try me."

"It's simply a matter of harnessing the energy of light. You may find this a little hard to believe, but it's

done with mirrors."

I couldn't help feeling he was putting me on, but it was a good joke, and I suppressed a chuckle.

"You travel at the speed of light?"

"Oh, no. We can travel many times that speed, various multiples of c. Otherwise, I'd have to be at

least seven thousand years old, wouldn't I?"

I forced myself to return his smile. "That is very interesting," I said, "but according to Einstein nothing

can travel faster than the speed of light, or one hundred eighty-six thousand miles per second, if I

remember correctly."

"You misunderstand Einstein. What he said was that nothing can accelerate to the speed of light

because its mass would become infinite. Einstein said nothing about entities already traveling at the speed

of light, or faster."

"But if your mass becomes infinite when you-"

His feet plopped onto my desk. "In the first place, dr. brewer - may I call you gene? - if that were

true, then photons themselves would have infinite mass, wouldn't they? And beyond that, at tachyon

speeds-"

"Tachyon?"

"Entities traveling faster than the speed of light are called tachyons. You can look it up."

"Thank you. I will." My reply sounds a bit peevish on rehearing the tape. "If I understand you

correctly, then, you did not come to Earth in a spaceship. You sort of `hitched a ride' on a beam of light."

"You could call it that;"

"How long did it take you to get to Earth from your planet?"

"No time at all. Tachyons, you see, travel faster than light and, therefore, backward in time. Time

passes for the traveler, of course, and he becomes older than he was when he left."

"And how long have you been here on Earth?"

"Four years and nine months. Your years, that is."

"And that makes you how old now? In Earth terms, of course."

"Three hundred and thirty-seven."

"You are three hundred and thirty-seven years old?"

"Yes."

"All right. Please tell me a little. more about yourself." Although I recognized the unreality of the man's

story, it is standard psychiatric practice to draw out an amnesiacal patient in hopes of obtaining

information about his true background.

"You mean before I came to EARTH? Or-"

"Let's start with this: How did you happen to be chosen to make the journey from your planet to

ours?"

Now the patient was actually grinning at me. Though it seemed innocent enough, perhaps even

ingenuous, I found myself poring through his file rather than gaze at his Cheshire-cat face in dark glasses.

He said, "'Chosen.' That's a peculiarly human concept." I looked up to find him scratching his chin and

searching the ceiling in an apparent attempt to locate the appropriate words to explain his lofty thoughts

to someone as lowly as myself. What he . came up with was: "I wanted to come and I am here."

"Anyone who wants to come to Earth may do so?"

"Anyone on K-PAX. And a number of other PLANETS, of course."

"Did anyone come with you?"

"No."

"Why did you want to come to Earth?"

"Several reasons. For one, EARTH is a particularly lively place as seen and heard from space. And it

is a Class III-B PLANET."

"Meaning ... ?"

"Meaning early stage of evolution, future uncertain."

"I see. And is this your first trip to our planet?"

"Oh, no. I've been here many times."

"When was the first time?"

"In 1963, your calendar."

"And has anyone else from K-PAX visited us?"

"No. I am the first."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

"Why?"

"Let's just say it would cause a lot of people a certain amount of consternation."

"Why?" .

"If you don't mind, I'd rather we talk about you today. Would that be all right?"

"If you wish."

"Good. Now-where else have you been? Around the universe, I mean."

"I have been to sixty-four PLANETS within our GALAXY."

"And on how many of those have you encountered life?"

"Why, on all of them. The ones that are barren don't interest me. Of course there are those who are

fascinated by rocks and weather patterns and-"

"Sixty-four planets with intelligent life?"

"All life is intelligent."

"Well, how many have human beings such as ourselves?"

"EARTH is the only one with the species homo sapiens that I have visited so far. But we know there

are a few others here and there."

"With intelligent life?"

"No, with human life. The PLANETS that support life number into the millions, possibly the billions.

Of course we haven't visited them all. That is only a rough estimate."

`We' meaning inhabitants of K-PAX."

"K-PAXians, NOLLians, FLORians..."

"Those are other races on your home planet?"

"No. They are inhabitants of other worlds." Most delusionals are confused to the point that they

stutter or stumble considerably when trying to answer complex questions in a consistent manner. This

patient was not only knowledgeable about a variety of arcane topics, but also confident enough of his

knowledge to weave a cogent story. I scribbled on my pad the speculation that he might have been a

scientist, perhaps a physicist or astronomer, and made a further note to determine how far his knowledge

extended into those fields. For now, I wanted to learn something about his early life.

"Let's back up just a bit, if you don't mind. I'd like you to tell me something about K-PAX itself."

"Certainly. K-PAX is somewhat bigger than your PLANET, about the size of NEPTUNE. It is a

beautiful world, as is EARTH, of course, with its color and variety. But K-PAX is also very lovely,

especially when K-MON and K-RIL are in conjunction."

"What are K-MON and K-RIL.?"

"Those are our two SUNS. What you call AGAPE and SATORI. One is much larger than yours, the

other smaller, but both are farther from our PLANET than your SUN is from yours. K-MON is red and

K-RIL blue.

But owing to our larger and more complex orbital pattern, we have much longer periods of light and

darkness than you do, and not so much variation. That is, most of the time on K-PAX it's something like

your twilight. One of the things a visitor to your WORLD first notices is how bright it is here."

"Is that why you are wearing dark glasses?"

'Naturally.

"I'd like to clarify something you said earlier."

"Certainly."

"I believe you stated that you have been on Earth for four years and-uh-some odd months."

"Nine."

"Yes, nine. What I'd like very much to know is: Where were you living for those four or five years?"

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"I have traveled all over your WORLD."

"I see. And where did you begin your travels?"

"In Zaire"

"Why Zaire? That's in Africa, isn't it?"

"It happened to be pointing toward K-PAX at the time."

"Ah. And how long were you there?"

"A couple of your weeks altogether. Long enough to become familiar with the land. Meet the beings

there. All beautiful, especially the birds."

"Mm. Uh-what languages do they speak in Zaire?"

"You mean the humans, I presume."

"Yes."

"Besides the four official languages and french, there are an amazing number of native dialects."

"Can you say something in Zairese? Any dialect will do."

"Certainly. Ma-ma kona rampoon."

"What does that mean?"

"It means: Your mother is a gorilla."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"And then where did you go? After Zaire."

"All over africa. Then to europe, asia, australia, antarctica, and finally to the americas."

"And how many countries have you visited?"

"All of them except eastern canada, greenland, and iceland. Those are my last stops."

"All-what-hundred of them?"

"More like two hundred at present, but it seems to change by the minute."

"And you speak all the languages. '

"Only enough to get by."

"How did you travel? Weren't you stopped at various borders?"

"I told you: It's difficult to explain.... "You mean you did it with mirrors."

"Exactly."

"How long does it take to go from country to country at the speed of light or whatever multiples of it

you use?"

"No time at all."

"Does your father like to travel?" I detected a brief hesitation, but no strong reaction to the sudden

mention of prot's father.

"I imagine. Most K-PAXians do."

"Well, does he travel? What kind of work does he do?"

"He does no work."

"What about your mother?"

"What about her?"

"Does she work?"

"Why should she?"

"They are both retired, then?"

"Retired from what?

"From whatever they did for a living. How old are they?"

"Probably in their late six hundreds."

"Obviously they no longer work."

"Neither of them has ever worked." Apparently the patient considered his parents to be

ne'er-do-wells, and the way he phrased his answer led me to believe that he harbored a deep-seated

resentment or even hatred not only of his father (not uncommon) but of his mother (relatively rare for a

man) as well. He continued: "No one `works' on KPAX. That is a human concept."

"No one does anything?"

"Of course not. But when you do something you want to do, it's not work, is it?" His grin widened.

"You don't consider what you do to be work, do you?"

I ignored this smug comment. "We'll talk more about your parents later, all right?"

"If you like."

"Fine. There are a couple of other things I'd like to clear up before we go on."

"Anything you say."

"Good. First, how do you account for the fact that, as a visitor from space, you look so much like an

Earth person?"

"Why is a soap bubble round?"

"I don't know-why?"

"For an educated person, you don't know much, do you, gene? A soap bubble is round because that

is the most energy-efficient configuration. Similarly, many beings around the UNIVERSE look pretty

much like we do."

"I see. Okay-you mentioned earlier that-mm'EARTH is a particularly lively place as seen and heard

from space.' What did you mean by that?"

"Your television and radio waves go out from EARTH in all directions. The whole GALAXY is

watching and listening to everything you say and do."

"But these waves travel only at the speed of light, don't they? They couldn't possibly have reached

K-PAX as yet."

He sighed again, more loudly this time. "But some of the energy goes into higher overtones, don'tcha

know? It's this principle, in fact, that makes light travel possible. Have you studied physics?"

I suddenly remembered my long-suffering high school physics teacher, who had tried to drum this

kind of information into my head. I also felt a need for a cigarette, though I hadn't smoked one in years.

"I'll take your word for that, Mist-uh-prot. One more thing: Why do you travel around the universe all by

yourself?"

"Wouldn't you, if you could?'

"Maybe. I don't know. But what I meant was: Why do you do it alone?"

"Is that why you think I'm crazy?"

"Not at all. But doesn't it get kind of lonely, all those years-four years and eight months, wasn't it?-in

space?"

"No. And I wasn't in space that long. I've been here for four years and nine months."

"How long were you in spacer'

"I aged about seven of your months, if that's what you mean."

"You didn't feel a need to have someone to talk to for all that time?"

"No." I jotted down: Patient dislikes everyone?

"What did you do to keep yourself occupied?"

He wagged his head. "You don't understand, gene. Although I became seven EARTH months older

during the trip, it really seemed like an instant to me. You see, time is warped at super light speeds. In

other words-"

Unforgivably, I was too annoyed to let him go on. "And speaking of time, ours is up for today. Shall

we continue the discussion next week?"

"As you wish."

"Good. I'll call Mr. Kowalski and Mr. Jensen to escort you back to your ward."

"I know the way."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd rather call them. Just routine hospital procedure. I'm sure you

understand."

"Perfectly."

"Good." The orderlies arrived in a moment and the patient left with them, nodding complacently to

me as he went out. I was surprised to find that I was dripping with perspiration, and I remember getting

up to check the thermostat after switching off the recorder.

While the tape was rewinding I copied my scribbled observations for his permanent file, making

mention of my distaste for what seemed to me his arrogant manner, after which I filed the rough notes

into a separate cabinet, already stuffed with similar records. Then I listened to part of the tape, adding a

comment about the patient's lack of any trace of dialect or accent. Surprisingly, hearing his soft voice,

which was rather pleasant, was not at all annoying to me. It had been his demeanor.... Suddenly I

realized: That cocky, lopsided, derisive grin reminded me of my father.

DAD was an overworked small-town doctor. The only time he ever relaxed-except for Saturday

afternoons, when he lay on the sofa with his eyes closed listening to the Metropolitan Opera

broadcasts-was at dinnertime, when he would have exactly one glass of wine and relate to my mother

and me, in his offhand way, more than we wanted to know about the ringworms and infarctions of his

day. Afterwards he would head back to the hospital or make a few house calls. Unless I could think up a

good excuse he would take me with him, assuming, erroneously, that I enjoyed the noxious sounds and

smells, the bleeding and vomiting as much as he did. It was that insensitivity and arrogance, which I hated

in my father, that had annoyed me so much during my first encounter with this man who called himself

"prot."

I resolved, as always when something like this happens, to keep my personal life out of the examining

room.

ON the train home that evening I got to thinking, as I often do after beginning a difficult or unusual

case, about the human mind and reality. My new patient, for example, and Russell, our resident

Christ, and thousands -like them live in worlds of their own, realms just as real to them as yours and mine

are to us. That seems difficult to understand, but is it really? Surely the reader of this account has

become, at one time or another, thoroughly involved in a film or absorbed in a novel, utterly "lost" in the

experience. Dreams, even daydreams, often seem very real at the time, as do events recalled during

hypnosis. On such occasions, who is to say what reality is?

It is quite remarkable what some of those with severe mental disorders are able to do within the

boundaries of their illusory worlds. The "idiot" savants are a case in point. Unable to function in our

society, they withdraw into recesses of the mind which most of us can never enter. They are capable of

feats-with numbers, for example, or music-that others cannot begin to duplicate. We are still in the Dark

Ages as far as understanding the human mind is concerned-how it learns, how it remembers, how it

thinks. If Einstein's brain were transplanted into Wagner's skull, would this individual still be Einstein?

Better: Switch half of Einstein's brain with half of Wagner's-which person would be Einstein and which

Wagner? Or would each be someone in between? Similarly, in the case of multiple personality syndrome,

which of the distinct "identities" is really the person in question, or is he/she a different person at different

times? Are we all different people at different times? Could this explain our changing "moods"? When we

see someone talking to himself-to whom is he speaking? Have you ever heard someone say, "I haven't

been myself lately."? Or "You're not the man I married!"? And how do we account for the fundamentalist

preacher and his clandestine sex life? Are we all Drs. Jekyll and Messrs. Hyde?

I made a note to dwell for a while on prot's imaginary life on his imaginary planet, hoping of course

that this would reveal something about his background on Earth-his geographical origin, perhaps, -his

occupation, his name!-so that we might be able to track down his family and friends and thus, in addition

to allaying their fears about his health and whereabouts, get to the underlying cause for his bizarre

confabulation. I was beginning to feel the little tingle I always get at the beginning of a challenging case,

when all the possibilities are still open. Who was this man? What sorts of alien thoughts filled his head?

Would we be able to bring him down to Earth?

Session Two

I have always tried to give my examining room as pleasant an atmosphere as possible, with cheerful

pastel walls, a few sylvan watercolors, and soft, indirect lighting. There is no couch: My patient and I sit

facing each other in comfortable chairs. There is a clock placed discreetly on the back wall where the

patient cannot see it.

Before my second interview with prot I went over Joyce Trexler's transcript of the first week's

session with him. Mrs. Trexler has been here almost forever and it is common knowledge that it is she

who really runs the place. "Crazy as a loon" was her uninvited comment as she dropped the typed copy

onto my desk.

I had looked up "tachyons" and found that they were, as he had indicated, entities traveling faster

than light. They are purely theoretical, however, and there is no evidence suggesting their actual existence.

I had also tried to check out the "Zairese," but couldn't find anyone who spoke any of its more than two

hundred dialects. However, although his story seemed perfectly consistent, it was no less problematic.

In psychoanalysis, one tries to become the patient's peer. Gain his confidence. Build on what grasp

he still has of reality, his residue of normal thoughts. But this man had no grasp of reality. His alleged

travels around the world offered some sort of earthbound experience to pursue, but even that was

suspect-he could have spent time in the library, or watched travelogues, for example. I was still

pondering how to gain some kind of toehold on prot's psyche when he was escorted into my examining

room.

He was wearing the same blue corduroys, dark glasses, and familiar smile. But this time the latter did

not annoy me so much-it had been my problem, not his. He requested a few bananas before we began,

and offered one to me. I declined, and waited until he had devoured them,, skins and all. "Your produce

alone," he said, "has made the trip worthwhile."

We chatted for a few minutes about fruit. He reminded me, for example, that their characteristic

odors and flavors are due to the presence of specific chemical compounds known as esters. Then we

reviewed briefly our previous interview. He maintained that he had arrived on Earth some four years and

nine months ago, traveled on a beam of light, etc. Now I learned that "K-PAX" was circled by seven

purple moons. "Your planet must be a very romantic place," I prodded. At this point he did a surprising

thing, something that no other patient of mine has ever done in the nearly thirty years I have been

practicing psychoanalysis: He pulled a pencil and a little red notebook from his shirt pocket and began

taking notes of his own! Rather amused by this, I asked him what he was jotting down. He replied that he

had thought of something to include in his report. I inquired as to the nature of this "report." He said it

was his custom to compile a description of the various places he visited and beings he encountered

throughout the galaxy. It appeared that the patient was examining the doctor! It was my turn to smile.

Not wanting to inhibit his activities in any way, I did not press him to show me what he had written,

though I was more than a little curious. Instead, I asked him to tell me something about his boyhood on

"K-PAX" (i.e., Earth).

He said, "The region I was born in - incidentally, we are born on K-PAX, just like you, and the

process is much the same, only-well, we'll get into that later, I suppose...."

"Why don't we go into it now?"

He paused briefly, as if taken aback, but quickly recovered. The little grin, however, was gone. "If

you wish. Our anatomy is much like yours, as you know from the physical examination. The physiology is

also similar, but, unlike on EARTH, the reproduction process is quite unpleasant."

"What makes it unpleasant?"

"It is a very painful procedure."

Ah, I thought, a breakthrough: Mr. "prot" very possibly suffers some sort of sexual terror or

dysfunction. I quickly pursued this lead. "Is this pain associated with intercourse itself, with ejaculation, or

merely with obtaining an erection?"

"It is associated with the entire process. Where these activities result in pleasurable sensations for

beings such as yourself, for us the effect is quite the opposite. This applies both to the males and females

of our species and, incidentally, to most other beings around the GALAXY as well.""Can you compare

the sensation to anything else I might be able to understand or identify with? Is it, like a toothache, or-"

"It's more like having your gonads caught in a vise, except that we feel it all over. You see, on

K-PAX pain is more general, and to make matters worse it is associated with something like your

nausea, accompanied by a very bad smell. The moment of climax is like being kicked in the stomach and

falling into a pool of mot shit."

"Did you say mot shit? What is a `mot'?"

"An animal something like your skunk, only far more potent."

"I see." Unforgivably I began to laugh. This image coupled with the dark glasses and suddenly serious

demeanor -- well, as they say, you had to be there. He grinned broadly then, apparently understanding

how it must have sounded to me. I managed to regain my composure and carry on. "And you say it is the

same for a woman?"

"Exactly the same. As you can imagine, women on KPAX do not strive very hard to reach orgasm."

"If the experience is so terrible, how do you reproduce?"

"Like your porcupines: as carefully as possible. Needless to say, overpopulation is not a problem for

us." "What about something like surgical implantation?"

"You are distorting the importance of the phenomenon. You have to bear in mind that since the life

span for our species is a thousand of your years, there is little need to produce children."

"I see... All right. I'd like to get back to your own childhood. Can you tell me a little about your

upbringing? What were your parents like?"

"That's a little difficult to explain. Life on K-PAX is quite different from that on EARTH. In order for

you to understand my background, I will have to tell you something about our evolution." He paused at

that point, as if wondering whether I would be interested in hearing what he had to say. I encouraged him

to proceed. "Well, I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning. Life on KPAX is much older than

life on EARTH, which began about two-point-five billion years ago. Homo sapiens has existed on your

PLANET for only a few tens of thousands of years, give or take a millennium or two. On K-PAX, life

began nearly nine billion of your years ago, when your WORLD was still a diffuse ball of gas. Our own

species has been around for five billion of those years, considerably longer than your bacteria.

Furthermore, evolution took a quite different course. You see, we have very little water on our

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K-PAXGeneBrewerWhenwesuccessfullytreatapatient...weexperienceaburstofjoybecausewehavehelpedasufferingpersonwhoishappytohaveknownus.Butwealsofeelasecretjoy,becausewehavecometoknowhim,andinknowinghimweknowmoreofourselves.SYLVANOARIETIPrologueINApril,1990,IreceivedacallfromDr.WilliamSiegelattheLongIsla...

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Gene Brewer - K-Pax

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