Zaphod paused for a while. For a while there was silence. Then he frowned and said, "Last night I was worrying about this again. About this fact that part of my mind just didn't seem to work properly. Then it occurred to me that the way it seemed was that someone else was using my mind to have good ideas with, without telling me about it. I put the two ideas together and decided that maybe that somebody had locked off part of my mind for that purpose, which was why I couldn't use it. I wondered if there was a way I could check.
"I went to the ship's medical bay and plugged myself into the encephalographic screen. I went through every major screening test on both my heads--all the tests I had to go through under Government medical officers before my nomination for presidency could be properly ratified. They showed up nothing. Nothing unexpected at least. They showed that I was clever, imaginative, irresponsible, untrustworthy, extrovert, nothing you couldn't have guessed. And no other anomalies. So I started inventing further tests, completely at random. Nothing. Then I tried superimposing the results from one head on top of the results from the other head. Still nothing. Finally I got silly, because I'd given it all up as nothing more than an attack of paranoia. Last thing I did before I packed it in was take the superimposed picture and look at it through a green filter. You remember I was always superstitious about the color green when I was a kid? I always wanted to be a pilot on one of the trading scouts?"
Ford nodded.
"And there it was," said Zaphod, "clear as day. A whole section in the middle of both brains that related only to each other and not to anything else around them. Some bastard had cauterized all the synapses and electronically traumatized these two lumps of cerebellum."
Ford stared at him, aghast. Trillian had turned white.
"Somebody did that to you?" whispered Ford.
"Yeah."
"But have you any idea who? Or why?"
"Why? I can only guess. But I do know who the bastard was."
"You know? How do you know?"
"Because they left their initials burned into the cauterized synapses. They left them there for me to see."
Ford stared at him in horror and felt his skin begin to crawl.
"Initials? Burned into your brain?"
"Yeah."
"Well, what were they, for God's sake?"
Zaphod looked at him in silence again for a moment. They he looked away.
"Z. B.," he said quietly.
At that moment a steel shutter slammed down behind them and gas started to pour into the chamber.
"I'll tell you about it later," choked Zaphod as all three passed out.
What Zaphod describes here is something that sounds very familiar. I sometimes teach a class on the literature of madness (my term) at the university. For the semester, we read novels, graphic novels, and memoirs by people who suffer from some mental illness. Bipolar disorder, Schizophrenia. Major depression. It's a heavy semester, and I often joke as I hand out the syllabus that I have a supplement of Prozac to go along with it.
Anyway, how Zaphod describes his condition--"that someone else was using my mind to have good ideas with, without telling me about it"--sounds a whole lot like schizophrenia. The fact that he has two heads sort of enforces the metaphor. Two brains. Two heads. Someone else controlling his thoughts. I'm not a psychiatrist, but it sounds pretty textbook to me.
In the last couple months, I have felt a little driven by outside forces myself. Things that I simply couldn't control. (If you think I'm writing about my daughter's graduation again, you are mistaken. My life has been in a state of upheaval for various other reasons, and I have been struggling to find my equilibrium.) Some days, it literally feels as if somebody completely outside of myself is piloting the ship. On those days, I have to wrestle my thoughts to the ground and pin them down.
Today has been a good day. While not without stress, I have pretty much remained at an even keel. I haven't chased the white rabbit down any holes. In fact, when I got home from work today, there was a rabbit sitting in my backyard. I got out of my car and slowly began walking toward it. Step by step. Not rushing, For me, it was an exercise in meditation. Deep breathing. Slow movements. Patience. I got within a few feet of the rabbit before it moved. It didn't bolt away from me. Instead, it nonchalantly hopped just a few steps and then stopped again. It wasn't panicked. Just curious.
The rabbit and I simply occupied the same space together for a few minutes. The same oxygen. And then, as if by mutual agreement, with both turned away from each other and moved on with our lives.
Perhaps I sound a little insane here. I might be. But I think of my encounter with this rabbit as a victory. A sign that, maybe, my life is regaining some balance and peace. Either that, or I am one step away from the bell jar.
Now, if Saint Marty shows up for work tomorrow dressed as the Queen of Hearts, screaming "Off with his head!"--that's going to be a real problem.
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