The Fiction of Douglas Lain

The Suburbs of the Citadel of Thought

This story originally appeared in:

Winedark Sea

an excerpt:

Part One: The Fourth Wall

Philip Hoffman sat outside of Bonnie's Hamburgers and Gas and let the other mental patient test his psychic powers.

"What am I thinking?" his friend Joe asked.

Philip poured non-dairy powder into his Styrofoam cup, and stirred his coffee with a thin plastic straw. "Have you ever seen George Gil Roy's film adaptation of Slaughterhouse Five?" he asked.

Of course, Philip Hoffman isn't real. It's just a name I made up, a name I put together from two real names. Philip Hoffman is named after Philip K. Dick, whose novels and stories depict a universe without a center, and he is named after the radical yippie Abbie Hoffman, whose guerrilla theater and absurdist protest tactics shook up the sixties.

Philip Hoffman is psychic. His precognitive powers are a threat to the neat and tidy suburban culture of Beaverton, Oregon.

"I'll give you a hint. I'm thinking of a number," Joe said.

"Eleven," Philip said.

"Well, sure. Okay." Joe dangled a limp French fry off his paper plate and took a bite. "That's my favorite number. That doesn't prove anything."

"They made the movie sometime in the early seventies," Phil said. He sipped his coffee and then started stirring again. The non-dairy powder just spiralled around on top of the coffee, refusing to settle and blend. "Slaughterhouse Fiveis a science fiction story, you know, and back then they didn't have much in the way of computer technology. So, when it came time to shoot the flying saucer sequence they simply scratched a circle into the film—frame by frame."

Joe lifted a burlap bag up to eye level, and then theatrically swung it in circles to the ground. He reached in, stirred around, and then looked up towards Phil.

"Guess what I'm holding," Joe demanded.

Joe will not appear in this story again. He is a temporary figure and that is why he only has a first name. I would have given him no name at all if I could've thought of a way to do that without damaging my depiction of Philip.

Philip seemed cold and aloof when Joe was nameless. The story is told from Philip's point of view and if I fail to mention a character's name it is assumed that Philip doesn't know the character's name. If I refer to a man as "the mental patient" repeatedly, it is assumed that these are the words that Philip would choose as well.

I want Philip to be likeable and sympathetic. I want you to identify with Philip.

So Joe is named Joe.

"Guess what I'm holding."

"That's not how it works," Phil said. "I can't just guess."

"You said you were telepathic. Guess what I'm going to pull out of the bag," Joe said.

"I never said that. I don't read minds," Phil said. "I have precognitive powers, that's all."

It was true. Phil didn't have any telepathic powers, he couldn't read minds. Philip had been in and out of hospitals and group homes for half of his life because he could see the future embedded in the present. For him the world was a layered mess. At least, most of the time it was.

The medication the nurses gave him helped, and living in Beaverton, that helped too.

"Guess what's in the bag," Joe said.

"A fish," Philip said.

Joe pulled a wooden cross from the bag, raised it up to Philip as a refutation.

"A fish," Phil repeated.

Joe started to shake. "Stop," the mental patient said. He seized up, dropped the cross onto the sidewalk, and then slid out of his chair and onto his knees. "Stop reading my mind!"

"I'm sorry," Philip said. "But there's nothing I can do. The problem is that history...I mean the future...has already happened or will happen and I can see it."

"I don't believe you."

"It doesn't matter. They're coming anyway," Philip said. "The aliens will arrive on August 23rd, 2004. I will be riding the number eleven bus at the time, on my way to work at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Beaverton. There is nothing anyone can do about it."

"The Suburbs of the Citadel of Thought" is reviewed by Forrest Aguire at Tangent Online.