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CZ Studio and Radio Verte presents The Wild Wind by Corey Zimmerman.

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Chapter 2

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He may have been mute, but he surely was not stupid.

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He was mentally as sharp as a tack, maybe too sharp, since not a detail missed his gaze,

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nor could a tack hit the floor going unnoticed, none of which did a bit of good for his nervous

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condition.

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He listened to the man muttering nonsense three rows back, a woman across the aisle

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by the window chewing her fingernails until the nubs of her fingers bled, and each of

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the 1,200 crisp pages of the Bible's 800,000 words a nurse four rows directly behind him

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flipped through during the three-hour voyage from Chicago to Grandview.

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Of the hundred or so patients who filled the train carriage that day, the grinding, gnawing,

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snoring, whispering, moaning, rambling, drowning, shuffling, nor the calming voices of the half-dozen

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nurses accompanying them went unnoticed by the mute.

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He listened to the rail squeal, the slipping of the wheels across the top of the tracks,

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and to the calming rhythm that matched his own heart rate, 120 beats per minute on average.

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He was a tense man, and when the train whistle blew, he grasped his grimy nails tightly

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around the petite hand of a nurse named Kate sitting next to him.

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Nurse Kate squeezed the man's hand tightly in her own, in an attempt to anchor him to

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the slightest thread of human existence.

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The nameless mute, full of sorrow, a frayed soul, wore an old worn-out cap atop greasy,

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unkept hair that curled out cowardly, bangs attempting to hide his face.

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Dark circles not under, but around the eyes, peering eyes, and knees now protruded from

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the thin threads of a pair of old worn-out corduroy jeans and a belt tightened around

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his heart.

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Nurse Kate resembled his opposite, young, girlish, clean, relaxed, as she made an effort

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to sit like a lady of confidence in her starched white uniform, as terribly uncomfortable as

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it was.

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The regular passengers who found themselves passing through the carriage tightly packed

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with the insane whispered amongst themselves and grasped onto one another's arms in fright.

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Upon seeing Nurse Kate's petite stature and youthful appearance, she was often given

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a glance of pity and concern, along with the occasional shunning, as though caring for

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the mentally ill was some kind of wrong turn taken in life.

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But having escorted many patients with a vast spectrum of odd behaviors and ailments, Nurse

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Kate knew the importance of confidence, and she was rather good at her job, and shrugged

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off any sideways glances thrown her way.

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She simply sat there, warming the man's hand in her own, wearing proudly the same smile

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her ma had gave her.

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Nurse Kate was but eight years old when her ma asked her, sweetie, what do you want to

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be when you grow up?

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The question confounded Kate, seeing how most women stayed home caring for their husbands

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and babies, and if they did work, it was most certainly as a seamstress or rolling cigars

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at the factory uptown.

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Her brother and dearest friend in the world, John, was always telling her what their ma

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said was right and true, that you can be anything in the world you want to be, although John

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ended up at the mill, though fate was of no matter, or rather, the day John came down

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with a fever, typhoid.

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For weeks Kate's ma woke her each morning with a hot cup of tea and biscuits as she

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laid curled up at the foot of John's bed.

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It was a small house with four rooms, built with wood from the mill, and a lean slightly

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to the left with age.

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The average family income was $490 at the turn of the century, but Kate's family lived

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on much less.

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Her pa died when she was but a child, and John was the sole breadwinner for the family.

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Kate, John, two younger sisters, their ma, and their grandfather, who rarely left his

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bed and could not hear a word, as he had given his own hearing to the mill, often could not

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afford much more than biscuits, with a small wad of cash constantly dwindling in an old

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tin can, its label a cheery little gal in overalls hugging a giant pumpkin.

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I suppose everyone quietly worried if John were to succumb to fever, who would buy the

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flour for $12.50 per five pound bag?

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They were salt of the earth people, in other words, good honest folk, warm-hearted and

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heartbroken as John grew increasingly ill.

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They each carried a similar weariness in their eye, and sympathized deeply with John's

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violent tossing and turning, and shouting in terror.

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They replaced his sweaty bedsheets daily, bedsheets that tangled his legs during wicked

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hallucinations, as next to the bed, a dresser upon which postcards from a sweetheart piled

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up.

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Others with an immature cursive, smeared over with a pink lipstick kiss.

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On the front, glittery flowers on most, while one bore a nude man wearing nothing but an

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empty cake, scolded by a stiff police officer with a baton in hand.

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On the back was written, Dear John, I was thinking about what you said last Sunday night.

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Oh please tell me you meant every word of it.

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Another simply said, Right back.

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XO XO.

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Kate's ma kept the curtains wide open during the day, to keep the shadows with such darkness

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to light.

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Yet come nightfall, Kate was bedside when she saw the shadow approach in the corner

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of her eye.

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The day's postcard had little bluebirds in each corner and read, Hello John, Love Anna.

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Below in large letters, S W A K. Sealed with a kiss.

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John was but 20 years of age, Anna 16, when the bluebird held tight between Kate's thumb

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and forefinger fell to the floor.

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It was the moment Kate looked down upon her brother and saw him staring back up at her

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in the slightest grin, his pink skin now pale, the blood invisibly pooly at the back of

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his brain, the bottom of his limbs, organs, and his chest cavity, his heart now still,

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his eyes, damned beautiful eyes.

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Typhoid killed 26 out of every 100,000 people that year and John was one of them.

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Kate placed her palm upon his cheek and stared into that peculiar gaze and his bizarre stillness

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startled her.

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Dying people will whisper, if even brief, single words, as that's all they have the

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energy for.

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But John went without a word, without a single mutter to Kate, who spoke his name only once

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before collapsing to his side.

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Her young sister stood confused in the doorway, afraid to enter, and her grandfather, well,

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death was no stranger to him.

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Kate's maw closed John's eyes with every dream cast into blackness, never to open again.

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Kate wept and wept.

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She wept until a vast desert overcame her, curled up within the corner of her mind, irreconcilable,

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refusing to leave John's bed for weeks at a time as the seas poured out of her eyes.

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All was now empty and numb, John's pillow, a sea sponge, absorbed with his memory with

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each fallen tear.

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Lost cold and pale as the winter sky, crows abound, waiting for his funeral.

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Meanwhile Kate's maw began to fear she might lose another child to the winter earth and

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begged Kate to eat something, anything, but Kate heard no words, nor smelled the biscuits

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which sat burnt bedside.

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Denial, anger, pleading, melancholia.

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When she blinked, her glazed over eyes spotted the stack of postcards, and she dreamt of

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the life the young couple must of themselves, dreams they had shared in their hearts, a

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life buried with John, and the glistening of the wetness returned to her eyes, her knees

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damp at the base of his grave.

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She hugged his pillow and wrapped up in his quilt, shivered and remained planted in his

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bed.

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Kate remembered how Anna had said nothing at the funeral, heart lost, and Anna had to

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be carried away, the poor thing.

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Her vast, radiant confusion, a heart too young to be shattered, Anna was doomed.

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Kate then heard the most beautiful bluebird sing, somewhere beyond the fogged over plain

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of glass, beyond her fogged over eyes.

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Kate remembered how they used to toss the Blue Jays' biscuits in the winter.

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She stood, her nude body with a shiver.

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She looked up at the warm sun rays, walked into the sitting room where her ma sat knitting

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on a bench upholstered in a rough floral fabric that gave Kate a rash on the back of her soft

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bare thighs.

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I know what I want to be, ma, I want to be a nurse.

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Ma gently smiled and wrapped her arm around Kate saying, I'll cover up, my dear, you'll

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catch a fever.

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Acceptance

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Placing her foot upon that first step that spiraled up the bluff on a bitterly cold day

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with a strong gale blowing through the trees, Kate carried her suitcase in a silly hat box.

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It was a long walk from the depot to the asylum and by the time she reached the top, her hands

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were frosted over.

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Kate was directed by a plump nurse named Nancy to the dormitory for girls as a mentally challenged

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but polite man took her luggage.

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There, a rather friendly girl told her the all pervasive whistle was the breakfast call.

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Soon they sat together at one of the very long tables, above which enormous platters

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and heavy bowls sailed by but once, allowing one to grab what one could.

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The food was fresh, eggs, bacon, and vegetables steamed with a bit of seasoning.

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After breakfast, Kate met with the chief nurse, a strict and idealistic woman named Mary Bird,

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who had served in the Spanish Civil War.

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Miss Bird watched that no skirts were more than three inches off the floor.

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Of course, every woman's hair was long.

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The only frivolity permitted, Miss Bird explained, were silk scarves, which one was the pulse

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snuggly over their nest of hair.

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Kate was told to check a list posted in a glass case in the main hall and there, she

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found an old man in a wheelchair pushed up against the wall.

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He sat alone, ancient, muttering, staring down at his lap, fingers fidgeting incessantly

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upon his kneecap.

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The list was long and Kate thought she heard the old man whisper and she looked down to

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see the most beautiful pair of brilliant blue eyes looking right into her own.

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He had a wide, toothless grin and she froze as his liver-spotted hand reached out, just

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as a short man with deep-set eyes and long bushy eyebrows approached in a brisk stride.

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Kate politely asked the man for directions back to her dormitory.

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Miss, may I ask your name?

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Kate, she answered, with the slightest grin she had ever seen.

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Kate, I wouldn't touch Jonesy if I were you, and she pulled her hand quickly out of reach.

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Entering the lecture hall the following day, all the nursing students anxiously awaited

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the doctor's arrival, chirping little birds in the back of the room.

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Kate sat in the front row with posture and silence, waiting for the moment the revered

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Dr. Zola would arrive.

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When the erect, sober, yet relatively short man entered, whose shoes were shined immaculate,

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whose deep-set eyes sat under a pair of comical eyebrows, Kate recognized him at once.

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With one clearing of his throat, one could have heard a bobby pin drop and thunder struck

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Kate's heart as he spoke.

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Where there is no vision, the people will perish.

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Persons with mental illnesses have been dying inside as the mental health service has had

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no vision.

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To envision a future when everyone with a mental illness will recover, a future when

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mental illness can be prevented or cured, a future when mental illness is detected early,

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and a future when everyone with a mental illness at any stage of life has access to effective

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treatment and support, essentials for living, working, learning, and participating fully

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in a community.

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We need to maintain a vision.

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Here upon the hilltop, we have a vision, a vision not necessarily well received by all

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as some still do not believe that recovery is possible.

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Many are afraid of giving false hope and fail to recognize the very definition of hope defies

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any connection to true or false.

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Yet, science has shown that having hope plays an integral role in any individual's recovery.

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The winter of 1904 was to be unforgiving, yet as the century of progress thundered southbound

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across the vast expanse of barren farmland, frozen solid and buried beneath a blanket

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of pure white nuttiness, a blank page as crisp as the air, a long column of coal-black smoke

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rose high into the clear blue sky, leaving a trail of tarnish in its wake.

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Nurse Kate was the definition of mercy, compassion.

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The nameless man kept his keen eye upon that plain, fixating on every black smudge upon

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the void, a far-off tree, a barn, a herd of frozen cattle, steam pouring from their snout,

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and he followed the telegraphed line with his eyes, up and down, up and down.

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The light changed so that he suddenly saw his own eyes in the window's reflection,

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and he stared off into a timeless hall of mirrors.

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However, his gaze soon focused on a flock of late-season geese and the mighty power

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behind the batting wings, slapping the river's still water until they rose into the sky,

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escaping the tremble of the engine that sent tiny little reverberations across the water's

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mirror-like surface.

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The nameless man squeezed Nurse Kate's hand in enthrallment.

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Kate looked over and noticed a slight grin on his face, as the very outer ends of his

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lips just barely curled up, but it was his eyes, the sparkle they lacked, which now glistened

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up toward the heavens as though he saw angels.

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Kate looked out over the river, and her thoughts ran deep.

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Nurse Kate thought of the doctor, how she admired him so, and how it was impossible

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for him to speak of his boyhood without speaking of the dear old river.

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After all, he was born less than a hundred feet from its shore.

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In Dr. Anthony Zola's life, he would watch the sun disappear through the Golden Gate,

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in mid-ocean, on the vast prairies and deserts, and beyond high mountain ranges.

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He would live under the Southern Cross, and see and do things one could only imagine.

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But I am confident nowhere did he find a more restful end of the day than when the sun sank

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behind the bluffs opposite his childhood home.

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By the time of Anthony's birth, middle America had outgrown its pioneer days, leaving his

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generation to enjoy the fruits of sacrifices of the past.

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In his time, he claimed to have witnessed the disappearance of the sundial for the grandfather

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clock, the quill for the typewriter, the telegram for the telephone, the wagon for the automobile,

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and the steamer for the barge.

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Yet it was the continuous presence of the Illinois River that made the greatest oppression

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upon his youth.

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But he was later certain it had determined his fate.

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His pa tried to keep him busy in the gardens, but there was always the temptation of the

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river.

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Anthony went out in the boat at every opportunity in search of wreckage along the shoreline.

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And every spring when he and his buddies found the occasional upturned rowboat, the corpse

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of some floater usually had washed ashore.

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Nothing was rarely possible, and there were numerous graves in the cemetery six miles

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back in the hills to the east, whose tombstones remained nameless.

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The secrets of so many swept away, deprived of the opportunity of leaving a final farewell.

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Two or three streamers lowered their gangplanks a day at the landing, bringing sugar and salt,

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and they took away pork or beef from the local slaughterhouse, along with wheat and corn

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from the nearby farms.

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Anthony's best buddy Peter never ceased to wonder at the rust about faces, and they quickly

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got to know the boats by the sound of their whistle, the Ginny Whipple, the Lady Lee,

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the Grey Falcon, and the Saint Louis.

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Late one night, Anthony awoke around midnight to a whistle he did not recognize.

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It was so loud that it awoke many of the villagers from their sleep.

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As Anthony snuck out and ran to the riverbank, he found he was not alone in his curiosity.

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At time of year, the river was flooded, and this year more than usual, as it had been

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an exceptionally wet spring.

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Everyone was in wonder as to who was mad enough to brave the currents and the steamer, for

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even the most experienced pilots dare not such a feat.

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The strange whistle blew once again, piercing the heavy damp mist, and the steamboat finally

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00:18:19,760 --> 00:18:20,760
appeared.

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And despite the heavy current, it moved rather slowly, and silently, in an eerie glow.

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Bright apparitions appeared on its deck, and then a faint song could be heard echoing

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off the bluffs.

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Sweet, bye and bye.

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Everyone stood frozen, hypnotized by the chorus.

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Sweet, bye and bye.

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Until as suddenly as it had appeared, it was swallowed once more by the heavy mist, along

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with the echo of the chorus.

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Sweet.

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00:18:53,800 --> 00:18:57,440
When the river wasn't flooded, the bay in front of Anthony's house was a beautiful

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sheet of clear water.

245
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During the hot summers, Anthony would go swimming as often as six times a day.

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Already barefoot, he'd throw off one suspender and slip his shirt over his head, and in ten

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seconds flat, he was diving into the mighty depths, the depths of his youth.

248
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One fall, after an unusually dry and hot summer, the river shrank, and an epidemic of typhoid

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fever broke out.

250
00:19:22,480 --> 00:19:27,200
One after another of his schoolmates fell ill, and eventually he too felt it wearing

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his coming over himself, but persisted in attending class.

252
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Until one day, when Anthony felt chilly, and sat down in the sun, and drifted off.

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Alongside the road, he was found unconscious, and he was amazed when the delirium left,

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and he awoke in bed five weeks later.

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Anthony began to have flashbacks from the throes of his fever, memories of being out

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of his body, of floating through the house.

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He even recalled the moment just before he came to.

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He'd been hovering above his paw, when suddenly he could see the whole world through his paw's

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eyes, even looking down upon his own self, lying in bed the moment his own eyes had opened.

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Within an instant, Anthony had returned to his own body, peering back up at his paw,

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who smiled lovingly down upon him, as he placed his large warm paw upon Anthony's chilled

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brow.

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00:20:22,000 --> 00:20:26,620
There were many empty desks in the schoolhouse when he returned, as several of his buddies

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had succumbed to the illness, including his dearest friend Peter.

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Although still weak, Anthony rode his pony to the funeral at the cemetery six miles back

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in the hills, and he watched as Peter was buried under a large elm tree, on a small

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bluff overlooking the river valley's rolling hills.

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During the winter, when the river froze over, there was no smoother skating anywhere, and

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the skates his paw bought him were the most appreciated gift he had ever received.

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Anthony usually went skating on Sundays, but one afternoon, his paw asked for his help

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mixing medicine in his office, when he heard a loud cry from the riverbank.

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He ran down to see what the commotion was all about, and found a dozen neighbors wringing

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their hands as his classmate Timmy clung to the ice twenty yards out, with two-thirds

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of his body submerged in the frigid water.

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A few men had attempted to save him with an oar but had given up, and everyone stood around

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helpless.

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00:21:30,460 --> 00:21:35,200
Anthony spotted a boat nearby and quickly dragged it onto the ice and got in, and with

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the help of a few willing hands, was able to pull Timmy into the boat.

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In the days following, Anthony felt he was giving much more praise than he deserved,

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believing saving Timmy was a perfectly rational thing to do.

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00:21:49,960 --> 00:21:55,680
Later that summer, when the pier was again half flooded, Anthony and his friends were

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on their way to swim when they passed Timmy and his little brother.

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Timmy was shy, embarrassed, and could not make eyes with Anthony.

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00:22:03,560 --> 00:22:07,440
And not a half hour later, Timmy's little brother came running stark naked down the

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pier, shouting.

286
00:22:09,080 --> 00:22:13,080
Timmy had jumped off the pier where he always had, figuring he'd touched the bottom as

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00:22:13,080 --> 00:22:18,240
he always had before, but his head had sunk below the surface, and he panicked and flopped

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00:22:18,240 --> 00:22:19,240
about.

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00:22:19,240 --> 00:22:24,560
But by the time Anthony found Timmy, his arms and legs were spread wide, and he brought

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00:22:24,560 --> 00:22:28,680
Timmy's full body to shore once again.

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00:22:28,680 --> 00:22:32,800
He carried him home where Timmy's ma was sitting on the porch drinking a glass of lemonade,

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00:22:32,800 --> 00:22:36,200
and the glass shattered at her feet.

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00:22:36,200 --> 00:22:40,720
His poor ma had just lost her husband but weeks before, and once more, Anthony rode

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00:22:40,720 --> 00:22:47,640
the six miles to attend the funeral of a childhood friend six miles over the hills to the east.

295
00:22:47,640 --> 00:22:51,160
Anthony stood and watched the funeral from under the old elm tree on the bluff where

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the breeze blew, and when a single leaf landed on his shoe, Anthony felt the weight of the

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world.

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00:23:03,200 --> 00:23:07,160
As the train arrived at the asylum depot, Nurse Kate put her arm under the nameless

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00:23:07,160 --> 00:23:09,640
man's own and walked him off the train.

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00:23:09,640 --> 00:23:13,960
He carried nothing but the clothes on his back, engulfed by a dark tattered overcoat,

301
00:23:13,960 --> 00:23:18,400
his dark eyes hidden beneath the brim of the old worn out cap.

302
00:23:18,400 --> 00:23:23,320
He kept his head down all the way up the icy planks, knees trembling in the cold, until

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00:23:23,320 --> 00:23:28,200
he stopped cold in his tracks at the sight of a chimney in its plume of smoke rising

304
00:23:28,200 --> 00:23:30,800
above the trees and beyond.

305
00:23:30,800 --> 00:23:33,800
Nurse Kate noticed his concern and said with a slight giggle,

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00:23:33,800 --> 00:23:37,000
Don't worry, silly, that's just the cloud machine.

307
00:23:37,000 --> 00:23:38,120
It's nothing to worry about.

308
00:23:38,120 --> 00:23:41,560
Oh, and I can't feel my toes, and your hands, they are so cold.

309
00:23:41,560 --> 00:23:45,160
Let's go get warm, shall we?

310
00:23:45,160 --> 00:23:53,080
The receiving unit was pure chaos as they arrived, case notes being scratched off everywhere.

311
00:23:53,080 --> 00:23:58,800
Imagines himself very rich, possessing thousands of dollars, when he has not a cent.

312
00:23:58,800 --> 00:24:03,260
Says he owns a sawmill and has the means of making hundreds of dollars a day.

313
00:24:03,260 --> 00:24:09,200
This young man imagines that for the last two years he has been drugged by his sister.

314
00:24:09,200 --> 00:24:12,160
This boy is of a quiet and retired nature.

315
00:24:12,160 --> 00:24:15,960
His mother says that he masturbates himself to complete exhaustion.

316
00:24:15,960 --> 00:24:21,680
He then becomes furious and dangerous to himself and others, and has attempted suicide twice,

317
00:24:21,680 --> 00:24:27,200
once by hanging and once by throwing himself off the roof.

318
00:24:27,200 --> 00:24:30,340
This old man is unable to carry on a natural conversation.

319
00:24:30,340 --> 00:24:36,240
He says he is 24 years of age, and five minutes after says he is 82 years of age.

320
00:24:36,240 --> 00:24:39,480
Incontinence of urine.

321
00:24:39,480 --> 00:24:45,160
Dr. Zola was doing his best to keep order over the order list when he noticed the man's

322
00:24:45,160 --> 00:24:47,600
hand quivering under Nurse Kate's arm.

323
00:24:47,600 --> 00:24:52,280
Sensing the burden the bustling scene must have had upon such a fragile sensibility,

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00:24:52,280 --> 00:24:58,680
he knew to remove the man at once from the receiving unit to a more tranquil environment.

325
00:24:58,680 --> 00:25:03,140
It was often a mystery as to what plagued the reasoning of newly arrived patients, which

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00:25:03,140 --> 00:25:07,700
was the case for this man as well, as all anyone knew was that Nurse Kate had brought

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00:25:07,700 --> 00:25:12,480
him to Grandview from Chicago with a hundred other patients and that he had been a bookbinder

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00:25:12,480 --> 00:25:14,520
at a publishing house.

329
00:25:14,520 --> 00:25:18,680
He was thin and frail, most likely looking much older than his age.

330
00:25:18,680 --> 00:25:23,480
All Kate knew was that he was most likely a mute, if not from birth, then by some unfortunate

331
00:25:23,480 --> 00:25:27,720
tragedy as he was obviously suffering with nervous energy.

332
00:25:27,720 --> 00:25:33,600
Good morning to you my friend, the doctor said jubilantly, I am Dr. Zola, the superintendent

333
00:25:33,600 --> 00:25:35,200
here at the hilltop.

334
00:25:35,200 --> 00:25:39,640
I apologize for the chaos, we've had many unexpected arrivals this morning.

335
00:25:39,640 --> 00:25:41,720
You've had a long journey I see.

336
00:25:41,720 --> 00:25:44,560
Tell me, did you get anything to eat this morning?

337
00:25:44,560 --> 00:25:45,800
But the man said nothing.

338
00:25:45,800 --> 00:25:49,640
I gave him a biscuit but that was hours ago said Nurse Kate.

339
00:25:49,640 --> 00:25:53,920
Come we'll fix you up a plate said the doctor, fully aware of the less than ideal fare that

340
00:25:53,920 --> 00:25:57,160
had been provided at the poor house.

341
00:25:57,160 --> 00:25:59,160
Do you like freshly baked bread with butter?

342
00:25:59,160 --> 00:26:00,160
Maybe some jam?

343
00:26:00,160 --> 00:26:01,960
I know I sure do.

344
00:26:01,960 --> 00:26:05,000
The man looked back at Nurse Kate as the doctor led him away.

345
00:26:05,000 --> 00:26:09,200
He was afraid and didn't want to let go of Nurse Kate's arm.

346
00:26:09,200 --> 00:26:11,280
Get him admitted to Dr. Mouth.

347
00:26:11,280 --> 00:26:15,880
Freed of his grasp, Nurse Kate approached Nurse Nancy who sat on a rather desperate

348
00:26:15,880 --> 00:26:20,040
wooden stool behind the admittance desk.

349
00:26:20,040 --> 00:26:27,140
Sex male, race white, marriage status unknown, age unknown, nativity hometown home state

350
00:26:27,140 --> 00:26:29,000
Chicago, I imagine.

351
00:26:29,000 --> 00:26:30,000
Cause of admittance?

352
00:26:30,000 --> 00:26:32,240
Nervous breakdown, I am almost certain.

353
00:26:32,240 --> 00:26:33,240
Occupation?

354
00:26:33,240 --> 00:26:37,240
All they told me in Chicago was that he was working at a publishing house when his malady

355
00:26:37,240 --> 00:26:40,640
seized him and he lost all coherent speech.

356
00:26:40,640 --> 00:26:45,240
The officer who took him into custody merely reported that he was a manual bookbinder.

357
00:26:45,240 --> 00:26:46,240
Name?

358
00:26:46,240 --> 00:26:48,680
The poor soul didn't come with one.

359
00:26:48,680 --> 00:26:53,480
Now Nurse Nancy was kind enough but prone to rolling her eyes with a sigh.

360
00:26:53,480 --> 00:27:00,240
And with the stroke of her pen, the man with no name became a manual bookbinder.