Man Facing Southeast Page #4

this world.

You want to take me to man's past.

But how could you understand that?

Relax, Doctor.

What's worrying you?

If I were a dictator and could command

powerful armies, I could understand.

But I'm not.

I'm in an asylum.

Everyone knows that I'm crazy.

You, too, right?

Rantes, you're sick.

I'm a doctor.

I want to cure you, that's all.

I want you to understand me,

not cure me.

Even though he didn't believe it,

I tried to understand.

In fact, it was becoming my life's main

objective to understand Rantes.

He passed every test, as expected.

Sticking to his crazy beliefs, each time

more complex, more perfect.

The intelligence test rated him

as a genius.

No analysis showed any

physical abnormality,

all the results indicated

he was healthy.

Except for one detail... he claimed

to come from another world.

- We're seeing the circus?

- No.

I didn't have time to buy tickets.

- Where are we going?

- To the zoo.

Again?

What are you doing?

Keep still.

Sit straight. Leave that alone.

Waiter!

Here.

One steak!

- The steak!

- What?

- My steak?

- I put it there.

- Where?

- I left it there.

People are waiting!

- Did you take it?

- Where?

Time went by.

Rantes became just another shadow.

One of many...

acknowledged only by the priest,

who now had an incredible organist.

Rantes didn't exist,

except for me.

No other doctor acknowledged him.

At that time I was the only witness

to his existence.

If Rantes was crazy,

he was crazy only for me.

His delirium didn't diminish.

Apparently, he had avoided

taking the anti-psychotics.

I could have injected him.

For some reason, I chose not to.

Rantes' delirium was harmless

and for the moment, perfect.

I just had to wait.

I was sure that, at any moment,

he would make a mistake.

I want to ask a favor.

Would you arrange for me

to work in Pathology?

In Pathology? What would

you do in Pathology?

Let's say... cleaning... maintenance.

I see, you're bored.

You want to use your hands.

- What about the handicraft workshop?

- No, Doctor.

What would you have me make?

Wooden boxes that read

''Souvenir from Nuthouse''?

I'm not bored. I want to work

in Pathology.

You're my only friend

with any power here.

Sending a lunatic to work in Pathology

would make you a lunatic.

The cleaning story is a good pretext.

That's the pretext.

What's the real motive?

To investigate.

- Investigate what?

- Man's brain.

- Your brain?

- No, your brain.

I hate to disappoint you.

All signs indicate your brain is exactly

like mine or any other human's.

Then why are you considered sane

and I'm considered insane?

He sure seems like he's

from another planet.

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