GADZOOKS, NOT SAMSA AGAIN

                                                       By Leon Berger

     It was bitterly cold for March, the year was 1915 and depression hung like a shroud over nations involved in the Great War as they tallied the mounting casualties.  Diversion, though temporary, was provided by an electrifying item that appeared in newspapers throughout the world:  a resident of

Prague, George Samsa, had gone to bed early in the evening, slept peacefully and woke to find himself transformed overnight into a grotesque dung beetle.

     This nightmarish event was challenged by many skeptics.  Others, more literate, presented various explanations tied into the philosophy of Sigmund Freud.   Dr. Freud made no comment about this extraordinary event but the

chronicle was recorded by Franz Kafka and the authenticity of the above facts can be verified in a publication entitled THE METAMORPHOSIS.

     Mr. Samsa’s transfiguration occupied the public press briefly, replaced by the tragic events occurring on the Western front, ultimately eradicating the name George Samsa from public consciousness..

     Now, in the fifth year of the 21^st century, startling information of similar significance was brought to my attention.  The facts were revealed to me only when I agreed to protect the anonymity of the persons involved.

     A remarkable event, a striking alteration of an 18 year old American male occurred overnight, observed but not immediately recognized by his parents, who, for their own survival, practiced ‘selective sight.’  This allowed them to ‘not see’ the floor of his bedroom, strewn with clean and dirty clothing, smelling like a wet cat extricated from a clogged sewer pipe.  They, particularly his father, created a protective shield which softened the guttural grunts and unintelligible sounds emanating from their son whenever he wanted food or transportation.  They refrained from asking him to bring out the garbage or to bring in the newspaper, thus avoiding the dismal sight of his sullen, reluctant compliance.  In truth his parents hoped that they had the fortitude to retain their sanity until their pride and joy was accepted by an out of state University.                                

 The metamorphose was recognized on the 9th of June and was   recounted to me by the boy’s mother:

“We were watching television when we heard a deep bass voice calling from the upstairs bedroom:  

     “‘Mother, there is a phone call for you.’”   

     “We were both startled and I whispered to my husband:  ‘Ben, that wasn’t Chet’s voice. Who’s up there with him?  Ben, his face ashen, pointing to the phone, ignored my question.

     “My heart was racing as I picked up the phone, relieved to recognize a familiar voice.  It was my friend Judy who asked:   ‘Phyllis, what’s going on?  I actually had a conversation with your son.  Is everything okay?’

     “I told her that I couldn’t talk to her at that moment but would phone her later and replaced the phone in its cradle.    Then Ben and I, hand in hand, mounted the stairs not knowing what we would discover in our son’s room.  The door was closed; I knocked once and opened the door without waiting for a reply.

     “Chet was at his desk, papers neatly stacked, apparently doing his homework.  The carpet was free from all clutter exposing for the first time in four years two throw rugs on a rich walnut floor.  The closet door, open to view, revealed order and neatness.

     “We stood there, Ben and I, transfixed, flabbergasted and speechless, the silence broken when Chet turned to face us and in a remarkably clear voice asked if he could borrow the car on Saturday.  ‘ I’m taking Lois Roger to the prom and, incidentally, I will need some cash.  Do you think we could work out something if I cut the grass and bring in the firewood?”

     “I heard myself asking if Lois was the young lady who was voted the Queen of the Prom?  ‘Yes, that’s the same Lois, and mother, are you aware of how dirty the windows are.  If you show me how to wash the windows, I can do them this week end.’

     “Later, within the privacy of our bedroom, Ben and I pondered the transformation of our son.  When and how had it occurred?  Would the transformation last?  We agreed the answers were not important; the reality was all that mattered.  We laughed and then cried, energized by the surprising turn of events.”

     After hearing her story, I did some research in the Journal of Neurophysiology and I learned that teen age romantic love can cause a catalytic action permitting out-of-character behavior.

     The everyday sights and familial relationships that George Samsa could no longer enjoy contributed to his bizarre death when a barrage of ripe apples put an end to his life.

      The game for young Chet has not played out yet, but he has all the cards for a winning hand.  If he plays them skillfully it is most likely he will avoid the tedious climb up a dung heap. 

      All names have been changed and any similarity to sons or grandsons is not intended and is purely coincidental.

    

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