Page 46 of Hushed

He leans on his fingertips. “I can’t answer that question, Levi.”

“Why not? It’s the only one I’ve asked that matters.”

“Because every possible answer I could give would be cruel. You deserve better.”

I swallow. “Thank you, Dr. Saint-Jacques. I guess I’ll see you in class.”

Chapter seventeen

Bastien

It has taken Parker Broussard three weeks, four emails, and one ambush outside the faculty mailroom to get me into this studio. This is the first time I’ve ever been interviewed on the radio, and I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Parker Broussard, the radio announcer, is a totally laid-back, chill guy in his mid-twenties with a honeyed voice.

“It’ll be easy,” he says as the warm-up music plays. “I’ll do some softball questions at you, make a few comments, and then we’ll open the lines. We’ll be on a five-second delay, just in case somebody drops the f-bomb on air live.”

“Does that happen often?”

“You’d be surprised. If it ever gets too much, raise your hand and I’ll embark on an anecdote so you can catch your breath.”

“An anecdote about what?”

He reaches to his cell and shakes it to life and hands it to me. The lock screen is a wedding picture of himself and a handsome man wearing a Marine Corps uniform. “Marines are weird. Believe me, I’ve got plenty.”

I smile at him and hand it back.

“What are the calls going to be about?”

“They might be asking questions about your research, but, honestly, word got out that you’re a psych guy, and that equals an advice show. So, consider it a preview of what you might be doing if you took over that hour. The guy that ran it died last year and we’re doing reruns of his least offensive moments on the air.”

I cringe. “How bad is it?”

“He was on the air for forty years. Take your pick of the crazy shit he’s said.” He smiles wryly. “We’ve been trying to fill the slot for months, and I’m busy enough with my own show.” The lights dim and Parker gives a thumbs-up to his tech guy, who is outside the glass.

The On Air sign clicks on. Parker leans forward. “This is your host, Parker Broussard. This evening, we have a really interesting guest. Sébastien Saint-Jacques, welcome.”

“Thank you for having me.” I worry about my voice on the airwaves. Does it sound too French? Too…faggy? The thought of my disembodied voice floating out there gives me the creeps. I wonder if Levi is listening. Three weeks of lecturing to the left side of the room, of answering his emails in two lines, of leaving my office door open so wide it might as well be a hallway.

“So, let’s jump in. What makes your research interesting?”

I pause. “Well, that’s a loaded question. I research soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen, and how they coped with PTSD. Especially combat veterans. I was hoping my work would lead to more effective treatment options.”

“That’s really interesting,” Parker says. “What exactly got you into PTSD research?”

“Actually, it was in my blood, so to speak. My father was an electrician in the Canadian Army, my brother was in the Navy. But I’ll pull the bandage right off. I research the use of ayahuasca, a banned, Schedule I drug, and its use as a PTSD treatment, but I have to do it in Mexico, because it’s crazy illegal here. I got interested in PTSD research because of one of my uncles, who came back from his service unable to cope in society. He chose this particular avenue when I was about fourteen because it seemed like a last straw, and to everybody’s surprise, it worked. So when I started my research, I decided that I wanted to see if he was the exception or the rule.”

Parker gives me a thumbs-up and smiles. “That’s a great story. So, tell me, why would you go to these ends to research something so off-the-grid? Isn’t there a better, safer, and less exotic thing to research?”

It’s unnerving to talk directly to the microphone. I keep glancing at Parker to see if I’m doing it right. “Of course there is. If I want to waste everyone’s time. Most of my veterans have had some form of talk therapy via the resources they have available to them.”

“Which, as a Marine Corps husband, I can tell you is not that effective.”

“No, it’s really not. The psychological profile created by combat absolutely is not a good candidate for it. It is viewed as passive, frustrating, and ultimately more prone to make veterans feel like victims. That being said, I want to point out that the fact that I had a family member who did this treatment doesn’t mean that I advocate people driving down to Mexico to do an ayahuasca ceremony. I want that to be really clear. I researched it because I wasn’t sure if he was better because it worked or he decided that it was going to work. Placebos can be stunningly effective, and the literature, when I looked at it, simply didn’t say anything more than anecdotal information. By listening to, and recording, the self-evaluation of veterans who are doing this work, I was hoping to start the process of just documenting the claims against the reality.”

Parker nods and I start to relax. “I think that leads to the big question that I think a lot of our listeners are wondering,” he says. “How effective is it? How many people completely recovered and how many got worse?”

He’s staring at me like we’re sitting across a dinner table. I consider the question. “I think that you have to define what ‘completely recovered’ really is. For instance, a significant number of my subjects wouldn’t leave the house unarmed, but they didn’t display aggressiveness or have suicidal ideation. Are they ‘completely recovered’?” I hold up my hand. Whatever anecdote Parker’s got saved up, he really needs to deliver it now, because I am just about to discuss my most catastrophic failure.

Parker gives me a thumbs-up. “Oh, that’s a good question. In our family, we are big fans of that Second Amendment, while I’m not naming names, I’ve seen a couple combat knives shoved into boots. You know who you are,” he mutters into the mic.