Back in Ohio, Cobb avidly read Randall Jarrell's "Losses" as part of his self-imposed education, clutching the grief of the war to his chest. Memories of his basic training and field training, where photos and hours of information about the Japanese soldiers were drilled into Cobb's head, surfaced as fresh and clear in his mind as the day he sat, wide-eyed in disbelief, trying to absorb the idea any human would want to kill another person and forcing down the revulsion rising in his throat when he realized he was being taught to kill anyone of Asian features. Cobb had never been a bigot, believing all people have equal rights to life and happiness, and the many colors and shapes of people were part of God's plan to keep mankind from getting bored, a painting of souls, where every stroke of the brush was different, but no less important in creating the whole. He battled with this rejection of his training throughout his tour of the South Pacific, but the atrocities he saw from both sides of the jungles and the grief and guilt he harbored at the loss of his unit wore down his resistance and Cobb left the war with a spark of suspicion burning in his mind as to whether Japan was indeed populated by human beings or by monsters.
He followed "Losses" with magazine accounts of alien sightings describing petite gray skinned men with large, dark, almond shaped eyes, and a nearly audible gong rang in his mind in the revelation the Asians are Martians and aren't really human and their subtle overthrow of the world began with Japan and now spread to Korea. Cobb felt the overwhelming desire to get out into the world and save the earth from its own ignorance. Complicating his delusion was the fact he was now cared for by a Japanese intern, the very sight of whom sent Cobb cringing to the corner in his room crying it was a government plot. The hospital felt Cobb was a danger to himself after catching him trying to singe the hair off his arms. They didn't know Cobb was trying to become hairless, to enable him to infiltrate the Martian ranks, a perfectly logical move in his mind since in the war he had observed Asians had as a general rule less body hair. So, they removed his room of anything potentially harmful to him, ceasing his treasured carpentry projects, and placed him in restraints in his bed. They allowed him visitors, but the lone one to see him was the toughly gently priest who made the rounds of the hospital in his wheelchair.
Sitting in his corner nodding as the priest spoke with him of faith and grace and angelic visions, Cobb noted with curiosity the fact the man's black robes covered all but the toes of his shoes, and saw in the holy man the means of his salvation. All he needed was glue; he saved back his oatmeal from his breakfast for a week, making a basic grain paste he hoped would work, storing it in his slipper to cure. He further began to gain weight, begging for seconds and showing a marked improvement in his appetite, to the delight of the hospital staff.
Over the weeks the priest thought Cobb was making progress, holding spirit-filled conversation with the genius that firmly had the priest believing he was healed through the power of faith. Cobb eventually convinced him to loosen his bonds during the visits, and for another few weeks, gained the man's trust, chatting amicably with him every Monday.
Cobb was ready to make his move now, and impatiently awaited his weekly visitor. The old man rolled in, reached over to remove Cobb's restraints and helped him to sit up in bed dangling his foot over the edge, then settled back to chat with his newfound friend. It was lunch time, and Cobb knew the guards were less attentive during this time of day and hoped his timing was right. The good father had made progress convincing the doctors Cobb was improved, and happily told him he was going to be retested the following week. Cobb reacted with exaggerated bless yous and flamboyantly crossed himself, bending to kiss the man's feet. The priest pushed back a proud tear and crossed himself, blessing Cobb, as the patient swiftly rose from his stoop, grabbed the man's neck, and pressed with his fingers on the arteries to block off the priest's circulation to his head. Patiently waiting while the flailing man slowly lost consciousness, Cobb mentally reviewed his next step.
He hopped over to roll the priest out of the chair into his bed and stripped the man, put on his clothes and shoved his own hospital clothing under the covers, pulled the leather restraints secure, gagged him with the sock Cobb had been issued to keep his one foot warm, then arranged the covers to make certain the priest's mouth was obscured, tucking them tightly around his head and impossible to shake loose, and made it to appear as if the patient were simply lying there listening to his spiritual guide's devotionals. Cobb settled himself in the wheelchair as a king on his throne, using the paste to glue the spare pants leg to the spare shoe. Both men being slightly rotund with pink cheeks and white hair, there was a remarkable resemblance to Cobb now laying in the bed, and for all visual purposes, the black robed priest now with his back to the observation window in the door, sitting in the wheelchair, chatting with the now awake and wild eyed, frantic looking "patient." Cobb killed time as long as he dared, to give time for his urine and oatmeal paste to dry, then after three hours of "counseling" rolled to the door, and in a perfect imitation of the priest's New York accent called for the intern to let him out.
Having to stifle a rising flood of fear as the Asian man came to collect him, Cobb managed to chat idly with the youth, tossing in a liberal sprinkle of Latin phrases and bless you my sons. Neatly taken to the curb, Cobb suffered the touch of the young man, although it felt as if alien larvae were crawling on his skin, as he was politely assisted into his cab, breathing a sigh of relief as the glued on shoe obediently remained attached to the pants when he swung his "legs" into the taxi.
Once more to the bus station. Once more on the road, this time to Georgia, figuring maybe Victory would be sympathetic. This time, upon arriving in Georgia, since the house was a pleasant roll from the station, Cobb figured he would go under his own power there, breathing in the sweet smell of jasmine on the wind and playing with the wheelchair like a kid turned loose in a hospital supply store. Victory saw him roll by in a black blur out of the store window; he turned to smile broadly at his sister's accomplishment, waving as he wheeled by. She didn't recognize him, but vaguely thought he looked familiar, and idly waved back wondering who the odd priest was in town and where in the sleepy Baptist burg was a catholic church.
Cobb whistled as he continued his journey, taking about an hour to get to their house, experiencing an exhilarating moment of panic as his chair got a bit out of control in a downhill run he recovered by diving into the grass to slow down, his crash landing stirring up a mist of noseeums and the clean scent of broken grass. He hobbled around to right the chair, and continued his journey, happily parking his chair in Victory's lawn, hopping up to her porch. He pulled out the priest's battered bible and settled in to read until she returned. The air was heavy with gathering afternoon heat, and the black robes were sweltering to wear, but other than that, Cobb found the wait pleasant, staring off into the green trees for a hour, focusing on nothing in particular, studying the microcosm of the ants scurrying on the porch for another, scanning the blue sky for alien ships and delighting in finding none, and reading the book of Exodus in the bible.
Eventually, with twilight hanging heavy in the air, Victory and Jedd returned with the girls, surprised to find a peacefully reading strange looking priest on their porch. Jedd walked up and introduced himself. Cobb looked up, broadly smiled and said, "you are a man I know. God knows you too my son," getting into his newfound role. Jedd shook his hand, inquiring why they were being visited.
"God visits all his faithful, my son. Even those whom the Martians have not yet defiled." Cobb replied.
Victory stepped up, "Excuse me? Martians?" beginning to wonder if this was indeed a priest.
"I am deeply saddened my mother fails to know my face. Do you not know your son whom you fed and bathed and saved from the claws of apathy and guilt? Do you not recognize the flying soul of the young boy who ran with you in the wind? Do you not understand he is returned to his heart home, his hearth and his soul to live again in peace with the human race?" Victory's mind reeled as she suddenly realized who this was. She hustled Jedd in the house with the children, telling the "priest" she was going inside to get him a glass of lemonade, for surely the warm evening was wearing on him. He solemnly bowed and thanked her, patiently waiting for her return, confident she would accept him and take him in.
Inside the house, Victory explained to Jedd the man out there on the porch was Cobb and somehow he'd escaped or been let loose. Jedd sent the girls up to their rooms and held his wife while she shook with adrenaline. Sunny snuck back out her window and peeked at Cobb from around the side of the house, wondering if that was what all crazy people looked like, and profoundly puzzled he was a man of the cloth. Jedd tried to dial the number of the hospital, initially swearing because he forgot the area code, a fairly novel thing he was unaccustomed to using, then fumbled through his paperwork to find the letter from Helga about the last escape incident, smoothing it out and running the dial through its paces. The house was silent but for the phone dial clicking as it smoothly spun forward then back with each number, and the creaking of the rocker on the porch. Victory breathed a sigh of relief she and Helga remained in touch even though Cobb's wife had disowned his and Victory's parents. The two waited for the buzzing ring to be answered. Quite frankly, by this time both women had diminished affection for the senior Saers and this aversion drew them closer as sisters. Finally someone picked up the phone and Jedd described Cobb, told them he had appeared at his home, and asked if he had been released.
The hospital discovered the escape when "Cobb" was brought his dinner, releasing the indignant and disappointed priest, who had sincerely believed Cobb's miraculous improvement, but enough time had passed that all traces of Cobb's exodus vanished in the shift changes of ticket salesmen and taxi drivers, lost in the blissful anonymity of paying cash for transportation. Relieved Cobb finally surfaced, the hospital administrator took a moment to inform her boss the search for him could be called off and turned back to the phone and assured Jedd that Cobb had not been released and to be careful, for he was a dangerous man, advising him to call the local hospital to pick Cobb up and they would transfer him from there. Jedd thanked the woman and hung up, to immediately dial again for the local institution. A few minutes later a confused and frustrated "priest" was once more bundled up and taken away in the night, to be deposited the next day in his original room stripped of his vestments.