He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The doctor said, “Does it make a difference?”
He raised his chin and slowly lowered it.
“It certainly does, Arley. In just what way, I don’t know. Anyway, there was some connection between the compartments. Wiley No Baker dissolved all connections whatsoever. Well, not quite. Sometimes, there are flashes, not very bright, but I don’t know if these are just memories or the personae speaking up.”
“The strange thing,” she said, “is that your Wiley persona kept all the memories you needed to function. You didn’t have to be taught a language again. You can read and write, and you know the ins and outs of the mores and customs of your society. You did not forget, for instance, how to handle your fork, knife and spoon or your table manners. All this comes from Caird and the others.”
“A man can’t live if he has only a conscious mind,” Caird said. “He also requires an unconscious. Or, let’s say he could live without an unconscious mind, but he’d only be a half-man.”
He stood up, hands clenched, and glared at her.
“I am a half-man! A dark reflection of a man in a dark mirror!”
“Not as dark as you were when you came here,” she said. “The Caird whom I first met would not have been able to get so angry. You are making progress.”
He loosened his fists and sat down. She looked at the wall behind him.
“Time’s up. I’ll see tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you before then,” he said as he headed toward the door.
“What do you mean?”
“In my dreams.”
28
“I’ll dwell on this very briefly,” Doctor Bruschino said. “It’s relevant to your ability to change personae, though I confess I don’t know in what way. Your sudden metamorphosis in personality, if not in persona, at the age of five. The report of the psychicist, Doctor Heuvelmans, concludes that it was the triumph of free will over genetic determinism. The triumph of free will over genetic determinism! He could not deny that you suffered a strange sea change, as he puts it. But he had no explanations, no theories, as to how you did it. He found it very difficult, he said, to believe that an adult could turn his persona inside out. But a five year old—never. Yet, the facts were evident.”
Caird said, “I don’t have any more idea than he what happened then. I don’t even remember when I was five.”
“The memory is down there. But, so far, verbal techniques, pharmaceutical means, neural stimulation and tracking, all have failed to activate your infant memory.”
She found that meaningful, and perhaps it was. But he never thought about it except when she brought the subject up. Whatever that childhood event meant, if anything, he was becoming a little more alive every day. The people around him were getting more solid, less ectoplasmic. He was like crystals precipitating in a liquid. The liquid was his inchoate personality; the crystals were the hard facets emerging from the formlessness.
He was starting to come into being.
Suddenly, he had quit being a loner. He struck up conversations with those whom he always ignored or shied away from. These included the patients, nurses, doctors, attendants, and even the ganks. He also managed to overcome Donna Cloyd’s distrust of him. Before long, she was convinced that the man she had blamed as a coward was not in Caird’s body. Also, that he had not willingly changed his persona.
One day, Bruschino told him, “You’re beginning to come into focus.”
Two mornings later, as he entered the session room, he was greeted with a faint odor of PH No. 5. He breathed deeply, feeling the warmth in the pit of his stomach and his groin. For a moment, he stood in the doorway while he reveled in the expensive perfume and its effects. Doctor Arlene Bruschino was standing up and smiling. Her only clothing was a thin and semitransparent light-blue material. The perfume confirmed her intention. PH No. 5 contained laboratory-made pheromones that excited men and women alike.
He said, “I don’t need it.”
She said, “What?” Then, “Oh, that 5! I know you don’t need it, but every little bit helps. Besides, you might need a signal.”
“This is the first time in a long time for me,” he said huskily as he strode toward her. She came out from behind the desk to meet him halfway. They did not get to the couch; they merged on the floor.
After the second time on the couch, they sat up and drank some wine.
“You were wonderful,” he said, breaching hard.
“Thank you. I have long experience and enthusiasm, though I think you outmatched me in enthusiasm. But then I’ve not been deprived.”
“It’s been hard on me, no pun intended.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You were quite wonderful yourself.”
“I hope we’re not being taped,” he said. “Though, really, I don’t give a damn.”
“I made sure the monitors were off. At least, those that I know about weren’t on. But you can never tell. However, like you, I don’t care.”
“Is this just therapy or are you attracted to me?” he said.
“It’s both. Therapy, in a way, for me, too. Two men are not enough for me. Oh, most of the time, I’m quite contented. But now and then…”
“Am I getting close to the end of the therapy?”
“No. Tomorrow, we go back to regular therapy. I thought you were ripe for a woman, and I was certainly ripe for you. I had some fantasies—I hope you don’t mind—while I was moaning and groaning. Was I being screwed by Caird only or were eight others involved? Were the multiple orgasms caused by one penis or multiple penises all at the same time?”
“There was enough to go around for a whole platoon.” He laughed. “I’m glad I’m one of those patients it’s O.K. for the therapist to have sex with.”
“So am I. You know, in ancient days, psychicists would have been horrified at the idea of a therapist going to bed with a patient. But we know better now. Some patients improve if they and the therapists have attained a certain symbiosis. Others…no go, don’t even think of it. Though it’s hard not to think about it.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Find a woman for yourself. I got you started.”
“Well, I’m not finished yet by any means,” he said, touching a breast. “Unless my time’s up.”
“I’ve cancelled the other appointments. Your time’s up when you can’t get it up any more. I’m only jesting, of course. You can talk all you want to when you’re through with the couch.”
The next day, Caird asked a patient, Briony Lodge, to go to bed with him. But that was after a party in the room of a patient during which they watched a TV seminar show. Normally, partners did not do this unless the program was sexually titillating. But the subject that evening was a debate on whether or not the dayworld system should be abolished.
Caird was sitting in a chair alongside Briony. Both were drinking black russians. Though patients were allowed liquor, unless they were alcoholics, they were given a daily quota of an ounce and a half per hour for four hours—if the therapist permitted it. While they were talking, she had put her hand on his arm, then his thigh, and finally his crotch, though she did not leave it there for long. He had put his hand, moth-light, on her thigh and then, cat-heavy, on her crotch. She not only did not object; she squeezed her legs together on his hand. So far, the socially approved procedure had been followed. The man or woman was to make the first signal that he or she was ready. After that, the man or woman would respond if he or she felt interested.
Caird would have suggested to her that they leave the party now and go to his room. He did want to see the program, but he could have it rerun at any time. However, since the hosts had announced that they had arranged for an extra amount of liquor for their guests, as long as they did not leave the party early, he decided to stay if Briony agreed to that. She did, and so they waited until the show came on.
The INTERIM program originated from Moscow, Tuesday, and was
hosted by Ivan Skavar Ataturk. She was a tall slim blonde with knobby knees and a reputation as an intellectual. That is, she depended upon her memory to summon up her obscure references, not upon data displays. Her trademark was a silver cattle prod bearing alto-relief images from classical Greek, Chinese, and Slavic mythology. She never applied the end to guests but sometimes brought it close to their legs. They usually went along with the shtick by pretending fear. Tonight, the talk was about the desirability of breaking up the New Era system and the difficulties in doing so.
It was a high-class show, that is, conducted verbally in Loglan. But, since many people were not fluent in this, subtitles in English and Standard Tuesday Russian were displayed.
Her guests were Stanley Wang Dobroski, first assistant to the Chief of the Ecosystems Bureau; Olga Shin Muller, chief of the Overall Engineering Department, European States; Tanya Alvarez Balgladashi, subassistant to the chief of the Civilian Reconstruction Works Bureau, State of Western Siberia; and Engels Bahadur Tbilisi, first secretary of Transportation Planning.
Ataturk, after the introduction of the theme of discussion and of the guests: “Citizen Dobroski, you have been selected at random to give your opinion first. As the head of the Ecosystems Bureau, you must have definite ideas about tonight’s subject. I’m sure you have arranged a certain sequence of scenarios for the tasks your bureau will be faced with if the world goes back to living day-by-day.”
Dobroski: “Ahem! Ah, yes, ahem…of course. We have not finished our study because of lack of time since we are very busy on current projects. But, given the possibility of such a…catastrophe is not the right word…such a project of almost overwhelming demands…ahem…requiring vast amounts of planning, credits, materials, and labor…well…the planning itself, if such a project should ever come about…ahem…that is enormous and requires a global…worldwide…data banking on a gargantuan scale.”
Displayed in the subtitles, a definition of gargantuan.
Dobroski smiled, baring teeth stained with betel juice.
“It will take subyears before the study of the data is finished. The impact on terrestrial ecosystems must be carefully considered. We want no ecological catastrophes such as the ancients criminally perpetrated. And we…ahem…have to ensure without the slightest doubt that the vast change from vertical lifesystems, you might say, to horizontal lifesystems, does not undo the work of the past few obmillenia.
“So, those no doubt civic-minded but misled citizens clamoring for a return to the system of the ancients must be fully informed of the quite probable damage and injury resulting from the change. They…”
Ataturk, brandishing her cattle prod: “Thank you for that warning.”
Looking full-face, closeup, into the camera. “That was Citizen Dobroski, Chief of Tuesday’s Ecosystems Bureau. It’s evident that he is opposed to the reversion to the pre-New Era system.”
Dobroski, loudly: “I did not say that. I only…”
Ataturk: “Later, Citizen Dobroski. You will get a full hearing. Citizen Muller. As an important person in the Overall Engineering Department…”
Muller: “I am head of the department.”
Ataturk, smiling: “Which makes you very important. As chief of this highly integral and important department, you are fully aware of the enormous implications of such a breakup of a system that has been operating smoothly for several obmillenia. Would you care to make a few introductory comments?”
Muller: “More than a few. This subject is not to be lightly skimmed over. I’ve studied the problems, that is, the larger issues…haven’t had enough time to get down to the thousands of minor problems and their details…these quite often reveal that the larger problems are not solvable or force us to use different methods to solve them, the larger problems, I mean…”
Ataturk, pointing the prod at Muller: “What is your opinion at the moment? It’s understood that you may wish to revise it in the light of data to come.”
Facing the center camera again: “INTERIM is about opinions only. No policies are officially voiced here. The comments of the officials during this program do not in the least bind the officials to commit themselves or their offices to such opinions.”
Muller: “I agree with my esteemed colleague, Citizen Dobroski. The magnitude of the tasks involved is staggering. The question is, however, one of possibility or impossibility. If impossible, and that remains to be determined…”
Ataturk: “But the motto of your department is: NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE.”
Muller: “Well, that’s, uh, not exactly bullshit. I certainly wouldn’t want to apply that pejorative to the highly successful and always achieved goals of the department. But, let’s see. NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE applies only to the possible. You wouldn’t ask the department to move the Earth out of its orbit, for instance. Or level the Himalayas, though that is within possibility but would be forbiddingly expensive. You see what I mean.”
Ataturk: “Yes, I do. But I believe, no disrespect meant, that that is bullshit. Are you telling me that your department, combined with those of your colleagues, cannot fulfill the requirements of, as Citizen Dobroski said, the change from vertical to horizontal lifesystems?”
Muller: “I didn’t say that. I merely…”
Ataturk: “You certainly did say that.”
Muller, rising from her chair and glaring: “I did not! What I said…”
Ataturk, stabbing the prod at Muller: “Now, now, don’t get your shit hot. Play it cool. Let’s be logical, move within the data. You government officials, no disrespect to the system meant, do sometimes get arrogant.”
Muller, sitting back, clenching her hands, her face red: “I am not arrogant, and your remark is insulting to the government. You have strayed from the issue. You…”
Ataturk: “On the contrary, you’ve strayed. You’re trying to obscure and obfuscate the theme, lead us off the agreed-upon path,”
Muller moves her mouth to form a silent word.
Caird spoke to a fellow patient, Pyotr Villanova Abdullah: “What’d she say? That was Russian, wasn’t it?”
Abdullah laughed, then said: “‘Ebi tvoju mat.’ Go screw your mother! An old Russian obscenity. I haven’t heard that for years!”
Briony Lodge, draining her glass of Wild Turkey: “I can’t believe this isn’t all rehearsed. Officials know what they’re in for, so the government wouldn’t allow anybody who’d blow her cool to participate. It’s all a show to put over the government propaganda and clown it up so the viewers won’t get bored.”
The door to the apartment slid open, and one of the hosts, beaming, walked in. He held a box jammed with bottles in his arms.
Sevring Pu Annyati announced, “Hey, everybody! I contrived to get more booze! I got various friends who owe me favors to loan their liquor. I’ll be a long time paying them back, but what the hell!”
Despite the babel, Caird kept watching INTERIM. Tbilisi, first secretary of Transportation Planning, maintained that polls, conducted among 34% of the population, showed that 79% of these were against abandoning the present system. Ataturk rejected the results. She claimed that the pollsters had contacted only those citizens whose biodata showed that they were conservative. Hence, all those polled would resist any radical change. Tbilisi denied this, saying that the poll had been taken at random by a computer. She laughed and said that Tbilisi was close to getting the business end of the prod. Her staff had made a random check of 23,000 of those polled. The computer reported that everyone questioned had been conservative. Surely a spot check would have turned up some non-conservatives.
Tbilisi replied that he was shocked to hear this, but he did not believe that Ataturk was correct. However, he would inform the head of the Data Polling Office of her accusation. The data would be re-checked, and a report made on it in due time.
“Due time,” Briony said. She had returned to the chair with a glass of gin. “That means, if the public forgets about it, no report will be made.”
After many irrel
evancies had been dealt with and some horseplay disposed of, the subject was attacked again. In summary, the officials offered several possible approaches. The conclusion was that all agreed that the New Era system had to continue. It just was not possible to destroy it. Not unless, as Ataturk proposed, the regulation of the number of children was removed. Then the construction people needed could be gotten from the new generations. She admitted that that would take a very long time. And it brought up other problems. All these obstacles aside, how could the shift be made?
“I’ve had enough,” Caird said. He stood up and held out his hand to Briony. “What about you?”
“I tuned out long ago.”
29
The next ten days showed him that his new persona had developed a strong element of compassion. It had come up out of the deeps like a leviathan, a benevolent Moby Dick, and swallowed him.
If he saw anyone was unhappy, he did his best to comfort them. He worried about them until he felt that they were no longer, as he put it, in the slough of despond. He did as many kindnesses as he could. He spent long hours talking to people who were lonely, and there were more than he could handle. The ganks, too, came into his circle of attention. Rather, he moved into theirs. Despite what the prisoners thought, the ganks were human, and many were lonely or unhappy. He talked to them, joked with them, and even ran little errands for them. He was aware that some of them and many patients regarded him as a suckass because of this.
During a session, Doctor Bruschino said, “You’re getting to be quite a character. Some patients are even referring to you as Saint Jeff. Others…well, as Saint Nuisance.”
“There will always be some who are malicious or, perhaps, just do not understand,” he said.
She shook her head. “Frankly, I’m puzzled. In one way, you’re a psychicist’s delight. In other ways, you’re a complete frustration.”
“I don’t comprehend it myself. But I don’t have to do so in order just to be. Being, that’s what counts. Doing. Acting. Chute the philosophy!”
Dayworld Breakup Page 22
