Brain Child

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Remember when you and Mommy made me get rid of my lab animals? At first I thought, Well, there goes all my experimentation with behavior modification. Then I realized behavior is all around me, all the time—the behavior of people, my own people, my family. Why couldn’t I just study that? I’ve already started working with Billy. He’s a perfect subject, you know, because he’s so dependent on me. I can thank you and Mommy for that.” This time her smile was warmer.

  “Well,” she said, running her forefinger over his left wrist, “now this terrible thing has happened to you. It’s horrible and I feel bad about it, but it would be foolish if I didn’t take advantage of it and try *to learn something from it. You’d be the first to say that, I’m sure,” she said. Her face was filled with sincerity. Greg’s eyes moved back and forth quickly as he searched it, looking for meanings between her sentences.

  “You and I can understand this, but we can’t expect Mommy will. In time, she might understand some of it, but we can’t be concerned about that. Anyway, your illness is having more of a psychological and emotional effect on her than she cares to admit. She went absolutely berserk this morning and ran off to get her hair done at Nikki’s. When she comes up to show you, try to make a big deal of it. As big a deal as you’re capable of making, I mean.

  “So, you see,” she went on, “I think it would be better for her anyhow if I relieved her of most of her responsibility toward you. She’s really not strong enough for all this. Don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly. “I think it was admirable of her to want to bring you home and take care of you. But it’s simply another case of expectations exceeding capabilities. We see it every day, don’t we?

  “All right,” she said, starting toward the door, “I’ll go down and let mother know that you woke up. Want to sit up a little higher?” He didn’t blink once or twice. “Now, you can’t sulk, Daddy. That’s not a mature response.” She waited a second or two, but he continued to simply stare. “OK,” she sang and walked out of the room.

  Downstairs, Dorothy had fallen asleep. Her new hairdo had already begun to come apart. With her head collapsed to the side in a drunken stupor and her jaw dropped, opening her mouth enough to reveal the tip of her pink tongue pressed against the inside of her lower lip, Dorothy appeared just as paralyzed as her husband. Lois shook her head in disgust as she stood looking down at her. Then she poked her sharply in the shoulder.

  Dorothy’s eyes struggled to stay shut. After a few moments she opened them and confronted her daughter. She grimaced and pushed herself into a sitting position and then rubbed her face as vigorously as she could.

  “What time is it?”

  “Daddy woke up. He wants to see you and your new hairdo. I told him about it.”

  “Did you?” She yawned and felt the sides of her head to see how badly the strands had broken free of their mold.

  “Yes. I’ll go up and start preparing the other bedroom for you. Then we’ll move your stuff.”

  “Why … why would I move my stuff?”

  “Do you want to keep running back and forth for clothes every morning? I just assumed you’d want the convenience. …”

  “I guess you’re right. Let me just wash my face in cold water before I go upstairs,” she said, struggling to stand. “I feel so warm.”

  Lois backed away. “I’m going back upstairs.” She met Billy in the corridor. He had just finished putting all the paint and brushes away. “Tomorrow,” she said, “we’re going to build a little machine for Daddy, something that will make things easier for him.”

  “Wow.”

  Lois looked behind her.

  “But don’t say anything to Mommy about it yet. She’d only get in the way and make things more difficult.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good,” Lois said. “Help me fix up the other bedroom for her. If you keep helping me like this,” she said, “I’ll do something special for you.”

  “You will? What?”

  “I’ll show you how to make a worm farm.”

  “Oh, boy! I’ll help you, Lois, I’ll help you all the time.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know you will.” She gave him a curt smile and started up the stairs quickly. There was work to be done and she never liked wasting time.

  13

  In the morning Dorothy went to the supermarket to buy a week’s worth of food. Lois encouraged her to do so by complimenting her on her newly revived good looks and got her to the point where she was eager to be seen in public again. As soon as she left, Lois began building the Skinner box response mechanism. She had what she needed in her inventory of materials from her previous projects with animals. Gregory Wilson watched with a look of surprise and terror on his face as his daughter and small son constructed the cable and gong. When they were finished, she asked him to try it, but he didn’t move his fingers a bit.

  “That’s the wrong attitude, Daddy. I was hoping you would be cooperative from the start. We don’t have that much time to work, you know.*’ She waited, but he simply stared and blinked twice.

  “Why is he saying no?” Billy asked. Greg turned to his son and repeated his message. Lois stepped between them.

  “Because he doesn’t understand yet,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. He will.”

  Lois didn’t tell Dorothy about it until later when they helped her bring in the packages and unpack the groceries.

  “We’ve built a device for Daddy so he can call us when he wants us,” she said.

  “Yeah, it really works good,” Billy said.

  “Oh?”

  “Want me to go upstairs and ring it, Lois?”

  “Sure, go on.”

  “Just listen,” he said and ran up to his father’s room. Dorothy waited. They heard the gong vibrate.

  “Why, that’s amazing. And your father can do that?”

  “Whenever he wants to,” Lois said. She continued to organize the foods. Her mother had fallen for this part easily, she thought, but what would follow would be more difficult to do as long as her mother played such a major role in taking care of her father. Her next step, as she saw it, was to direct her mother away from her father and away from the house. She had to get her to see the situation as totally threatening to herself; she had to get her to reject it all.

  “Did you see a lot of people?” Lois asked.

  “Some. Everyone asked about Greg. I don’t know whether it’s more depressing to stay in or get out.”

  “Oh, by all means you should get out more. Take in a movie, visit someone.”

  “I wouldn’t feel right without your father,” Dorothy said.

  “That’s ridiculous and unrealistic, Mother.”

  “Maybe, but right now nothing like that interests me. I’m satisfied with my soap operas,” she added, smiling, and headed for the living room.

  Lois thought for a moment. It was clear to her what she had to do. Although it was important to be subtle, it was equally important to be assertive. She didn’t have the time for intricate strategies. Thank goodness she didn’t need them; her mother was already tipping in the right direction. It only required a gentle shove. She made her a stiff drink and brought it into the living room.

  “What’s this?”

  “I know what it’s like to do battle in the local supermarkets. Figured you’d like to calm your nerves.”

  “I didn’t even eat lunch,” Dorothy said, a smile frozen on her face.

  “So? Cocktails before a meal are always in order.”

  “I’ve got to feed your father.”

  “Already done.” She was lying, but there was no chance of her mother’s discovering that. “Of course, it’s time for his bedpan.”

  “Oh,” Dorothy said, taking the drink.

  “But why spoil your appetite? I’ll take care of that.”

  “Would you? Thank you, Lois. I know I couldn’t have brought him home without your help.” She took another long sip from her drink and settled back in her chair.

  As
soon as Lois walked into the bedroom, Greg’s eyes snapped open. She could see he was expecting food.

  “Mother came back from the supermarket, but she’s exhausted. Doesn’t have the same stamina she used to have. I thought you’d press the bar and ring the gong. Aren’t you hungry?” He blinked once. “Well, you’re going to have to press the bar, Daddy. That’s the way it’s going to be now. I don’t have to go through the procedures to establish a conditioned reflex with you, do I? You want food, you press the bar; food, bar, that’s the association. You have the intelligence to make it with verbal directions.” He blinked twice. “That’s stubborn and disobedient. I really didn’t expect this.”

  She looked at the bedpan that was on the chair beside the bed.

  “I can’t give you the bedpan until you eat,” she said. She turned to the door and then looked back at him. “I hope you don’t wait too long. If you mess the bed, God knows how long you’ll be lying in it.” She left, a smile of determination on her face.

  She was only halfway down the stairs when the gong vibrated. Billy came charging down the corridor and up the steps.

  “He did it? He did it?” he asked, the excitement bringing a full red flush to his face.

  “Of course,” she said and walked back up. Billy went down again and hurried into the living room. Dorothy was absorbed in her soap opera. She had her feet up, her nearly emptied glass held high.

  “Did you hear it? Did you hear it?”

  “Hear what?”

  “The gong. Daddy rang his gong.”

  “No, I didn’t. What did he want?”

  “Lois went to see.”

  “Good,” she said and turned back to the television set.

  Upstairs, Lois gave Greg his bedpan. He looked angry and worked hard at expressing it through his guttural noises.

  “I know,” she said, “I know. But this reaction will pass. You’ll get so you like the system, you’ll see. The more dependent you are on it, the more you’ll like it. It’s a common phenomenon, evidenced in the behavior of hostages who develop positive relationships with their captors. Remember the poem The Prisoner of Chillon’ by Byron? Oh, you probably don’t. You had a poor literary background, Daddy. I meant to tell you that a number of times.

  “Anyway, in the poem, when his saviors come and finally free him, he says—and I always remember these lines because they illustrate an interesting behavioral reaction; Byron was ahead of his time with the concept. He says, Tetter’d or fetterless to be,/I learn’d to love despair./And thus when they appear’d at last,/And all my bonds aside were cast,/These heavy walls to me had grown/A hermitage—and all my own!/And half I felt as they were come/To tear me from a second home.’ Later on, he says, ‘My very chains and I grew friends. … ’

  “So, you see,” she said, with a voice as cheery as any she could express, “in time, you’re going to absolutely love this little Skinner box bar. Now I’ll go down and get you something to eat.”

  Lois had a new motive for bringing animals back into the house. Dorothy discovered it when she came upon Billy entering the house with a small garter snake captured in a jar. Before she could turn him out with it, Lois was on the scene.

  “I need it,” she said.

  “What do you mean, you need it? I thought we all agreed you weren’t going to experiment with animals in the house anymore.”

  “That was before Daddy got so sick.” She took the jar from Billy, opened it, and lifted the snake out. Dorothy backed away. Lois stretched the snake its full length.

  “That’s ugly and disgusting. I don’t want it in here. What if it should get loose?”

  “It won’t get loose.”

  “What does your father’s illness have to do with your bringing animals back in?”

  “Well, if I’m going to be tied to this house for a considerable part of the summer, I won’t be able to carry out my work someplace else, now, will I?”

  “What work? Why can’t you experiment with something else?” Dorothy asked, keeping her distance. Her voice was already weakening.

  “I don’t see why you’re being unreasonable, Mother. I wasn’t unreasonable when you asked me to make sacrifices.”

  “Just keep them away from me,” Dorothy said. “Don’t let me know about them. You can have the pantry back again.”

  “I’m using the study,” Lois said. She put the snake back into the jar.

  “What?”

  “The pantry is just too small.”

  “The study?”

  “We don’t use it, Mother. It won’t make any difference.”

  “All those dirty creatures in the study?”

  “They’re not dirty. You hardly ever go in there, so what’s the difference?” Lois held her ground. Dorothy looked at the snake in the jar and then walked on to the living room.

  “It was easy to catch it, Lois. What else do you want?”

  “I want field mice, lots of field mice. We’ll use my traps. Go get them and set them up in the backyard.”

  “All right,” he said eagerly. He started, but stopped when they heard the gong. “What’s Daddy want?”

  “Never mind. Go get the traps.” They heard the gong again and then again.

  “Is it time for his lunch?”

  “No,” she said. “Go get the traps, I told you.”

  He walked off, turning back when the gong was sounded and then continuing on when Lois glared at him. She took the small pad out of the back pocket of her jeans and made a notation. The gonging stopped. She smiled to herself and went into the living room. Dorothy sat sulking in the easy chair.

  “What did he want?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I heard him gonging.”

  “He wanted the bed rolled down,” she said, sure she had left it that way.

  “How can you tell what he wants? He was hitting that gong all through the night last night. Nearly drove me crazy. I’m exhausted from lack of sleep. I went in there and asked him if he wanted a drink or food. He had no bathroom problems. All he did was make that horrible throat sound. He was trying to tell me something, but there was no way I could understand him. I thought about calling the doctor.”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “He kept putting his fingers on that bar thing you created and blinking no and making that sound. It’s just a mental torment for me. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake.” She shook her head and buried her face in her palms. Lois studied her for a moment and then, in a very contrived manner, put her hand on her mother’s shoulder.

  “I know it’s hard,” she said, “but we can’t give up on him so quickly. You should have just left him and gone back to sleep.”

  “I did.” She raised her head slowly. “I shut my door too,” she added, a look of guilt on her face.

  “That’s all right. I would have done the same thing.”

  “Would you?”

  “Of course. You’ve got to relax, Mother. It’s not going to do anyone any good if you have a breakdown, too.”

  “I know. I worry about that all the time.”

  “Take a Valium.”

  Dorothy looked at her and then shook her head quickly.

  “I’ve taken so many of them lately.”

  “That’s all right. If you need it, take it. I’ll get it for you.” She didn’t wait for her mother’s reply, and when she returned with the pill, Dorothy took it obediently. Lois put the water glass on the table beside her as Dorothy laid her head back.

  Lois stepped back find then sat on the hassock and watched her. It was interesting how quickly mental anguish would write itself into a person’s face. The lines that had been there were deeper, darker; and new lines had recently appeared. She looked older, tired, worn. The color in her lips and cheeks had dulled. Sacks under her eyes, that had hitherto been only a suggestion of age to come, now were fuller and more distinct. Despite her session at the beauty parlor, her hair no longer had its gleam and look of softness.

  But the
most remarkable thing was her hands. Fingers that had always been dainty and feminine, manicured and youthful, now looked arthritic. They had always rested straight and gentle; now they were curled, bony, the nails nibbled into uneven shapes.

  Lois imagined an animal within her mother, gnawing away, draining her of youth and beauty, feeding on the same light that had once caused her eyes to glow with a sexual energy that Lois envied. Dorothy no longer had the look of a woman who was once prom queen. Her mental anguish had drawn a blanket over her face, leaving her in shadows more characteristic of the aged.

  “I’m constantly doing battle with my thoughts,” Dorothy said, keeping her head back, her eyes closed. “I fight to keep myself from hearing them. I’m afraid of what they’ll tell me. I’ll do anything to avoid thinking, anything.”

  “That’s only natural.” Lois’s voice was close to a whisper.

  “There’s a voice inside of me that wants to tell me life as I once knew it is dead. There’s a voice that wants to end all hope.”

  “We’ve got to adjust, Mother. You’ve got to learn to accept what is factually true.”

  Dorothy shook her head. She was fighting tears, struggling to keep her face from collapsing.

  “I can’t be that strong. I’m not your father; I’m not you. I come from a world filled with rose petals and bubble baths. I used to brush my hair two hundred strokes a night. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done that?” She straightened her head and sat forward. A new look had come over her, one that resembled anger more than sadness.

  “I know that I should go up there, be with him more often, talk to him, hold his hand, do anything … but I can’t. It’s hard. It’s not him,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s someone else in that bed,” she whispered. “Your father went to the hospital, but someone else was brought home. It smells in there, and that noise he makes …” She covered her ears. “I hear it in my sleep.”

  “I think you’d better start taking sleeping pills, Mother. I don’t like your not getting enough sleep.”