by Miller, Tony
“Yes, I know.” Paul sighed. “I thought of all that crap I would have to listen to.”
“There’s your problem, Paul. You listen. You need to learn to sleep sitting up, without snoring. Just listen a bit and pretend to have an insight into their special problems, and then give them a bit of cocaine or heroin.”
“Okay, Ludwig, back to the acronym. What do we call this foundation?”
“’Love is for everyone.’ LIFE.”
“Too corny.”
“Uh, ‘Psychoanalysis is sensual and special’—PISS.” They both laughed.
“We need something eliciting more fear and even sympathy to maximize donations,” Paul mused.
“Help us now before insanity is at your door!”
“Ohhh, that’s scary,” replied Paul while raising his thumbs.
“I got it, a ‘Matter of minds,’ or MOM. My god, man, who wouldn’t help their mom, or better yet, be helped by their mom?” Ludwig was excited.
“My god is right. Perfect. You’re a genius!” Paul exclaimed with a glint in his eye.
“’Mothers of the hearts entire revitalization and sanity’ or MOTHERS. Man, do I crave some apple pie!” Ludwig added.
“We need a warm puppy as a mascot,” Paul declared.
“How about that little Asian dog, uh, the Shitzu? We could breed it with a bulldog and have the perfect mascot for what we do, the Bullshitz!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sam stood on the foredeck of the great tall ship as it entered the port of London.
He took in the sights and sounds of the busy port he hadn’t seen in years. He tried to recall the details he knew of psychiatry in his life in the other universe. All that information was fading fast. As soon as Anne finished the story and his memory of this universe was restored, the other began to fade like a dream. He even had moments of doubt that it was just a hallucination.
At any rate, investigating anew and more thoroughly was the order of the day. His father could help him tremendously in that respect. He looked forward to seeing his father. The General, as he was referred to, wasn’t an overly affectionate man. He was all business and took all endeavors, including fatherhood, seriously.
Sam respected and loved his father, though that love was never verbalized. But Sam knew their mutual bond was nonetheless firmly held together by that universal cement, love.
Strong men, of course, often, deny such sentiments as though protecting those they love from enemies who would do their loved ones harm. If you can’t destroy a strong man, destroy his loved ones, to hurt him- is the idea that seems to lurk in the dark recesses of some men’s minds.
Strong men preferred to handle everything face to face. It was what his new adopted country, America, was founded upon-courage. It took great courage for the founders of America to choose to face the world’s mightiest naval and army forces and demand freedom as an independent country. It was a country founded by strong men. It was why Sam wanted to be a part of it.
He knew from his own education, experience, and his father’s wisdom, that it was the weak and fearful who often betrayed those they love. He remembered his father taking him to play billiards at the United Service Club when he was 12-years-old. The United Service Club was a gentlemen’s club where high ranking military and men of the social elite spent much of their free time.
The General was certainly high ranking military and at the top of the socioeconomic order of the existing caste system. There were always several such powerful men surrounding the General, embroiled in rousing conversation of various adventures and exploits. Sam was riveted by the tales being told.
On one particular day the subject of the Zulus came up, as might be expected in as much as Sam was probably the only black child ever admitted as a guest. The General looked at each player in turn as he began his story.
“You’ve never seen a fighter unless you’ve seen Shaka Zulu fight.” He paused for dramatic effect as he surveyed his friends. He had their attention.
“There are those who call him bloodthirsty and cruel.” He paused and once again looked from face to face.
“He may have been that, but a better leader and warrior never lived. He was a gifted strategist par excellence, a designer of weapons; a man who could inspire men to reach capacities they didn’t believe themselves capable.”
All movement stopped, and it was totally quiet. “I don’t flinch at the thought that we were defeated on several occasions by Shaka and the Zulus, for they fought with heart and courage, and they fought for freedom, freedom from outsiders determining their destiny. That ultimately, is the greatest cannon ever forged, and it’s composed of flesh and blood of armed conflict.”
He once again paused for effect. “The true forge is desire for freedom in the warrior’s eye, until there’s nothing. I repeat, gentlemen, nothing more valuable than freedom and the right to determine the course of one’s life.”
“Here, here, bravo,” another general added. There was a polite round of quiet applause.
The General continued as though oblivious to the small interruption. “It is not the strong men like Shaka that we should be on guard against, it is the cowards, the fearful, the weak, who would destroy all civilization. Few realize the good book’s wisdom in saying the weak will inherit the earth. They forget it also says the earth will be destroyed by fire. It’s only fitting that they should inherit the end result they will most certainly cause.”
“Bravo! And who needs a drink?” The other general added once more. All hands went up.
<><><>
Sam’s trance was broken as a cheer went up: the big ship had eased into a slip at the Royal Albert Docks. Sam disembarked down the gangplank of the ship. The excited crowd of fellow sea travelers poured onto the wharf looking for loved ones there to meet them. Some were just excited to be off the ship and back on terra firma, and new adventures.
Sam looked around and soon spotted his father’s aide-de camp, Albert Addison. Albert likewise spotted Sam and gave a small wave. Soon Albert was at his side.
“Samuel, it is so good to see you!” He extended his hand.
“It is good to be home for a visit. It’s impressive that they named these docks after you!”
Albert smiled at the joke. “One day, perhaps, I shall earn such an honor.”
Albert turned and gestured to a middle aged gentleman standing a few feet away at casual attention. “Jarrod, please see to Mr. Novak’s trunks and get them home.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Addison.”
The carriage carrying Sam and Albert arrived at the General’s residence and Sam’s boyhood home. As they made their way up the driveway Sam felt the familiar impact of its grandeur. Sam had only known it as home, although it was designed and built to impress. He knew all the nooks and crannies, hiding places and flaws. His memories of this residence were a child’s memories.
Now Sam viewed his former home as the residence of Lord General Maxmillion Novak and Sam was impressed.
As Albert stopped the carriage in front, a servant appeared as if from nowhere. He took the reigns of the horses and held them steady as Albert and Sam entered the General’s domain.
The butler led Sam and Albert into the parlor where they were seated. The butler left to fetch some tea and Sam looked around. It seemed strange to be seated as a guest in the home he grew up in. He rather liked it. The pomp and circumstance made one feel important, which, of course, was the point. You feel important and hold the resident in awe. It was an ancient system.
He remembered from his youth all the dignitaries and other members of the world’s elite who’d sat in this parlor. It seemed all a bit dull then. Life at the top of society was only about talk, to his child’s eye. Now, he was here to do just that.
The butler entered with a teapot and cups on a silver tray. He set it down and poured Sam and Albert each a cup of black tea with milk. He quietly left the room and after but a few moments returned to the doorway and announced, “The General will see yo
u now. Please follow me.”
Sam and Albert followed the butler to the library and entered. The General stood by a long table in dress regalia and smiled broadly as Sam entered the room. “Son, what do you think of the royal treatment?” His smile broadened, and he stepped forward to shake Sam’s hand and administer a small hug.
“I rather like it,” replied Sam.
“Would you like anything to drink after such a long trip?”
“A brandy would be good.”
The General turned to the butler. “Harold, two brandies please. And Albert, I’ll see you here at first light so we may assess how we can assist my son in conquering an adversary.”
“Yes, sir, first light.” Albert retreated from the room.
“So, son, let us stroll through this drafty castle of sorts and into the garden and be proper Englishmen.”
“Excellent idea, father, and perhaps after our brandy, a high tea with mother would be in order? I’m starving, and mother may well be the superior strategist when it comes to corralling obstinate men!”
They both chuckled.
“Your powers of observation are in good working order, son. As poet Wallace observed, ‘The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.’”
After their meal with his mother, Margaret, Sam and Max retired to Max’s extensive library and took their places in the comfortable leather chairs. It seemed to Sam that every possible endeavor in England had a certain pomp and circumstance that facilitated the correct outcome. The library and its stored wisdom, the comfortable leather chairs, all led to the feeling that the correct conclusion would be reached.
Sam told the detailed story of his and Colton’s current problems in Fresno. Max listened intently. When Sam finished, Max spoke. “Well, as far as the psychiatry thing is concerned, I wouldn’t put too much stock in that aspect of your opposing forces. Psychiatry, as you probably remember from Oxford, is a dismal failure. Its main contribution to medicine is the therapeutic laughs it garners from the rest of the medical field.”
Sam laughed. “Actually, I was then only vaguely aware of their existence. I didn’t think about psychiatry at all.”
Max chuckled and continued. “My golfing buddy is a surgeon by the name of Dr. Hardwicke. He often makes sport of the shrinks. The one positive contribution, according to Hardwicke, is that it attracts a lot of whackos away from the rest of medicine.”
Max stood, walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out an ornately carved meerschaum pipe. He opened the lid to an elegantly carved humidor and began to stuff tobacco into the pipe. Sam could smell the sweet smelling tobacco as it wafted across the room, adding even more ambience of masculinity, wisdom and control to the situation. Sam wondered if these rituals were consciously affected or just an innate pattern common to powerful people.
The General pulled a polished tubular container from his desk drawer. He pulled off the lid and tilted the tube until a match slid into his hand. He held the match between his curled fingers and scraped his thumbnail across the head of the match. He watched intently as the match ignited, and Max touched it to the tobacco in his pipe. He puffed expansively as the great clouds of smoke engulfed his head. The General emerged from the cloud with the pipe clenched in his teeth. A ribbon of smoke trailed behind him as he returned to his chair.
“So, Sam, your opposition isn’t aided by the psychiatry, per se, but by the superstition it relies upon. It has no more credibility or science behind it than astrology, but if it can sell the idea that it is credible, then it can be used to control people as did astrology in ages past.” Max paused and puffed as he pondered his own musings.
He continued, “Psychiatry continues its existence by selling an idea, not by producing actual positive results. They sell the hope of results. That is propaganda at its best. It’s our most useful tool in the game of war. So to defeat this enemy of yours in Fresno, you must expose the lack of real results or produce better propaganda. Propaganda can win short-term skirmishes, but only the truth wins the long-term conquest.”
“But, Max, what about these wonder drugs and cocaine? Do they get results?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about these from Hardwicke. Yes, yes, the old opium tricks. We British certainly know about opium, yes indeed. Heroin is just refined opium. Opium has been around for centuries. We British made a fortune selling the Chinese opium. We did such a good job that we had a quarter of the population of China hooked on the stuff. It’s a great tool for population control. Keep them drugged up and addicted and they’ll obey your every desire. Ask any brothel owner.” Max laughed.
“But, Max, Bayer Pharmaceuticals makes these drugs. Surely they wouldn’t release an addictive drug?” asked Sam.
Max puffed slowly on his pipe while gazing with affection at his adopted son. He finally removed the pipe from his mouth and quietly and almost kindly spoke. “Sam, I wish it were so that there were good people with integrity who would refuse to be part of an endeavor that would harm his fellow man. I wish it were so, and for the most part, I believe the majority want it to be so. The caveat, the warning, the exception to human decency is money. Sadly, money can purchase the integrity of the majority of the human species. Horrible atrocities have been committed against humanity for money, and there are few endeavors that produce more money than drugs.” Max paused for a puff.
“We British are a good people, but we were certainly willing to destroy Chinese lives when enough money was involved, a shame if truth be told.”
Max suddenly seemed pensive. He narrowed his eyes, and they seemed to bore into Sam. “You must stop these devils, Sam. I suddenly realized my own complacency. Hardwicke and I have discussed this scourge of mankind often and yet do nothing. It seems too big a problem to stop after seeing how effective it was in tranquilizing the Chinese population. The effectiveness of drugs and propaganda, in controlling the masses, is a formidable force to resist for governments.”
“So, it looks like I have my job cut out for me in Fresno.”
“Indeed!” the General agreed.
“Is there anything that can resist such a force?” asked Sam.
“Only the truth,” the General emphatically stated.
“The truth?” asked Sam.
“As it says in the good book, you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free!”
“Well, I’ve found some truth here about opium and propaganda. Now what do I do with it?” Sam puzzled aloud.
“You have to study these subjects well, and know them hands down, and then the hard part, the almost impossibly hard part.” Max looked momentarily sad, almost apathetic.
“You have to get others to want to know the truth, despite the fact that the opponent’s lies are far more appealing. They can lie, but you must tell the truth. You must use actual facts, and they can simply make them up. You must rely on real science, and they will just lie.”
“Seems impossible,” mused Sam.
“Yes, it does,” the General answered apathetically.
The General continued to puff his pipe deep in thought. Finally he removed the pipe and began to tap it into an alabaster ashtray on his desk. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small tool that looked like a miniature shovel and began to dig out the spent tobacco. He spoke quietly as if to the ashtray. “Weakness is the enemy, a weakness of honor, of intestinal fortitude.” He slowly, almost imperceptibly, moved his head side to side as in great sadness.
“There were once great men in history that possessed great strength, men of vision, men who led great nations or tribes and virtually conquered the known world at the time. These men invariably created stability that was enjoyed by all. Great leaders turned former enemies into friends and included the defeated into their societies. They ruled in strength and greatness and were generally loved by the vast majority of those ruled. Weak and fearful leaders killed the poor souls unlucky enough to be defeated by them. Torture and massacres were their stock in trade. They’re generally despised, even by the
ir own. Fear is their scepter. Cowardliness and cruelty is their crown, all of it wrapped in a cloak of deceit.”
Max inspected the bowl of the pipe. Satisfied, he carefully placed it into the pipe rack. He returned the lid to the humidor and continued.
“Being weak and cowardly, they seek always the upper hand by organizing gangs. They seem brave only when they substantially outnumber an opponent. Even the odds, and watch them collapse. The weak and fearful, by organizing gangs of fearful people, have successfully destroyed the strong individual leaders. So it is that all must organize into gangs to attempt to create an atmosphere once created by strong individuals in their kingdoms.
“The ignorant masses lack the ability to differentiate between strong benevolent leaders and weak and cowardly tyrants and so prevent the assent of Camelot.”
The General paused pensively in his dissertation. “I suppose it is that the shaman or high priest will be repackaged and like the Mayans, superstition will prevail. Then the psychiatrist will become the new high priest.”
The General looked from the ashtray to Sam. “It is the king and the kingdom that is dying and a many headed monster without conscience that grows in its place, and as the Chinese say, ‘A many headed dog makes little forward progress.’”
As he looked at Sam, the attention that was lost in contemplation refocused to the present moment, and to Sam. Sam could feel the General’s refocused power as he spoke. “To beat your high priest of horror in Fresno, pull off his cape of deceit and expose him to the sunlight of truth!”
General Maxmillion Novak smiled broadly.
<><><>
Sam left his father’s house and headed for Vienna. He wanted to see the place where Ludwig supposedly received his training. He planned to find the truth about Freud and psychiatry and Ludwig’s claims.
Sam arrived at 19 Berggase in Vienna, the home of Sigmund Freud. He noticed what he assumed was the maid as she wore a crisp white apron and a small lacy hat. She was busy sweeping the front entry to the non-descript building that housed the office of Dr. Freud.
