The Spaniard shook his head. ‘Let’s leave Dr. Grant out of it. To discuss him would be an impertinence. But I tell you again that I could cure your climacteric and relieve your rheumatism without any of Hancke’s witch-doctoring.’
‘How?’ Grant was only mildly curious. He had met obsessive creatures like Tomas too often to bother about them now.
The Spaniard smiled approvingly. ‘The practical approach.’ He lifted a honey wafer and munched steadily. ‘By striking at the source of trouble.’
‘And where would that be?’ Miller was openly mocking him. ‘You mean that analysis stuff which Hancke puts across.’
‘Hancke,’ said Martinez gently, ‘is first and foremost a business man, and analysis is impressive so it is part of his stock in trade. But I mean something rather more effective and a little less time consuming. Hypnosis.’
‘It’s like this,’ drawled Miller. ‘Martinez figures he can control anything by suggestion under hypnosis but I disagree. And anyhow there isn’t a man alive who could put a man like me under.’
The Spaniard looked impatient. ‘So many people say that. But they are quite wrong. I could hypnotise you whether you co-operated or not.’
Miller stretched himself lazily and turned to Grant. ‘Well? Do you agree with that?’
Grant shook his head. A man could always resist. It would be impossible for any hypnotist to get results in an unwilling subject.
‘See.’ Miller smiled broadly. ‘And Grant is a doctor. He ought to know.’
The Spaniard shook his head. ‘Hypnosis is not understood by many doctors. In fact it was only in 1965 that the British Medical Association recognised it as an ethical form of treatment and even now very few of them know anything about it.’
Grant felt agreeably relaxed and was amused by Martinez’ persistence. ‘Then tell us more. Must you have “the gift” or can anyone do it?’
‘Hypnosis,’ said Tomas slowly, ‘is difficult to define. But one can say that it is a condition of narrowed attention to the world with resulting decrease or absence of visual, auditory, taste and pain reception.’
‘And how do you produce this?’
‘Take church, for example,’ said Martinez. ‘Think of the dark interior, the sombre music, the fixation point at which everyone looks, say a cross or a man’s head, and then consider the repetitive chant, the silence, the repetitive chant . . . the deep . . . dark . . . silence which you can feel: the smell of incense, but above all the deep . . . deep . . . repetitive chant.’ He changed the tone of his voice. ‘Noises like that, repetitious, deep throated and mellow. All these combined with the darkness and that fixed point which is the cross or a bishop’s mitre conditions people to be unaware of the world around them. So they forget problems at home. They forget their love affairs and they forget their sins. They forget . . . they forget . . . forget their abnormalities. Their world becomes reduced in size and every sense is diminished.’ He laughed again. ‘All that conditions towards hypnosis.’
‘But what produces it?’ Grant felt vaguely sleepy. He had never used tuinal before and decided he would cut it in future. The stuff had a rotten hangover. He was half asleep. And it was mid-day. He liked the sound of Martinez’ voice. Mellow and rich. And the fellow seemed to know his stuff.
The Spaniard looked at him cynically. ‘Various moods further improve the chances of successful hypnosis. For example fear, or self-consciousness or indeed any form of tension makes the subject more susceptible.’
‘Then that rules me out.’ Miller sounded comfortably smug. ‘I don’t possess a solitary nerve in my whole darned body.’
‘Tell me something,’ said Grant slowly. ‘If a man was hypnotised would the electroencephalogram show different brain waves?’
Martinez nodded. ‘But yes. The entire brain would then be reduced to working on a different level.’
‘And how do you classify levels? How do you calculate the depth of a hypnotic trance?’
The Spaniard lifted his arm to the side. ‘A normal man in the peak of condition might be able to hold that arm outstretched for six or seven minutes. But for much of the time his arm would be trembling and it would be a visible effort. Now under hypnosis he would still be able to hold it in position for the same length of time but he would do so easily, without tremor and without evidence of strain. Or, again, one could persuade a subject that he was unable to rise from a chair or was unable to see another person in the same room. In other words one could narrow the depth of his visual and physical powers. And this sort of thing is the first level of hypnosis.’
‘So let’s have the second.’ Miller was pouring his third cup of coffee and nibbling almost non-stop at the wafers.
‘One can take a subject from that first level to the second level by persuading him, for example, that he is a child again. One can ask him to write as he did when he was a child. Or one can demonstrate various nerve reflexes which are found only in childhood, but yet which will reappear in the hypnotised subject who had been suggested back to childhood.’
Miller’s voice was laden with sarcasm. ‘Nonsense.’
‘And to continue,’ said Martinez gently, ‘one can then persuade the subject that he doesn’t feel pain . . . and can prove to onlookers that he doesn’t in real fact, respond to pain stimuli at all. Or by contrast he can be made to react as though a glass of cold water poured over him was scalding hot. And indeed his skin could become red as though it had been burned. Or again one could make him attack an innocent spectator and attempt to kill him.’
‘And that would be your third level.’
The Spaniard nodded. ‘But working on that level a hypnotised person could be suggested out of almost any neurosis and made to do almost anything.’
‘Whether it was foreign to his normal behaviour or not?’ Grant also sounded sceptical.
‘You take us back to what is normal. Suppose a girl is asked to undress in public while she is under hypnosis, the fact that she does so is not proof that it was against her fundamental instincts. She may have been an exhibitionist in spite of her external appearance. But suppose,’ said the Spaniard seriously, ‘that a venomous snake was placed on the floor, and suppose it was known that the subject was afraid of snakes, then we can accept that if he attempted to touch it that that would be against his normal instincts.’
‘That, sir,’ said Miller flatly, ‘is a preposterous example.’
‘It is not preposterous,’ drawled Martinez. ‘I demonstrate this test quite frequently using a curved sheet of highly polished glass between the subject and the snake. The glass is invisible and the test is valid. It also proves to my students that a man or woman can do something against their deepest instincts.’
‘You mean that? You aren’t kidding?’ Miller looked vaguely interested.
Martinez laughed aloud. ‘I must be a better actor than I thought. Already you are almost impressed. Think how you would be converted if you had seen a real demonstration and watched a man try to pick up that snake by the head. A man whom you knew, normally, to be terrified of snakes. But that sort of reaction,’ he added slowly, ‘really impedes progress because people become over enthusiastic and forget their critical faculties. In fact, there are three phases common to most people like yourself, cynicism, then over-enthusiasm, and finally, but only for a few sensible minds, arrival at a balanced judgement.’
‘And is hypnosis sleep?’ Grant spoke almost without thinking. He was agreeably drowsy and content to sprawl in the chair, simply listening.
‘Hypnosis,’ said Martinez, ‘derives from the Greek. It meant sleep. But it is not sleep. Buddha could induce hypnosis by staring at his own navel. Others can do so by watching a fire . . . day dreaming they call it. Others can even self-hypnotise themselves by staring at bright objects, and in the old days of 3000 B.C. early Aegean tribes used votive tablets inscribed with prayers to induce a form of hysteria or self-hypnosis which was probably little different from that produced by specialists today.’
‘You still haven’t told us how it is done.’ Grant guessed that Miller was interested even if he didn’t give much away. ‘Do you use passes and things?’
‘Passes are not necessary. An expert relies only on verbal suggestion.’
‘And bright lights.’
Martinez produced a silver coin and allowed it to catch the sunlight. Grant almost winced as the diamond hard reflection caught him on the eyes. ‘Objects like this,’ said Martinez, ‘do have their uses. They provide a fixed point on which the subject can focus his attention.’ His voice became faint and Grant nodded slightly as he closed his eyes and turned away from the gleaming coin. He stood up and returned to his chalet for a cigar. He was vaguely lightheaded and guessed that he had slept too long in the sun.
He offered a Larranaga Petit Corona to his two companions. ‘So you have a fixed point. What happens after that?’
The Spaniard snicked off the end of his cigar. ‘Then I ask my subject to sit down. I subdue the lights and reassure him that he has nothing to fear. I repeat the words again and again . . . and again . . . and again. That there is nothing to fear. Nothing . . . at all . . . to fear. No-thing to fear. Like that.’ He lit his cigar and leaned back lazily in his chair. ‘I then tell my subject that he is going to co-operate . . . repeating the words as before. To co-operate . . . co-operate . . . co-operate. Like that.’
‘And must you look at each other?’
‘Often I tell my subject to close the eyes. It is not necessary to stare at him. Verbal suggestion is enough.’
‘And how long does it take to induce a first level trance?’
Martinez shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are various methods. One is almost instantaneous. It is called the carotid technique and requires only pressure on blood vessels near the ear. But it is dangerous when used by non-professional hands. Then there is what is called the confusional technique,’ he continued. ‘That is where contradictory orders are given to a cynical subject like Mr. Miller. And in the end this may require an hour or so to be effective.
‘Finally,’ he added, ‘we have the domineering or co-operative technique. Sometimes called paternal or male hypnosis where one uses a cold voice and abrupt commands. This may take anything up to days to achieve. But following upon one successful session induction on later occasions can be almost immediate.’
‘Could hypnosis be used in espionage?’ Miller’s eyes were sparkling with interest and he was leaning forward with elbows on the table.
‘Certainly. The Russians regard hypnosis as essential for the training and use of certain spies. Probably your own people do the same. And there is at least one case where an agent was given a message under hypnosis. But it could be extracted only when the second agent induced him and since the victim had no knowledge of the message he was carrying no one could brain wash it out of him short of using hypnotism.’
‘But you still haven’t told us exactly how to do it.’ Grant was interested in spite of himself. It was a subject about which he knew little or nothing. ‘For example,’ he continued, ‘what sort of qualities are required to be a successful hypnotist?’
Martinez smiled. ‘Nothing remarkable. It is better if he has a little knowledge of his subject. But it is not fundamental. It is also good to have had experience. And, of course, the hypnotist must himself be well adjusted emotionally and be able to select the most effective technique for a given case.’
‘And how do you recognise a resistent subject?’
‘There is no absolute test. But people of lower intelligence do not go under so quickly. Aggressive people are also a little more difficult.’ He turned to Miller. ‘Grant here is a doctor of medicine. A man of principle. With ethics. Suppose he plays the part of chaperone while I try to induce a hypnotic state in yourself. I for my part will undertake to do as Dr. Grant says. If he thinks I am over-stepping the limits of what is permissible then I’ll stop: at once: and return you to normality. But if,’ he added, ‘Dr. Grant considers that I am behaving ethically then I shall do a little hypnotic suggestion and will guarantee to cure your climacteric. In fact you will feel a new man.’
Miller studied his fingernails and his voice was unexpectedly quiet. ‘And if you fail?’
‘If I fail I will write out a cheque for one thousand dollars to any charity you care to name.’
‘And if you are successful?’
‘Then I’ll let you off with a dinner. To celebrate.’
‘What would you do?’ Miller glanced casually towards Grant, but Grant judged that the man had come to a decision.
‘Your problem.’
‘Would you act chaperone?’
‘Sure.’
The American stood up. ‘Okay. And the charity will begin at home. I’ll bet you an even grand that you can’t do a darned thing.’
‘Shall we go inside, or would you prefer to stay out of doors?’ The Spaniard had suddenly become professionally formal. ‘And I’ll accept your bet. At five to one.’
The American nodded curtly. ‘Just to make it difficult I’ll stay outside. In the sun.’
The Spaniard adjusted chairs. Miller was seated in the shade looking towards the mountains beyond the lake and Martinez sat opposite with Grant two paces to one side and well out of the picture.
‘Ready.’ The American smiled wickedly. ‘You’re goin’ to feel pretty stupid before we’re finished.’
The Spaniard drew thoughtfully at his cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring. As it rose into the light breeze Grant glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes after twelve. The Spaniard’s voice was droning on beside him and Miller was sitting with a forced smile while Martinez spoke to him with gentle insistence which reminded Grant of distant drum beats.
‘Listen to me . . . and you will listen to me . . . You are feeling relaxed and at ease . . . at ease. And I say you are comfortable. You are thinking of many things. But soon you will think of nothing . . . of nothing . . . of nothing. Of nothing. You will feel your limbs become heavy . . . very heavy . . . and you will relax . . . re-lax and re-lax until your whole body is relaxed . . . and heavy . . . and feeling as though it is going to go backwards into darkness; backwards . . . into . . . darkness . . . the darkness of life. You are listening only to my voice, only to my voice, and as you listen you feel that you are dropping backwards into the deep welcoming darkness while you relax more and more and more . . . and more . . . and more . . . and more . . . before swinging into the sweet darkness. And you are becoming more and more comfortable, listening only to what I say, and looking forward to dropping into the relaxed comfort of the deep darkness. And you will do what I say because it is good for you to go into the comfort of that life giving relaxed blackness which is darkness and the blackness of life.’
Tomas’ hand was moving slightly and smoke from his cigar was curling into the air in a thin blue spiral. Grant looked at it longingly. The smoke seemed to be so free, so elegant, so thin and lovely.
Miller seemed to be asleep. His eyes were closed and Grant saw that his mouth had become slack. But the smoke was coiling around between them and he looked again at the thin spiral wafting into the blueness of the hot morning as Tomas’ voice droned on . . . and on . . . and on.
‘Now you are asleep. Deeply asleep. But I am going to count from one to ten and your sleep will get even deeper . . . much deeper . . . much deeper. One much deeper indeed until you are in that empty darkness you want so much. Two still deeper though . . . still deeper . . . always deeper . . . Three . . . and then into comfort and oblivion. Four and you will be safe there, in your sleep . . . in the darkness . . . in the blackness. Five and you will find rest . . . in the blackness . . . in the darkness and six . . .’
‘I told you it was no good.’ Miller was looking at Grant with a glint of real excitement in his eyes and the Spaniard was smoking a cigarette. He was unexpectedly silent. ‘Well, say something.’
Martinez shrugged his shoulders. ‘He is the first man with whom I have failed. But I should be allowed a
second chance. Sometimes as many as a hundred hours have been necessary to induce a resistent subject.’
Grant glanced at his watch. One-thirty pip emma.
He felt a chill of fear.
Seventy-five minutes had gone like a puff of smoke.
And Martinez’ cigar had disappeared.
What had happened?
The Spaniard handed over a bundle of dollar bills. ‘In settlement of my debt, Señor Miller. And you have taught me a lesson.’ He turned to Grant and his manner was subtly different. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time. Today I have business affairs which will take me to Lausanne.’
Grant felt an odd attraction for the man as they shook hands and he returned to his chalet for a wash.
It was one hour twenty!
Lost over one hour of time! What had happened? He pulled himself together, sat down and relived the morning. There could only be one answer.
He had been asleep. Or had he?
Suddenly memories of a television hypnotist returned to mind. Long ago Peter Casson had been giving a closed circuit show when five out of a dozen BBC technicians had been ‘accidentally’ hypnotised as well as the subject. And there had been another time when four out of six technicians had been hypnotised when he wasn’t even looking at them.
Had history been repeating itself?
Had Tomas hypnotised the chaperone?
He dressed with unexpected care. If so what had he said? And if he had said it what would happen now?
And suppose they had given him orders under hypnosis to do some awful thing which he would now have to do in spite of himself?
There was only one way out. Professor Juin and the Admiral would have to send the top man in this racket to see him, and that at the double. Perhaps another hypnotist could find out under hypnosis what had happened with the Spaniard.
He walked deliberately across to Reception. Urgent business matters compelled him to pass the rest of the day elsewhere.
A dark haired girl listened to his story and then smiled. ‘And why not, m’sieur? This is not prison. I shall let the Professor know that you will return after dinner.’
Kisses From Satan Page 8
