by Kidd, Chip
What was all of this about punishment? There was nothing about it in the ad. I should know.
“Therefore I’m going to be asking one of you to be the teacher here this afternoon, and the other to be the learner.” Before I could raise my hand he pulled two folded pieces of paper from his pocket, the size and shape of Chinese cookie fortunes. “And the way we usually decide who is who is to let you to draw from these. One of them says ‘learner’ and the other one says ‘teacher.’ ”
I already knew which one I wanted. He crumpled them up and cupped them in his hands, shook them, offered. We each took one.
“Can you open those, and tell me which of you is which, please?”
I did. Not what I wanted. Dammit. “Teacher,” I said.
“Learner,” said Wally.
“Um,” I offered meekly, “sorry, but could we switch? I mean, I wanted to do this to test my memory. That’s why I answered the ad.” Not entirely true, but still.
Williams didn’t like the idea. At all. “No sir. Rules are rules. You’re the teacher.” As if it were insulting that I’d even suggest it. Fine.
“Now, the next thing we have to do is set the learner up so he can receive punishment. Learner, will you step out here with me, please?”
He led Wally through a doorway to a small anteroom adjacent to the main lab, then popped his head back through the door, at me. “Teacher, you may look on if you want, while we get set up in here.” It was more order than suggestion. There was something about this guy’s voice—his dismissive and technical manner—it was very persuasive almost despite itself. Like a human traffic light. Go.
Wally was seated, made himself comfortable in the small room, which reminded me of the DJ booth at the State U radio station. A long metal countertop ran the length of it, and another mirror, like the one in the lab, lined the far wall. “You can leave your coat on the back of the chair. That’s it. Pull up to the counter. Good. Now, will you roll up your right sleeve, please? Great. What I’m going to do is strap down your arms to avoid any excess movement on your part during the experiment.”
Excessive movement?
“Is that too tight?”
Thick leather straps with buckles, like belts, held Wally’s meaty, wooly forearms fast to the counter in front of him. Then Ichabod attached a wire to Wally’s right wrist.
“This electrode is connected to the shock generator in the next room.”
Shock generator? What shock generator?
“And this electrode paste will provide a good contact, to avoid any blisters or burns.”
Blisters or burns. Please. Such drama. He smeared the gluelike goo on Wally’s fat wrist, a thin bracelet of guck.
“Now let me explain to you, Learner, exactly what’s going to happen, what you’re supposed to do. The teacher will be in the next room. He will read a list of word pairs to you like these: BLUE ball, NICE day, FAT head, and so forth.”
FAT head. Wally!
“You are to try and remember each pair. For the next time through, the teacher will read only the first word—the first half—of the word pair. For example, he will say BLUE. Then he will read four other words, such as: boy, ball, grass, hat. Your job is to remember which one of these four other words was originally paired with BLUE. You’ll indicate your answer by pressing one of these four switches. Can you reach those all right?”
Wally put out his hand to what looked like a small ham radio with the casing removed. There were four numbered levers jutting out of the front of it. He tested them.
“That’s fine. Now if the first word I just read, BOY, had been paired with BLUE, you’d press the first switch to indicate to the teacher that you thought it was the first word. If you thought it had been the second word, BALL, then you’d press the second switch and so forth—the third word the third switch and the fourth word the fourth switch. Now, if you get it correct, fine. But if you make an error, you will be punished with an electric shock.”
Ha!
“So, naturally it is to your advantage to learn all the word pairs as quickly as possible.”
Wary Wally: “I should think so.”
“Now, do you have any questions before we go into the next room?”
“No, but I, I should tell you this:” he hesitated, embarrassed, “a few years ago, three, I think, I was in the VA Hospital in West Haven, and they detected a slight heart condition. Nothing serious, but,” he was getting twitchy, “as long as I’m having these shocks…”
“Yes?”
“How strong are they? How…”
Oh, Wally. Don’t be such a baby. This was obviously a formality, just Yale covering all the bases. Besides, that gut of yours looks like it could absorb a thunderstorm. Stop worrying. This was going to be fun.
“…how dangerous are they?”
“They may be painful.”
That’s why they call them shocks, you dope. Williams was too professional to roll his eyes, but he might as well have. “But they’re not dangerous.”
Of course not. This was a lab. At Yale.
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s all.”
“All right, Teacher, would you take the test please and be seated in front of the shock generator in the next room?” He handed me a sheaf of papers, closed the door on Wally, led me back to the main room.
“This machine generates electric shocks.”
Whoa. It wasn’t in view when I first came in. Look at that.
It was like a hi-fi set the size of an upright piano, but with a long row of Bakelite toggle buttons across it all marked with voltage numbers. The switches were labeled in groups of four: SLIGHT SHOCK, MODERATE SHOCK, STRONG SHOCK, VERY STRONG SHOCK, INTENSE SHOCK, EXTREME INTENSITY SHOCK, DANGER:SEVERE SHOCK. Two switches after that were marked XXX. There was a microphone to the left of the machine, and another box atop it with the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4.
In the upper-left corner of the brushed-aluminum front panel, it said SHOCK GENERATOR, TYPE ZLB. DYSON INSTRUMENT COMPANY, WALTHAM, MASS., OUTPUT 15 VOLTS -- 450 VOLTS.
The entirety of the typography on the device was set in all-caps medium weight Helvetica, a recently introduced Swiss font commonly used for utilities and municipal signage. I wondered if Ichabod knew that. Bet he didn’t.
“When you push one of the switches all the way down, the learner gets a shock.” He pushed one, marked 300 VOLTS. “When you release it, the shock stops, you see.” He eased up on it, and instead of going back up all the way, it rose to mid-level. “The switch will remain in this middle position after you’ve released it to show you which switches you’ve used on the board. Of course, if you were to press any one of them again, the learner would get another shock.” He flipped up the master switch. A slight hum from the cabinet. Lights on. A voltage meter came to life and woke its needle. “Okay, the machine is now on. To give you, the teacher, an idea of how much shock the learner is getting, we think it’s only fair to give you a sample shock yourself. Are you agreeable to this?”
We think it’s only fair. We. Ichabod and who? Yale? Hmmm. “Sure.”
“Would you roll up your right sleeve please?”
I held it out to him. He smeared some of that goop on my wrist, placed an electrode on it. “I’m going to ask you to close your eyes and estimate the number of volts you receive in this sample shock. Do not open your eyes until I tell you to do so, please. Close them now.” I did. “Ready?”
“Oka—”
Bzzzt. Hey now. I don’t know much about electricity, but that was weird. A tickle pinprick. And strong.
“Okay, you may open your eyes.” He wiped the paste off with a wet towel. “Using the voltage scale on the generator, estimate for me how many volts you think you received.”
I looked at the scale. I hadn’t a clue, but it had to be from the mid-to-high range. “One, one—ninety-five, two-hundred?”
“No, actually it was forty-five. Here.” He pointed to the third button in. The third. In a series of thirty.
/> “You’re joking.”
He ignored me. “All right, let’s go on to the instructions.”
I rubbed my wrist, to massage the memory of the pain away. It wasn’t working.
We went over the procedure again. I was to read the list of word pairs into the microphone, receive Wally’s response on the number box, and if he was wrong, say so. Then announce the voltage and…shock him. For just a tiny split second.
“It’s important that you follow the procedure exactly.”
“Right. Uh—” What if something goes wrong? What then?
“Yes?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
Ichabod leaned into the mic. “Attention, Learner: the teacher is about to begin the word test. Please try and remember the word pairs.” To me: “Now, we begin with fifteen volts.”
But that’s only if he screws it up. He’ll be fine.
“And move up one switch, each time he gets a wrong answer.”
Which he won’t.
“Ready, begin please.”
I looked at the list: Would I remember these? I thought so. They were set, by the way, in what appeared to be 36-point Bodoni Oldface BE Regular. Although it could have been forty point. Not a great print job. Anyway, I tried to read everything as slowly and clearly as possible. Give the guy a fair shot. “Hello, Mr. Wallace—Learner. Listen, please, okay? BLUE ball. NICE house. FAT head. GREEN paint. RICH man. FAST car. BLUNT words. SOFT blanket. COOL air. GOLD thread. HARD stone. WET fish. BRAVE girl. WHITE house. SAD story. SHORT trip. SHARP cheese. SLOW car. RED brick. LOW light. NEW day. QUIET time. TAME dog. TRUE love. SWEET thing.
“Got that?” Wally! “Okay?” I said it the way my dad used to right before we’d set off for a long car trip:
“Here we go. BLUE: sky, ball, shirt, bird.”
Bing. He pressed 2. Good.
“Very good. Next one. NICE: salary, dream, house, man.”
Bing. He pressed 3. Good.
“Great! FAT: pig, chance, Tuesday, head.”
Bing. 2. Not so good.
“Uh, that’s wrong.” I looked up at the face of the machine, then over at Ichabod. I was really on stage here. “Fifteen volts.” I put my finger on the lever. Cold plastic the color of a dark sea. It gave way easily.
Bzzzt.
A small red light bloomed, the volt-meter spasmed. And yes, I admit: I laughed. A little chuckle. I don’t know why. It wasn’t because I thought it was funny, really.
Well, maybe a little. Onward. “GREEN: grass, man, lawn, paint.”
Bing. 2. Green man? What a dope. “Wrong. Green paint. Thirty volts.” Take that, Wally.
Bzzzt.
He got the next two right. The punishment theory was on the money—this would be smooth sailing now. Over within five minutes. “Excellent. Very good. BLUNT: words, instrument, knife, object.”
Bing. 4. Hmmm. “Wrong. Blunt words. Forty-five volts.” The level of shock I had gotten. Wake up, Wally.
Bzzzt.
“SOFT: blanket, pillow, soap, song.” Come on.
Bing. 3. What? “No. Sorry. Soft blanket. Suh, sixty volts.”
Bzzzt.
This went on for the next three answers. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Wally, what the heck is your problem? He was rolling around in there. Bored, that’s all. He’d shape up soon. He had to. “One hundred and five volts.”
Bzzzt.
“Ow.”
Waitaminute. Muffled, but unmistakable.
Williams scribbled something on his clipboard. I was afraid to look him in the eye, but, when I did it was…okay. He wasn’t mad at me at all. Not disappointed in the least. Whew.
“WET: fish, coat, lip, stone.”
Bing. 3. What was he doing in there? Wally, what the hell? “Muh, Mr. Williams, sir? Something’s wrong. He’s getting them all wrong.”
“Keep going. Go on, please.”
Bzzzt.
“Oh!”
I started to think up things to help him, anything—I drew out the correct word, emphasized it to tip him off: “Ssstoooonne….”
“Please don’t try to cheat, Teacher.” Damn.
Bzzzt.
“OW!”
Christ. And then I thought of Himillsy for the first time since the experiment began. Which one of us had she been? Did she sit in the same chair I was in right now? What would she do in this situation? Maybe the sound system was spotty. I leaned heavy into the mic, nearly shouting: “Are you hearing me okay? Mr. Wallace?” Nothing. To Williams. “Maybe he can’t hear me. We, we should check that.”
“The equipment is fine. Please continue.”
How could he be so sure? So sure of everything? But he was, and I realized, yes, I was grateful for that— in the way I always was for people who were obviously smarter than I am. I no longer cared that he was a cold fish. His otherwise calm, beatific demeanor was the only thing that made this bearable. He could have told me that the air was black and I’d take his word for it, thank him for it.
As opposed to Wallace, who was screwing it all up.
I was starting to hate him.
Wrong. Bzzzt. “Ow! Hey!”
Wrong. Bzzzt. “This hurts!”
Wrong. Bzzzt. “My heart is starting to hurt!”
All right, enough. “Uh, I think, I think we should look in on him. He says his heart—”
“Please continue, Teacher.”
Now I could feel my heart, throwing itself against my rib cage, fighting to get out. I could almost hear it.
“Experimenter, that’s all. Get me out of here! I told you I have heart trouble.”
Thank God. That’s what I was waiting for. Permission. It was Wallace’s fault now, not mine. “Well, that’s that. He doesn’t want to go on with it.”
“The shocks are painful, but not dangerous. Keep going, please.”
Jesus. I’m not a quitter, I’m just not. But this. This was nuts. “Are, are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Please go on.”
I am a designer. A graphic designer. Designers solve problems. That is what we do. If I was on the other side of that goddamn wall like I wanted to be instead of this idiot, we’d have been done ten minutes ago— as a learner this problem is easily solved. But as a teacher, I didn’t see how, not without his cooperation. Why didn’t they listen to me? WHY?
“My heart’s starting to bother me now. Let me out!”
“The experiment requires that you continue.”
Dammit. “I, I can’t…”
“You have no choice.”
Himillsy, what should I do? You’d see this to the end, wouldn’t you? Didn’t you? You must have. But you weren’t saddled with this goddamn bonehead.
I couldn’t look at what we were up to now. But I had to. Oh, it’s 255 volts.
INTENSE SHOCK
Forgive me.
Bzzzt. “I can’t stand the pain! Let me out of here!”
My God. “This is, he’s in no shape to, to…”
“I’m responsible for anything that happens here.”
More. More. The experiment required it. This was Yale.
Finally: the last word pair. “Please concentrate, please. SWEET: tooth, thing, heart, deal. Bing. 2. He got that one right. Unbelievable. Miraculous. “Okay, we’re done.” Thank God. What a nightmare. I pulled out my handkerchief, mopped my head. Get me out of here.
“Please continue with the experiment, Teacher.”
WHAT? “What do you mean? That’s all of the word pairs. We’ve gone through them all.”
“We must continue until the learner has learned them all correctly. Start with GOLD please, at the top of the page.”
No, no, no. NO.
“Let me out let me out! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!”
Sweating, shaking, fumbling, hot, wretched. How, HOW could this have all gone so wrong, so quickly? WHAT was I doing wrong? “GOLD: medal, chain, thread, brick.”
Bing. 3.
No. Muffed it again, again, again, again.
“Sssorry. It’s, it’s, I…Please, sir, let’s stop.”
“If you discontinue, you’re going to have to discontinue the experiment. Two hundred and eighty-five volts, please.”
Moron fool imbecile shit-brain dolt blockhead dullard oaf simpleton lout boob nitwit cretin numb-skull stupid stupid stupid
Bzzzt.
And then I heard something new. And…familiar.
Something from hell.
From the other side of the wall: a bald, beckoning scream.
I had heard a thing like that only once before, when I was eight, on a Saturday afternoon. I was listening to Tarzan on the radio, in our living room. Lying on the floor, amid a sea of paper, I was lost in one of my favorite games: trying to draw what was I listening to. Tarzan was great for this—no worries about what everyone was wearing, not like The Shadow, say, or Sky King. And jungles, their organic linear sprawl, were much easier to commit to newsprint with crayons than cities or spaceships.
Anyway, things were not going well for the Ape Man and Jai, his young sidekick. No surprise there. On the run from perpetually furious safari poachers, Tarzan faced a giant gorge, hundreds of feet deep and about twenty feet wide. On the other side was Jai, tied up to a tree for safekeeping by the white hunters. No vines in sight, naturally. The narrator was getting unusually worked up:
“HE HAD TO ACT QUICKLY—THE SAFARI COULD RETURN AT ANY MOMENT!! TARZAN SURVEYED THE CHASM, DESPERATELY SEEKING A WAY TO SAVE HIS YOUNG FRIEND—PERHAPS A FALLEN TREE…”
That’s what I thought, too. The writers, however, having probably exhausted every plot possibility by now, had other ideas:
“SUDDENLY, TARZAN STOOD VERY STILL. HE CLOSED HIS EYES AND TILTED HIS HEAD. THE APE MAN’S STUPENDOUSLY SENSITIVE EARS HAD DETECTED SOMETHING ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO HEAR. BUT IT WAS THERE, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GORGE, ON JAI’S SIDE. IT WAS IN THE DISTANCE, LIKE A RIVER FLOWING FAR AWAY, BUT GETTING CLOSER. ALL THE ANIMALS OF THE JUNGLE KNEW THIS SOUND, AND THEY KNEW TO FEAR IT, AND AT ANY COST, ESCAPE. TARZAN KNEW THAT IF HE COULD HEAR IT NOW, THAT THE DANGER WAS MUCH NEARER THAN IT MIGHT SEEM! THERE WAS VERY LITTLE TIME!! HE DARE NOT LET JAI IN ON HIS TERRIFYING DISCOVERY. HE MUSTN’T PANIC. HE HAD TO THINK, AND THINK QUICKLY…”
