I have another evening to
myself. How am I going to cope?
A. Make a call.
B. Last night’s whisky.
C. Look for a distraction.
* * *
From the tremor in my stomach and pang in my heart, I soon realized that home by myself was not where I should be. My eyes darted frantically through the apartment, first to the TV and radio, then to unfinished whisky bottle on the coffee table. My mind wanted noise and insensibility, but another voice thought I should be still and weather the storm. I sat uncertainly at kitchen table, in front of the stained coffee mug from that morning, and reached for the cellphone in my pocket.
With no consideration at all, I felt that Gerry was the person to call. Friends my own age usually want longstanding appointments for an evening visit, but Gerry was about twenty years younger than me, and their generation usually asks for less. His family history also made him more understanding; Gerry had an older brother that officially spent eight days on Intermittent Suicide Prevention, which means you’re placed in an isolated room in a mental hospital, and someone stops by every two or three hours to medicate you and make sure you haven’t killed yourself. This type of prevention recognizes that suicidal depressants are often asking for pity and attention; if you’re making an insincere attempt on your life, you will do it a few minutes before the scheduled visit, ensuring that you’re rescued and returned to the living world; if your wish for death is sincere, you’ll make the attempt a few minutes after the doctor’s visit, allowing your heart and brain function to cease completely before you’re found. On his eighth day in ISP, minutes after a doctor visit, his brother dashed his head against the hard-tile floor of his room, knocking himself unconscious and dying from the concussion soon after. Gerry never really recovered from the experience.
He picked up on the third ring, “Hey, you’re finally back.”
“A few days ago. How are you doing?”
“Good as ever. How was Paris?”
“Peru was fine. Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”
He laughed, “Did you lock yourself in the bathroom again?”
“Not exactly, but would you come over anyway.”
“Would if I could, but we have an open mic night at the café and a few local authors are going to do a reading.”
“Please.”
His tone became serious, “Oh. You could always come here. Do you have anything to read?”
My mind went to the wrinkled, yellow note in my pocket. I smiled faintly and answered, “No, not really.”
“What happened?”
“The girlfriend left me.”
He breathed heavily, not annoyed but severe, “I see. What can I do, then?”
“All you have to do is come here and sleep on the sofa. I might even be sleep in my room the whole time, but just stay until morning. Ok? And there’s an unfinished whisky bottle on the table, if you want it.”
“I do. Ok, I’ll be there around half past ten. If you want to sleep, keep the door unlocked and I’ll come in. Are you all right until then?”
“Yes. Thank you, Gerry.”
“Good. Call back if you need to.”
* * *
And that was enough.
After hanging up the phone, I immediately felt my exhaustion. I unlocked the front door, changed into nightclothes and eagerly went to bed. I didn’t hear Gerry come in and if he checked on me, I didn’t hear that either.
Around 2am, hunger pains woke me. The gurgle of my stomach wouldn’t let me sleep longer, so I searched the kitchen for something to silence it. I still hadn’t restocked the refrigerator; all I could find was a box of raisins and diet cola. As I passed the living room, I saw Gerry’s figure completely buried under a comforter and a further-emptied liquor bottle on the floor beside him. He didn’t stir.
* * *
By morning, he’d already gone. He left a note on the coffee table, telling me to come by The Fix soon. I sent him a thank you message by text and got ready for work.
To my great relief, nobody was waiting for me in the parking lot when I arrived. Somehow, I was able to do my job that day without error, if only in a subdued and mechanical way. Dr. Weaver was looking stern, as well, and Jan seemed tired, yawning about twenty times in my presence.
* * *
After my coworkers in the Draize Lab had left, I peeked out the window to again see Dr. Wilkes waiting for me in his car. Since this meeting was expected, I had steadied myself and felt prepared; but at the same, I felt resignation and indifference towards this trap that he’d laid for me. Until recently, Frida and my job had given me a semblance of meaning for my life; now, one was gone and I felt the other slipping away. I could only accept whatever Dr. Wilkes had to say.
The automatic locks clicked open, as I approached the passenger door, and sat down beside him; the car seat was still adjusted to my height. He started the car, and we drove away.
Wanting to be first to speak, I asked, “How was the lab today, Doctor?”
He grinned, “Well enough, I suppose. I must say, with no intended condescension, you’re looking focused today.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Hmm. It’s good to see you’re better, in any case. Can you accept everything I told you yesterday? About your time in the hospital and how you came to leave the project? I have more to say and I don’t want to get stuck dealing with the past.”
“My memory has improved since then. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“Good to hear. I realize also that I never answered your question yesterday, about the rape rack. Would you like to hear it now?”
“Probably not.”
He restrained a small, nasal laugh and said, “Maybe you’ll remember that after the long periods of isolation, the monkeys became completely disinterested in mating, and the males were incapable of arousal. Still, we wanted to see how the female monkeys would be as parents, after their time in the Pit of Despair. Since they wouldn’t mate willingly, we held them in a receptive position and strapped them to a rack, allowing the normal, male moneys to take the female, at will. Funny though, the females never even screeched in defiance.”
I interrupted, “Doctor, that’s not necessary.”
“Sorry, Dr. Bowman, truly.” He did look somewhat embarrassed, “You’d left the project and a short while later we had a few successful offspring. The mothers turned out to be completely negligent and it was up to us to feed the infants. In one case, the mom chewed off several of the baby’s fingers and then snapped its neck. And for no reason.”
“And you didn’t think to do anything?” I asked, nearly outraged.
Dr. Wilkes glanced sideways at me and smirked.
Realizing the naivety of the question, I said, “My mistake. Of course you did something, you took notes.”
“True enough, but the past is over. It’s time to move on.”
I grumbled and faced the window for the rest of the drive.
We finally stopped at the Museum of Science and Natural History. I didn’t look directly at Dr. Wilkes, but he’d read my expression well enough; I felt like I was being toyed with or made fun of. He merely told me to relax and enjoy myself, adding that I might even learn something during the visit. The museum was a circus of gadgets, machines and colorful exhibits; from the ticket desk in the lobby, I could see a simulated Martian surface with a model land rover, a bronze-colored, electrified orb that makes your hair stand on end, and apposing tubes that displayed a whirlpool in water and a tornado in the sand; and one could hear the constant buzz of electricity, the roar of jet engines, the chirping of a forest and a dozen educational videos with the same deep-voiced narrator. The museum was open late for something called Adult Night, which was meant to attract patrons who work during the day and are put off by the usual hordes of children.
It wasn’t until we had our tickets and began strolling through the main corridor, I quietly protested, “I know you’re trying to create an atmosphere to get a reaction from me, but we could have just gone to another café. This is a silly waste of time.”
He answered, calmly and firmly, “Now, here’s where I know you better than you know yourself. If you didn’t respond to atmosphere, you would have called the police when I put that monkey in your kitchen. And you wouldn’t have euthanized yourself all those years ago. You’ll be happier with what I have to say here, rather than a café, so just enjoy it and be happy your supporting the sciences tonight.”
“So you did hang that monkey from the ceiling?”
“Good. Now we’re coming to the present.”
“And I also know you didn’t work alone.”
He grinned, “Also true, but it isn’t worth talking about how everything was done. You’ll be much more interested to hear why.”
I insisted, “How did you do it?”
“Fine. You’re entitled to your stubbornness, and there’s no reason to hide it from you. Let’s walk for a little while though.”
We turned from the main hall into a darkened room that had an exhibit on human pregnancy. There were nine illuminated jars on central pillars, and each had a fetus at a different stage of development. There were also displays on the wall about different forms of delivery, modern and ancient. Dr. Wilkes stopped to read the placard beneath a fetus, while I stood behind him impatiently.
He asked, “Did you know the human gestation period is nine months?”
I grumbled and looked away.
“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your sense of humor, Dr. Bowman. You used to be such a funny guy. At least, that’s what everybody said about you. We never talked much, you and I.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
“Yeah. Since you demand to know how we did it, whatever “it” is, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to keep your emotions under control because your situation is a bit precarious. I mean we’ve gone to a great deal of trouble already. Clearly we want something from you, and we’re willing to go to a lot more trouble, for better or for worse.”
“Tell me.”
“I must admit I’m embarrassed about the note in the monkey’s paw, the one about you and Frida going on vacation together. When you told me you were still going, I understood it as both of you. By the time we found out, it was already hanging from her kitchen. You see? Frida’s mother never broke her leg. That was a little story we asked her to tell Frida.”
“Why!? You’ve sabotaged my life for no reason.”
“Be calm, Doctor.“ He pointed to the second trimester jar and said, “You’ll wake the baby.
As far as conspiracies go, this wasn’t complicated or widespread. A man in a suit simply went to the old woman’s house, flashing a badge and informing her that her daughter has become involved with a dangerous character. She was frightened for her daughter and agreed to bring Frida to Arizona and put the cast over her leg for a couple weeks. If it failed, it wasn’t really important. The point was never to be believed. We just need to, um, rock the boat, I suppose.”
“You have, so what was it all for?”
“And the monkey was easy enough. You just need is a lab that uses monkeys and ask them not to burn one of the bodies.”
“Dr. Wilkes,” I persisted. “What do you want?”
Stage 8
pt. 2
Walking
down the long corridor, I kept just behind Dr. Wilkes, slightly to the side, as
if I were on a leash. His gradual pace encouraged me to step beside him, but I
didn’t want him to believe we’re on friendly terms and all was quickly
forgotten. My lips were numb from shock and my extremities tingled, fighting to
waken. We turned into a room crowded with palm trees, plastic toucans, the
screeching of macaws and a mock waterfall with a rope bridge behind the
cascade. On the walls, were a series of informational placards, put on a hinge
and shaped like tree bark. Wilkes swung them upward, one by one: “Q: How many
trees are cut in the Amazon Rainforest each year?”, “Q: How many species go
extinct every year?”, “Q: What percent of the world’s oxygen do the rainforests
provide?”; most of heavy doors squeaked and Dr. Wilkes dropped them so they
banged loudly against the wall. Arms crossed, I stood at the end of the row,
waiting for him to get through the act.
At the last placard, he
turned up towards me and read aloud, “Question: What is the biggest threat to
life on our planet? Any guesses?”
“I think it’s you?”
He nodded, pulled the black
knob upward and behind it was a silvery paper, showing a foggy reflection of
himself. It fell with a bang and he said, feigning disappointment, “You’re
right, Dr. Bowman. It is me.”
“Your fault for looking,” I
answered, suppressing a grin.
“Hmm. That’s somewhat
profound.” As we reentered the main hall, he asked me, “Dr. Bowman, do you
believe life is lived on the inside? I mean, a person can feel desperate
without anything particularly bad happening. Likewise, a smile will come to
your face for no reason, and invite positivity.”
“I think you’re
generalizing.”
“Of course, you’re right.
I’m somewhat introspective and usually speak of myself. There are heavy-laden
souls that only experience their grief, and any levity is short and purely
reactionary. Then, there are gray people, the space-fillers, who I’m convinced
experience no real emotion at all, unless you consider greed an emotion.”
Just after speaking, Dr.
Wilkes tapped my shoulder and pointed to the Edison Room, where there were
shelves of antique lightbulbs and phonographs, and model of his laboratory with
an elderly, dummy Edison designing the first fluoroscope.
Wilkes continued, “I’m
getting sidetracked. If I forced an answer from you, would you agree life is
lived on the inside?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. But if you think
so, your work can’t be entirely fulfilling, can it? Testing cosmetics on rabbits
is so external, don’t you agree? The world doesn’t need a new a shampoo or a
body spray. You could do better than that.”
Sensing what was ahead, I
asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“What would you do if you
didn’t have your job?”
“Am I losing my job?”
“Yes. It seems that way, but
don’t blame yourself. I’ve fanned a few fires in the workplace, and they’ve
been looking for an excuse to force you into retirement. I’m sorry.”
I’d expected this news, but
surprisingly I felt nothing of remorse. My shoulders loosened and my breathing
deepened.
Wilkes went on, “You
shouldn’t feel alone though. I’m leaving, too.”
My expression tightened and
breath halted; for some reason, this came as the biggest shock. The man had
cost me my job and my love, and until then I could only assume it was out of
malicious intent, but I finally realized he was ridding me of my attachments,
freeing for his own design. He gave me a moment to absorb the information or
think of a question, but again I was mute and he motioned me back into the main
corridor.
“What do you want?” I asked,
finally; it felt like asking for a ransom amount.
“I want to sit down. My legs
are tired.” He was silent for a few steps and answered, without looking at me,
“I think you’re ready, Derrick, so I’ll tell you everything. There’s nothing to
hide from you anymore. In here.”
He pointed to a low, oddly
curved table and sat there, opposite one another. On the tabletop, there sat
various parts of the cell carved out of plywood, so each seat had its own
cellular puzzle. I ignored mine, but again Dr. Wilkes insisted on playing with
his. There was no one else around.
He asked, “Could you give me
your nucleus? Somebody seems to have taken mine.”
I passed him the round
piece, saying in a humble tone, “Tell me what you want.”
“I must admit I’ve been
moonlighting for the past several months. Some time ago, a pharmaceutical
company made a lucrative offer, in a much more rewarding job, and I accepted.
Like I said, life is lived on the inside, and while the LD50 work does function
at an internal level, I felt ready to go a bit deeper. Do you know what the
most prescribed drug in America is?”
“Prozac.”
“Correct, and with so many
people dependant on psychiatric drugs, the companies have gained a great deal
of influence. They are the ones who aided me in, in, um, the events of the past
week, they are the people I will be working for and they are offering you a
job, as well.”
“What? Why me? Why did they
think of me?”
He waited one second and
then we answered together, “The Pit of Despair.”
He continued, “I went to a
medical conference in San Francisco those few months ago, and I bumped into
someone else from the project.”
“Who?”
He smiled, “Our commander
and chief, Dr. Harlow.”
I bit my lip.
“He talked to me about his
current job, experimental research with the drug companies, and asked me if I’d
be interested in taking a job with them. They were opening a new lab with five
or six research scientists. At first, he merely asked if I wanted to join them,
but he eventually asked if I would direct the team and run the lab. Obviously,
I accepted the offer and I’m preparing to go there the week after next. A
second matter of interest came up during his and my reunion, any guesses about
what that was?”
“Me.”
“That’s right. I told him
that I was working with you. He didn’t remember your name, so I could only call
you, the suicide from Pit of Despair. I’ve known who you were for years now,
but Dr. Harlow assumed you had died in the hospital. He thought it remarkable
that you and I worked together, and we had a long laugh over it at the time. A
few weeks, he unexpectedly called, wondering if we could bring you into the new
lab, too. I thought it was a good idea.”
“Dr. Wilkes, you wouldn’t
have bothered for just another job. What are you up to?”
He said, “No, we wouldn’t of
course. The monkey would be a rather elaborate form of headhunting. You see?
The research we’ll be doing and the environment we’ll do it in will be special.
If we’d approached you in a normal way, you would have been appalled, or perhaps
try to alert somebody you shouldn’t. And it’s this very attitude that
encouraged us to approach you, at all. Let me explain.”
“Our laboratory itself is in
Guatemala. They had to use a developing country, where people at the poorest
level won’t be missed and authorities can be bought cheaply. It’s possible to
do human experimental research in the United States, but it’s quite stressful.
Politicians can be bought, but they may ask for more; someone may decide to
investigate or a competing company could sabotage you. It’s best to stay out of
sight and out of arms reach. Drug companies have invaded the military and
prison system to do involuntary research, but it’s complicated, requires
several middlemen and can be just as risky. There are such places all over the
planet, used by our company and others, and several world governments, but ours
will be in Central America.”
I cut in, “What in the hell
are you doing in these places?”
“Our studies will deal with
extended isolation. Same as before, but it will be humans this time.”
“You don’t need to. There
have been natural experiments, and they happen all the time. We know what
happens to people locked in a room by themselves for years and years.”
He replied, “You’re
perfectly right. Prisons use solitary confinement and cruel wardens can keep a
man alone for months. In Syria, people have been captured by terrorists and
confined for many years. There was this so-called ‘Feral Girl’ near Augsburg,
who was kept in a farmhouse for seven years by her mother, and another woman in
Sweden who was chained to her bed for nine years. But none of these examples
are controlled, we need a clean slate.”
“It’s horrific.”
“I sense your disgust, and I
can appreciate it, but that’s how it must be done. People are withdrawing from
one another. People have no fear for nature anymore, their greatest fear is one
another. There are group like the Hikikomori in Japan, who keep to their rooms
for years, scarcely ever communicating with anybody, at least face-to-face.
More people find that they have no friends, and their only source of connection
is through the flicker of a monitor or TV screen. This is the trend and it
needs a cure.”
I said, “Ok. Beyond the fact
that you’ve sabotaged my life, why would I go along with this? More threats. If
you’ve left me nothing to live for, why should I fear for my life or even
desire it?”
“Because you won’t be just
another researcher. You will be involved in guidance of the project, and
rehabilitation for the patients. In effect, you will be the conscience of the
project.”
I opened my mouth, but
halted.
“We aren’t Nazis, Derrick.
We’re not going to do our research and bury the subject in a mass grave. After
they’re broken, we need them fixed. We need you to do that and to tell us when
we’re going too far. You were made for this, Derrick. When you were doing Pit
of Despair research, we know you were somewhat isolated yourself, you suffered
with the subject and even died of it, but you came back. In this way, you can
bring others with you.”
After a half minute, he
continued, “Everything is waiting for you. I’ll hand you the details Monday and
we leave a week after that. For now, wait a few days and enjoy your weekend. If
you decide this doesn’t work for you, all you have to say is ‘no.’ Otherwise,
the acceptance of your post is assumed. So, what do you think?”
Dazed, I could only manage,
“I’ll take the weekend.”
“Good, do that.” He looked
side-to-side and asked, “Should we get out of here, or go see the planetarium
first?”
“Um, I wouldn’t mind the
planetarium.”
“Excellent. It helps me
think, too.”
* * *
Over the next few days,
dread rushed over me like a wave, though I regained my calm after every new
crash. In solitude, I became indignant and repeated the words, how dare
they?, but a part of me knew that the position fit, and I didn’t gather the
strength to say, no. As the leave date neared, my apprehension towards my new
life became curiosity and bemusement. Piece-by-piece, I dismantled what there
was of my life.
I left the Research
Institute voluntarily and was given a reduced pension; Dr. Weaver took over my
position and Jan seemed quite sorrowful, though Jan’s childish nature would
soon make her forget. I told them I was going to travel extensively, claiming
that I prefer to squander my retirement. They wanted on throw me a farewell
party, but I would only agree to dinner at my home, just the three of us. It
was pleasant to see them out of their lab coats, and speak with them socially.
I regretted that we didn’t do it before, and probably wouldn’t do it again. At
one point, Jan complimented me on my home and I suddenly realized that it would
be sitting empty for quite a long time; I asked Jan if she wanted it and, after
much pleading on both sides, I forced the condominium on her.
I quit on Tuesday, knowing
work was a pointless exercise by then. The following days were passed in The
Fix, losing myself in books and intermittently speaking to Gerry. I finally
gave him the Andean pan flute and he hung it on the wall, over my usual seat,
in my memory. I kept the truth from him also and said I’d be traveling. He
seemed happy about it, and told me that losing my job might be the best thing
that’s happened to me, and besides, those poor rabbits have had enough.
When I asked Wilkes what I
needed, he said, “nothing.” My home in Guatemala was supposed to be furnished,
so I would require very little: clothes, books, laptop and other essentials. I
left packing for the day before. I sent a few emails notifying people of my
indefinitely long trip. A few friends replied, asking if everything was ok.
Another asked me if I was going to Nepal to become a monk, or to Southeast Asia
to become a pedophile. I enjoyed the response, so I honored him by telling him
my direction, South.
The final loose end was
Frida; the new position had put a wedge between us, prying us apart, but I
didn’t know if the separation was eternal.