Part 18 (1/2)
August 11-Blind alley for the past two days. Nothing. I've taken a wrong turn somewhere, because I get answers to a lot of questions, but not to the most important question of all: How does Algernon's regression affect the basic hypothesis of the experiment?
Fortunately, I know enough about the processes of the mind not to let this block worry me too much. Instead of panicking and giving up (or what's even worse, pus.h.i.+ng hard for answers that won't come) I've got to take my mind off the problem for a while and let it stew. I've gone as far as I can on a conscious level, and now it's up to those mysterious operations below the level of awareness. It's one of those inexplicable things, how everything I've learned and experienced is brought to bear on the problem. Pus.h.i.+ng too hard will only make things freeze up. How many great problems have gone unsolved because men didn't know enough, or have enough faith in the creative process and in themselves, to let go for the whole whole mind to work at it? mind to work at it?
So I decided yesterday afternoon to put the work aside for a while and go to Mrs. Nemur's c.o.c.ktail party. It was in honor of the two men on the board of the Welberg Foundation who had been instrumental in getting her husband the grant. I planned to take Fay, but she said she had a date and she'd rather go dancing.
I started out the evening with every intention of being pleasant and making friends. But these days I have trouble getting through to people. I don't know if it's me or them, but any attempt at conversation usually fades away in a minute or two, and the barriers go up. Is it because they are afraid of me? Or is it that deep down they don't care and I feel the same about them?
I took a drink and wandered around the big room. There were little knots of people sitting in conversation groups, the kind I find it impossible to join. Finally, Mrs. Nemur cornered me and introduced me to Hyram Harvey, one of the board members. Mrs. Nemur is an attractive woman, early forties, blonde hair, lots of make-up and long red nails. She had her arm through Harvey's. ”How is the research coming?” She wanted to know.
”As well as can be expected. I'm trying to solve a tough problem right now.”
She lit a cigarette and smiled at me. ”I know that everyone on the project is grateful that you've decided to pitch in and help out. But I imagine you'd much rather be working on something of your own. It must be rather dull taking up someone else's work rather than something you've conceived and created yourself.”
She was sharp, all right. She didn't want Hyram Harvey to forget that her husband had the credit coming. I couldn't resist tossing it back at her. ”No one really starts anything new, Mrs. Nemur. Everyone builds on other men's failures. There is nothing really original in science. What each man contributes to the sum of knowledge is what counts.”
”Of course,” she said, talking to her elderly guest rather than to me. ”It's a shame Mr. Gordon wasn't around earlier to help solve these little final problems.” She laughed. ”But then-oh, I forgot, you weren't in any position to do psychological experimentation.”
Harvey laughed, and I thought I'd better keep quiet. Bertha Nemur was not going to let me get the last word in, and if things went any further it would really get nasty.
I saw Dr. Strauss and Burt talking to the other man from the Welberg Foundation-George Raynor. Strauss was saying: ”The problem, Mr. Raynor, is getting sufficient funds to work on projects like these, without having strings tied to the money. When amounts are earmarked for specific purposes, we can't really operate.”
Raynor shook his head and waved a big cigar at the small group around him. ”The real problem is convincing the board that this kind of research has practical value.”
Strauss shook his head. ”The point I've been trying to make is that this money is intended for research. No one can ever know in advance if a project is going to result in something useful. Results are often negative. We learn what something is not-and that is as important as a positive discovery to the man who is going to pick up from there. At least he knows what not to do.”
As I approached the group, I noticed Raynor's wife, to whom I had been introduced earlier. She was a beautiful, dark-haired woman of thirty or so. She was staring at me, or rather at the top of my head-as if she expected something to sprout. I stared back, and she got uncomfortable and turned back to Dr. Strauss. ”But what about the present project? Do you antic.i.p.ate being able to use these techniques on other r.e.t.a.r.dates? Is this something the world will be able to use?”
Strauss shrugged and nodded towards me. ”Still too early to tell. Your husband helped us put Charlie to work on the project, and a great deal depends on what he comes up with.”
”Of course,” Mr. Raynor put in, ”we all understand the necessity for pure pure research in fields like yours. But it would be such a boon to our image if we could produce a really workable method for achieving permanent results outside the laboratory, if we could show the world that there is some tangible good coming out of it.” research in fields like yours. But it would be such a boon to our image if we could produce a really workable method for achieving permanent results outside the laboratory, if we could show the world that there is some tangible good coming out of it.”
I started to speak, but Strauss, who must have sensed what I was going to say, stood up and put his arm on my shoulder. ”All of us at Beekman feel that the work Charlie is doing is of the utmost importance. His job now is to find the truth wherever it leads. We leave it to your foundations to handle the public, to educate society.”
He smiled at the Raynors and steered me away from them.
”That,” I said, ”is not at all what I was going to say.”
”I didn't think you were,” he whispered, holding onto my elbow. ”But I could see by that gleam in your eye you were ready to cut them to pieces. And I couldn't allow that, could I?”
”Guess not,” I agreed, helping myself to another martini.
”Is it wise of you to drink so heavily?”
”No, but I'm trying to relax and I seem to have come to the wrong place.”
”Well, take it easy,” he said, ”and keep out of trouble tonight. These people are not fools. They know the way you feel about them, and even if you don't need them, we do.”
I waved a salute at him. ”I'll try, but you'd better keep Mrs. Raynor away from me. I'm going to goose her if she wiggles her f.a.n.n.y at me again.”
”Shhhh!” he hissed. ”She'll hear you.”
”Shhhh!” I echoed. ”Sorry. I'll just sit here in the corner and keep out of everyone's way.”
The haze was coming over me, but through it I could see people staring at me. I guess I was muttering to myself-too audibly. I don't remember what I said. A little while later I had the feeling that people were leaving unusually early, but I didn't pay much attention until Nemur came up and stood in front of me.
”Just who the h.e.l.l do you think you are, that you can behave that way? I have never seen such insufferable rudeness in my life.”
I struggled to my feet. ”Now, what makes you say that?”
Strauss tried to restrain him, but he spluttered and gasped out: ”I say it, because you have no grat.i.tude or understanding of the situation. After all, you are indebted to these people if not to us-in more ways than one.”
”Since when is a guinea pig supposed to be grateful?” I shouted. ”I've served your purposes, and now I'm trying to work out your mistakes, so how the h.e.l.l does that make me indebted to anyone?”
Strauss started to move in to break it up, but Nemur stopped him. ”Just a minute. I want to hear this. I think it's time we had this out.”
”He's had too much to drink,” said his wife.
”Not that much,” snorted Nemur. ”He's speaking pretty clearly. I've put up with a lot from him. He's endangered-if not actually destroyed-our work, and now I want to hear from his own mouth what he thinks his justification is.”
”Oh, forget it,” I said. ”You don't really want to hear the truth.”
”But I do, Charlie. At least your version of the truth. I want to know if you feel any grat.i.tude for all the things that have been done for you-the abilities you've developed, the things you've learned, the experiences you've had. Or do you think possibly you were better off before?”
”In some ways, yes.”
That shocked them.
”I've learned a lot in the past few months,” I said. ”Not only about Charlie Gordon, but about life and people, and I've discovered that n.o.body really cares about Charlie Gordon, whether he's a moron or a genius. So what difference does it make?”
”Oh,” laughed Nemur. ”You're feeling sorry for yourself. What did you expect? This experiment was calculated to raise your intelligence, not to make you popular. We had no control over what happened to your personality, and you've developed from a likeable, r.e.t.a.r.ded young man into an arrogant, self-centered, antisocial b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”
”The problem, dear professor, is that you wanted someone who could be made intelligent but still be kept in a cage and displayed when necessary to reap the honors you seek. The hitch is that I'm a person.”
He was angry, and I could see he was torn between ending the fight and trying once more to beat me down. ”You're being unfair, as usual. You know we've always treated you well-done everything we could for you.”
”Everything but treat me as a human being. You've boasted time and again that I was nothing before the experiment, and I know why. Because if I was nothing, then you were responsible for creating me, and that makes you my lord and master. You resent the fact that I don't show my grat.i.tude every hour of the day. Well, believe it or not, I am grateful. But what you did for me-wonderful as it is-doesn't give you the right to treat me like an experimental animal. I'm an individual now, and so was Charlie before he ever walked into that lab. You look shocked! Yes, suddenly we discover that I was always a person-even before-and that challenges your belief that someone with an I.Q. of less than 100 doesn't deserve consideration. Professor Nemur, I think when you look at me your conscience bothers you.”
”I've heard enough,” he snapped. ”You're drunk.”
”Ah, no,” I a.s.sured him. ”Because if I get drunk, you'll see a different Charlie Gordon from the one you've come to know. Yes, the other Charlie who walked in the darkness is still here with us. Inside me.”
”He's gone out of his head,” said Mrs. Nemur. ”He's talking as if there were two Charlie Gordons. You'd better look after him, doctor.”