"A _geas_. A magical spell that causes a person to do or to refrain
from doing some act, whether he will or no. He has no choice, once the
_geas_ has been put on him."
"That's it exactly."
"But, man, it isn't magic we're discussing, is it?"
"I don't know," I admitted frankly. "You tell me. Was it magic this
morning when both you and I had a hunch that little Shirley was _not_
in the park, in spite of the way it looked? Was it magic when we
eliminated, without even searching, every spot but the place where she
actually was?"
"Well, no, I shouldn't say so. I think every good policeman gets
hunches like that every so often. He gets a feel for his work and for
the types he's dealing with."
"Well, then, call it hunch or telepathy or extra-sensory perception or
thingummybob or whatever. Brownlee has just what you say a good cop
should have--a feel for his work and for the types he's dealing with.
Within a very short time, Dr. Brownlee can actually get the feel of
being inside his patient's mind--deep enough, at least, so that he can
spot just what has to be done to put a compensating twist in a twisted
mind.
"He says the genuine zanies are very simple to operate on. They have
already got the raw materials in them for him to work with. A normally
sane, normally well integrated person would require almost as much
work to put a permanent quirk in as removing such a quirk would be in
a zany. The brainwashing techniques and hypnotism can introduce such
quirks temporarily, but as soon as a normally sane person regains his
balance, the quirks tend to fade away.
"But a system that is off balance and unstable doesn't require much
work to push it slightly in another direction. When Brownlee finds out
what will do the job, he does it, and we have a tame zany on our
hands."
"It sounds as though men of Brownlee's type are rather rare," His
Grace said.
"They are. Rarer than psychiatrists as a whole. On the other hand,
they can take care of a great many more cases."
"One thing, though," the Duke said thoughtfully. "You mentioned the
amputation of a pickpocket's hands. It seems to me that this technique
is just as drastic, just as crippling to the person to whom it is
done."
"Of course it is! No one has ever denied that. God help us if it's the
final answer to the problem! A man who can't drive a car, or use a
razor, or punch an enemy in the teeth when it's necessary is certainly
handicapped. He's more crippled than he was before. The only
compensation for society is that now he's less dangerous.
"There are certain compensations for the individual, too. He stands
less chance of going to prison, or to a death cell. But he's still
hemmed in; he's not a free man. Of course, in most instances, he's not
aware of what has been done to him; his mind compensates and
rationalizes and gives him a reason for what he's undergoing. Joey
Partridge thinks his condition is due to the fractures he suffered the
last time he beat up a man; Manny the Moog thinks that he's afraid to
drive a car because of the last wreck he was in. And, partly, maybe
they're both right. But they have still been deprived of a part of
their free will, their right of choice.
"Oh, no; this isn't the final answer by a long shot! It's a stopgap--a
_necessary_ stopgap. But, by using it, we can learn more about how the
human mind works, and maybe one of these days we'll evolve a science
of the mind that can take those twists _out_ instead of compensating
for them.
[Illustration]
"On the other hand, we can save lives by using the technique we have
now. We don't dare _not_ use it.
"When they chopped off those hands, centuries ago, the stumps were
cauterized by putting them in boiling oil. It looked like another
injury piled on top of the first, but the chirurgeons, not knowing
_why_ it worked, still knew that a lot more ex-pickpockets lived
through their ordeal if the boiling oil was used afterward.
"And that's what we're doing with this technique right here and now.
We're using it because it saves lives, lives that may potentially or
actually be a great deal more valuable than the warped personality
that might have taken such a life.
"But the one thing that I am working for right now and will continue
to work for is a _real_ cure, if that's possible. A real, genuine,
usable kind of psychotherapy; one which is at least on a par with the
science of cake-baking when it comes to the percentages of successes
and failures."
* * * * *
His Grace thought that over for a minute. Then he leaned back and
looked at me through narrowed eyes. There was a half smile on his lips
"Royall, old man, let's admit one thing, just between ourselves," His
voice became very slow and very deliberate. "Both you and I know that
this process, whatever it is, is _not_ psychotherapy."
"Why do you say that?" I wasn't trying to deny anything; I just
wanted to know the reasoning behind his conclusions.
"Because I know what psychotherapy can and can't do. And I know that
psychotherapy can _not_ do the sort of thing we've been discussing.
"It's as if you'd taken me out on a rifle range, to a target two
thousand yards from the shooter and let me watch that marksman put
fifty shots out of fifty into a six-inch bull's-eye. I might not know
what the shooter is using, but I would know beyond any shadow of doubt
that it was _not_ an ordinary revolver. More, I would know that it
could not be any possible improvement upon the revolver. It simply
would have to be an instrument of an entirely different order.
"If, in 1945, any intelligent military man had been told that the
Japanese city of Hiroshima had been totally destroyed by a bomber
dropping a single bomb, he would be certain that the bomb was a new
and different kind from any ever known before. He would know that, mind
you, without necessarily knowing a great deal about chemistry.
"I don't need to know a devil of a lot about psychotherapy to know
that the process you've been describing is as far beyond the limits of
psychotherapy as the Hiroshima bomb was beyond the limits of
chemistry. Ditto for hypnosis and/or Pavlov's 'conditioned reflex', by
the way.
"Now, just to clear the air, what _is_ it?"
"It has no official name yet," I told him. "To keep within the law, we
have been calling it psychotherapy. If we called it something else,
and admitted that it _isn't_ psychotherapy, the courts couldn't turn
the zanies over to us. But you're right--it is as impossible to
produce the effect by psychotherapy as it is to produce an atomic
explosion by a chemical reaction.
"I've got a hunch that, just as chemistry and nucleonics are both
really branches of physics, so psychotherapy and Brownlee's process
are branches of some higher, more inclusive science--but that doesn't
have a name, either."
"That's as may be," the Duke said, "but I'm happy to know that you're
not deluding yourself that it's any kind of psychotherapy."
"You know," I said, "I kind of like your word _geas_. Because that's
exactly what it seems to be--a _geas_. A hex, an enchantment, if you
wish.
"Did you know that Brownlee was an anthropologist before he turned to
psychology? He has some very interesting stories to tell about hexes
and so on."
"I'll have to hear them one day." His Grace took a pack of cigarettes
from his pocket. "Cigarette?"
"No, thanks. I gave up smoking a few years back."
* * * * *
He puffed his alight. "This _geas_," he said, "reminds me of the fact
that, before the medical profession came up with antibiotics that
would destroy the microorganisms that cause gas gangrene, amputation
was the only method of preventing the death of the patient. It was
crippling, but necessary."
"_No!_" My voice must have been a little too sharp, because he raised
one eyebrow. "The analogy," I went on in a quieter tone, "isn't good
because it gives a distorted picture. Look, Your Grace, you know
what's done to keep a captive wild duck from flying away?"
"One wing is clipped."
"Right. Certain of the feathers are trimmed, which throws the duck off
balance every time he tries to fly. He's crippled, right? But if you
clip the _other_ wing, what happens? He's in balance again. He can't
fly as _well_ as he could before his wings were clipped--but he _can_
fly!
"That's what Brownlee's _geas_ does--restore the balance by clipping
the other wing."
His Grace smiled. There was an odd sort of twinkle in his eyes. "Let
me carry your analogy somewhat farther. If the one wing is too
severely clipped, clipping the other won't help. Our duck wouldn't
have enough lift to get off the ground, even if he's balanced.
"Now, a zany who was that badly crippled--?"
I grinned back at him. "Right. It would be so obvious that he would
have been put away very quickly. He would not be just psychopathic,
but completely psychotic--and demonstrably so."
"Then," the Duke said, still pursuing the same track, "the only way
to 'cure' that kind would be to find a method to ... ah ... 'grow the
feathers back', wouldn't it? And where does that put today's
psychotherapy? Providing, of course, that the analogy follows."
"It does," I said. "The real cure that I want to find would do just
that--'grow the feathers back'. And that's beyond the limits of
psychotherapy, too. That's why Dr. Brownlee and his boys want to study
every zany we bring in, whether he can be helped or not. They're
looking for a _cure_, not a stopgap."
"Let me drag that analogy out just a tiny bit more," said His Grace.
"Suppose there is a genetic defect in the duck which makes it
impossible--absolutely impossible--to grow feathers on that wing. Will
your cure work?"
I was very quiet for along time. At least, it seemed long. The
question had occurred to me before, and I didn't even like to think
about it. Now, I had to face it again for a short while.
"Frankly," I said as evenly as I could, "I doubt that anything could
be done. But that's only an opinion. We don't know enough yet to make
any such predictions. It is my hope that some day we'll find a method
of restoring every human being to his or her full potential--but I'm
not at all certain of what the source of that potential is.
"But when we do get our cure," I went on, "then our first move must be
to abolish the _geas_. And I wish that day were coming tomorrow."
* * * * *
There seemed to be a sudden silence in the room. I hadn't realized
that I'd been talking so loudly or so vehemently.
The Duke broke it by saying: "Look here, Royall; I'm going to stay on
here until I've learned all about every phase of this thing. It may
sound a bit conceited, but I'm going to try to learn in a few weeks
everything you have learned in a year. So you'll have to teach me, if
you will. And then I'd like to borrow one or two of your therapists,
your hexperts, to teach the technique in England.
"Allowing people like that to kill and maim when it can be prevented
is unthinkable in a civilized society. I've got to learn how to stop
it in England. Will you teach me?"
"On one condition," I said.
"What's that?"
"That you teach me how to use a walking stick."