"If _you_ got amnesia, I and the rest of the human race would
disappear."
Secundus looked worried, "That is also correct, and if that should
happen, you will readily understand that we _would_ be in difficulty.
The situation is extremely--But pardon me. I had promised to be silent
except when answering questions."
"This is the part I fail to understand, Mr. Secundus. I gather that
you brought me here to treat Mr. Primus. Now, if I exist as a thought
in your mind, you necessarily know everything I know. Why don't you
treat him yourself?"
Secundus shook his head disapprovingly. "Oh, no, Dr. Raye, that is not
the case at all. It cannot be said that I _know_ everything that you
know; rather we should say that I _remember_ you. In other words, that
I maintain your existence by an act of memory. The two functions,
knowledge and memory, are not identical, although, of course, the
second cannot be considered to exist without the first. But before we
become entangled in our own terms, I should perhaps remind you that
when I employ the word 'memory' I am only making use of a convenient
approximation. Perhaps it would be helpful to say that my memory is
comparable to the structure-memory of a living organism, although
that, too, has certain semantic disadvantages. Were you about to make
a remark, Doctor?"
"It still seems to me," Herman said stubbornly, "that if you remember
me, structurally or otherwise, that includes everything I remember. If
you're going to tell me that you remember human knowledge, including
Freudian theory and practice, but are unable to manipulate it, that
seems to me to be contradicted by internal evidence in what you've
already said. For example, it's clear that in the field of
epistemology--the knowledge of knowledge, you might say--you have the
knowledge _and_ manipulate it."
"Ah," said Secundus, smiling shyly, "but, you see, that happens to be
my line. Psychoanalysis and psychotherapy, being specializations, are
not. As I mentioned previously, persons of our order are theoretically
not capable of psychic deterioration. That is why we come to you, Dr.
Raye. We are unable to help ourselves; we ask your help. We place
ourselves unreservedly in your hands."
The question, "How was I chosen?" occurred to Herman, but he left it
unasked. He knew that the answer was much likelier to be, "At random,"
than, "Because we wanted the most brilliant and talented psychoanalyst
on the planet."
"I gather that I'm not the first person you've tried," he said.
"Oh, you saw Dr. Buddolphson departing? Yes, it is true that in our
ignorance of the subject we did not immediately turn to practitioners
of your psychological orientation. In fact, if you will not be
offended, I may say that you are practically our last hope. We have
already had one eminent gentleman whose method was simply to talk over
Mr. Primus's problems with him and endeavor to help him reach an
adjustment; he failed because Mr. Primus, so far as he is aware, has
no problems except that he has lost his memory. Then we had another
whose system, as he explained it to me, was simply to repeat, in a
sympathetic manner, everything that the patient said to him; Mr.
Primus was not sufficiently prolix for this method to be of avail.
"Then there was another who wished to treat Mr. Primus by encouraging
him to relive his past experiences: 'taking him back along the
time-track,' as he called it; but--" Secundus looked mournful--"Mr.
Primus has actually _had_ no experiences in the usual sense of the
term, though he very obligingly made up a number of them. Our
ontogeny, Dr. Raye, is so simple that it can scarcely be said to
exist at all. Each of us normally has only one function, the one I
have already mentioned, and, until this occurrence, it has always been
fulfilled successfully.
"We also had a man who proposed to reawaken Mr. Primus's memory by
electric shock, but Mr. Primus is quite impervious to currents of
electricity and we were unable to hit upon an acceptable substitute.
In short, Dr. Raye, if you should prove unable to help us, we will
have no one left to fall back upon except, possibly, the Yogi."
"They might do you more good, at that," Herman said, looking at Mr.
Primus. "Well, I'll do what I can, though the function of analysis is
to get the patient to accept reality, and this is the opposite. What
can you tell me, to begin with, about Mr. Primus's personality, the
onset of the disturbance, and so on--and, in particular, what are you
two? Who's your boss? What's it all for and how does it work?"
Secundus said, "I can give you very little assistance, I am afraid. I
would characterize Primus as a very steady person, extremely accurate
in his work, but not very imaginative. His memory loss occurred
abruptly, as you yourself witnessed yesterday afternoon. As to your
other questions--forgive me, Dr. Raye, but it is to your own advantage
if I fail to answer them. I am, of course, the merest amateur in
psychology, but I sincerely feel that your own psyche might be damaged
if you were to learn the fragment of the truth which I could give
you."
He paused. A sheaf of papers, which Herman had not noticed before, lay
on a small table that he had not noticed, either. Secundus picked them
up and handed them over.
"Here are testing materials," he said. "If you need anything else, you
have only to call on me. But I trust you will find these complete."
He turned to go. "And one more thing, Dr. Raye," he said with an
apologetic smile. "_Hurry_, if you possibly can."
* * * * *
Primus, looking rather like a sarcophagus ornament, lay limply supine
on the ten-foot couch, arms at his sides, eyes closed. When Herman had
first told him to relax, Primus had had to have the word carefully
explained to him; from then on he had done it--or seemed to do
it--perfectly.
In his preliminary tests, the Binet, the Minnesota Multiphasic
Personality Index and the Berneuter P.I., he had drawn almost a
complete blank. Standard testing methods did not work on Mr. Primus,
and the reason was obvious enough. Mr. Primus simply was not a human
being.
This room, no doubt, was an illusion, and so was Mr. Primus's
anthropomorphic appearance....
Herman felt like a surgeon trying to operate blindfolded while wearing
a catcher's mitt on each hand. But he kept trying; he was getting
results, though whether or not they meant anything, he was unable to
guess.
On the Rorschach they had done a little better, at least in volume of
response. "That looks like a cliff," Primus would say eagerly. "That
looks like a--piece of sandstone. This part looks like two volcanoes
and a cave." Of course, Herman realized, the poor old gentleman was
only trying to please him. He had no more idea than a goldfish what a
volcano or a rock looked like, but he wanted desperately to help.
Even so, it was possible to score the results. According to Herman's
interpretation, Primus was a case of arrested infantile sexualism,
with traces of conversion hysteria and a strong Oedipus complex.
Herman entered the protocol solemnly in his notes and kept going.
Next came free association, and, after that, recounting of dreams.
Feeling that he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, Herman
carefully explained to Primus what "sleep" and "dreams" were.
Primus had promised to do his best; he had been lying there now,
without moving, for--how long? Startled, Herman looked at his watch.
It had stopped.
Scoring the Rorschach alone, Herman realized suddenly, should have
taken him nearly a full day, even considering the fact that he hadn't
eaten anything, or taken time out to rest, or--Herman bewilderedly
felt his jaw. There was only the slightest stubble. He didn't feel
hungry or tired, or cramped from sitting....
"Secundus!" he called.
A door opened in the wall to his right, and Secundus stepped through.
The door disappeared.
"Yes, Dr. Raye? Is anything wrong?"
"How long have I been here?"
Secundus' right-hand head looked embarrassed. "Well, Doctor, without
bringing in the difficult questions of absolute versus relative
duration, and the definition of an arbitrary position--"
"Don't stall. How long have I been here in my own subjective time?"
"Well, I was about to say, without being unnecessarily inclusive, the
question is still very difficult. However, bearing in mind that the
answer is only a rough approximation--about one hundred hours."
Herman rubbed his chin. "I don't like your tampering with me," he said
slowly. "You've speeded me up--is that it? And at the same time
inhibited my fatigue reactions, and God knows what else, so that I
didn't even notice I'd been working longer than I normally could until
just now?"
Secundus looked distressed. "I'm afraid I have made rather a botch of
it, Dr. Raye. I should not have allowed you to notice at all, but it
is growing increasingly difficult to restrain your fellow-creatures to
their ordinary routines. My attention strayed, I am sorry to say." He
glanced at the recumbent form of Primus. "My word! What is Mr. Primus
doing, Dr. Raye?"
"Sleeping," Herman answered curtly.
"Remarkable! I hope he does not make a habit of it. Will he awaken
soon, do you think, Doctor?"
"I have no idea," said Herman helplessly; but at that moment Primus
stirred, opened his eyes, and sat up with his usual vague, kindly
smile.
"Did you dream?" Herman asked him.
Primus blinked slowly. "Yes. Yes, I did," he said in his profoundly
heavy voice.
"Tell me all you can remember about it."
"Well," said Primus, sinking back onto the couch, "I dreamed I was in
a room with a large bed. It had heavy wooden posts and a big bolster.
I wanted to lie down and rest in the bed, but the bolster made me
uncomfortable. It was too dark to see, to rearrange the bed, so I
tried to light a candle, but the matches kept going out...."
Herman took it all down, word for word, with growing excitement and
growing dismay. The dream was too good. It might have come out of Dr.
Freud's original case histories. When Primus had finished, Herman
searched back through his notes. Did Primus _know_ what a bed was, or
what a bolster was, or a candle? How much had Herman told him?
"Bed" was there, of course. Primus: "What are 'dreams?'" Herman:
"Well, when a human being goes to bed, and sleeps...." "Bolster" was
there, too, but not in the same sense. Herman: "To bolster its
argument, the unconscious--what we call the id--frequently alters the
person's likes and dislikes on what seem to be petty and commonplace
subjects...." And "candle?" Herman: "I want you to understand that I
don't know all about this subject myself, Mr. Primus. Nobody does; our
knowledge is just a candle in the darkness...."
Herman gave up. He glanced at Secundus, who was watching him
expectantly. "May I talk to you privately?"
"Of course." Secundus nodded to Primus, who stood up awkwardly and
then vanished with a _pop_. Secundus tut-tutted regretfully.
Herman took a firm grip on himself. "Look," he said, "the data I have
now suggest that Primus had some traumatic experience in his infancy
which arrested his development in various ways and also strengthened
his Oedipus complex--that is, intensified his feelings of fear, hatred
and rivalry toward his father. Now, that may sound to you as if we're
making some progress. I would feel that way myself--if I had the
slightest reason for believing that Primus ever had a father."
Secundus started to speak; but Herman cut him off. "Wait, let me
finish. I can go ahead on that basis, but as far as I'm concerned I
might just as well be counting the angels on the head of a pin. You've
got to give me more information, Secundus. I want to know who you are,
and who Primus is, and whether there's any other being with whom
Primus could possibly have a filial relationship. And if you can't
tell me all that without giving me the Secret of the Universe, then
you'd better give it to me whether it's good for me or not. I can't
work in the dark."
Secundus pursed his lips. "There is justice in what you say, Doctor.
Very well, I shall be entirely frank with you--in so far as it is
possible for me to do so of course. Let's see, where can I begin?"
"First question," retorted Herman. "Who are you?"
"We are--" Secundus thought a moment, then spread his hands with a
helpless smile. "There are no words, Doctor. To put the case in
negatives, we are not evolved organisms, we are not mortal, we are
not, speaking in the usual sense, alive, although, of course--I hope
you will not be offended--neither are you."
Herman's brow wrinkled. "Are you _real_?" he demanded finally.
Secundus looked embarrassed. "You have found me out, Dr. Raye. I
endeavored to give you that impression--through vanity, I am ashamed
to say--but, unhappily, it is not true. I, too, belong to the realm of
noumena."
"Then, blast it all, what _is_ real? This planet isn't. You're not.
What's it all for?" He paused a moment reflectively. "We're getting on
to my second question, about Primus's attitude toward his 'father.'
Perhaps I should have asked just now, '_Who_ is real?' Who remembers
you, Secundus?"
"This question, unfortunately, is the one I cannot answer with
complete frankness, Doctor. I assure you that it is not because I do
not wish to; I have no option in the matter. I can tell you only that
there is a Person of whom it might be said that He stands in the
parental relationship to Primus, to me, and all the rest of our
order."
"God?" Herman inquired. "Jahweh? Allah?"
"Please, no names, Doctor." Secundus looked apprehensive.
"Then, damn it, tell me the rest!" Herman realized vaguely that he was
soothing his own hurt vanity at Secundus's expense, but he was
enjoying himself too much to stop. "You're afraid of something; that's
been obvious right along. And there must be a time limit on it, or you
wouldn't be rushing me. Why? Are you afraid that if this unnamable
Person finds out you've botched your job, He'll wipe you out of
existence and start over with a new bunch?"
A cold wind blew down Herman's back. "Not us alone, Dr. Raye," said
Secundus gravely. "If the Inspector discovers this blunder--and the
time is coming soon when He must--no corrections will be attempted.
When a mistake occurs, it is--painted out."
"Oh," said Herman after a moment. He sat down again, weakly. "How long
have we got?"
"Approximately one and a quarter days have gone by at the Earth's
normal rate since Primus lost his memory," Secundus said. "I have not
been able to 'speed you up,' as you termed it, by more than a
twenty-to-one ratio. The deadline will have arrived, by my
calculation, in fifteen minutes of normal time, or five hours at your
present accelerated rate."
Primus stepped into the room, crossed to the couch and lay down
placidly. Secundus turned to go, then paused.
"As for your final question, Doctor--you might think of the Universe
as a Pointillist painting, in which this planet is one infinitesimally
small dot of color. The work is wholly imaginary, of course, since
neither the canvas nor the pigment has what you would term an
independent existence. Nevertheless, the artist takes it seriously. He
would not care to find, so to speak, mustaches daubed on it."
Herman sat limply, staring after him as he moved to the door. Secundus
turned once more.
"I hope you will not think that I am displeased with you, Doctor," he
said. "On the contrary, I feel that you are accomplishing more than
anyone else has. However, should you succeed, as I devoutly hope,
there may not be sufficient time to congratulate you as you deserve. I
shall have to replace you immediately in your normal world-line, for
your absence would constitute as noticeable a flaw as that of the
planet. In that event, my present thanks and congratulations will have
to serve."
With a friendly smile, he disappeared.
Herman wound his watch.
Two hours later, Primus's answers to his questions began to show a
touch of resentment and surly defiance. _Transference_, Herman
thought, with a constriction of his throat, and kept working
desperately.