Ass1! Idiot! Wild boar! Dumb mule2! Slave Lousy, wallowing hippopotamus3! Wilhelm called himself as his bending legs carried him from the dining room. His pride! His inflamed4 feelings! His begging and feebleness! And trading insults with his old father–and spreading confusion over everything. Oh, how poor, contemptible5, and ridiculous he was! When he remembered how he had said, with great reproof6, “You ought to know your own son-–”why, how corny and abominable7 it was.
He could not get out of the sharply brilliant dining room fast enough. He was horribly worked up; his neck and shoulders, his entire chest ached as though they had been tightly tied with ropes. He smelled the salt odor of tears in his nose.
But at the same time, since there were depths in Wilhelm not unsuspected by himself, he received a suggestion from some remote element in his thoughts that the business of life, the real business–to carry his peculiar8 burden, to feel shame and impotence, to taste these quelled10 tears–the only important business, the highest business was being done. Maybe the making of mistakes expressed the very purpose of his life and the essence of his being here. Maybe he was supposed to make them and suffer from them on this earth. And though he had raised himself above Mr. Perls and his father because they adored money, still they were called to act energetically and this was better than to yell and cry, pray and beg, poke11 and blunder and go by fits and starts and fall upon the thorns of life. And finally sink beneath that watery12 floor–would that be tough luck, or would it be good riddance?
But he raged once more against his father. Other people with money, while they're still alive, want to see it do some good. Granted, he shouldn't support me. But have I ever asked him to do that? Have I ever asked for dough13 at all, either for Margaret or for the kids or for myself It isn't the money, but only the assistance; not even assistance, but just the feeling. But he may be trying to teach me that a grown man should be cured of such feelings. Feeling got me in dutch at Rojax. I had the feeling that I belonged to the firm, and my feelings were hurt when they put Gerber in over me. Dad thinks I'm too simple. But I'm not so simple as he thinks. What about his feelings? He doesn’t forget death for one single second, and that's what makes him like this. And not, only is death on his mind but through money he forces me to think about it, too. It gives him power over me. He forces me that way, he himself, and then he's sore. If he was poor, I could care for him and show it. The way I could care, too, if I only had a chance. He'd see how much love and respect I had in me. It would make him a different man, too. He'd put his hands on me and give me his blessing14.
Someone in a gray straw hat with a wide cocoa-colored band spoke15 to Wilhelm in the lobby. The light was dusky, splotched with red underfoot; green, the leather furniture; yellow, the indirect lighting16.
“Hey, Tommy. Say, there.”
“Excuse me,” said Wilhelm, trying to reach a house phone. But this was Dr. Tamkin, whom he was just about to call.
“You have a very obsessional17 look on your face,” said Dr. Tamkin.
Wilhelm thought, Here he is, Here he is. If I could only figure this guy out.
“Oh,” he said to Tamkin. “Have I got such a look? Well, whatever it is, you name it and I'm sure to have it.”
The sight of Dr. Tamkin brought his quarrel with his father to a close. He found himself flowing into another channel.
“What are we doing?” he said. “What's going to happen to lard today?”
“Don't worry yourself about that. All we have to do is hold on to it and it's sure to go up. But what's made you so hot under the collar, Wilhelm?”
“Oh, one of those family situations.” This was the moment to take a new look at Tamkin, and he viewed him closely but gained nothing by the new effort. It was conceivable that Tamkin was everything that he claimed to be, and all the gossip false. But was he a scientific man, or not? If he was not, this might be a case for the district attorney's office to investigate. Was he a liar9? That was a delicate question. Even a liar might be trustworthy in some ways. Could he trust Tamkin–could he? He feverishly18, fruitlessly sought an answer.
But the time for this question was past, and he had to trust him now. After a long struggle to come to a decision, he had given him the money. Practical judgment19 was in abeyance20. He had worn himself out, and the decision was no decision. How had this happened? But how had his Hollywood career begun? It was not because of Maurice Venice, who turned out to be a pimp. It was because Wilhelm himself was ripe for the mistake. His marriage, too, had been like that. Through such decisions somehow his life had taken form. And so, from the moment, when he tasted the peculiar flavor of fatality21 in Dr. Tamkin, he could no longer keep back the money.
Five days ago Tamkin had said, “Meet me tomorrow, and we'll go to the market.” Wilhelm, therefore, had had to go. At eleven o'clock they had walked to the brokerage office. On the way, Tamkin broke the news to Wilhelm that though this was an equal partnership22, he couldn't put up his half of the money just yet; it was tied up for a week or so in one of his patents. Today he would be two hundred dollars short; next week he'd make it up. But, neither of them needed an income from the market, of course. This was only a sporting proposition anyhow, Tamkin said. Wilhelm had to answer, “Of course.” It was too late to withdraw. What else could he do? Then came the formal part of the transaction, and it was frightening. The very shade of green of Tamkin's check looked wrong; it was a false, disheartening color. His handwriting was peculiar, even monstrous23; the e's were like i's, the t's and. I's, the same, and the h's like wasps24' bellies25. He wrote like a fourth-grader. Scientists, however, dealt mostly in symbols; they printed. This was Wilhelm's explanation.
Dr. Tamkin had given him his check for three hundred dollars. Wilhelm, in a blinded and convulsed aberration26, pressed and pressed to try to kill the trembling of his hand as he wrote out his check for a thousand. He set his lips tight, crouched27 with his huge back over the table, and wrote with crumbling28, terrified fingers, knowing that if Tamkin's check bounced his own would not be honored either. His sole cleverness was to set the date ahead by one day to give the green check time to clear.
Next he had signed a power of attorney, allowing Tamkin to speculate with his money, and this was an even more frightening document. Tamkin had never said a word about it, but here they were and it bad to be done.
After delivering his signatures, the only precaution Wilhelm took was to come back to the manager of the brokerage office and ask him privately29, “Llh, about Doctor Tamkin. We were in here a few minutes ago, remember?”
That day had been a weeping, smoky one and Wilhelm had gotten away from Tamkin on the pretext30 of having to run to the post office. Tamkin had gone to lunch alone, and here was Wilhelm, back again, breathless, his hat dripping, needlessly asking the manager if he remembered.
“Yes, sir, I know,” the manager had said. He was a cold, mild, lean German who dressed correctly and around his neck wore a pair of opera glasses with which he read the board. He was an extremely correct person except that he never shaved in the morning, not caring, probably, how he looked to the fumblers and the old people and the operators and the gamblers and the idlers of Broadway uptown. The market closed at three. Maybe, Wilhelm guessed, he had a thick beard and took a lady out to dinner later and wanted to look fresh-shaven.
“Just a question,” said Wilhelm. “A few minutes ago I signed a power of attorney so Doctor Tamkin could invest for me. You gave me the blanks.”
“Yes, sir, I remember.”
“Now this is what I want to know,” Wilhelm had said. “I’m no lawyer and I only gave the paper a glance. Doies this give Doctor Tamkin power of attorney over any other assets of mine-money, or property?”
The rain had dribbled31 from Wilhelm's deformed32, transparent33 raincoat; the buttons of his shirt, which always seemed tiny, were partly broken, in pearly quarters of the moon, and some of the dark, thick golden hairs that grew on his belly34 stood out. It was the manager's business to conceal35 his opinion of him; he was shrewd, gray, correct (although unshaven) and had little to say except on matters that came to his desk. He must have recognized in Wilhelm a man who reflected long and then made the decision he had rejected twenty separate times. Silvery, cool, level, long-profiled, experienced, indifferent, observant, with unshaven refinement36, he scarcely looked at Wilhelm, who trembled with fearful awkwardness. The manager's face, low-colored, long-nostriled, acted as a unit of perception; his eyes merely did their reduced share. Here was a man like Rubin, who knew and knew and knew. He, a foreigner, knew; Wilhelm, in the city of his birth, was ignorant.
The manager had said. “No, sir, it does not give him. “Only over the funds I deposited with you?”
“Yes, that is right, sir.”
“Thank you, that's what I wanted to find out,” Wilhelm had said, grateful.
The answer comforted him. However, the question had no value. None at all. For Wilhelm had no other assets. He had given Tamkin his last money. There wasn't enough of it to cover his obligations anyway, and Wilhelm had reckoned that he might as well go bankrupt now as next month. “Either broke or rich,” was how he had figured and that formula had encouraged him to make the gamble. Well, not rich; he did not expect that, but perhaps Tamkin might really show him how to earn what he needed in the market. By now, however, he had forgotten his own reckoning and was aware only that he stood to lose his seven hundred dollars to the last cent.
Dr. Tamkin took the attitude that they were a pair of gentlemen experimenting with lard and grain futures38. The money, a few hundred dollars, meant nothing much to either of them. He said to Wilhelm, “Watch. You'll get a big kick out of this and wonder why more people don't go into it. You think the Wall Street guys are so smart-geniuses? That's because most of us are psychologically afraid to think about the details. Tell me this. When you're on the road, and you don't understand what goes on under the hood39 of your car, you'll worry what'll happen if something goes wrong with the engine. Am I wrong?” No, he was right. “Well,” said Dr. Tamkin with an expression of quiet triumph about his mouth, almost the suggestion of a jeer40. “It's the same psychological principle, Wilhelm. They are rich because you don't understand what goes on. But it's no mystery, and by putting it in a little money and applying certain principles of observation, you begin to grasp it. It can't be studied in the abstract. You have to take a specimen41 risk so that you feel the process, the money-flow, the whole complex. To know how it feels to be a seaweed you have to get in the water. In a very short time we'll take out a hundred-per-cent profit.” Thus Wilhelm had had to pretend at the outset that his interest in the market was theoretical.
“Well,” said Tamkin when he met him now in the lobby, “what's the problem, what is this family situation? Tell me.” He put himself forward as the keen mental scientist. Whenever this happened Wilhelm didn't know what to reply. No matter what he said or did it seemed that Dr. Tamkin saw through him.
“I had some words with my dad.”
Dr. Tamkin found nothing extraordinary in this. “It's the eternal same story,” he said. “The elemental conflict of parent and child. It won't end, ever. Even with a fine old gentleman like your dad.”
“I don't suppose it will. I've never been able to get anywhere with him. He objects to my feelings. He thinks they're sordid42. I upset him and he gets mad at me. But maybe all old men are alike.”
“Sons, too. Take it from one of them,” said Dr. Tamkin. “All the same, you should be proud of such a fine old patriarch of a father. It should give you hope. The longer he lives, the longer your life-expectancy becomes.”
Wilhelm answered, brooding, “I guess so. But I think I inherit more from my mother's side, and she died in her fifties.”
“A problem arose between a young fellow I'm treating and his dad–I just had a consultation,” said Dr. Tamkin as he removed his dark gray hat.
“So early in the morning?” said Wilhelm with suspicion.
“Over the telephone, of course.”
What a creature Tamkin was when he took off his hat! The indirect light showed the many complexities43 of his bald skull44, his gull's nose, his rather handsome eyebrows45, his vain mustache, his deceiver’s brown eyes. His figure was stocky, rigid46, short in the neck, so that the large ball of the occiput touched his collar. His bones were peculiarly formed, as though twisted twice where the ordinary human bone was turned only once, and his shoulders rose in two pagoda-like points. At mid-body he was thick. He stood pigeon-toed, a sign perhaps that he was devious47 or hid much to hide. The skin of his hands was aging, and his nails were moonless, concave, clawlike, and they appeared loose. His eyes were as brown as beaver48 fur and full of strange lines. The two large brown naked balls looked thoughtful–but were they? And honest–but was Dr. Tamkin honest? There was a hypnotic power in his eyes, but this was not always of the same strength, nor was Wilhelm convinced that it was completely natural. He felt that Tamkin tried to make his eyes deliberately49 conspicuous50, with studied art, and that he brought.forth51 his hypnotic effect by an exertion52. Occasionally it failed or drooped53, and when this happened the sense of his face passed downward to his heavy (possibly foolish?) red underlip.
Wilhelm wanted to talk about the lard holdings, but Dr. Tamkin said, “This father-and-son case of mine would be instructive to you. It's a different psychological type completely than your dad. This man's father thinks that he isn't his son.”
“Why not?”
“Because he has found out something about the mother carrying on with a friend of the family for twenty-five years.”
“Well, what do you know!” said Wilhelm. His silent thought was, Pure bull. Nothing but buff!
“You must note how interesting the woman is, too. She has two husbands. Whose are the kids? The fellow detected her and she gave a signed confession54 that two of the four children were not the father's.”
“It's amazing,” said Wilhelm, but he said it in a rather distant way. He was always hearing such stories from Dr. Tamkin. If you were to believe Tamkin, most of the world was like this. Everybody in the hotel had a mental disorder55, a secret history, a concealed56 disease. The wife of Rubin at the newsstand was supposed to be kept by Carl, the yelling, loud-mouthed gin-rummy player. The wife of Frank in the barbershop had disappeared with a GI while he was waiting for her to disembark at the French Lines' pier57, Everyone was like the faces on a playing card, upside down either way. Every public figure had a character-neurosis. Maddest of all were the businessmen, the heartless, flaunting58, boisterous59 business class who ruled this country with their hard manners and their bold lies and their absurd words that nobody could believe. They were crazier than anyone. They spread the plague. Wilhelm, thinking of the Rojax Corporation, was inclined to agree that many businessmen were insane. And he supposed that Tamkin, for all his peculiarities60, spoke a kind of truth and did some people a sort of good. It confirmed Wilhelm's suspicions to hear that there was a plague, and he said, “I couldn't agree with you more. They trade on any thing, they steal everything, they're cynical61 right to the bones.”
“You have to realize,” said Tamkin, swaking of his patient, or his client, “that the mother's confession isn’t good. It's a confession of duress62. I try to tell the young fellow he shouldn't worry about a phony confession. But what does it help him if I am rational with him?”
“No?” said Wilhelm, intensely nervous. “I think we ought to go over to the market. It'll be opening pretty soon.”
“Oh, come on,” said Tamkin. “It isn't even nine o'clock, and there isn't much trading the first hour anyway. Things don't get hot in Chicago until half-past ten, and an hour behind us, don't forget. Anyway, I say lard will go up, and it will. Take my word. I've made a study of the guilt63-aggression64 cycle which is behind it. I ought to know something about that. Straighten your collar.”
“But meantime,” said Wilhelm, “we have taken a licking this week. Are you sure your insight is at its best? Maybe when it isn't we should lay off and wait.”
“Don't you realize,” Dr. Tamkin told him, “you can't march in a straight line to the victory? You fluctuate toward it. From Euclid to Newton there was straight lines. The modem65 age analyzes66 the wavers. On my own accounts, I took a licking in hides and coffee. But I have confidence. I'm sure I'll outguess them.” He gave Wilhelm a narrow smile, friendly, calming, shrewd, and wizard-like, patronizing, secret, potent67. He saw his fears and smiled at them. “It's something,” he remarked, “to see how the compeition-factor will manifest itself in different individuals.”
“So? Let's go over.”
“But I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”
“I've had mine.”
“Come, have a cup of coffee.”
“I wouldn't want to meet my dad.” Looking through the glass doors, Wilhelm saw that his father had left by the other exit. Wilhelm thought, He didn't want to run into me, either. He said to Dr. Tamkin, “Okay, I'll sit with you, but let's hurry it up because I'd like to get to the market while there's still a place to sit. Everybody and his uncle gets in ahead of you.”
“I want to tell you about this boy and his dad. It's highly absorbing. The father was a nudist. Everybody went naked in the house. Maybe the woman found men with clothes attractive. Her husband didn't believe in cutting his hair, either. He practiced dentistry. In his office he wore riding pants and a pair of boots, and he wore a green eyeshade.”
“Oh, come off it,” said Wilhelm.
“This is a true case history.
Without warning, Wilhelm began to laugh. He himself had had no premonition of his change of humor. Ms face became warm and pleasant, and he forgot his father, his anxieties; he panted bearlike, happily, through his teeth. “This sounds like a horse-dentist. He wouldn't have to put on pants to treat a horse. Now what else are you going to tell me? Did the wife play the mandolin? Does the boy join the cavalry68? Oh, Tamkin, you really are a killer69-diller.”
“0h, you think I'm trying to amuse you,” said Tamkin. “That's because you aren't familiar with my outlook.” I deal in facts. Facts always are sensational70. I'll say that a second time. Facts always! are sensational.”
Wilhelm was reluctant to part with his good mood. The doctor had little sense of humor. He was looking at him earnestly.
“I'd bet you any amount of money,” said Tamkin, “that the facts about you are sensational.”
“Oh–ha, ha! You want them? You can sell them to a true confession magazine.”
“People forget how sensational things are that they do. They don't see it on themselves. It blends into the background of their daily life.”
Wilhelm smiled. “Are you sure this boy tells you the truth?”
“Yes, because I’ve known the whole family for years.”
“And you do psychological work with your own friends? I didn’t know that was allowed.”
“Well, I'm a radical71 in the profession. I have to do good wherever I can.”
“Wilhelm’s face became ponderous72 again and pale. His whitened gold hair lay heavy on his head, and he clasped uneasy fingers on the table. Sensational, but oddly enough, dull, too. Now how do you figure that out? It blends with the background. Funny but unfunny. True but false. Casual but laborious73, Tamkin was. Wilhelm was suspicious of him when he took his driest tone.
“With me,” said Dr. Tamkin, “I am at my most efficient when I don't need the fee. When I only love. Without a financial reward. I remove myself from the social influence. Especially money. The spiritual compensation is what I look for. Bringing people into the here-and-now. The real universe. That's the present moment. The past is no good to us. The future is full of anxiety. Only the present is real–the here-and-now. Seize the day.”
“Well,” said Wilhelm, his earnestness returning. “I know you are a very unusual man. I like what you say about here-and-now. Are all the people who come to see you personal friends and patients -Coo? Like that tall handsome girl, the one who always wears, those beautiful broom-stick skirts and belts?”
“She was an epileptic, and a most bad and serious pathology, too. I'm curing her successfully. She hasn't had a seizure74 in six months, and she used to have, one every week.”
“And that young cameraman, the one who showed us those movies from the jungles of Brazil, isn't he related to her?”
“Her brother. He's under my care, too. He has some terrible tendencies, which are to be expected when you have an epileptic sibling75. I came into their lives when they needed help desperately76, and took hold of them. A certain man forty years older than she had her in his control and used to give her fits by suggestion whenever she tried to leave him. If you only knew one per cent of what goes on in the city of New York! You see, I understand what it is when the lonely person begins to feel like an animal. When the night comes and he feels like howling from his window like a wolf. I'm taking complete care of that young fellow and his sister. I have to steady him down or he'll go from Bra2fl to Australia the next day. The way I keep him in the here-and-now is by teaching him Greek.”
This was a complete surprise! “What, do you know Greek?”
“A friend of mine taught me when I was in Cairo. I studied Aristotle with him to keep from being idle.”
Wilhelm tried to take in these new claims and examine them. Howling from the window like a wolf when night comes sounded genuine to him. That was something really to think about. But the Greek! He realized that Tamkin was watching to see how he took it. More elements were continually being added. A few days ago Tamkin had hinted that he had once been in the underworld, one of the Detroit Purple Gang. He was once head of a mental clinic in Toledo. He had worked with a Polish inventor on an unsinkable ship. He was a technical consultant77 in the field of television. In the life of a man of genius, all of these things might happen. But had they happened to Tamkin? Was he a genius? He often said that he had attended some of the Egyptian royal family as a psychiatrist78. “But everybody is alike, common or aristocrat79,” he told Wilhelm. “The aristocrat knows less about life.”
An Egyptian princess whom he had treated in California, for horrible disorders80 he had described to Wilhelm, retained him to come back to the old country with her, and there he had had many of her friends and relatives under his care. They turned over a villa81 on the Nile to him. “For ethical82 reasons, I can't tell you many of the details out them,” he said–but Wilhelm had already heard all these details, and strange and shocking they were, if true. If true–he could not be free from doubt. For instance, the general who had to wear ladies' silk stockings and stand otherwise naked before the mirror–and all the rest. Listening to the doctor when he was so strangely factual, Wilhelm had to translate his words into his own language, and he could not translate fast enough or find terms to fit what he heard.
“Those Egyptian big shots invested in the market, too, for the heck of it. What did they need extra money for? By association, I almost became a millionaire myself, and if I had played it smart there's no telling what might have happened. I could have been the ambassador.” The American? The Egyptian ambassador? “A friend of mine tipped me off on the cotton. I made a heavy purchase of it. I didn't have that kind of money, but everybody there knew me. It never entered their minds that a person of their social circle didn't have dough. The sale was made on the phone. Then, while the cotton shipment was at sea, the price tripled. When the stuff suddenly became so valuable all hell broke loose on the world cotton market, they looked to see who was the owner of this big ship-ment. Me! They investigated my credit and found out I was a mere37 doctor, and they canceled. This was illegal. I sued them. But as I didn't have the money to fight them I sold the suit to a Wall Street lawyer for twenty thousand dollars. He fought it and was winning. They settled with him out of court for more than a million. But on the way back from Cairo, flying, there was a crash. All on board died. I have this guilt on my conscience, of being the murderer of that lawyer. Although he was a crook83.”
Wilhelm thought, I must be a real jerk to sit and listen to such impossible stories. I guess I am a sucker for people who talk about the deeper things of life, even the way he does.
“We scientific men speak of irrational84 guilt, Wilhelm,” said Dr. Tamkin, as if Wilhelm were a pupil in his class. “But in such a situation, because of the money, I wished him harm. I realize it. This isn't the time to describe all the details, but the money made me guilty. Money and Murder both begin with M. Machinery85. Mischief86.”
Wilhelm, his mind thinking for him at random87, said, “What about Mercy? Milk-of-human-kindness?”
“One fact should be clear to you by now. Money-making is aggression. That's the whole thing. The functionalistic explanation is the only one. People come to the market to kill. They say, `I'm going to make a killing88.' It's not accidental. Only they haven't got the genuine courage to kill, and they erect89 a symbol of it. The money. They make a killing by a fantasy. Now, counting and number is always a sadistic90 activity. Like hitting. In the Bible, the Jews wouldn't allow you to count them. They knew it was sadistic.”
“I don't understand what you mean,” said Wilhelm. A strange uneasiness tore at him. The day was growing too warm and his head felt dim. “What makes them want to . kill?”
“By and by, you'll get the drift,” Dr. Tamkin assured . him. His amazing eyes had some of the rich dryness of a brown fur. Innumerable crystalline hairs or spicules of light glittered in their bold surfaces. “You can't understand without first spending years on the study of the ultimates of human and animal behavior, the deep '. chemical, organismic, and spiritual secrets of life. I am a psychological poet.”
“If you're this kind of poet,” said Wilhelm, whose . fingers in his pocket were feeling in the little envelopes for the Phenaphen capsules, “what are you doing on the market?”
“That's a good question. Maybe I am better at speculation91 because I don't care. Basically, I don't wish hard enough for money, and therefore I come with a cool head to it.”
Wilhelm thought, Oh, sure! That's an answer, is it? I bet that if I took a strong attitude he'd back down on everything. He'd grovel92 in front of me. The way he looks at me on the sly, to see if I'm being taken in! He swallowed his Phenaphen pill with a long gulp93 of water. The, rims94 of his eyes grew red as it went down. And then he felt calmer.
“Let me see if I can give you an answer that will satisfy you,” said Dr. Tamkin. His flapjacks were set before him. He spread the butter on them, poured on brown maple95 syrup96, quartered them, and began to eat with hard, active, muscular jaws97 which sometimes gave a creak at the hinges. He pressed the handle of his knife against his chest and said, “In here, the human bosom–mine, yours, everybody's–there isn't just one soul. There's a lot of souls. But there are two main ones, the real soul and a pretender soul. Now! Every man realizes that he has to love something or somebody. He feels that he must go outward. 'If thou canst not love, what art thou?' Are you with me?”
“Yes, Doc, I think so,” said Wilhelm listening–a little skeptically but nonetheless hard.
“ 'What art thou?' Nothing. That's the answer. Nothing. In the heart of hearts–Nothing! So of course you can't stand that and want to be Something, and you try. But instead of being this Something, the man puts it over on everybody instead. You can't be that strict to yourself. You love a little. Like you have a dog” (Scissors!) “or give some money to a charity drive. Now that isn't love, is it? What is it? Egotism, pure and simple. It's a way to love the pretender soul. Vanity. Only vanity, is what it is. And social control. The interest of the pretender soul is the same as the interest of the social life, the society mechanism98. This is the main tragedy of human life. Oh, it is terrible! Terrible! You are not free. Your own betrayer is inside of you and sells you out. You have to obey him like a state. He makes you work like a horse. And for what? For who?”
“Yes, for what?” The doctor's words caught Wilhelm's heart. “I couldn't agree more,” he said. “When do we get free?”
“The purpose is to keep the whole thing going. The true soul is the one that pays the price. It suffers and gets sick, and it realizes that the pretender can't be loved. Because the pretender is a lie. The true soul loves the truth. And when the true soul feels like this, it wants to kill the pretender. The love has turned into hate. Then you become dangerous. A killer. You have to kill the deceiver.”
“Does this happen to everybody?”
The doctor answered simply, “Yes, to everybody. Of ,course, for simplification purposes, I have spoken of the soul; it isn't a scientific term, but it helps you to understand it. Whenever the slayer99 slays101, he wants to slay100 the soul in him which has gypped and deceived him. Who is his enemy? Him. And his lover? Also. Therefore, all suicide is murder, and all murder is suicide. It's the one and identical phenomenon. Biologically, the pretender soul takes away the, energy of the true soul and makes it feeble, like a parasite102. It happens unconsciously, unawaringly, in the depths of the organism. Ever take up parasitology?”
“No, it's my dad who's the doctor.”
“You should read a book about it.”
Wilhelm said, “But this means that the world is full of murderers. So it's not the world. It's a kind of hell.”
“Sure,” the doctor said, “At least a kind o purgatory103. You walk on the bodies. They are all around. I can hear them cry de profundis and wring104 their hands. I hear them, poor human beasts. I can't help hearing. And my eyes are open to it. I have to cry, too. This is the human tragedy-comedy.”
Wilhelm tried to capture his vision. And again the doctor looked untrustworthy to him, and he doubted him. “Well,” be said, “there are also kind, ordinary, helpful people. They're–out in the country. All over. What, kind of morbid105 stuff do you read, anyway?” The doctor’s room was full of books.
“I read the best of literature, science and philosophy,” Dr. Tamkin said. Wilhelm had observed that in his room even the TV aerial was set upon a pile of volumes. “Korzybski, Aristotle, Freud, W. H. Sheldon, and all the great poets. You answer me like a layman106. You haven’t applied107 your mind strictly108 to this.”
“Very interesting,” said Wilhelm. He was aware that he hadn't applied his mind strictly to anything. “You don't have to think I'm a dummy109, though. I have ideas, too.” A glance at the clock told him that the market would soon open. They could spare a few minutes yet. There were still more things he wanted to hear from Tamkin. He realized that Tamkin spoke faultily, but then scientific men were not always strictly literate110. It was the description of the two souls that had awed111 him. In Tommy he saw the pretender. And even Wilky might not be himself. Might the name of his true soul be the one by which his old grandfather had called him—Velvel? The name of a soul, however, must be only that–soul. What did it look like? Does my soul look like me? Is there a soul that looks like Dad? Like Tamkin? Where does the true soul get its strength? Why does it have to love truth? Wilhelm was tormented112, but tried to be oblivious114 to his torment113. Secretly, he prayed the doctor would give him some useful advice and transform his life. “Yes, I understand you,” he said. “It isn't lost on me.”
“I never said you weren't intelligent, but only you just haven't made a study of it all. As a matter of fact you're a profound personality with very profound creative, capacities but also disturbances115. I've been concerned with you, and for some time I've been treating you.”
“Without my knowing it? I haven't felt you doing anything. What do you mean? I don't think I like being treated without my knowledge. I'm of two minds. What's the matter, don't you think I'm normal?” And he really was divided in mind. That the doctor cared about him pleased him. This was what he craved116, that someone should care about him, wish him well. Kindness, mercy, he wanted. But–and here he retracted117 his heavy shoulders in his peculiar way, drawing his hands up into his sleeves; his feet moved uneasily under the table–but he was worried, too, and even somewhat indignant. For what right had Tamkin to meddle118 without being asked? What kind of privileged life did this man lead? He took other people's money and speculated with it. Everybody came under his care. No one could have secrets from him.
The doctor looked at him with his deadly brown, heavy, impenetrable eyes, his naked shining head, his red hanging underlip, and said, “You have lots of guilt in you.”
Wilhelm helplessly admitted, as he felt the heat rise to his wide face, “Yes, I think so too. But personally,” he added, “I don't feel like a murderer. I always try to lay off. It's the others who get me. You know–make me feel oppressed. And if you don't mind, and it's all the same to you, I would rather know it when you start to treat me. And now, Tamkin, for Chrisfs sake, they re putting out the lunch menus already. Will you sign the check, and let's go!”
Tamkin did as he asked, and they rose. They were passing the bookkeeper's desk when he took out a substantial bundle of onionskin papers and said, “These are receipts of the transactions. Duplicates. You'd better keep them as the account is in your name and you'll need them for income taxes. And here is a copy of a poem I wrote yesterday.”
“I have to leave something at the desk for my father,” Wilhelm said, and he put his hotel bill in an envelope with a note. Dear Dad, Please carry me this month, Yours, W. He watched the clerk with his sullen119 pug's profile and his stiff-necked look push the envelope into his father's box.
“May I ask you really why you and your dad had words?” said Dr. Tamkin, who had hung back, waiting.
“It was about my future,” said Wilhelm. He hurried down the stairs with swift steps, like a tower in motion, his hands in his trousers pockets. He was ashamed to discuss the matter. “He says there's a reason why I can't go back to my old territory, and there is. I told everybody I was going to be an officer of the corporation. And I was supposed to. It was promised. But then they welshed because of the son-in-law. I bragged120 and made myself look big.”
“If you was humble121 enough, you could go back. But it doesn't make much difference. We'll make you a good living on the market.”
They came into the sunshine of upper Broadway, not clear but throbbing122 through the dust and fumes123, a false air of gas visible at eye-level as it spurted124 from the bursting buses. From old habit, Wilhelm turned up the collar; of his jacket.
“Just a technical question,” Wilhelm said. “What happens if your losses are bigger than your deposit?”
“Don't worry. They have ultra-modem electronic bookkeeping machinery, and it won't let you get in debt. It puts you out automatically. But I want you to read this poem. You haven't read it yet.”
Light as a locust125, a helicopter bringing mail from Newark Airport to La Guardia sprang over the city in a long leap.
The paper Wilhelm unfolded had ruled borders in red ink. He read:
MECHANISM vs FUNCTIONALISM
Ism vs Hism
If thee thyself couldst only see
Thy greatness that is and yet to be,
Thou would feel joy-beauty-what ecstasy126.
They are at thy feet, earth-moon-sea, the trinity.
Why-forth then dost thou tarry
And partake thee only of the crust
And skim the earth's surface narry
When all creations art thy just?
Seek ye then that which art not there
In thine own glory let thyself rest.
Witness. Thy power is not bare.
Thou art King. Thou art at thy best.
Look then right before thee.
Open thine eyes and see.
At the foot of Mt. Serenity127
Utterly129 confused, Wilhelm said to himself explosively, What kind of mishmash, claptrap is this! What does he want from me? Damn him to hell, he might as well hit me on the head, and lay me out, kill me. What does he give me this for? What's the purpose? Is it a deliberate test? Does he want to mix me up? He's already got me mixed up completely. I was never good at riddles130. Kiss those seven hundred bucks131 good-by, and call it one more mistake in a long line of mistakes– Oh, Mama, what a line! He stood near the shining window of a fancy fruit store, holding Tamkin's paper, rather dazed, as though a charge of photographer's flash powder had gone up in his eyes.
But he's waiting for my reaction. I have to say something to him about his poem. It really is no joke. What will I tell him? Who is this King? The poem is written to someone. But who? I can't even bring myself to talk. I feel too choked and strangled. With all the books he reads, how come the guy is so illiterate132? And why do people just naturally assume that you'll know what they're talking about? No. I don't know, and nobody knows. The planets don't, the stars don't, infinite space doesn't. It doesn't square with Planck's Constant or anything else. So what's the good of it? Where's the need of it? What does he mean here by Mount Serenity? Could it be a figure of speech for Mount Everest? As he says people are all committing suicide, maybe those guys who climbed Everest were only trying to kill themselves, and if we want peace we should stay at the foot of the mountain. In the here-and-now. But it's also here-and-now on the slope, and on the top, where they climbed to seize the day. Surface narry is something he can't mean, I don't believe. I'm about to start foaming133 at the mouth. “Thy cradle . . .” Who is resting in his cradle–in his glory? My thoughts are at an end. I feel the wall. No more. So ––k it all! The money and everything. Take it away! When I have the money they eat me alive, like those piranha fish in the movie about the Brazilian jungle. It was hideous134 when they ate up that Brahma bull in the river. He turned pale, just like clay, and in five minutes nothing was left except the skeleton still in one piece floating away. When I haven't got it any more, at least they'll let me alone.
“Well, what do you think of this?” said Dr. Tamkin. He gave a special sort of wise smile, as though Wilhelm must now see what kind of man he was dealing135 with.
“Nice. Very nice. Have you been writing long?”
“I've been developing this line of thought for years and years. You follow it all the way?”
“I'm trying to figure out who this Thou is.”
“Thou? Thou is you.”
“Me! Why? This applies to me?”
“Why shouldn't it apply to you. You were in my mind when I composed it. Of course, the hero of the poem is sick humanity. If it would open its eyes it would be great.”
“Yes, but how do I get into this?”
“The main idea of the poem is construct or destruct. There is no ground in between. Mechanism is destruct. Money of course is destruct. When the last grave is dug, the gravedigger will have to be paid. If you could have confidence in nature you would not have to fear. It would keep you up. Creative is nature. Rapid. Lavish136. Inspirational. It shapes leaves. It rolls the waters of the earth. Man is the chief of this. All creations are his just inheritance. You don't know what you've got within you. A person either creates or he destroys. There is no neutrality . . .”
“I realized you were no beginner,” said Wilhelm with propriety137. “I have only one criticism to make. I think 'why-forth' is wrong. You should write “Wherefore then dost thou . . .' “ And he reflected, So? I took a gamble. It'll have to be a miracle, though, to save me. My money will be gone, then it won't be able to destruct me. He can't just take and lose it, though. He's in it, too. I think he’s in a bad way himself. He must be. I'm sure because, come to think of it, he sweated blood when he signed that check. Rut what have I let myself in for? The waters of the earth are going to roll over me.
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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hippopotamus
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| n.河马 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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obsessional
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| adj.摆脱不了的 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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abeyance
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| n.搁置，缓办，中止，产权未定 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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32
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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futures
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| n.期货，期货交易 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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58
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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duress
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| n.胁迫 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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modem
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| n.调制解调器 | |
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analyzes
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| v.分析( analyze的第三人称单数 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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74
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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sibling
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| n.同胞手足(指兄、弟、姐或妹) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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consultant
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| n.顾问；会诊医师，专科医生 | |
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psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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sadistic
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| adj.虐待狂的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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92
grovel
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| vi.卑躬屈膝，奴颜婢膝 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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95
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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96
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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97
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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98
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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99
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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100
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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101
slays
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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103
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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104
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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105
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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106
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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107
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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108
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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109
dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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literate
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| n.学者；adj.精通文学的，受过教育的 | |
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111
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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113
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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114
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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115
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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116
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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117
retracted
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| v.撤回或撤消( retract的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝执行或遵守；缩回；拉回 | |
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118
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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119
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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120
bragged
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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122
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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123
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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124
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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125
locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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126
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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127
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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128
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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129
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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130
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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131
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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132
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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133
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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134
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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135
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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136
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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137
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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