The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  William made the greatest of efforts to focus on Dr. Johnston's declamation, but the more the speech deviated from all he believed to be true, the more his attention faded out in a kind of hysterical deafness, and the words became mere background noise. With each stroke of the clock his convictions faltered a little more. He felt helpless, defenseless, he wanted to run out into the street and look for his loved ones, but he didn't know where to start. If he really was in East Eden, it would be a heck of a challenge to go back to the State of Juarez. The first time he had received precious help, without which he would never have made it; thinking of repeating that troubled journey, without any support, would be pure utopia. And then there was the other unfortunate option which he didn't even want to think about at that moment: that it had been all just a dream. Too vivid those emotions and those memories: the anxiety of searching evidence of a conspiracy against him, the fear of being tried, the escape, the love for his woman and the brand new and all-embracing love for his sweet creature. Someone would have to give him back three or four years of life – to say the least - and with interest.

  «William? William, can you hear me? Give me a hand, Jalaja, he must have returned to stasis.»

  Before Dr. Narayan could run to him, the patient woke up from that sort of trance.

  «I'm fine, I'm fine, doctor. It's just that I can't accept what you say. I had very bad years, but then my life changed and I had wonderful days, surrounded by amazing human beings. Every evening I listened to the roar of the waves until it was dark, hugging my wife and my child. Then we sat around the fire to warm up and told funny stories we made up on the spot. And you're telling me it's not true and it's all in my head? I lived those years, doctor. And now I want them back.»

  That time it was Dr. Johnston's turn to let himself fall backwards, discouraged. The trouble was serious. The patient had no intention of breaking away from his fantasy. He did not imagine the neural stimulation program could induce such credible suggestions. The two previous subjects woke up as per schedule and did not show any mental imbalance, apart from a normal disorientation in the first minutes. The premature interruption of the therapy, in that third case, evidently brought to light a dissociation of such magnitude that it was not predictable. They were still in testing phase, after all, and they couldn't yet fully understand how that combination of hardware and software called Project Xiphos worked. Now they knew that failure to abide by the deadlines was not good and they had to keep it well in mind for the next candidate. First of all, they had to fix the error 27, and then oblige the program creators to drop the veil of secrecy and provide clarifications on its functioning mechanism. It was up to the special research team to handle that equipment and it could not do it properly if they withheld information. It would be like flying an airplane without even an instruction manual.

  Meanwhile, they had to deal with that patient appropriately. A citizen convinced that he no longer belonged to that world and that reality.

  «William, we did some search just a while ago. It's the first time we face such situations and we preferred not to neglect anything. We searched the name “Lucinda Merritt” in all East Eden archives. Nine million people live in this city and two of them have that name: an elderly lady of eighty-two and a girl of four. Does one of the descriptions match your partner? Of course, it's a rhetorical question.»

  «But I guarantee you I have precise and repeated memories, not just single frames but whole days. If you could digitize them, you would get hours and hours of filmed memories.»

  «I don't doubt you believe it, William. It could be a side effect of the therapy. Look, I'm going to be straight with you, we do not master it completely yet. But I am willing to put my hand in the fire that Lucinda and that world in which you say you lived, they do not exist.»

  Kenneth Johnston paused again. The patient needed to figure it out for himself, perhaps by logical deduction.

  «William, please answer these questions: how did you and Lucinda meet? Can you remember your first date? Can you remember what your woman wore? Her perfume? Think about it for a moment.»

  «Of course I can, what kind of questions is that?»

  Dr. Johnston stood in a waiting position, curious to know what William Deveux's brain could give birth to. The patient seemed to hesitate, his eyes rolling in all directions. He tried to track down those memories in some corner of his mind, but for unknown reasons they didn't come back to him.

  «Don't worry, William, it's all right. You don't remember it simply because it never happened. The fact that you're not trying to fake it is encouraging, you've got to believe me. It means you want to get better, and that's what we all want, too.»

  «Just give me a few more seconds and you'll see that I can...»

  Dr. Johnston nodded. «Take the time you need. But I tell you right away that such memories should immediately emerge, especially if they're recent. They don't demand such an effort and certainly not the effort you're making right now. I would have had doubts if it had been memories of your childhood and even in that circumstance it would have been unusual. There are episodes, events in our lives that leave an indelible trace, unless a sudden head trauma erases them. And it's not your case.»

  The doctor saw a small fracture in the wall the patient Deveux built to protect his mental balance and decided to push a little harder. «We are discussing a relationship that, as you said before, would have begun just a few years ago. You would have even given birth to a baby girl and raised her. In short, you should be able to tell me everything about it and you're struggling to remember, instead. I'm telling you, William: a first date, a first time... it's something you can't forget. You should still have memories of the scents and the tastes, the looks, the conversation you had with your woman, and keep them jealously in your heart. Not only visual but olfactory memories, which are the strongest ones. Also auditory, for example the song that played in the background. What else could I add? Here, any mishaps, funny situations. And you... you don't seem to remember anything at all. And, with my heart in my hand, I urge you not to continue in this effort that will lead to nothing. The people you talked about, the life you think you have lived: it-does-not-exist.»

  Dr. Johnston concluded by spelling each word out loud and William shut his eyes again to make one last attempt to return to the one and only life he could ever have desired. The doctor, with a nod of his head, then signaled to his colleague he had to leave and asked her to take his place.

  «William, this is Dr. Narayan. She will take care of all your needs from now on. The doctor will soon bring back your mobile phone, as well as a computer on which you can do all the searches you want. I don't think they will lead to anything, but at least we'll have shown our good faith and in the meantime you'll have removed all your doubts. I wish you a pleasant stay and assure you that as soon as we have a green light, we'll release you and you can go home. All right?»

  William did not reply. The doctor therefore left the room and Jalaja Narayan informed the patient she would go out just for a little while and get the stuff his colleague referred to. William didn't even open his eyes for a moment but, when Dr. Narayan returned with the items, he grabbed them greedily. They were the only tools that could help him unravel the mystery.

  «Take it easy, William. I'm here if you need me.»

  The patient did not listen at all and first focused on the telephone. He remembered it a little differently but, all in all, it could be a side effect of the therapy, which made him groggy. He thought of scrolling the phone book and check each name to leave nothing to chance. No “Lucinda” and no “Merritt”. Very strange. He remembered he had lost track of Charlie DeClerk and so his was the second telephone number he checked: nothing at all. He became impatient and began to suspect again. It could not be excluded that they had canceled some contact from the address book to make the drama more credible. Yes, but what's the point? All the people in that hospital seemed normal, far from being the architects of a plot.

 
; He found Caroline Morton's number. Holy cow, how long he had not seen or heard from her! He played with the phone scroll for a few seconds, then chose to press the key and call her, for no reason. He needed guarantees and even a phone call to an ex-girlfriend, who hadn't heard from him for years and who probably hated him, could give him confirmation he wasn't going crazy; that at least part of his past was true.

  It was not morning yet and the person at the other end of the connection answered like people usually do when they think that the interlocutor called the wrong number. «Caroline, it's William», he said. She sounded puzzled and sleepy. «William? William who? Oh God, William Deveux?», Caroline thought out loud. She emphasized the surname Deveux. There was a time when it would not have been necessary. «William, why did you call me, what is it?», she urged. He hesitated. Actually, he had no clear idea of what to answer. What did he really want? To be comforted? Pitied? Or, more simply, did he want to ask for her forgiveness, though he knew it would not make any difference after all that time? He certainly could not call back an ex after about ten years and tell her 'excuse me, could you confirm that we had a relationship? You know, they put me through an innovative medical therapy that involves a small side effect: partial memory loss.' The last thing he could have wished, in his condition, was to look like a poor wretch. He thought it was a good idea to dig up nostalgia from the old times and then ask her how she was doing. «Seriously? At this hour, William? We haven't spoken for years and suddenly you call me at dawn to have a conversation?» He mumbled again, embarrassed. He missed the detail that, while his sleep cycle was completely messed up, the rest of humanity kept the custom of sleeping at night and getting up with the sun.

  In order to wriggle out as quickly as possible, Caroline found the excuse of having to prepare breakfast for the family and bring her children to school. She proposed, without having the slightest intention of maintaining the commitment, to have a catch up somewhere at another time, so they would discuss more calmly. Her tone of voice was affected and the tenor of her words suggested she did some work in contact with the public. It seemed one of those farewell formulas repeated over and over again, following a script, a specific pattern. William would never know what was Caroline's job. If he asked her, she would surely find a way to dance around it and avoid giving a direct answer. By then, their relationship was not just something of the past, it was dead and gone. How could he blame her? He had been obnoxious and rude countless times.

  William did not know why he had an impulse to confess to her that he was in hospital, before she hung up. Perhaps because he felt lonely and needed solace, or because he wanted to be commiserated with. Maybe both. Caroline, with a certain coldness, asked him why and if he still lived in East Eden, which left William in doubt whether she also lived there or not. Honestly, she had completely erased him from her mind, he was lucky if she could still remember his name.

  Once he ascertained that the chat would not lead to anything useful, the patient Deveux minimized on his health issues and dismissed his very ex-girlfriend. He felt very tried and asked Dr. Narayan if he could stay alone for a while. She consented and left him the computer, but advised him not to push himself too hard and, above all, to refrain from having contact with the outside world, at least until they established a definitive prognosis and dismissed him from the hospital.

  The greyness coming from the only window next to the bed induced William to really try to rest a little, but that time without the naivety of wishing to awake in a more pleasant world. That cloudy sky did not help at all, he felt empty, without the strength necessary to fight. It was not yet clear to him what he was fighting against, actually, and for the moment he could not help but gather information. He tried to overcome his tiredness and reached out to pick up the computer left on the chair by the doctor. With the help of various search engines, he investigated Militia and the Guilds. Photographs of African citizens in military uniform appeared, and old portraits of merchants in funny clothes, coming from an age lost in time. William shook his head. What was happening? Was he really losing his mind? His suspicion became stronger when, typing in the address bar the key words “President East Eden”, Gerald Owen's name and biography were displayed on the screen. Owen? Wasn't he killed? According to online newspapers, he had been in office for about two and a half years and was in the midst of his program of social and economic reforms. Absurd. William was sure to remember that, when President Owen was in office, he was little more than a child. That bizarre phenomenon he was experiencing could not even be considered a journey through time, if ever they were scientifically possible, because some things had aged with him, while others seemed to be frozen in the past. North American Republic. There was no Scarlet Militia and no dictatorship. He didn't know whether to rejoice or feel sorry for what he lost, as much as he could complain about something that, on balance, he had never really owned. He joined his hands to evaluate his next step. Maybe he could break into some Government archives or newspaper's website. If Charlie was with him, he wouldn't hesitate. The circumstances, however, were different from the usual ones. It was not a matter of executing a plan that would act as a deterrent against a hostile force, nor to defend oneself from abuses. That was a pure and simple search for the truth and to pursue it he would have to damage an institution that - based on what he was reading - was trying to work for the good of the citizens. No, he couldn't do it. He would play fair.

  And what about Minneman Company? He would not really consider it a crime to take a peek at some of their electronic folders. Just enough time to see if they had actually collected information about him and the other citizens of Numbered District. He remembered those people, and their names, the search would be brief. The company still existed. One of the things that the space-time experience did not, therefore, cancel. William connected to their website and admired other pictures, of happy and satisfied people. Perhaps some patients, who were born again thanks to their prodigious medical solutions. In any case, now he just had to break into their server and perform a quick search. Arriving at that stage, however, William stopped without warning, keeping his hands a few inches shy of the computer keyboard. Breaking into a server, yeah. He realized he had no idea how to do it. Once again he racked his brain to try to remember, yet he immediately sensed that something was wrong and that insisting would be useless. Frightened, he pushed away the computer and rested his head on the pillow. He visualized in his mind a typical work day at Leigh Madison Enterprise and got confirmation of his growing suspicions. Fuck, he wasn't a programmer or even a goddamn systems engineer! He didn't even know where to start to hack something. Where did he get an idea like that? And yet in his vision - at that point he could only define it that way - he was familiar with that stuff, he easily bypassed computer protections. Yes, he was a hell of a hacker! A terrible thought touched him, the memory of a detail he left out a little earlier: what was it that Dr. Johnston said during that sermon? William Deveux scratched his forehead. He had to try to remember. There it is! 'You're employed by a company named “Leigh Madison Enterprise” as a security officer'. A fucking security guard! He was a watchman, not even close to an expert programmer or an IT systems installer! Now he was able to remember the real him wearing a nice uniform and greeting the big boys of the company with wide smiles. How many times he had to bow down and grin and bear it. To be honest, all those people, all the friends he thought he had in the company, they were just acquaintances. Kate Ramos sometimes smiled at him and stopped to chat for a couple of minutes from time to time. Jon Hutchinson, very politely, always passed by to greet him, but never talked to him. Tom Bertold and Katherine Spender barely knew who he was. And James Dufour, who he believed was his right-hand man and trustworthy teammate? He couldn't even trace his features, at that moment, as if they were blurry. Strange indeed, but he would probably see and experience many other oddities from then on. Because of all that confusion he had not yet bothered to ask whether the therapy had proved effective or not. Lore-Bu
rr syndrome. The only thing he would gladly forget - and he wished it could have disappeared during the transition from dream to reality – was unfortunately still there, and it still annoyed him. Right now that he had to concentrate on regaining his life and recovering relationships - besides trying to overcome nostalgia for people and places born of his subconscious - he couldn't waste time on a troublesome and perhaps incurable disease.

  Jalaja Narayan found the patient in a contemplative pose, with his left hand under his right elbow and his right hand under his chin. He looked like he was trying to unravel an enigma or find a solution to a problem. The doctor, with unexpected determination, took the computer away and urged him to sit by the window and breathe some fresh air. Even though it wasn't a sunny day, a little oxygen would only do him good and reinvigorate him.

  «Come on, Mr. Deveux, stop mulling it over. You will have plenty of time to do it later. This is the day of your rebirth, enjoy it. The world is waiting for you. You will look at it from the window, for now, but soon you will return to your routine life. I guess you will be happy to know that, despite the premature interruption, the therapy has already produced the first results. Improvement of brain plasticity, increase in synapses and electrical impulses. In a nutshell, your condition has already improved by 13% since you entered the hospital.»