‘Will you please start from the beginning.’
‘From where, precisely?’
‘From the very beginning.’
‘Is it essential?’
‘Yes, it is.’
Unprotesting but without enthusiasm the man opposite commenced:
‘I work as a computer operator. I have been doing that for more than ten years. At first I didn’t take my eyes off the keyboard. Later on I got over that habit. I acquired self- confidence. Each of my ten fingers found its key, sank into it and then sprang away onto the next one. The speed they moved at went far ahead of the mind’s capabilities. Sometimes, after moments of absent-mindedness, I found that my hands had worked faultlessly, as though they were acting under the command of a completely autonomous logical centre.
‘My terminal was in constant dialogue with a specialized expert system. Sometime later it turned out that was insufficient. The boss decided to connect to a complementary system via a new terminal. It was unlikely I would get another chance. I had to prove my hypothesis.
‘In the beginning he wouldn’t hear of it. The two systems were totally incompatible. He thought it was completely beyond my power to operate two keyboards simultaneously. I assured him I could cope with it. Besides, the salary increase I asked for was very modest. That moved him deeply. He decided that a period of five days after installation was quite enough time for such an experiment. The installation took place within three days. The fitter connected the terminal, ran the test program, gave a neigh of delight at the sight of the gaudiness on the screen, and left, tossing away the operating manual as he went. I could start. As I stood facing the two terminals, I had an immediate foreboding of evil. I raised my hands and started to examine my palms. At first glance they looked the same. After a while I was able to distinguish the slight differences in their structure and in the functioning of the ligaments hidden under the skin. Did control centres exist for these complex but linked mechanisms, which were independent of the conscious mind? How could I control them? These were the questions I had to find the answer to in the next five days.’
The man abruptly stopped talking and stared, as if the wall was not blocking his gaze.
‘Shall we quit for today?’
‘I’m okay.’ He started, as if he’d been dozing, and went on, ‘I concentrated the whole of my attention and all the efforts of the left hand on the new terminal. The right hand, on which I relied more, was left to operate on the old one by itself. My progress was slow. I made corrections based on the results. I’d rather not revisit the moments of despair. The finished method is written down in detail in the notebook on your desk. My right hand became completely independent. It entered data by itself, simply memorizing the location of the keys. It took its own decisions on how to proceed based on the vibrations of the sound-signal indicator; it registered for itself the incoming information. Now and then I had a look at it and was astonished at its accuracy. It was as though it was not a part of me. Everything went okay in spite of the double workload.
‘Several months passed. One day, as I was operating with the left hand, I heard a strange sound. I turned around and stood thunderstruck. The table of a poker game was flashing on the screen of the other terminal, while my right hand continued tapping regardless. I looked at the memory and the blood rushed into my head: a significant portion of the database had already been erased to allow every possible game of hazard to be entered and stored there. Having fallen into a fit of hysterics, I grabbed hold of the first thing I could find with my left hand and started to beat the right one. Its convulsions showed the pain was sharp, but I didn’t feel anything. When I came to myself, I became aware that it was just a matter of time before I was fired. I stood up, took the lift and went outside. I walked on, following my nose. I crossed noisy streets; I crossed deserted ones and went on, without stopping. I came to a halt only when my legs wouldn’t hold me. I entered the first bar and sat at the counter. The barman gave me a once-over and slid the first glass … I was almost snoozing when a shriek pierced my ear. Hardly had I time to come to my senses before a robust red-haired fellow gave me such a yank that I swept the glasses off the counter. His fist was going to smash into me but a cry from behind the bar forestalled the blow. The next moment I saw the barman beside us, hammer in hand.
‘“That son of a bitch,” ginger guy stammered, “that bastard pinched my bird’s ass ... Just like that, for no reason at all.”
‘And indeed, very close to me, a sluttish girl was rubbing her large bottom, her make-up smudged by tears.
‘The barman settled the problem, acting as judge and jury. As indemnity for the sufferer and to pay for the broken glass he added a hundred note to my drinks bill, and after I paid, threw me out.
‘Despite my state of mind, I understood everything. My right hand was seeking revenge for the beating it had been given. Ginger guy was only the instrument. The realization of my insidious enemy sent shivers down my spine. More so as the foe was a part of my body.
‘I don’t like to talk about either the months of stalking or the humble pie I had to swallow. Peaceful moments were few and rare. Sometimes, under a gust of wind, my hand became lighter and drifted in the air like a wing. But that wing couldn’t fly away and eventually regained its weight to become a hand again. I told you how I had felt it creeping across my body while I was asleep and how my last suspicions formed: it wanted to kill me. After I made my discovery, I hastened to get a pair of handcuffs and locked it to the bedframe each night. Needless to relate, a struggle would precede that ritual. I left the key out of its reach in a place where only the left hand could get hold of it. I believed I had found the way to save my life until the moment when a piece of wire fell out of the right sleeve of my pyjamas. Clearly it had not acquiesced and nothing would stop it achieving its goal. There was no other way out but to pre-empt it. I came near to shouting out in pain when I realized that. I desperately wanted to put this absurd scenario out of my mind, but it entered my head during the night in place of sleep. In the end I made my decision. I had to be careful so that it could not guess what I was thinking. I had bitter experience of its extraordinary intuition.
‘I got up at my usual time. I loitered in the streets and called in at the bank. As I supposed, I was almost broke. I stopped by the pork butcher’s and bought a large piece of meat. I went back home and put the meat on the chopping-board. My outward appearance was as nonchalant as it could be in such a situation. I opened the drawer, took out the chopper, held it in my left hand and started to hew. Blood was dripping from the meat. A drop flew very close to my elbow and splashed onto the white surface of the table. My hand followed it. I didn’t hesitate. I aimed a powerful blow. The chopper cleaved the flesh just above the wrist and stuck fast into the wood. The hand writhed and crept along the table on its five fingers, leaving a trail of red after it. I was covered in blood but I didn’t feel any pain. I cut the curtain string and choked off the wound. And then I seemed to have fainted.’
‘That’s quite enough,’ my friend said. ‘You can go now.’
Only after he stood up could I see that one of his shirtsleeves, which was clearly too long, was empty. The hospital orderly folded and tied them on his back. Then he took him out.
‘Why did you call me?’ I asked him, when we were left by ourselves.
‘To help me.’
‘But, unlike you, I know nothing about psychiatry.’
‘But you know about computers.’
‘?’
‘I want you to have a look through his notes. You are the only person to judge what role fantasy plays in the matter and how much of it is reality.’
Only now did I see what he was driving at.
‘And afterwards you’ll ask me to experiment on his method, won’t you?’
‘Are you afraid?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have much spare time.’
‘In other words, you’re refusing. Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, it is.’
I could detect his disappointment through the mask of his face. Neither of us spoke. The atmosphere became oppressive. I picked up my hat and stood up.
‘Wait a moment! I want to show it to you.’
He stood up, opened the door of a locker and pointed to a glass cylinder. There it was. Dark and wrinkled, its fingers pointing towards the hermetically sealed plug.
‘The most perfect mechanism in nature.’
I could not guess from the sound of his voice if it was a quotation or jibe.
‘Are you cross with me?’ I asked him as I took my leave.
‘Why, of course I’m not.’
A long time had passed and I’d forgotten this story. One day, a colleague of mine from the Department of Experimental Research blabbed out: ‘That friend of yours, the doctor, seems to be taking the bread out of our mouths.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Last week he visited me asking for a meeting. He enquired about such refinements that I could hardly believe my ears. His knowledge certainly surpasses the average.’
‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating,’ I said, probably to dissuade myself, but it didn’t work.
I parked in front of his home at about midnight. The light was on. He didn’t look very pleased to see me. He led me to the living room but I dashed into his study. The screens of two computers were flashing on the desk. In front of them lay the open notebooks of the one-handed man.
‘You are crazy. Crazy enough to be tied up. The craziest of them all in the madhouse!’
The doctor followed my outburst with a diagnostician’s composure. Then he handed me a glass of clear liquid.
‘Drink it. It will get your nerves into shape!’
It got my nerves into such a shape that my legs started to shake.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked, lying back in the armchair.
‘I have to find out everything. That is the only way to help him.’
‘He doesn’t need your help.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Of course I do! He has solved his problems by himself and seems happy.’
‘He seems to be, but it isn’t likely. If I let him out tomorrow he’ll get another idea in his head. Don’t forget that he still has one hand, two legs and some other organs left. Each of them could be accused of being an aggressor.’
‘How are you going to talk him out of it?’
‘I’m going to check his ideas in his presence. He will direct me. Everything will continue until the moment he gets disappointed and leaves behind the darkness of insanity. At that point I’m going to show him his hand. The moment he recognizes it he’ll remember the pain and will be saved.’
‘It seems to me that being in contact with inferior minds mightily increases your self-confidence.’
I was immediately sorry for the words I had blurted out but it was too late.
‘Do you know the reason why you are so malicious?’ he asked me in order to answer the question himself. ‘Because you are a coward. You are afraid, because if only one percent of his statements proves to be true it will mean that you are the crazy one, not him. You are the man who creates new logical systems, aren’t you? How are you going to exonerate yourself if they prove to be a device for disintegration? Such a device that even masters of torture wouldn’t dream of.’
Of all the damn words I knew I uttered only one: ‘Farewell.’
Two or three weeks had elapsed. I assumed I had one less acquaintance but I was wrong. I was almost asleep when he phoned me.
‘I need your help!’ His voice was evidence of that and it was the reason I didn’t hang up.
‘Right now? Can’t you wait until tomorrow?’
‘Okay, I will.’
‘I’ll try to sneak out tomorrow morning.’
It so happened that I couldn’t. I got there towards evening. I parked the car by the fence and entered the yard. The sun was descending behind the crowns of faraway trees. It was surprisingly quiet, although people dressed in drab clothes could be seen here and there sitting on benches. Autumn.
An ambulance and a police car were waiting in front of the building. I passed them and climbed the stairs. People were waiting in front of the laboratory. Before I could reach them, the door opened and a stretcher covered with a sheet was carried over the crowd. I drew nearer and lifted the sheet.
‘Did you know him?’ somebody behind me asked.
‘Yes, I did. We were friends.’
The man diligently took down my details.
‘How did it happen?’
‘We won’t know until after the autopsy. However …’ He drew me aside and whispered, ‘Did he have any problems? Something grave enough to make him commit suicide?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Strange, it’s quite strange. With only one hand … Anyway, stay within reach. We may need you.’
I entered the laboratory. It looked just the same as before but for a slight difference: the cupboard door behind the desk was open and on the shelf was a hand in a glass cylinder waving as if in farewell to something in the far-distant beyond.
TREATMENT
There was something there, light and long, something familiar. Then the word came: ‘a hand’, my hand. A ray of light fell on it. The illuminated part was warm, the rest was cold. The light was coming from the window, the chill from the room. I set it aside and got up. What had pushed the notion ‘hand’ out of my mind? ‘The hand’ began to come back when it was going out.
Their voices could be heard in the corridor. Then they died away. Perhaps they had heard me going down the stairs. They were standing at the door downstairs.
‘Waiting for someone?’
They were silent.
‘Let’s go then.’
Their looks were saying that they expected me to lead the way but they should have understood my desire to follow them. At last one of them mustered his courage and set off. The others followed in a rustling line. They stopped in front of the pavilion and turned back. I was not in a hurry to reach them. Everything was quiet. I could hold the building, the foliage and the sunset together in the palm of my hand. The smell of damp permeated the hall. The corpse was lying on the dissecting table. The old man next to me turned his face aside.
‘Don’t be scared. Touch her!’ I ordered him.
He came closer, touched her hand and leapt as if being scalded. A giggle was heard. I had to intervene.
‘Today we are parting with Phiffy,’ I told them. ‘Her relatives are coming to take her body away tomorrow. Do you remember how scornful she was with you? And the notorious silk scarf she wore to hide her wrinkled neck? Now she has nothing to hide. Anyway, let’s bid farewell to her.’
‘Farewell,’ echoed in the hall …
The man in the corridor tried to turn around, then stopped.
‘Why didn’t you come along with us?’
‘Doctor, I …’ he stuttered at my question. ‘I … actually my voice …’
‘Your voice?’
‘Yes, doctor, my inner voice stopped me from doing so.’
‘Why?’
‘To punish me for my distrust.’
‘What distrust?’
‘It became aware that I had doubts as to the reasons behind your decision to visit the deceased,’ he finished with relief.
‘Your inner voice is too condescending. I am adding a week without any walks in the park to his punishment.’
‘Yes, sir!’ he said with a brisk voice.
I went back to my office. A pile of papers was waiting on my desk. I pushed them aside and opened the notebook. ‘Facts needed!’ was written under the previous day’s date. Why was Sophie late? At that moment, as if pulled in by my though
ts, the door opened. Sophie was standing in the doorway.
‘Come in, Nurse.’ I pointed to the chair across my desk.
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘I’m afraid I am going to disappoint you.’
‘You’d better leave that judgment to me.’
‘I couldn’t get anything new.’
‘Really?’
‘I think so.’
‘Did you ask him the questions I dictated to you?’
‘Yes, I did. All of them.’
‘Were you careful enough?’
‘You know that—’
‘I know that you’ve made him fall head over heels for you. Why then?’
‘He said he couldn’t share that with anyone.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it is his nature.’
‘I suppose that’s so, but I have to know, Sophie.’
‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘The same. Ask him the questions every day, one by one. He has to soften at some point.’
‘Okay.’ Her voice did not sound confident.
‘You have to remember that this man has tried to kill himself three times. The fourth could be the last.’
‘I see.’
‘You must understand that everything we do is for his own good even if it does not appear so. Without that fact, his medical diagnosis is disappointingly incomplete.’
‘I almost forgot. We spoke about the autumn and he mentioned one name: “Rilke 1”.’
‘Rilke?’
‘Yes, and when I asked him who Rilke was he remained silent for a while and then said, “After all, you understand me.”’
‘That tops it!’
‘Who is Rilke, Doctor?’
‘It doesn’t matter. He vanished a long time ago. You can go now.’
It was a windy morning. Coming this way, I glanced at the rotunda. There was someone in it. I got closer and recognized the haggard, stubbly face.
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