In California, doctor friend calls and says would he like being one of the subjects in a series of medical experiments of various psychoactive drugs at the hospital he works at? Twenty dollars a session, once a month for four months and each time a different drug. Sure, he says. “Maybe you want to talk it over with Lu first?” “Nah, sounds interesting and I can use the extra money and it fits in perfectly with my day-off schedule at the store.” He tells Lulu what he’ll be doing the next four first Mondays of the month and she says don’t. “It could mess up your head.” “What’re you talking? It should be fun, the money’s good, and I’ve for a long time wanted to see the inner doings of a medical research situation. And all they’ll be testing is my breathing, blood, motor control and anesthetic use of the drugs too with a few pinpricks to my toes, and one other thing, but all safe and clear and at the V.A. hospital on the ridge, so not that far.” Gets up early for it, has half a bagel and coffee though was told not to even rinse his mouth after twelve last night, drives there. His friend comes into the room while he’s having blood taken out of his arm and says “I won’t be around for it but you’re in very capable hands. If there’s any trouble, which nobody’s expecting, they’ll know how to bring you right down, and results here will be in a paper read by scientists of several disciplines around the world.” They prick his buttocks and feet, have him squeeze some instruments with his hands, run in place, breathe through an oxygen mask for a few minutes, give him a cardiogram and put him on some other monitoring machines. Then they give him the drug in liquid form in a water glass. He asks what it is and is told it’s synthetically made, this one from a lab in France, but that’s all they’re allowed to tell him except that it’s never been used in research on humans before or available on the street. “How’d the animals take it?” and the aide says “No adverse reactions in any kind of way.” He gets high in a very short time. The aide says “Feeling different yet?” and he says “You bet, I’m flying,” and the aide says “Try to hold down the images and reports of them while we take more blood out of you,” and he says “I doubt I can take a needle of that size this moment.” “It isn’t that long,” and shows it to him. ‘Three inches, and not all of it goes in you, and then only in the fleshier less sensitive part of the arm,” and he says “It looks about a foot long and a circumference of a hotdog and I can see all its barbs. One, two… five of them. That thing will rip through my vein and cause a bloodbath.” “Howard, you’re hallucinating a little. Could a hand be more than nine inches long? and look at the needle in comparison to mine. But we’re not so naive where we don’t expect some overreactiveness of the mind too, so let’s put you through a few of the less anxiety-causing tests and then go back to the blood one when you calm down.” The aide puts his hand behind Howard’s foot and says “Did you feel that?” and he says “No, what?” and the aide says “That’s because I didn’t do anything. You’re alert, not fooling around with us, good. Some subjects though—it’s all high, getting stoned, nothing else, as if they’re only here to enjoy themselves and the staff are their pushers.” Then the aide jabs Howard’s foot with something sharp, holds up a pin while Howard’s screaming and says “Took it out of my new shirt this morning, though sterilized it of course. Wasn’t that bad, admit it,” and he says “It was like you poked me with a knife. I don’t want anything like that again either.” “Howard, please don’t be difficult, please. You didn’t strike me as a fake when you came in and I still don’t think you are. But there are tests to be done, you contracted to do them, so begin accepting that. Better they be done without warning you again, correct? because then you’ll even get more anxious.” “No no, you’re right, I’ll try. But just go easy on me for a while.” “Will do,” and he shakes Howard’s hand. Another cardiogram, some things for his hands to squeeze and feet to push, couple of reflex tests and then the aide puts the oxygen mask on him and tells him to relax and breathe normally. After a minute he feels he’s running out of air and points to the mask and the aide nods and looks away and Howard takes it off. “You sure there’s anything in there?” and the aide says “I’m sure; now on, I’m afraid; we spoke about this,” and looks tough and puts it back on Howard roughly. He wants to do what he’s being paid to and he doesn’t want to do anything that will look bad for his friend, but after about thirty seconds he feels he’s being smothered and takes the mask off. “I’m sorry; even if your saying the mask’s doing the opposite of suffocating me, the point is I feel like I am, so you should be satisfied with that part of your research.” “It’s not part of it. We don’t care what’s in your head. What the machine’s monitoring of your breathing is part of the research, but it’s not monitoring you’re short of breath. But OK, you’re uncomfortable, we don’t want you to be that, so we’ll put this off. But not forever, Howard. We have a well-populated lab ready and waiting for your samples and if we don’t give them more readings and blood and urine—” “Urine I’ll give you plenty of. In fact I have to pee.” “I don’t want your urine now. But they’ll be getting paid a whole day for nothing. You know what that costs? And do you know we only have so much government funding for this research? And do you know the government’s been penny-pinching on this kind of research for the last three years because they think guys like you will only want to take advantage of the free drugs? So what are we going to do now, Howard, what in goddamn’s name are we going to do?” “I don’t know.” “One thing we’re not going to do is get tough with you. But also don’t give us any further troubles with these goddamn tests.” “You just did get tough. You threatened me.” “I threatened you?” “You did, in words, mannerisms and voice.” “I threatened him?” and he turns around to his assistant. “I didn’t see you did,” the assistant says. “I didn’t, that’s why you didn’t see. Howard’s off on a hallucinatory bender and we’re tired of hallucinations. They’re boring, they’re stupid, they’re of no use.” “You’re still threatening me with your voice and words and I’ll have to take my ass out of here if you do it again. I didn’t volunteer here to get roughed up by you.” “I’ll tell you why you volunteered, Howard—want it straight? It wasn’t for the twenty bucks every month. No, I won’t tell you, I’ll keep my big trap shut, because you shouldn’t be getting more anxious by what I say. So I apologize to you, Howard, sincerely and without equivocation, and Miss Doris, our research assistant today, is my witness I did. Now please now, go along with us on these tests. Trust me that your fears are all in your head, both of me and the pain and suffocating and such, and what’s in your head can be easily removed by not thinking of it, OK?” “I’m sorry but I can’t, except for the push-pull stuff with the hands and urine if you want and cardiograms and easier things like that.” “Perhaps to reassure you more let me get the doctor whose research this is, busy as he is and disturbing as this interruption might be to him, but let me get him, Howard,” and he goes, comes back with the doctor. “What is it, Mr. Tetch, something bothering you about all this?” the doctor says. “That’s natural; so go along with it,” and he pats Howard’s leg and turns to go. “Wait. I was saying to him—Kennedy—that I can’t go along with any of the tests but the stress and reflex and maybe a little jab or two with the pin on my feet, but the blood and oxygen are too much for me. If it’s the drug that’s doing it, what can I say? But you’re a scientist involved in these things, so you should know that if it feels that real to me—” “Do you know who you are telling his business to?” the aide says. “One of the foremost psychopharmacologists in the country and probably the premier researcher of psychoactive drugs on this continent.” “Shut up, you,” the doctor says and elbows the aide in the ribs so hard he grabs the part hit, winces, bites his teeth. “That’s it, I’m done here—not even push-pulling the squeeze things,” Howard says. “You guys are going crazy over this. Where are my shoes? Where’s the locker I put my things in?” “I can get them for him,” Doris says. “Don’t you get anything for him,” the aide says. “If you think you’re leaving, Howard—” �
��I’m leaving, all right. Next thing who knows what the two of you will cook up for me.” “Listen, my friend,” the doctor says, “I will have none of this childish nonsense. Never has an expérimentée acted like this with me. Do what you agreed to and don’t make us think you signed on only for the drugs.” “That’s exactly what I told him before, Doctor,” the aide says. “I am talking. Do I need you to comment? You got us into this by letting him renege on this and that so much till he thought he was conducting the experiment, so be quiet and let me speak—Now, my friend, if you won’t do all the tests we’ve scheduled you for, we can’t leave you this way, can we?” “Get me Dr. Meyer. I want him down here on this.” “Dr. Meyer is an anesthesiologist, not in this wing, and busy in other things all morning. I believe he told you, but you are high, so perhaps you can’t remember. But I was saying I’ll suspend all your tests, close down my lab for the day and cause us a thousand dollars in wasted expenditures and wages, but we will have to bring you back to earth from what to you is only a big trip. The fastest way, since I don’t want to endanger your life with more drugs for that, is to have my associates wrap you in plastic and stick you in a tub of ice. It’s that or your consent to continue the tests after, let’s say, a ten-minute break—no more.” “Let me think. Way you put it, probably best thing is to go along with you, but let me think,” while he’s thinking he’s got to get out of here, right now and in his hospital gown and bare feet if he has to. “Just leave me alone for those ten minutes till I can try to cool myself down.” “I can agree to that,” the doctor says, and they all go. He waits a minute, looks out the room, no one’s around, very quietly gets his clothes and book out of the locker and puts the clothes on in the room, then on all fours crawls down the corridor, past the room they’re sitting in talking, stands and goes upstairs. The guard at the door says “Your pass to get out.” Gave it to the aide when he came in. “Yes, my pass. It’s… let me see,” patting his pants pockets, then jumps the turnstile and runs out the door. The guard yells; Howard doesn’t know if he’s chasing him. His car’s parked in a hospital lot about a quarter mile away, up a hill, but he thinks he can make it never letting up speed. He’s fast, guard’s heavy, probably slow. “Hey, Howard, come on back,” someone shouts. He looks back on the run. Two men in white doctor or lab coats, neither looks like the aide or doctor from this distance, running after him, but they’ll never get to him by the time he reaches the car but might by the time he starts the car and drives off. He gets to the car. Didn’t lock it because he can’t and he jumps in, keys in this pocket, no this pocket, oh Christ the keys and wallet and pen are in a bag in a safe in the hospital, has a spare ignition key taped in the coils somewhere in the driver’s seat, fingers around from underneath, pulls it out, tears the tape off, puts the key in, won’t start. “Don’t do this to me,” he says, “don’t. Please, God, get it moving.” Men getting closer. Forty feet. Other about ten feet behind the first. Never saw them before. Not lab coats but one in a white sweater, other in a pink shirt. Car starts up. Pink Shirt jumps on the hood, rolls off it when the car moves. “Fuck you, you stupid putz,” Howard yells, not stopping. “Wanna get killed for this, get killed.” White Sweater stands to the side of the road, shouts “My friend’s hurt bad, sir. Help me get him back to the hospital in your car, he seems unconscious,” and Howard shouts “Bullshit, and tough shit,” and keeps driving. In the rearview he sees Pink Shirt standing up, brushing himself off, White Sweater going to him. “Yiippee-hoo-ha!” he says when he’s out of the hospital grounds, “you ain’t gonna ice no super city kid, you hicks,” and slaps the dashboard and punches his palm and then grabs the wheel again when the car suddenly swerves. Steady, drive carefully, watch out for cops, he tells himself, you’re still zonked. Gets home. Lulu’s outside, says “The hospital called just before, wanted to know if you were back. I said ‘So soon?’—Boy, are you ever high; I can see by your eyes.” “You can? I escaped from them. They wanted to dunk me upside down in ice water when I wouldn’t go along with their smothering and bleeding me to death.” Tells what happened. She says “They want you to come back right away. They’ll even come and drive you if I can’t, as they don’t want you behind a wheel and they can’t have you running around loose.” “Never going back, except maybe for my wallet and keys and pen in a few weeks,” and falls to the ground, sticks his nose in the flower bed she was weeding. “Ah, flowers, how I missed them.” “You, the original brick and block man? Their shit’s nothing new.” He grabs a couple of loquats off the tree in the front yard, rips off the outer layer of one and says “How come we never eat these?” and bites into it. “Fyeh, it’s sour,” and she says “People only snitch them off the lawn for jellies and jams, stupid.” Carl comes out. “What’s he doing? He’s supposed to be in school. I’m feeling so good I thought we could have a little morning sex.” “He only goes afternoons, don’t you remember? You should take a shower and just go to sleep. You might think everything’s beautiful and lovey-smoothy, but you look and smell disgusting and are in terrible shape.” Phone rings. “If it’s the hospital,” ne yells to Carl who’s running inside to get it, “tell them to stick it.” “Shush,” she says. “Don’t teach him ugly manners and words.” Carl yells out “It’s Alan.” Alan says “Let me get you and bring you back. I promise I’ll stay with you and they say no more tests. All they want is you to be here till the drug wears off, as they don’t want you doing anything irrational in your condition and losing them their Public Health funds.” ‘Tell those sadists if they don’t let me stay here till I come down I’m going to rob a bank and blame it on the drug they gave me.” “I’ll tell. But I should have known better with you. You guys will do anything to have another dramatic experience recorded or just a great anecdote to tell about your endless battles with the establishment. Just, when you get it all in writing or pour forth about it over some beers, make sure you change my name or at least don’t say I’m still your good doctor friend.”
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