Pihkal

by Alexander Shulgin

  Shura walked down the driveway while I was starting my engine, to lock up after me. When I reached the gate, I put on the brake and stepped out of the car. I hugged him, my head on his chest, "Thank you for a beautiful day, and for being who you are."

  "Whatever that is," he laughed, hugging me back.

  "Whatever that is," I agreed.

  He bent his head and kissed the tip of my nose.

  Driving home, I realized that neither of us had mentioned my coming back to the Farm, or even seeing each other again. And it didn't matter.

  We wait. It's in the hands of the gods. He waits for Ursula and I wait for him.

  CHAPTER 23. THE GROUP

  Late the next morning, Shura called to ask how I was feeling. I said very well, thank you, adding that I was still not hungry, to my great delight, and hoped the anorexia would continue for a long time.

  He said he was glad it had been a positive experience.

  "I'm very grateful," I said, "It was good of you to do that for me - and with me."

  He replied, "It was my pleasure."

  Nothing was said about a return engagement.

  Wednesday evening, I put on my nightgown and sat down to watch the late news on television. The children were asleep. I was drained from the day's work, but reluctant to go to bed because all I could look forward to after the night's sleep was getting up and going back to the pressure of the Medical Records Department, which - having two transcribers out with flu -

  was even more frantic than usual.

  When the phone rang, my first thought was that, at this late hour, it might be an emergency, and I wasn't in the mood for emergencies. I did not expect Shura's voice, and must have sounded surprised, because he asked me, "Am I calling too late? I didn't mean to wake you up - were you asleep?"

  "No, no! Not at all. I was watching the late news, as a matter of fact. How nice to hear from you!"

  "I called to tell you I'm having some friends - part of my research group - over next Saturday.

  Thought you might like to join us, if you don't have other plans?"

  The aching tiredness in my shoulders and neck had disappeared.

  "I'd love to. What time, and can I bring anything?"

  "I'm asking everyone to be here by ten in the morning. Bring whatever kind of juice you like, and - let's see - we could use some fresh fruit. Everything else is taken care of. Oh, by the way, you might want to skip breakfast."

  Why? They're probably having a brunch, that's why.

  Saturday was cool, the air fresh and clear from the previous day's rain. I had stopped at the market for oranges, apples and bananas and a bottle of my old standby, cranberry juice.

  Tucked away in the back of the Volkswagon bus was a decorated shopping bag, left over from Christmas, containing my toothbrush, an extra blouse, and my best pale blue silk nightgown.

  You never know, as the Boy Scouts say.

  As I turned into Borodin Road, I realized I was feeling more than ordinary, everyday anxiety; I was scared to death. In a few minutes, I would be meeting Shura's best friends; they would inevitably compare me with Ursula - the lovely, gentle, young, intelligent Ursula - and probably resent me as a poor substitute. Surely they would wonder at my presence here, today. I was wondering at it, myself.

  Okay. Nothing to do but be happy Shura invited me and hope his friends are inclined to mercy and compassion.

  The kitchen was noisy with talk, laughter and the sounds of bowls and cutlery being arranged on tile surfaces. Shura turned to see me hesitating in the doorway and called, "Alice! I didn't hear you drive up. Come on in!"

  I put my sack of groceries on the counter, while Shura shouted happily that he wanted to introduce a good friend of his, Alice Parr. I flashed a quick grin at the blur of faces, then turned to busy myself with the job of putting the fruit in an empty basket, giving my mouth a chance to relax. I was afraid my old facial tic might return.

  For most of my life, whenever I was being introduced to a roomful of people I didn't know, the tiny muscles on either side of my mouth would go into a twitching spasm if I tried to maintain a smile while I was being stared at, the newcomer on display. I had no way of knowing whether or not the tic was visible to anyone else, and had no intention of finding out. Only when one of the strangers made some gesture or spoke to me, would the tension ease, allowing me to smile back in a reasonable imitation of spontaneity. For years, now, I hadn't had trouble with the spasm, but I recognized the familiar feeling of suffocating tightness in my throat, and there was no sense in taking a chance.

  When I turned around again, a moment later, I was sure I looked pleasantly expectant, without actually smiling.

  I shook hands with five people, trying to register each name while knowing my nervousness would, as usual, make it impossible. I'd grown used to explaining that I found it hard to remember names with the first introduction, having discovered that it was a fault I shared with a large part of the human race. First, there was Ruth Close, followed by her husband, George.

  Ruth was a small woman, a few inches shorter than I, with a comfortably rounded body and a face which showed kindness and warmth; a mother-face. Her black hair was cut short and feathery with streaks of grey showing at the temples. Dark eyes, friendly and questioning, looked into mine as she patted my hand.

  George, who was only slightly taller than his wife and equally rounded, leaned forward with a wide grin, his eyes squinting behind glasses; he took both my hands in his and pumped them enthusiastically, "Hello, hello! So you're Alice! Welcome to the madhouse!"

  My tension evaporated with George's greeting. Suddenly, my smile was back and I knew the tic wouldn't be.

  Next came Leah Cantrell, a tall, thin girl-woman with long, dark blond hair fastened against the back of her neck with a blue ribbon. Hazel eyes searched mine, wanting to know everything. I felt an immediate liking for this quietly lovely person with the sensitive face.

  Shura introduced her husband as "Doctor Morris Benjamin Cantrell, called Ben."

  Ben said, "Welcome, Alice! It's a pleasure to meet you," sounding as if he meant it. His voice was resonant and warm, with an undertone of authority. He was a solidly built man with thinning white hair and an intelligent, powerful face, obviously more than a few years older than his wife. His eyes looked straight into mine, as he smiled.

  Last to greet me was John Sellars, a slender man with smooth pink cheeks who, at first glance, seemed no older than forty. It was only upon looking more closely at him, later in the day, that I saw the many fine lines on the forehead and around the eyes, and realized that the straw-colored hair was mostly grey. His face was compelling; a Botticelli angel grown to middle-age, with thoughtful eyes.

  While she washed lettuce for a salad, Ruth asked me questions. Where did I live, what kind of work did I do, how did I meet Shura? I answered willingly, aware of the mixture in her voice of empathy and strong curiosity. When, in response to a question, I told her I had four children, she said that she had wanted some of her own but found she couldn't have them. I said I was surprised to hear that, because she had impressed me as the kind of person who would have lots of children, all of them well loved. She chuckled, "Well, I suppose I make up for it by mothering just about everybody else."

  Shura called out from the dining room, "All right, people, gather 'round," and the talk hushed.

  We crowded around the table.

  "We're doing a new one, today," said Shura, "And not only is it a new material, it's also one of a new family of compounds. I've named it Aleph-2, and full activity has been established at between 4 and 8 milligrams. As I think I indicated on the phone, it's relatively long, about eight or nine hours. At least, it was for me. For those of you who are very sensitive, there's always the possibility it might take longer than that to return to baseline, which is why I suggested you bring sleeping bags."

  He didn't mention sleeping bags to me. He didn't even tell me there would be an experiment.

  Maybe he doesn'
t say things like that over the phone. Oh, of course! That's what he meant when he said to skip breakfast!

  Leah's voice said, "Good! It's been a while since we've tried a new one."

  George sighed loudly, rolling his eyes, "My oh my, the sacrifices we make for science!"

  Ruth said, "Just as long as it isn't anorexic - I've got a gorgeous salad!"

  "Then you'll be happy to hear that anorexia is not one of its properties," replied Shura.

  "Hooray!" said George.

  A discussion began about the level of drug which would be appropriate to each member of the group, and I noted that Ruth and George agreed immediately to Shura's suggestion of four and five milligrams, respectively. I wondered if they were both sensitive to these kinds of drugs, or were being conservative because it was new to them. I was curious to see whether anyone would elect to take the maximum amount Shura had mentioned.

  Leah also chose a modest level, four milligrams, but her husband asked for six. John scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, then said he would take a chance with seven.

  Shura scribbled on a large piece of paper, then announced, "As for me, I'll go with seven milligrams, this time. I tried eight, and it was a bit strong."

  He looked across the table at me. I felt myself flushing, and he smiled reassuringly, "Alice, you're more than welcome to participate if you'd like, or just be with us without taking anything, if you'd prefer." He added, "I'm not sure I even made it clear to you there was going to be an experiment today, did I?"

  I shook my head, "No, but that's okay. I'd like very much to join in, if it's all right."

  There was a chorus of encouragement from the others.

  Shura said, "If you want to give it a try, might I suggest something like four or five milligrams?

  It's a modest level, but you should get the full effects."

  "Five, then, please."

  Shura asked Ben to help him, and they left for the lab with seven glasses of assorted sizes and shapes. I sat down in a chair near the sliding glass doors which formed one wall of the dining room.

  What the blazes am I doing, taking a new psychedelic drug with a lot of people I've never met before? I'll have to be careful, behave very well. They don't know me. I don't want them to know too much too fast.

  Ruth came up to me and asked, "Have you had any experience with psychedelics before, Alice?"

  "Well, I took peyote many years ago, and last week I had my first MDMA experience. That's all." Then I remembered, "Oh, I did try marijuana once, but I'm afraid I didn't enjoy it very much."

  Ruth put a hand on my shoulder, "Well, don't worry. We're nice people, you know, and you'll be just fine. It's certainly a new and different way to get to know a bunch of strangers, isn't it!" I was surprised to hear a faint note of disapproval in her voice.

  I smiled at her and agreed it certainly was that!

  She doesn't think Shura should have put me in this position. He gave me a choice, though. He said I was welcome to be here without taking anything. He probably thinks I'm a grownup and can make grownup choices for myself.

  Shura and Ben returned and eased the glasses - now marked with initials and covered by neat caps of aluminum foil - onto the dining room table. Ruth brought out several bottles of juice.

  There was an instant of silence, as everyone standing around the table looked at what had been placed there, and thought their private thoughts. Then someone sighed audibly and Shura said, "Well, are we ready?"

  Leah said, "Ready," and picked up her glass, reading the initials out loud, "L.C., if I'm not mistaken." Shura handed me mine and I saw in it a small amount of white powder. I looked up and met George's eyes. He flashed a grin at me, peered into his own glass and shuddered dramatically, making a sound of strangled horror, then looked back at me and said, very seriously, "I strongly advise you to add juice; Shura's concoctions usually taste absolutely terrible, and I'll bet this one is no exception."

  I was still laughing as I poured cranberry juice into my glass.

  Shura was protesting, "There's nothing terrible about the taste; it's all part of the personality of the drug, part of its identity, its soul. Think of what you're missing; think of what you'll never know -

  George interrupted him with another shuddering groan. Ruth was chuckling, patting Shura on the back, and Leah said, "We know, Shura, we know all about your beautiful little drug souls, and we have found them wanting in the area of palatability."

  We drifted into the kitchen and formed a small circle, holding up our glasses. I stood between Ben and John, looking up at Shura, as was everyone else. He said, "Prosit!" and everyone clinked glasses, saying, "Happy voyage," "Blessings," and to me, "Welcome Alice," then we drank.

  It was more than an hour before the first announcement came, and it was from George.

  We were gathered outside, wearing sweaters and jackets. Ben and Leah were seated on a weathered redwood bench next to the front door, and Ruth was at the other end of the brick apron that stretched across the front of the house, talking with Shura and John. I was sitting on a large floor pillow somebody had brought out from the living room, and George was nearby on a bank of ivy, leaning against an immense oak tree whose roots were beginning to displace some of the bricks on the walkway around us.

  Ben had been telling me about his childhood in Brooklyn/ and the ways in which growing up poor - "my early survival training," he called it - had influenced the direction of his later life. I had learned that he was the founder and head of a graduate school of psychology, which he referred to as "the institute," in a town north of the Bay Area. He had a sharp, subtle mind and a sense of humor to match.

  I had shared some of my own much briefer experience of poverty, in the housing project with Christopher, and what it had taught me. I didn't mention having discovered, at first hand, the meaning of the term, "chronic depressive state."

  Suddenly, from his place underneath the oak, George spoke for the first time since coming outside, "By the way, is anyone else feeling this stuff yet? I must say I am!"

  Leah answered, "Yes, so am I. A lot." She put her hand on her husband's thigh, "Are you cold, honey? Do you want a blanket?"

  Ben looked thoughtful, as if examining himself for the first time, and said he was feeling fine, not cold at all. Leah rose and went into the house. I paid attention to my own state and concluded I was off baseline, as Shura would say, but only lightly, perhaps one shot of vodka's worth. I called out to George and asked him how he was.

  "Oh," he replied, his voice strained, "Hard to say. There's an awful lot of visual stuff; the ivy is wiggling non-stop. I wouldn't mind a five-minute breather from it all, at the moment."

  Leah reappeared with a stack of blankets of different sizes and colors, and George said, "Ah, thank you, thank you. I can use a couple or five of those," and grabbed at the one Leah offered him. He wrapped it around himself and lay down, huddled like a child at the base of the tree. I told Leah I was grateful for the offer, but didn't think I needed one yet. She rejoined Ben, her blanket clutched around her, visibly shivering. Her husband put an arm over her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

  I asked Ben, "How is your experience?"

  "Well, it impresses me as a mellow, pleasant material, so far. It certainly did creep up on me while we were doing all that talking." He chuckled comfortably. I glanced up at George, now invisible under his blanket. I took the same amount he did, and I'm not feeling much at all.

  I've been talking a lot, though. Guess that could be counted as an effect.

  I pressed Ben, "Are you getting visual things of any kind?"

  "Yes, I'd have to say that there's quite a lot of movement, now that I'm paying attention."

  I heard the scuffing of Shura's sandals on the bricks behind me. He went over to Ben and Leah and leaned down to peer into their faces, "How's it going? Where are you?"

  "Very nice, indeed," said Ben, "It shows potential, Shura. Quite a bit of visual; comfortable body, reasonably strong effect.
I'd say it's pushing a plus-three."

  "Me, too," said Shura. He put a hand on Leah's blanket covered shoulder, "How about you, kid?"

  "A bit intense, at the moment. Also, I'm feeling the cold a lot. I keep shivering, but I'm sure that'll smooth out in a while. I'd say a very strong plus-three, and I hope it softens a bit. In the meantime, I'm just going to go with it and not talk much."

  Ruth was standing beside me, holding her sweater tightly around her body, "It's not too strong for me, for a change. Sort of pleasant, though I'm not sure I can tell you exactly what's happening. Just very definitely not baseline," she smiled, then went over to the ivy covered mound and climbed up beside George.

  Shura squatted down in front of me. His eyes were dark and liquid, the pupils large, and I realized mine must be also. His face glowed with a look of frank pleasure. I smiled at him; you could only smile at that open face.

  I reported, "I'm getting relatively little effect, really. It's a nice, relaxed sort of feeling, but it's only - well - it's like the effect of one cocktail, that's about it."

  Shura looked puzzled, "How much did I give you? Five?"

  "Yes, it was five."

  "John's quite light, so is Ruth; Ben's kind of middling strong, Leah's very intense, and," he glanced up at George, "George is cocooning, I see. George?" He rose and climbed up on the ivy. George mumbled something to him from underneath the blanket. Shura patted him and climbed down, leaving him to Ruth's care.

  "Well, this is why we have a research group," Shura said, hands in the pockets of his corduroy jacket, "But I must say, this one is hard to figure out. So far, there seems to be an awfully wide range of responses to the drug."

  He stooped down to me again and asked, "Are you content with where you are, or would you like to try a supplement of a couple of milligrams, just to see if it boosts you into more of a real effect?" I didn't hesitate, "I wouldn't mind a boost, if that's okay."

  "I'll measure out two milligrams more. That'll put you at my level - seven - and that certainly should do it."

  I followed him into the house. In the kitchen, he paused, my glass in his hand, and asked me, quietly, "How's it going?"