One

by David Karp

  “Well, there you are,” Cumbers said, leaning forward with intimate enthusiasm, “you’re on your way back now.”

  “I suppose so,” he said. “You know, it may seem silly to you—but I don’t remember you.”

  “But you mentioned my name right off. The moment I stuck my head in the door.”

  “Yes, I did,” he said, passing his hand over his forehead. The name had sprung into his mind instantly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cumbers said reassuringly, “it’s a good sign. After all, in a nervous breakdown a man’s memory is apt to slip quite a little. If he forgets things that isn’t too serious. It’ll all come back to you in time. Why, the moment you mentioned my name like that it was your own, old voice speaking right up. I was more than surprised—I was deeply pleased.” He looked at Cumbers’ face and there was no mistaking the real warmth and affection that shone in the faded eyes, that lit up the gentle features. He smiled at Cumbers, happy at least that he had one good friend in the world.

  “Well, I’m glad you could come around, Cumbers,” he said, suddenly at a loss for anything to continue the conversation.

  “I have some slightly bad news for you,” Cumbers said, but added reassuringly, “however, perhaps it isn’t bad news at all. Your room has been let. You don’t have to worry about your things. They’re all either at my place or in storage. I saw to that. I guess your landlady thought you wouldn’t be back for a long time and she needed the rent, so she called me and told me she’d have to let the room to someone else. I’m sure she would have kept it for you had she known how sick you were but I didn’t think she ought to know. I decided the fewer people who knew what had happened to you, the better. Of course, I understand that a mental breakdown has nothing to do with a person’s sanity.” Mr. Cumbers looked at him so anxiously that he smiled and nodded agreeably, showing that he, too, knew that this was the case. “Well,” Mr. Cumbers went on in a more relieved voice, “just the same, some people don’t understand and it’s just as well they don’t know. That’s why I felt a complete change of environment would be best—room, friends, even a job.”

  “A job?”

  “Yes. I explained the matter to Mr. Hampshire . . .”

  “Hampshire,” he repeated, vaguely aware that the name meant something to him.

  “Yes—our unit officer?” Cumbers added helpfully.

  “Of course,” he said, knowing now that he did know the name. Hampshire had been his superior in the office. Which office?

  “Well, he was very understanding about it and said he would see that when you returned from your sick leave you would be put in another department—away from all the people who knew you and whom you knew. You’ll be starting with a fresh slate. Same salary and same rating, of course. But I thought it would be helpful. I hope you agree?”

  “Yes, of course I agree,” he said, seeing Cumbers’ uncertainty. It had been a kind and thoughtful act. He would be happier working with others. “Thank you very much, Cumbers. It was thoughtful of you.”

  “The only bad part of it is that we won’t be working side by side as we have the past eight years. But you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, don’t worry about that. I don’t expect to let you stay in your room and brood any more.” Cumbers’ brows knit. “I guess that was the trouble before. It was stupid of me not to see it. I blame myself for leaving you alone so often.”

  “No, no,” he said, “don’t blame yourself. That isn’t fair. If I wanted to be alone I don’t think you would intrude yourself.”

  “No, I’m not the sort, you’re right,” Cumbers said shyly, “but I did owe you a certain duty to keep you company in spite of yourself.”

  “Good old Cumbers,” he said gently, “still the good Samaritan. Well, it looks as if I have a lot ahead of me when I get out of here—a new place to live, a new job, new work, new faces . . .”

  “But I’ll be there,” Cumbers reminded him.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, smiling again. It was good to know there was such a friend as Cumbers to stand by him.

  “Well, I’ll be going now,” Cumbers said, rising. “I don’t want to wear you out on my first visit.”

  “You’ll be back?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Cumbers said, nodding vigorously. “Promptly on time. That is, unless I have some urgent errand to do on my lunch hour.”

  “Oh, is this your lunch hour?” he asked, concerned.

  “Please, don’t upset yourself. You know I was always one to gobble my lunch. You remember how you used to scold me for not taking more time over lunch?”

  “You must, you know,” he said gravely. “It upsets the digestion to eat too quickly.”

  “The amount I eat for lunch can be taken down in one swallow, my dear friend,” Cumbers said as he replaced the chair and came back toward him.

  “I’m sorry I can’t get up,” he said.

  “Nonsense,” Cumbers said briskly and shook his hand with more strength than he thought the slight man possessed. “Get on your feet and take your time about it. Good-bye,” Cumbers said and walked backward to the door. He opened it and backed out, waving as one waves to a departing ship.

  Cumbers closed the door gently behind him, shook his head and sighed, and then started briskly down the hall. When he came to the supervising nurse’s office he knocked the same timid, uncertain knock and entered.

  Lark was sitting on the desk with his long legs dangling.

  “Close the door,” Lark said, and Cumbers securely and precisely closed the door behind him. “Well?” Lark asked.

  “He responded quite well. A very nice man, sir,” Cumbers said.

  “Yes, he is,” Lark said. “Did you mention all the points?”

  “The room, the job, his change of position, the nature of his illness,” Cumbers ticked off each point with a finger, “everything.”

  “Good. You’ll be back tomorrow. You don’t have to stick to the schedule rigidly. If he seems in a more receptive mood any particular day you may cover more of the points. You may use your discretion in the matter. Above all, don’t ignore any direct question. It’s most important that you answer those questions.”

  “I fully understand, sir,” Cumbers replied gravely.

  “Do you think you’re going to get along with Mr. Hughes?” Lark asked.

  “Yes, I rather think I will. I think we may come to be real friends in the future. Real, good friends.”

  “Good. I’m glad for his sake. He’s a good person, Mr. Hughes. I’m glad we were able to save him from his own anti-social personality.”

  “It’ll be good to have a friend like him,” Cumbers said, almost wistfully, losing his briskness for a moment. Lark looked at him closely.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Cumbers,” Lark said.

  “Is there anything else?” Cumbers asked, once again brisk.

  “No.”

  “Then, if you’ll excuse me. I don’t have very much of my lunch hour left.” Mr. Cumbers tipped his hat respectfully to Lark, opened the door, and left. Lark stared at the closed door for a moment, swinging his long legs slightly, and then hopped off the desk, opened the door, and left the supervising nurse’s office. He had an appointment with the Commissioner to discuss Burden’s case.

  In the Commissioner’s office Lark noted the salmon-pink binder that contained the summary of the Department’s reports on Burden. He had helped prepare them and knew the positive statements of success at the conclusion of every phase.

  “Well, Lark, you’ve had your way with Burden.”

  “I’m afraid not. I think I will have to ask you for an extension of time, sir,” Lark said calmly.

  “That’s out of the question. I warned you about that when you began,” the Commissioner said.

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to determine for yourself whether I’ve succeeded or not,” Lark said blandly.

  “It appears that you have.” The Commissioner stirred the pages of the report with his finger.
“I’m satisfied.”

  “I’m afraid, sir, that I’m not. That I can’t be.”

  “What’s bothering you, Lark?”

  “Burden’s personality change may not hold up.”

  “Well, just how much time do you think you’d need to determine whether or not the change will hold?”

  “The rest of Hughes’ natural life,” Lark said.

  The Commissioner smiled. “I see that you’re not a man who is easily satisfied.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no other way of testing our procedures, sir. You see, Burden is no longer Burden. For all practical purposes the integrated heretic we knew as Burden no longer exists. What we have now is a new entity—a man named Hughes. A widower, without children, without family or close relatives, with just one close friend, a minor clerk named Cumbers. I think Hughes will live out his life as Hughes, happy and useful in the society about him. However, Cumbers and others will continue to report on Hughes. This experiment is unique. We’ve been entirely successful as far as we’ve gone in the past—modifying certain personality traits and, if you recall the Fenton case three years ago, substituting sections of biography. But a complete substitution, a completely new personality, a completely new biography, has been attempted just once—this time, the Burden-Hughes case. If the new personality slips, spontaneously or gradually, then we’ll know we’ve failed with Burden. If he lives and dies believing he’s Hughes, a clerk, a widower, then and only then we’ll know we’ve succeeded.”

  “Charming,” the Commissioner said softly with a wry smile. “You really expect us to wait thirty, forty, or fifty years to find out.”

  “If Hughes lives that long I’m afraid that’s what we’ll have to do, sir.”

  “Well, I’m not nearly as timid or uncertain about this as you seem to be, Lark. I’m willing to admit that you’ve succeeded, and I shall officially record that result.”

  Lark shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve wondered about it. The technique may not be completely infallible. This is the first time all the theories have been put into practice. If the personality change breaks down—”

  “Well,” said the Commissioner, pulling over the salmon-pink colored report, “let’s see what prognosis the psych people give us on the personality change.”

  “You don’t have to look, sir. They’re quite confident that the personality change will hold up.”

  “Well, then,” the Commissioner smiled as he crossed his hands over the report, “what more can you ask?”

  Lark chewed his lower lip gently. “I’m afraid I skirted the actual problem. After all, we were originally planning to peel the heresy from an existing personality without destroying it.”

  “Any attempt to strip a man of his beliefs, his shibboleths is bound to change his personality.”

  “But we destroyed his whole personality.”

  “Then that’s what had to be done. If Burden was so heavily riddled with heresy that ridding him of his heresies demanded ridding him of his personality—well—” the Commissioner held out his hand in a gesture of helpless resignation. “Remember your purpose: Cleanse the heretic, make him a useful citizen of the State. No Burden will ever be hopeless and dangerous, for he can be remade into a Hughes—a psychologically correct, a socially moral personality.”

  “Yes, sir. I agree with that. But we still do not understand the mechanism of heresy fully. What makes one man believe as his fellows and the other not? There are literally thousands of men like Burden and they are all good citizens. Why is it that Burden is not a good citizen?”

  “Was not,” the Commissioner said. “You forget he no longer exists.”

  “He does in my mind, sir. I keep searching for the reason, the core of his heresy. Had I found it I would not have had to destroy the man. With every secret corner of his mind willingly laid bare, why couldn’t I find it—unless it is something not learned, something not acquired but something instinctive, something so deeply a part of a human creature that it cannot be removed?”

  “If it is so basic to mankind then all of us contain the seeds of heresy. Is that what you mean?”

  Lark paused and thought for a long moment. It was a dangerous, leading question of the sort he would never have allowed himself to face with any other man. Lark looked at the Commissioner. He had taken chances with this man in the past and he had half decided not to stretch his luck any further when, quite suddenly, he heard himself saying in a small voice, “Yes, I think the seeds of heresy lie in all of us and only require a certain care, a certain set of circumstances to burst, take root, and flower.”

  The Commissioner’s voice was equally soft. “I trust you recognize that answer as being indiscreet, Lark. I shouldn’t like to hear you repeat that elsewhere.”

  “I’m trying to be honest, sir,” Lark said, wondering if he had, perhaps, overstepped himself.

  “The answer to the question I asked you—the proper answer, is this: Under abnormal circumstances citizens might revolt against the State. But only when the State does not fulfill its primary functions. Our State does and is constantly improving upon its efficiency and achievement. The special circumstances under which seeds of heresy would flower will never exist in this State, so the question becomes both academic and frivolous.” The Commissioner paused and then went on, “You will remember that answer, Lark, won’t you? It is the accepted and correct answer. If you ever again face that question you’ll find my answer is the best to give back to your questioner.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lark replied, vowing never to make such a blunder again, especially not before the Commissioner.

  “Well, then,” the Commissioner’s voice became more brisk, less portentous, “we’ve settled Professor Burden’s case. I understand you, Lark, and your wish for complete, timeless confirmation of success. But you respect the technological integrity of this Department. Well, you must also respect its conclusions. The reports are all favorable, the prognoses cheerful, the conclusions uniformly and distinctly mark this a success.”

  “If Hughes doesn’t slip,” Lark maintained stubbornly.

  “You act almost as though you wish he would,” the Commissioner smiled.

  “Of course I don’t,” Lark flushed, conscious that he had again erred.

  “I know you don’t,” the Commissioner said warmly, reassuringly. “I was just poking a bit of fun at that long face of yours. I think our Department needs a bit more optimism. We snoop and pry and inquire so much that we’re apt to fall into a collective crankiness and bad disposition. No,” the Commissioner shook his head, “this time there are no knit brows, no worried eyes, no uncertain lip chewings in any of the Divisions. I don’t want to see those things in your face, Lark.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll try,” Lark said gravely. “I think, however, it might help if we continue with the present checking arrangements on Hughes indefinitely, sir.”

  “For thirty, forty, fifty years if necessary,” the Commissioner said expansively, tilting his chair back as he put his hands behind his neck. The Commissioner paused for a long moment and his voice dropped a bit, became more intimate. “I’ll tell you a secret, Lark—I would never have allowed you to undertake this project if I had any reason to believe that you might fail.”

  “Your faith in me is flattering, sir.”

  “Well, I’m something more than just a damned flatterer, Lark,” the Commissioner laughed, and Lark smiled politely. “No, I genuinely feel that you’re going to go a very, very long way in this State, and I didn’t want you to become involved in a Departmental fiasco at this stage of your career. I repeat, I would never have allowed the experiment at all if I didn’t think it would be successful. Now will you stop your damned unhealthy brooding and expand a bit?”

  “Yes, sir, I will,” Lark said and wondered why the Commissioner’s compliments and reassurances evoked no flicker of interest or warmth within him. He felt lonely. The loneliness and listlessness had been with him since the moment Burden really broke.

 
21

  The second visitor Hughes had in his room was a crisp young woman with heavy glasses from the social welfare office of the hospital. She saw to it that Hughes had books and magazines to read, a toothbrush, a deck of cards, some pencils and paper, and all the other small comforts missing from his room. Hughes was most grateful but, having no letters to write, found little use for the paper and pencils and barely scanned the magazines, reading only those that contained photographs. The books, two light love novels and a true-life adventure of one man’s attempt to cross the English Channel underwater with the aid of a mechanical lung, were left unread. The playing cards, however, were a real comfort for Hughes, who played a game of patience that the nurse had taught him.

  He could always be found with his cards except when Cumbers came to visit. Then all thoughts of cards were put away and Hughes spent a warm, engrossed half hour with his friend listening to Cumbers’ plans and reports of activities. Cumbers told him he had found a room for him in his rooming house.

  “It isn’t the best room in the house, by any means. As far as that goes, mine isn’t, either. The best room goes to the landlady’s nephew and God knows there’s a waste. I don’t think that young tramp has spent a night in his own bed alone. He’s always out skylarking, chasing women.”

  “Not like us, Cumbers, eh?” Hughes asked wistfully.

  “Well, he’s much younger,” Cumbers said.

  “No,” Hughes said with a slight smile, “I don’t imagine you were ever like that—even when you were his age. And I don’t remember if I was ever like that. I rather think that I wasn’t. But I don’t remember.”

  Cumbers’ face clouded with sympathy. “Don’t fret yourself. You’ll remember everything in due time. And I’m not so sure that you weren’t like him when you were younger. Of course, you never told me a great deal about your past. You always insisted that there wasn’t anything to tell. But from what pictures you’ve shown me of your wife—well, Edna was a beauty. Really a beauty, and you must have shown some spirit to get her. It always takes something out of the ordinary to catch the eye of the pretty ones.”