The Mind of Mr Soames

by Maine, Charles Eric

  His face, beneath the white skullcap of bandages, looked fit enough and almost intelligent, and his lips were moving in slow, regular motion, almost like a lethargic fish in a warm pool. As they stood there his eyes moved slowly, turning towards them—blank eyes, observing but not comprehending. They fixed abruptly upon something, and his dry lips quivered, then stretched into a strange smile that seemed to possess an odd gnome-like quality.

  Together Conway and the girl followed the direction of his gaze until the thing that had attracted his attention became apparent. It was a gold charm bracelet dangling from Ann’s left wrist. She moved her arm, so that the tiny pendant charms twisted and glittered in the artificial light of the room. The smile of Mr Soames deepened and his hand moved, reaching out, hesitantly and uncertainly, towards the bright shining objects. His mouth opened fractionally and he uttered a faint meaningless animal sound, and then the arm dropped weakly on to the bed, but the eyes continued to focus on the animated luminance of the bracelet.

  ‘I think perhaps we ought to go,’ Ann said apprehensively.

  Conway made a murmur of agreement. The eyes of Mr Soames followed them as they left the room.

  In the wide corridor, on the way back to the staff living quarters, Ann said: ‘I’m sorry, Dave, but I can’t say I’m awfully fond of your Mr Soames. Frankly, he rather gave me the creeps.’

  ‘He’s harmless enough,’ Conway said reassuringly. ‘He’s reacting very much in the way one might expect—attracted by bright objects, like a baby.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But to see a grown man behave in that way—well, I don’t know, but I found it a little frightening. Or didn’t you think so?’

  ‘Not particularly. As a psychiatrist one gets accustomed to aberrations of human behaviour. Mr Soames could hardly have been less offensive.’

  They left the psychoneural ward and walked across the intervening open space to the administrative block and the west wing.

  ‘I think perhaps Dr Breuer is right,’ she said. ‘Better to treat Soames as a baby—brainwash him, if necessary.’

  Conway smiled sardonically. ‘You’re hardly giving him a chance, Ann,’ he remarked. ‘He’s thirty years of age and he’s been conscious for three days. He’s got to have time to adapt himself to his new environment.’

  She took his arm and gripped it tightly. ‘That’s the funny thing, Dave. Somehow I don’t think he ever will. He’s no longer adaptable—he’s too old—and during those thirty years who knows what may have happened to his mind?’

  ‘Feminine intuition is synonymous with feminine fancy,’ he stated. ‘Within six months Mr Soames will be a different person entirely. Who knows—with the right kind of education and training he might well become a psychiatrist himself.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ she said despondently.

  They walked on towards the domestic quarters.

  5

  It was almost a month later when they finally moved John Soames into a small private room in Psychiatric Ward B. In physical terms he had, for all practical purposes, recovered from the operation, and already his dark hair was beginning to grow quite strongly and almost luxuriantly on his head, concealing the thin purple scar where his naked scalp had been severed and clipped back for trepanning. He looked much stronger and healthier in every respect, but this was almost certainly due to his new, carefully graduated diet of solid food. Three male nurses worked a shift system round the clock to supervise him and attend to his general requirements.

  Latterly, during the past few days, in fact, his mind had seemed to emerge from its post-operative state of torpor to exhibit certain independent qualities. This was interpreted as a good sign, and it was at this point that Dr Breuer, in consultation with other members of the psychoneural staff, decided that the moment had come to transfer the patient to Psychiatric. There had, of course, been psychological supervision throughout, principally by Dr Mortimer himself, but no positive attempt had been made to begin educational psychotherapy, apart from some tentative efforts to train Mr Soames in simple fundamental procedures, which had met with little success. He showed no inclination to stand erect, let alone walk, and rejected eating utensils in favour of his fingers, regarding the spoon supplied as a toy to be admired and waved around in the air, despite very serious demonstrations on the correct use of spoon by doctors and male nurses. So far Mr Soames had not shown any great urge to imitate the actions of others. The question of sanitary habits had been deferred until he had learned to walk, when it was hoped to wean him, as it were, from the bed-pan phase. All things considered, Mr Soames’s behaviour differed very little from that of a tiny baby of equivalent age in terms of consciousness.

  On the day Mr Soames took up residence in Ward B Annexe Dr Mortimer called together the four psychiatric doctors under his command to administer what Conway afterwards referred to as a ‘pep-talk’. The conference was held in the annexe itself, with Mr Soames listening, but obviously not understanding a word that was said, and probably not even wishing he could, for his attention was diverted by a large abacus propped on the bed and he was happily pinging the coloured beads along the wires, quite violently at times. The male nurse had been temporarily dismissed from the room. Apart from Dr Mortimer and Conway himself there was Dr Hoff, a young Rumanian of lean cadaverous appearance, Dr Wilson, tall, bespectacled and inclined to be vague to the point of absent-mindedness, but a competent psychiatrist for all that, and Dr Bird who, appropriately enough, possessed certain birdlike characteristics, including bright restless eyes, a habit of jerking his head from side to side when talking, and what McCabe had on one occasion irreverently referred to as an oversized parson’s nose—also he had short legs and tended to walk with a waddling motion. Of the three Conway preferred Wilson, principally, he thought, because he was unmistakably human.

  Mortimer had evidently been briefed by Dr Breuer. As he spoke he referred to a folded piece of paper which he held in his hand, on which had been written a number of key words. He said:

  ‘Now that we have taken over responsibility for Mr Soames the second phase of his treatment begins in earnest. We have not yet reached the stage of actual education—fox that matter we are not really concerned with education as such, in its narrower sense. The question of the patient’s scholarly education, if I might put it that way, will be attended to by tutors specially appointed by the education authority. They will teach him the kind of things he would learn at school if he were a child.’

  He paused, surveying his audience portentously and glancing briefly towards Mr Soames as if to provide a focal point for his thoughts.

  ‘The terms of reference of the Psychiatric Division are more general, but at the same time more specific,’ Mortimer went on, expounding the situation in his favourite manner of paradox. ‘Our principal task is to make of Mr Soames what, in fact, he is—an adult male. We have to condition and co-ordinate his mind so that it achieves responsible control of his body and behaviour. And, of course, we must also supplement the efforts of his tutors in so far as intellectual education is concerned.’ Pedantically self-assured, he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked to and fro on his heels. ‘I shall be personally responsible to Dr Breuer for the overall psychotherapy programme, and you, gentlemen, will be responsible to me for putting it into effect. Since the education authority, the Ministry and the world in general are keenly interested in the progress of Mr Soames, it is most important that adequate written records should be kept. Additionally, the Ministry have arranged to have visual and audio recordings made at certain phases in the treatment, so from time to time you may find the annexe invaded by technicians with cine cameras and lights and tape recorders.’

  ‘Don’t you think that might have a disturbing effect on the patient?’ Dr Bird asked, putting his head on one side in a characteristic manner. ‘I mean, once he begins to realise that he is the centre of such publicity...’

  ‘It could indeed, but it is our function to make sure that he suffers no disturbing e
ffect of any kind from any source. In other words, Mr Soames must be taught to regard manifestations of outside interest as unremarkable.’

  ‘I take it that the general policy is firm conditioning from the outset,’ Conway said.

  ‘But of course. We must establish a normal pattern of behaviour by discipline, just as one would with a very young child.’

  ‘You mean normal in the sense of inhibited—conforming to accepted social practices and conventions?’

  ‘What else could I possibly mean, Dr Conway?’

  Conway shrugged. ‘It’s just a question of perspective. It seems to me that Mr Soames is normal here and now. He has a virginal mind, so far unmodified by the stringent requirements of civilised communal living. In effect what we have to do is make Mr Soames abnormal, but in the same way as we are all abnormal, so that he can take his place among us and be accepted without raised eyebrows.’

  ‘I question the accuracy of your perspective, as you put it,’ Mortimer said, ‘but the end result is the same.’ He frowned petulantly. ‘We all have our individual interpretations of social psychology and human behaviour, but let me say this, Dr Conway—so far as this Institute is concerned we are trying to turn Mr Soames into a normal man, not an abnormal one, and that is the policy which must be reflected in written records and official reports.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Conway remarked. ‘It’s simply that I can’t help feeling that we’re throwing away a wonderful opportunity to find out precisely what is normal in an adult human being. Agreed, Mr Soames has to be taught certain obvious habits for his own good, just as one might house-train a kitten or a puppy, and he has to be taught to communicate, and he must necessarily learn something of the kind of world he is living in. Those things are fundamental. But supposing we were to let him establish his own behaviour patterns beyond that level, to adapt himself to his environment instead of forcing him to conform to the established adult syndrome.’

  ‘An interesting experiment,’ Mortimer said with a hint of sarcasm in his gravelly voice. ‘However, this is not an experiment at all, but simply a matter of efficiently applied psychotherapy.’ He smiled condescendingly. ‘I think it is better, ethically, to leave experiments of that kind to the specialists who practise on dogs.’

  Conway said no more. He felt effectively silenced.

  ‘In my office,’ Mortimer continued, ‘ is a schedule—what you might call a master plan. It was drawn up by Dr Breuer and myself in collaboration with experts from the regional board and the Ministry. It details the essentials of the entire psychotherapeutic programme and forms the framework within which we must proceed. I should like you all to read it and subsequently refer to it as and when necessary. It will be readily available at all times.’

  Dr Wilson said: ‘I assume we start here and now.’

  Mortimer nodded. ‘Precisely. The three of you, under the general supervision of Dr Conway, will operate on a twenty-four hour duty roster so that there is always a psychiatrist available at any time of the day or night. Obviously we must regard Mr Soames as unpredictable, for some months, at least, until reliable habits have been formed. Apart from that there will be the normal routine duties in the psychiatric wards generally, but I’m hoping to arrange things so as to ease the pressure in that respect. In fact, Dr Breuer is planning to appoint two additional psychiatrists to the staff for a temporary period to take over the schizo and paranoiac wards.’

  ‘Good,’ Dr Bird murmured in some relief.

  ‘Well, then, we have our daily routine orders, as it were, and I shall always be ready to advise or refer back to Dr Breuer when necessary. As for the rest—it is up to us to act as a team, as efficiently and effectively as possible, always bearing in mind that what we accomplish will certainly be reported in newspapers throughout the world, not to mention the various official medical publications on both sides of the Atlantic. Our treatment of Mr Soames could, and I hope will, enhance the prestige of the Institute to an unbelievable degree.’

  Dr Mortimer clicked his heels formally. ‘Gentlemen, you have my complete confidence.’

  ❖

  Conway borrowed the schedule from Dr Mortimer that evening and studied it in the privacy of his room. It was a thorough and comprehensive catalogue of the psychological parameters which were to determine the limits and dimensions of Mr Soames’s thinking and living, overlapping to some extent part of the educational ground which would obviously be covered in due course by the appointed tutors, but only in so far as the ideas concerned were part of a pattern for establishing basic psychological associations. For instance, the schedule recommended that colours should be related to certain natural affinities: red, warmth, heat, fire, blood, danger; green, glass, leaves, sea, peace safety; white, bright, light, snow, ice, cool, awake, day; black, dark, shadow, empty, sleep, night—and so on. Obvious enough in their way, in terms of common usage, but in a sense of establishing an arbitrary pattern by no means reflecting all aspects of reality. The red sunset, for example, wherein lay the danger? Or was the setting of the sun symbolic of the approach of eternal night, or death? What about red pillar boxes? Or rubies? Or claret or burgundy? Green for safety, such as fluted poison bottles and venomous snakes? The white wakefulness of pillows, sheets and shrouds? Or the somnolence of black lingerie, caviare and coal (with its latent fire—cross index to red)?

  Elsewhere in the schedule were functional associations (air, breathe, fly, bird; water, drink, swim, fish); structural associations (stone, steel, building; flesh, bone, man), grammatical associations (me, you, us, them), anatomical or physiological associations (eye, see, ear, hear, mouth, speak), and a host of other categories of psychological associations many of which were in the nature of vocabulary building, if one concentrated on semantics, but all of which were basically designed to amplify simple facts or concepts by filling in a background of connected ideas. Arbitrary, in a way, and in many respects too arbitrary, but nevertheless the simple structure from which Mr Soames would eventually build his own mental and intellectual architecture.

  There were also, of course, a large number of instructions concerned with practical aspects of physical training, most of which implied the exercise of authoritative discipline, though what precise form such discipline was to take was not specified. Mr Soames could, perhaps, be cajoled and threatened, and perhaps pushed and poked in a tentative manner, but the tone of the schedule implied that anything so primitive as a firm cuff or swipe could not be countenanced. That was a handicap for a start, Conway decided—not that he favoured corporal punishment for misdemeanours, but because Mr Soames’s infantile mind might not prove amenable to any subtler form of correction. The schedule was being inconsistent again in the same arbitrary way. Train Mr Soames as you would a baby, it said in effect, but don’t treat him as you would a baby. It was a complete abandonment of the old-established pleasure-pain principle with which the vast majority instinctively taught their children the difference between right and wrong.

  On the subject of sex the schedule reiterated the viewpoints expressed some weeks earlier by Dr Mortimer and Dr Breuer. Mr Soames was a mature male with, presumably, a normal if undirected sexual appetite. In order to keep this rather inconvenient instinct quiescent and avoid relating it specifically to the female (an association which might act as a stimulus and prove to be a distracting influence), it was proposed initially to segregate the patient from the opposite sex by employing male nurses, and at the same time his educational instruction would inculcate the simple notion of gender. Later, when the patient’s educational level and acquisition of self-control justified it, the function of sex in human society could be quietly explained, and Mr Soames might even be allowed to associate with women (in a purely platonic way, of course, and under careful supervision). In such a manner, it was thought, the pattern of his mental development could follow that of a normal child, and sex would take its natural place in the scheme of things, when his mind was ready to accept it.

  Conway put the documen
t aside with some misgivings and lit a cigarette. I suppose, he thought, they know what they’re up to, Breuer and Mortimer. After all, they’re men of experience—much more experience than I possess. Come to the point, I’m no authority on sex, anyway, or human relationships in general. I made a hash of my own marriage. Correction—Penelope made a hash of it for me. But in a way it was my fault. The signs of instability were there all the time and I couldn’t read them, and even when the evidence was cut and dried and handed to me on a plate I was still reluctant to believe it. In the long run one tends to believe only what one wants to believe, and consequently one frequently acts on false information and wrong premises.

  Supposing I were Mr Soames, he said to himself, and supposing I awoke one day to find myself in a strange incomprehensible world. What would be my reaction? Fear, perhaps. Wonder. Amazement at simple things—glittering beads and bright colours. But, after a while there would come a sense of insecurity. It would happen when I began to notice that the strange people coming and going in my small room were of the same shape and form as me, and that I was one of them. And I would realise that they possessed much more than I did: qualities of behaviour that implied premeditated purpose; power to please or hurt, to supply food and drink or remove it, to switch on lights or switch them off. Superior beings, perhaps, acting with a common aim in view—to deprive me of my life of indolent leisure and force me to do difficult and unaccustomed things so that, presumably, I might eventually do as they do.

  Conway reflected on the theme for a while, genuinely trying to put himself in the place of his patient and interpret the world through the medium of an empty mind, but the effort in psychological extrapolation proved too difficult and he gave it up. Instead he lifted the internal telephone and buzzed Ann Henderson.