Charcot's Genius

by M. C. Soutter

  Jason Bell rose slowly from his seat, and a hundred young faces turned towards him.

  “Mr. Bell!” Carlisle said. He sounded delighted. “I’m surprised to see you here. Shouldn’t you be at the rink? Or perhaps you’re just arriving from practice. Is that it?”

  Jason didn’t say anything. He shook his head.

  “Was that a no? Then I’ll assume you were very tired this morning. Tired from a hard workout yesterday, perhaps. And that’s why you were late, yes?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No again?” Carlisle put a hand to his chin, feigning confusion. “Are you no longer playing on the Dartmouth hockey team, Mr. Bell? I’ve heard so much about your abilities over the years.”

  Jason said something very quietly. Even Melissa could barely hear him, and she was sitting two seats away.

  “What was that, Mr. Bell? You were speaking so clearly before, to your friend. But now I can barely hear you.”

  “I got HURT,” Jason said. He dropped his head, as if he had just admitted to stealing a ten-year-old’s lunch money.

  Carlisle nodded. “Oh, yes. I do remember seeing an item about that in the college paper.” He smiled as if this were a wonderful piece of news. Then his expression turned serious. “But where does that leave us, Mr. Bell? Are you telling me that you were simply late? For no good reason?”

  Jason shrugged. His eyes were closed.

  “And what about your girlfriend there?”

  Jason’s head came up, and Lea stiffened. Melissa glanced at them. Even in the darkened lecture hall, she could see that Lea’s face had gone red.

  “Yeah?” Jason said finally. “What about her?”

  “Would you stand up as well, Miss?”

  Lea got up slowly. So did Melissa.

  Carlisle’s eyebrows jumped. “I don’t remember asking you to stand, Dear.”

  Melissa didn’t reply.

  “Excuse me,” said Carlisle. “Can you hear me speaking?”

  Melissa smiled. “Of course, Professor. You’re practically shouting.”

  “Then why didn’t you answer me?”

  “Because you didn’t ask a question.”

  Lea glanced quickly at her. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “He’ll kill us.”

  Melissa sighed gently, and she turned to look at her new friend. “Not likely,” she whispered back. “There are scarier men in this world. Trust me.”

  “Enough of this,” Carlisle shouted. He sounded genuinely angry now. “You’re all wasting valuable class time. The three of you have just volunteered for the first student experiment of the semester. I’m going to need a fourth participant, so let’s see if I can find anyone napping…”

  At that moment, Garrett Lemke entered the lecture hall. He didn’t come through the back, however. He used the main entrance, right up where Carlisle was standing. Melissa recognized him. The sick guy, she thought. At least he’s walking on his own now.

  “Good morning,” Carlisle said. “What’s your name?”

  Garrett didn’t seem to hear. He walked right past the professor and headed up the stairs of the lecture hall. He was looking for an empty place to sit.

  “Excuse me,” Carlisle said. “Hello?”

  Garrett found a seat and plopped down. He carried no backpack, and no pencil. After adjusting himself into a comfortable position, he finally looked up. Carlisle was staring right at him.

  Garrett jumped.

  “Yes, HELLO,” Carlisle said. There was a scattering of laughter in the hall. Nervous laughter, Melissa thought, from those who were glad they were not the object of this professor’s attention.

  “Who are you?” Carlisle asked.

  Garrett squinted, as if the professor’s voice were a bright light that hurt his eyes. “Garrett Lemke,” he said quietly.

  Carlisle studied him for a moment. “Sophomore?”

  “Senior,” Garrett said, sounding offended.

  Carlisle threw his hands up. “What are all these upperclassmen doing in my course? We’ve got Mr. Hockey-Boy-Bell up there, and now you?” He scanned the room, looking peeved. “Hear this,” he said, addressing the whole auditorium again. “If you are taking this class, and you are not a freshman, I consider you to be lazy. Lazy, and distinctly uninspired.”

  This proclamation was followed by silence. There was no more nervous laughter. “But back to you, Mr. Lemke,” Carlisle said. “You are my fourth volunteer.”

  Garrett made a face. “Volunteer?” he said. “For what?”

  7

  Professor Carlisle was walking quickly along the path leading from Silman. The four students were trailing a few yards behind. “Come on,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Keep up, all of you. I don’t have all day.”

  The four of them glanced uneasily at each other. The professor still hadn’t told them where they were going. They had arrived at the classroom at 3PM that afternoon, on the dot, just as he had asked. But at first he hadn’t been there. They had waited for ten minutes, in a tense silence.

  Jason spoke up. “How long should we stay here?”

  Lea shook her head. “As long as it takes.”

  “What?” Garrett put a hand to his temple. “I’m not sitting here for – ”

  “Relax,” Melissa said. “I’m sure he’s coming.”

  “Yeah, but what if – ”

  Then Carlisle had appeared at the door, and the conversation ended. He waved to them impatiently. “Over here,” he said. “Let’s go.” He turned and walked away.

  Lea jumped up and followed him. After a beat, so did the others. They walked for a while without saying anything. Carlisle was moving quickly, and he didn’t seem to like them falling behind. “Come on,” he kept saying.

  Melissa thought he sounded like a spoiled, excited child. As if he were leading them to an amusement park.

  Jason was the first one to ask the question. “Professor, where – ?”

  “Hitchcock,” Carlisle said without turning around.

  “The medical center?”

  “Is there another Hitchcock around here?”

  “But I thought we were – ”

  “Participating in a student experiment, yes.” The professor glanced behind him, making sure they were all still there. “Everything is set up at the med lab, which is where I do most of my work. And I’m giving you a brief tour of the ward first.”

  They all looked at him.

  “The ward?” Lea said slowly. As if she had misheard.

  Carlisle nodded. “You’re all going to need some background before we do this thing. It’s part of the assignment.”

  Garrett rubbed his head and frowned. He looked as though he had just joined the conversation. “Do what thing?” he asked.

  Carlisle ignored him. He stopped in front of a small white van waiting in the street. “Hop in,” he said. “We could walk, but I’m not willing to wait that long.”

  When they arrived, Carlisle ushered them quickly through Hitchcock’s main entrance, through two sets of double-doors, and into the main atrium. “This is the non-violent ward,” he explained. He stood with them at the edge of the common room, which was huge and spotless. There were pictures on the walls, plush chairs and couches, large tables for playing cards, and enough televisions to prevent arguments.

  “This is nicer than the commons in Zimmerman,” Melissa said.

  Lea turned around with a grin. “Hey, I’m in Zimmerman.”

  “So am I,” said Jason.

  Melissa pointed to Garrett. “He’s in our dorm too.”

  Garrett frowned at her. “How – ?”

  “I helped you get to bed last night.”

  Garrett swore under his breath. “I knew it. I fucking knew it…”

  “You were sick,” Melissa said with a shrug. “It’s okay.”

  Garrett shook his head. He seemed to think it was decidedly not okay.

  “HELLO,” Carlisle said, stepping into the group. “Were any of you listening?”

  Jaso
n made an attempt: “Absolutely, sir. You were saying about the aphasics?”

  Carlisle stared at him for a second, then returned to the lecture. “Yes, aphasics. The term is derived from Greek words meaning ‘speechless’.” He pointed to a small group of patients on one of the couches. “They have difficulty with language, but they still enjoy watching television. They pick up a lot just through tone of voice and body posture.”

  The professor paused and turned to face the four of them. There was a look of mischief in his eyes. “It is very, very difficult to lie to an aphasic. Even if they don’t know quite what you’re saying, they can spot the contradictions in your face and attitude.”

  He waited, still staring at them with that amused look.

  “What?” said Jason finally.

  “Don’t you think,” Carlisle said slowly, “that it would be interesting to have such an ability?”

  “What ability?” Garrett said, still sounding confused.

  Carlisle sighed. He turned away from them and pointed to another section of the common room. “Over here we have the autistics. They don’t usually stray from their area, which suits the staff just fine. Their space has to be kept very neat and orderly so that they don’t get upset. No changes, ever.” Carlisle was quiet for a beat. A little smile began played around his lips, as if he were remembering something pleasant. “Autistics have always fascinated me,” he said quietly. “The savants were how we got our start.”

  Melissa nodded to a quiet corner of the room, where a woman with a frightened expression sat talking to a nurse. “And her?”

  “Amnesiac, right-brain deficit,” Carlisle said, coming out of his reverie. “We only have a few of them. She stays far away from the television, as do the others with similar conditions. It confuses her to see images of modern life; she’s stuck in the world as it was twenty-six years ago.”

  The professor got that amused look in his eye again. “Of course,” he said, “what’s really interesting is the opposite of amnesia. Imagine how much more productive all of us would be if we never forgot anything – ”

  “What’s wrong with that guy?” Garrett interrupted, pointing to a man walking towards the window. His head was cocked to the side, as though he were listening to something no one else could hear. And his gait was uneven, like a drunkard’s.

  Carlisle shrugged. “Several things. He has a large, inoperable brain tumor in his temporal lobe, and it’s causing all sorts of problems. Auditory hallucinations, severe vestibular deficits, and a low-grade dementia, to name a few. Gets worse every day. He’ll be dead in a month. Maybe less. He shit his pants for the first time yesterday.”

  The students looked away. Lea glanced at the Professor. She was surprised at his tone.

  He doesn’t talk the way a doctor is supposed to talk, she thought. There’s no empathy in his voice.

  “On we go,” Carlisle said, as if leading a museum tour. “To the secure rooms.”

  “This man,” Carlisle began, “sustained damage to his frontal lobe in a car accident. He has no impulse control, and he is categorically homicidal.” Carlisle clucked his tongue thoughtfully. “He can also be quite charming.”

  “My kind of man,” said Melissa.

  Carlisle looked at her for a beat, debating whether or not to take her seriously. Then he shrugged. “Over here,” he said, walking to the next door and stopping at the window, “we have an extreme case of paranoid schizophrenia. This man’s psychosis is purely chemical, and we do our best to medicate him.”

  The students looked through the window, but none of them could see anything.

  “Unfortunately, he doesn’t respond well to traditional treatments. His delusions are not improving, and he is very unpleasant.”

  Carlisle motioned to Jason. “Here, Mr. Bell. Have a closer look.”

  Jason stepped forward hesitantly. He peered into the window.

  “Hey, Carlisle!”

  Jason flinched. Someone inside the room was speaking. Shouting, actually, but the tightly sealed door reduced the voice to a dim, faraway sound. Jason still couldn’t see anyone through the little glass view-hole.

  “I can hear you out there, ass-face,” the voice shouted. “I still need some grout for these walls. Some Carlisle-paste, remember?”

  Carlisle grinned. “As you can tell, this patient is not charming in the least. He is often delusional – ”

  “If you put me in that chair one more time, I’ll make paste from your DICK, you worm-eating bitch.”

  A little man with a pointy nose stepped suddenly into view. His face was inches from the window. Jason stepped back quickly.

  The pointy-nosed man looked at each one of them. “What is this, a field trip?” He shook his head. “Oh, Carlisle,” he said. “You are such an ass-face. Setting up the next round, are we?” He took an extra second studying Melissa. “Don’t let him touch your tits, honey. You may be the prize in this group, but to him you’re just a body and a brain.”

  “Moving on,” Carlisle said smoothly. “Don’t let his ranting scare you. Half the time he doesn’t even know where he is. Lots of paranoid schizophrenics behave that way.” Carlisle urged them forward, onto the next door. “Here we have an apparent catatonic, but this is deceptive, because as you can see…”

  Lea hung back for a moment, staring at the little window. The pointy-nosed man was still standing right there. He didn’t seem delusional, despite what Carlisle had said. He had been unpleasant, certainly. And he had obviously hated Carlisle. Lea had no medical training, but anyone could see that the pointy-nosed man was angry. Outraged was probably a better word. Like someone who had been taken advantage of.

  Abused.

  Up ahead, Carlisle lectured on. Lea hurried to rejoin the group.

  The little man with the pointy nose watched her go.

  8

  Professor Carlisle peered through the little window at the next door. He was so fascinated that he seemed almost to have forgotten the students standing next to him. “This patient has developed a hyper-sensitive olfactory condition,” he said quietly. “His sense of smell is somewhere on the order of ten thousand times better than normal…”

  Garrett whispered something to Melissa. She looked at him and shook her head. “What?”

  “I said my name’s Garrett.”

  Melissa shrugged. “I know. And I’m Melissa.”

  “Right,” he said, smiling even wider. “So, Melissa, I was wondering – ”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Garrett stopped. “What? You don’t even know what I – ”

  “Yes,” she said. She fixed him with a look of disapproval. “I do.”

  Garrett found himself at a loss for words. He had never been rejected quite that fast. And yet he felt good, somehow. He liked the way she was looking at him, even if she had said no.

  Weird.

  Garrett nodded slowly, making a show of being embarrassed. “Okay, then,” he said. This was only the first stage, after all. “So tell me your objections.”

  Melissa scanned the ceiling, as if extra time would be necessary to catalogue such a towering heap of issues. “For starters, you’re a senior and I’m a freshman.”

  “My dad’s older than my mom,” Garrett shot back. “It doesn’t seem to bother them, and – ”

  Professor Carlisle spun around suddenly, and he glared at the four students as if they might have been making faces while his back was turned. “Any questions?”

  They shook their heads silently.

  “Fine. To the examination room, then.”

  He headed back the way they had come, towards the entrance of the building. “Mr. Lemke,” Carlisle said, pointing at Garrett as they walked. “Can you tell me the point of this little tour?”

  Garrett’s focus on Melissa was momentarily broken. “To… prepare us?”

  Carlisle grunted. “A vague and slippery response, Mr. Lemke. But essentially correct. Could you expand on that, Miss…?” He nodded at Lea.

 
“Lea Redford,” she said helpfully. “Probably you wanted us to appreciate all the strange things that can happen when someone’s brain isn’t working quite right.”

  Carlisle’s eyes widened. “Well, Miss Redford. Aren’t we sharp this morning?”

  Jason nodded, and Carlisle spotted it. “You agree, Mr. Bell?”

  “Um, yes.” Jason was caught off-guard. “She is. Definitely. Extremely smart. It’s amazing, she – ”

  “No, Mr. Bell. I meant, do you agree with Ms. Redford’s statement?”

  Jason’s face turned bright red. Almost as red as Lea’s, but not quite. Melissa smiled to herself.

  “No response?” Carlisle said. “It doesn’t matter. Miss Redford is exactly right. I wanted you all to see that the brain is a machine. More specifically, you should understand that it’s a machine with problems.” He smiled. “The brain malfunctions. In fact, it malfunctions often. The general public likes to think of psychiatric patients as fundamentally different creatures – as if they all come from another country, or perhaps another planet – but we’re all just one step away from being exactly like the people you saw today. When the structure or chemical make-up of your brain changes, there’s very little you can do. There is seldom an operation or pill that will help you, despite what the antidepressant commercials would have you believe. It doesn’t matter if you’re in good physical shape, or have been eating healthy foods, or have studied Latin and Calculus. None of those things mean anything where neuropathy is concerned.”

  He stopped walking and pointed to his forehead. “Because you are your brain. If it changes, you change.”

  They nodded at him. Lea and Jason seemed to be making an extra effort to pay attention to what the professor was saying, perhaps so that they wouldn’t have to look at one another.

  “Makes sense,” Garrett said. He glanced at Melissa. “People change their minds about things all the time.”

  She shook her head and sighed.