Control

  First Meeting

  11 Feb 1981

  10:06 P.M.

  What a repellent creature.

  Loathsome. Unredeemed.

  But, I suspect, useful.

  Richard Wagner repelled.

  Treacherous. Unredeemed.

  But Tristan lurked inside.

  It would certainly be nice—

  —nice if our heroes were

  heroic.

  Not the case

  Not the case

  Oddity

  Winslow has psychotic fear.

  Fear of the policeman—

  The one who had control

  Until we took control.

  I suspect that fear

  may be

  useful.

  His coffee was ready by now. Trude got up, poured himself a large mug. He took it black and it was blazing hot but he blew on the edge closest to him and jsipped. It burned on the way down, as he preferred it. He could finish a cup of coffee before most people could dare to begin.

  He finished this cup, poured himself another, carefully took it back to his desk. He reached into the center drawer again, removed a pad, put the mug carefully down on it. He drank a little more of the liquid, blowing always on the nearest edge, sipping, sipping. Then he wrote a few more words.

  Hope

  The Breakthrough

  Fear

  Another Rosa Gonzales.

  Odd, they were both from the Duchess. Trude didn’t much like her, hated her dog. Yet she had a way about her, a touch for sensitives. And if he disliked her, nothing unusual there—he had yet to meet a man he didn’t dislike. Or woman.

  Beyond that, the Duchess, poor blind thing, didn’t matter, not anymore.

  The buzz of the phone. The push of a button. The voice of the brown-haired nurse. “Almost asleep.”

  Trude took a breath, sipped a sip, gave the word: “Take him to the Infinity Room…”

  The room itself was square, high ceilinged. The walls had been carefully corked, so no unwanted sound could penetrate. Then over the cork came mirrors. The waMs, the ceiling, all but the floor. And hanging down every precise tea inches, was a string of delicate lights.

  Sounds, when required, came from all angles, surrounding. Winds, tree leaves in autumn, water sounds, dark and steady, sometimes, when needed, the topmost strings of a harp.

  In the center of the room was a reclining couch of unsurpassed softness. Behind it, a stiff, straight-backed wooden chair. Beside the chair, a box of toys.

  Billy Boy lay on the couch, eyes barely open. Above him the delicate strings of tights twinkled to infinity. From somewhere he heard the soothing sound of wind. Then the wind died and now came water, lapping gently all around.

  He blinked.

  Twenty seconds later lie blinked again.

  Those were his only movements.

  “William.”

  “… huh… ?”

  “I’m behind you, William, sitting behind you. Doctor Trude, the friend of the Duchess.”

  “Din’t…din’t hear you… come in.”

  “We’re just here together, just you, just me. Now will you do me a sweet favor, William?”

  “Sure.”

  “Look up at the lights. Look up at the lights, will you do that?”

  “Shuh… shure.”

  “Are you staring up at the lights, William?”

  “… um-hmm…”

  “Now I want you to do something else, another sweet favor.”

  “… wuh-what… ?”

  “I want you to take your eyes, the eyes that are looking straight up at the lights, and I want you to try and see me, you can’t, but I want you to try, I want you to lie there and breathe and listen to the wind and lift your eyes up into your head.”

  “Can’t see… you.”

  “No, you’re not supposed to see me, but you’re supposed to try.”

  “Tryin’.”

  “Good. Now one final sweet sweet request.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Keep your eyes looking up toward your brain, it’s as if your eyes were trying to peek at your brain, your eyes are that high, and now slowly… slowly drop your wonderful eyelids over your eyes … close your eyelids over your eyes… gently and slowly bring your eyelids down over your eyes …”

  “Closin’ ‘em. Closin’ ‘em.”

  “Good.”

  “Got ‘em closed.”

  “Yes.”

  Billy Boy said nothing now.

  Trude waited.

  Billy Boy began breathing deeply.

  Trude still waited.

  The breathing, still deep, began to slow.

  “William.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re very strong.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to lift up your right arm. I want you to make it stiff and straight. And I want you to hold it there even when I try to pull it down. No one can pull it down.”

  “Still and straight, yessir.”

  Trude got up from the chair. The arm was aimed at the mirrored ceiling. He was not a great believer in exercise, but Trude walked a great deal and he weighed always one hundred and sixty-one. He pulled on the arm now. He put both of his hands around the wrist and pulled harder.

  The arm was immobile.

  “Oh that was wonderful, William. You can put it down now, I’m very proud.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Could I have your hand, William?” Trude reached over, grasped the limp arm. From his pocket he took out a penknife with a tiny honed blade. “William, I would never hurt you, I think you know that.”

  “Yessir.”

  “You can feel no pain, William. There is no such thing as pain for you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Trude took the honed blade and placed it just under the fingernail of Billy Boy’s index finger. “Now in a few minutes,” he said, “I’m going to touch your arm with a knife, but you will not feel it because even now you can feel no pain.” Trude began delicately forcing the knife deeper under the index fingernail. “You must promise me, in a few minutes, to tell me if that knife hurts your arm.”

  Billy Boy breathed very deeply. “I promise.”

  Trude continued forcing the knife in.

  “Because I wouldn’t want to hurt you. If it does hurt you, I would feel dreadful.” The knife was halfway up the nail now.

  Billy Boy took another deep, even breath.

  Trude pulled the knife out, put it back in his pocket. “I just touched your arm, did it hurt?”

  “Nuthin’.”

  Trude went back to the stiff-backed chair, closed his own eyes a moment. Winslow was past the dream state and well into coma. Only a few could surpass coma. Only the rare, only the true miracles could enter the realm of the Clinically Insentient.

  Ahead of Trude now was a particular part of the mirrored wall that was two-way, and on the other side of the wall was the room where the blue-suited men watched and the nurses watched and where Roget watched, the tiny Frenchman who had helped Trude design this place, and as Trude signaled there immediately came now the glorious poignant sound of the harp.

  “Do you hear, William?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “No.”

  “Could it be angels? If angels made a sound, it would be like that.”

  “Yes.”

  “Angel sound for your ears, William, how old are you?”

  “Old?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe thirty-one.”

  “Thirty-one; I remember when I was only thirty-one, Fm forty-five now but you know what? All ages are marvelous ages. You’ll see when you grow older. What do you like, what are your favorite things, William?”

  “Tits and Big Macs and Whoppers.”

  “Do you like history?”

  “Is that like books?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Don’t like that.”

  “B
ut you know history—I’m sure you know who the President is.”

  “Reagan.”

  “There you go. And whom did he beat?”

  “Ummmmmm… that southern asshole.”

  “And his name?”

  “Ummmmmmm… Carter.”

  “Right again; you see, you do know history, do you like sports?”

  “You bet. I like every one but basketball on account of all the niggers.”

  “Who’s your favorite football player?”

  “Bradshaw, Bradshaw, Terry Bradshaw.”

  “And do you have a baseball favorite?”

  “Pete Rose is the greatest.”

  “Do you know what I like, William? Birthdays. I like having birthdays, my birthday is fine now, it’s wonderful now, but you know what?”

  “No, what.”

  “It was more fun when I was younger.”

  “Same here.”

  “We agree, we agree on so many things, you’re such a sensitive person, William, you’re sensitive now and I’m sure you were sensitive when you were twenty and when you were fifteen and now you‘re ten, William, do you hear me, you’re ten years old and it’s your birthday, it’s your tenth birthday, your very own wonderful tenth birthday, and now guess what, WiUiam, you’ll never guess so I’ll tell you, I want you to open your sweet eyes because I’ve got a present for you.”

  Billy Boy opened his eyes, lay still, blinking.

  Trude reached down for the box beside his straight-backed chair, took out two items, put them behind his back, got up and walked about to where the giant lay quietly. “Hello there,” Trude said.

  “Hi Mister,” Billy Boy said. His voice was high now.

  “How are you, William?”

  “I’m neat, Mister, what’s your name?”

  “Why don’t you call me Leo?”

  “Leo? Leo? What kind of a name is that?” He put his hands to his lips and called, “Oh Leo. Oh Leo.” Then he laughed. “That’s what we use instead of butter. Oleo. Oleo. You get it, you get it?” He laughed again. “Can I have my present now, I bet you got my present behind your back, you can’t fool me.”

  “In a moment, all yours. But first, tell me: who is your President?”

  “Jayne with a y Castelli.”

  “Jayne Castelli is president?”

  “Of the fourth grade, yup, yup, yup, she sure is, and stuck up too, ‘Jayne with a Y9 she calls herself.”

  “I meant of the country, William.”

  “Oh. Him. Y’know, old Ike. Only he’s getting out soon. The Pope’s gonna be in the White House, soon as what’s-his-face gets in. I want my present.”

  Trude brought his left arm from behind his back.

  Billy Boy made a face. “A stuffed toy? A dopey stuffed bear? I’m ten, I don’t want any dopey old stuffed old bear.”

  Trude brought his right arm out now.

  Billy Boy shrieked—”A baseball glove? For me?”

  Trude nodded.

  Billy Boy grabbed it, stared. “Omigod, omigod, it’s a Stan Musial” He rubbed his fingers over the leather.

  “He’s your favorite?”

  “ ‘Course.”

  “More than Pete Rose?”

  Billy Boy’s face went blank.

  “I thought Pete Rose was your favorite in baseball and in football Terry Bradshaw?”

  “Bart Starr; I never heard of those other guys.”

  “Or Jimmy Carter?”

  Billy Boy looked blank again.

  “Do you know who Ronald Reagan is, William?”

  “Bonzo, Bonzo, Bonzo,” Billy Boy shrieked, “I loved that pitcher, I loved that little ape.”

  “What does the word ‘orange’ mean to you?”

  “Orange? A color.”

  “Wonderful. And do you know what these are?” Trude went into his pocket, held something out.

  “A book of matches.”

  “Do you know how to light one?”

  “ ‘Course.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Billy Boy nodded, took the matches, opened the cover, carefully pulled one match out, closed the cover, struck the match until it flamed.

  “Perfect.”

  “Can I blow it out?” ..

  Trude nodded.

  Billy Boy blew.

  “I imagine you’ll be having your favorite food for your party, William. Big Macs and Whoppers.”

  “Whaaaaat?”

  “Someone told me once you liked them.”

  “Well they were all wet, Oleo—I’m having hamburgs.”

  “I hope you have a wonderful party, William. Don’t get too tired before it starts. Perhaps you better close your eyes and rest now.”

  Billy Boy closed his eyes.

  Trude took the glove and stuffed animal, went back to his chair. “Rest,” he said again, softer, and he gestured toward Roget in the control room.

  The wind sounds grew, leaves scattering along the pavement.

  Billy Boy breathed deeply as before.

  “Ten was wonderful,” Trude began again. “But nine was better than ten and my seventh birthday was better than my eighth birthday and I’ll bet so was yours and five was such fun, I loved being five except that being four was better even, yes it was, yes it was, my fourth birthday was such fun and so is your fourth birthday, today is your fourth birthday, you are four today so why don’t you open your eyes, Pve got a present for you.”

  Billy Boy opened his eyes, blinked, blinked.

  Trude walked around so he could lode down at him; Trude’s hands were behind his back. “Happy birthday, sweet William.”

  “Not my name.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No, no, no.”

  “Well then, what is?”

  Billy Boy put his hands up to his face and squinted shyly out from between two fingers. “Mommy,” he whispered. “Mommy, she calls me Keef.”

  “Why Keith?”

  “ ‘Cause, ‘cause, ‘cause, ‘cause, ‘cause.”

  “ ‘Cause why?”

  Now he closed his fingers over his eyes entirely. “ ‘Cause Keef is my after name.” Then he threw his hands down and said, “I wan’ my present, you said, you said.”

  “I will. Just tell me what ‘after name’ means.”

  “After after after is what it means. It means after William comes Keef.” His baby talk was more pronounced as he got excited.

  “Here’s your present,” Trude said, and he pulled out the Stan Musial baseball glove.

  Billy Boy looked at it and for a moment it seemed he might cry^

  “Only teasing,” Trude said, and then he held out the stuffed bear.

  Billy Boy grabbed it, gave it a hug.

  “Keith?”

  “Whatty, whatty, whatty?”

  “Do you know the word ‘orange’?”

  “ ‘Course, ‘course, ‘course, ‘course, ‘course.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Juice. Mommy gives it to me to drink. Orange is juice, orange is juice.”

  Trude took out the book of matches now. “Do you know what these are?”

  “No, no, no, no, no.”

  “You mean you do know but you’re afraid of them.”

  Billy Boy kissed the stuffed bear. “Yes, yes, Mommy said I might…” He kissed the bear again, hugged it with both arms. “ ‘Hot’ Mommy said. ‘Could hurt Keef.’ “

  Trude put the matches back into his pocket. “We would never want to hurt you.”

  “No.”

  “And I think it’s time for a little nap before your party, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Close those eyes. Gently. And sleep.”

  Billy Boy began breathing deeply.

  Trude took the animal and the baseball glove and went back to the chair. Then he signaled to the control room again and now the water sounds began to swell.

  Billy Boy lay motionless except for the deepening breathing.

  “You’re one year old now, William. One y
ear old and it’s your birthday and you’re hungry.”

  Billy Boy sucked his thumb.

  “You’re so hungry and I know what you want, I know just what you want, I know what you want more than anything else in the whole wide world.” He signaled again to the control room and this time a door slid silently open and the brown-haired nurse appeared. She moved silently to Trude, who took the prosthetic breast, felt the temperature making certain the milk inside was warm enough; then he squeezed it, checking the milk flow through the nipple. He nodded finally, the brown-haired nurse turned and moved back into the control room, and the door slid shut.

  Trude moved to the sleeping giant. “Oh, such a wonderful baby,” he said, “such a wonderful happy baby.” He tickled Billy Boy in the stomach. “Ahhhh-boo,” he said, as he wiggled his fingers. “Ahhhhhh-foa “

  Billy Boy shrieked with joy and kicked his feet.

  “Ahhhhh-toa “

  He rolled around, laughing and giggling and kicking his feet even higher in the air.

  “Such a happy wonderful baby.”

  Billy Boy sucked his thumb again.

  Gently, Trude took the thumb away.

  Billy Boy put it back.

  The next time Trude took it away he put the breast nipple softly between Billy Boy’s lips. Billy Boy hesitated, then lifted his head toward the breast. Trude took the giant’s hands and cupped them round the prosthesis. “Good?” he asked.

  “Ummmmmmm.”

  “Is it what you wanted more than anything else in the whole wide world?”

  “Ummmmmmm.”

  “I would never lie to you, not to a glorious wonderful child like you.”

  Billy Boy sucked at the breast, his jaws working, some dribbles of milk spilling down his chin.

  Trude wiped them softly away.

  “Ummmmmmm.”

  “Take your time; it’s all yours.”

  “Umminmmmm.”

  Trude watched the giant suck the nipple. He signaled the control room and immediately he could sense the temperature in the room slowly start to rise. Not much. Just so that the environment was comforting, warm, perfect for sleep.

  “Ummmmmmm. Ummmmmmm.”

  Trude waited until there was no more milk. The nipple touched the lips but there was no more sucking. Trude got up, took the breast away, put it with the other toys.

  Now deep breathing again, deeper than any before.