Night Lamp (7 page)

“Puff and nonsense!” declared Dr. Gissing in high good humor. “Have you forgotten my comporture? We Lemurians eat pepper with our cheese! If necessary, I will carry on alone!”

“My dear fellow,” droned Dr. Windle, “we know your predilection! Your bent for the arcane and aberrant may yet lure you into a sad miscalculation!”

“I am grateful for your warning,” said Dr. Gissing. “In the future I will use my curative powers with all caution.”

A week later, the Faths were notified that Dr. Fiorio wished to discuss Jaro’s case. At the stipulated hour the Faths arrived and were ushered into Dr. Fiorio’s consultation office. The doctor appeared, greeted the Faths, saw to their seating in cushioned chairs, then went to lean back against his desk. He looked from Hilyer to Althea, then said, “What I have to tell you is neither good news nor bad. It is simply an overview of our activities to date.”

The Faths had nothing to say, and Dr. Fiorio continued. “We are making progress, of a sort, as I will presently explain. There has been no recurrence of the voice. If it were truly a sentient thing, it might have taken alarm and gone to hide in some far corner of Jaro’s mind.”

Althea cried out in dismay: “Is that what you believe?”

“In the absence of evidence I believe nothing,” said Dr. Fiorio. “Still, we now strongly suspect that the voice exists.”

Hilyer decided that it was time to introduce cold logic into the discussion. He said, “You are surprisingly definite on this point.”

“I can well understand your skepticism,” said Dr. Fiorio. “The rationale behind my opinion will not be intuitively clear to a layman. I will express myself in basic concepts. The resultant ideas will be neither elegant nor precise, but they should lie within your range of understanding. Are you with me so far?”

Hilyer gave a curt nod. “Proceed.”

“Start, if you will, from this perspective. Jaro heard the voice and stored the memory in his mind. On the next occasion, the same thing occurred; likewise on the next, until a group of mnemonic strings had been recorded. Here, then, would be information which we wish to chart upon our schematics. First, we tried overt present-time stimulation to find the so-called ‘kickoff button,’ without success. Next, we tried light hypnosis, but did no better.

“So then, to our next option: the drug Nyaz-23, which facilitates deep hypnosis. We discovered a barrier, but were able to attack it from the flank, so to speak, and finally found the ‘kickoff button.’ We made contact and asked Jaro to duplicate the voice as best he could. He obliged by giving vent to some very strange sounds indeed, which we recorded. The moans, outcries, inarticulate curses are exactly as he described them. This, generally, is the substance of our findings to date.”

Hilyer pursed his lips. “If I understand you correctly, the sounds you have recovered are not the original sounds but, rather, Jaro’s attempts to reproduce what he thinks he has heard: in short, a re-creation of what might have been hallucinatory in the first place?” Dr. Fiorio studied Hilyer a moment, his expression no longer innocently cherubic. “That is generally correct, yes. But I am puzzled as to the apparent thrust of your remarks.”

Hilyer smiled frostily. “It is simple enough. You are citing what, in legal parlance, is known as ‘hearsay evidence.’ It has little probative force.”

Dr. Fiorio’s face cleared. “I am grateful for your insights! No more need be said. We shall take it as read that I am a dupe and a numbskull. So now, with these caveats in mind, let us proceed.”

“I would not presume to use such words,” said Hilyer primly. “I pointed out only that your evidence was flawed.”

Dr. Fiorio sighed. He circled his desk and seated himself. “Your comments, I am sorry to say, indicate only that you have not yet grasped the direction of our inquiry. The fault is mine. I must present my ideas more carefully.”

“To repeat: using methods of great sophistication, we were able to stimulate memory of certain events, which in turn established significant vectors on our schematic charts. Subject matter, of course, was inconsequential.”

To Dr. Fiorio’s relief, neither of the Faths asked to hear the recorded sounds, which they would surely find harrowing.

“Now then,” said Dr. Fiorio. “This is our thesis: Jaro’s memories of the sounds are lodged at various addresses on his cortex. They did not arrive by the usual conduits—that is to say, his aural nerves—but by another route. The flow of messages leaves a trail which persists for an indeterminate period. With our remarkable equipment, we can stimulate a memory, then trace the line of synaptic lineages back to its source. The procedures are indescribably delicate and produce vectors upon schematic charts. Am I clear so far?”

“It seems a most elaborate procedure,” Hilyer grumbled. “Do you have a goal in view? Or will you be satisfied with the first hare to leap from the thicket?”

Dr. Fiorio chuckled. “Be patient, sir, and I will continue.”

Hilyer nodded crisply. “Please do; in our poor way we will try to keep pace.”

Dr. Fiorio approved. “That’s the way! Dogged does it, every time!”

“Now then, where do we go from here? In the broadest sense, we collect data and watch for a pattern to emerge. This pattern will dictate the direction of our treatment.”

Althea put a tentative question, “What is the difference, if any, between ‘treatment’ and ‘therapy’?”

“Only a matter of degree. But remember, as of now we are still in the diagnostic stage.”

Hilyer spoke in his most nasal drawl, “We hope that no other segments of Jaro’s intelligence will be damaged by therapy.”

Dr. Fiorio ticked points off his fingers. “First, the previous therapy interfered only with Jaro’s memory, not his intelligence. The two functions are separate, though they work in tandem. Second, there is no reason to repeat such therapy. Third, we are not as irresponsible as you may fear. Jaro is safe from any reckless trampling about in his head. Do you have any further questions?”

Hilyer was by no means daunted by Dr. Fiorio’s three points. “How does Jaro react to all this probing?”

Dr. Fiorio shrugged. “His composure is superb. He complains of nothing; even when he is tired, he cooperates to his best ability. He is a fine boy. You can be proud of him.”

“Oh we are!” cried Althea. “We are, a hundred times over!”

Dr. Fiorio rose to his feet. “I won’t have anything more to tell you until the next stage of our work is completed. It may be as long as a week.”

Four days later, toward the end of the afternoon. Dr. Fiorio joined his colleagues in the conference chamber. A young woman wearing the smart blue and white uniform of a nurse’s aide, served tea and nut cakes. For a few moments the three savants sat relaxed in their chairs, almost limp, as if resting after strenuous exercise. Gradually their tensions eased. Dr. Fiorio sighed, reached for his teacup and said, “If nothing else, we are no longer working at random. This is a great relief.”

Dr. Windle snorted. “We cannot exclude the possibility of a hoax.”

Dr. Fiorio sighed. “That is the most incredible suggestion of all.”

“What do we have left?” cried Dr. Windle. “Willy-nilly we are forced to propose that a more or less rational intelligence controls this phenomenon!”

Dr. Gissing wagged his finger at Dr. Windle in mock reproach. “That is like saying we must, willy-nilly, invoke the presence of sidereal equations to explain the morning sunrise.”
[8]

“The implication of your remarks eludes me,” said Dr. Windle coldly.

Dr. Gissing kindly explained. “This ‘directive agency,’ if internal, would indicate a multiple personality. If external, we would be forced to consider a telepathic provenance, which is a bit beyond our scope, or so I believe.”

Dr. Windle’s voice took on an edge. “You have provided us some helpful nomenclature. My comment is this: to name a malady is not to cure it.”

Dr. Fiorio spoke testily. “All this is irrelevant. Our vectors point to a specific location, namely Ogg’s Plaque.”

Dr. Windle made a sound of disapproval. “You are taking us into the trap of mysticism. If that albatross is hung around our necks, it will cost us dearly, both in working efficiency and in prestige!”

Dr. Gissing said, “If truth is to be our goal, we should not slam the door on all but purely mechanistic theories.”

Dr. Windle demanded: “So what then is your opinion?”

“I feel there is more here than simple dementia.”

“In this regard, we are agreed,” said Dr. Fiorio heavily.

A chime sounded. Dr. Fiorio rose to his feet. “The Faths have arrived. We must give them the facts; no help for it.”

Dr. Windle glanced at his watch. “Today I cannot participate; I am already late for my meeting. Simply make a factual report, without your usual pontificating, and all will be well.”

Dr. Fiorio laughed, if somewhat painfully. “My ‘pontificating,’ as you put it, is no more than good public relations—lacking which, you would be tapping old ladies on the knees with rubber mallets.”

“Yes, yes; just so,” said Dr. Windle. “Do the job any way you like.” He departed the room.

“I also must leave you in the lurch,” said Dr. Gissing ruefully. “I’ve been trying to get my elbow under the skirts of the Girandole, and today is the day: what they call their ‘Quelling of the Innocents’ and I must be on hand to be quelled. Who knows? You might find yourself affiliated with a Girandole before the month is out.”

“Very well!” growled Dr. Fiorio. “Go! Be quelled! I’ll deal with the Faths alone—which is probably all for the best, in any case.”

Dr. Fiorio joined the Faths in the reception chamber. They sat quietly, their faces somber. Today Hilyer wore loose trousers of brown-gray twill, a dark brown pullover with black sleeves. Althea wore a dark green skirt, with a white blouse and a jacket of dark orange nubble. Dr. Fiorio absentmindedly noted that they displayed no emblems defining their status; then he remembered that they were nimps, which was all very well, but they would hardly flaunt emblems advertising the fact. He slipped into his usual chair behind the desk and extended perfunctory greetings. The Faths responded in kind, watching him carefully, sensing that he had news to impart.

Dr. Fiorio said, “We have made definite progress in your son’s case. The mysteries remain, but finally we can come to grips with them.”

Althea asked tremulously, “Is the news good, or bad?”

“It is neither. You must judge its significance for yourselves.”

“Very well,” said Hilyer. “Tell us what you have learned.”

“As you know, we have been systematically studying Jaro’s mind; in the process, logging vectors upon the schematic charts. To our surprise, they pointed to an inconspicuous little nodule of twisted nerve tissue known as Ogg’s Plaque, at the back of the medulla. Today as we studied the area in detail, Jaro began to make occasional sounds. They were of no particular interest, but we recorded them nonetheless. Then the probe apparently stimulated a special area, and you will now hear what ensued.”

Dr. Fiorio put a small black box upon the table. “After some ordinary noise and a warning chime, you will hear Jaro’s voice. It will sound strange. I warn you, take a grip on yourselves; you may be disturbed.” He touched a button, then turned and waited, watching the Faths.

Sounds issued from the box: the rustling of papers, thumps. Dr. Fiorio muttering to his aide, a scrape, a small chime, then a voice, harsh and heavy. It had been formed in Jaro’s throat; otherwise, none of Jaro’s characteristics could be discerned. The voice called out, soft and forlorn: “Oh my life! My precious life; it passes and I am helpless in the dark! I am a lost soul, while my life seeps away; seep, seep, seeping! Away it seeps! I am forgotten, dark and deep, while my wonderful life seeps.” The voice broke into a sob, then spoke again, even more desolate than before, “Why must it be me, to be lost in the dark, forever and ever?” There was the sound of muffled sobbing, then silence.

Dr. Fiorio’s voice, tense and sharp, came from the box. “Who are you? Tell us your name!”

There was no response. No further sounds issued from the box; only the singing stillness of solitude and nothingness.

Dr. Fiorio touched a button on the box to halt the recording. He turned to find himself staring, not at the Faths, but at two strangers, with white emaciated faces and great round eyes like puddles of black mud. Dr. Fiorio blinked; the spell was broken; reality returned. He heard himself saying, “For the first time we come to grips with a fact. For us this is good news; it is a relief to learn that we are not groping for a will-o’-the-wisp.”

Althea cried out softly, “Where is the voice coming from? Is it Jaro?”

Dr. Fiorio held his arms wide and let them flap to his sides. “We have not had time to form sensible opinions. At first glance it seems a classic case of multiple personality, but such a diagnosis is suspect, for a variety of technical reasons, which I will not develop now.”

Hilyer asked hesitantly, “What other possibilities might there be?”

Dr. Fiorio replied with caution, “At this stage I could only speculate, which might mislead you.”

Hilyer smiled sourly. “I don’t mind listening to speculation, if it is clearly labeled as such. For instance, at Sronk a block of Jaro’s memory was erased. Is it possible that by miscalculation. an entire lobe was isolated from the rest of his mind, and deprived of sensory input? We might be hearing cries from this isolated lobe.”

Dr. Fiorio reflected. “It is a clever idea, and superficially plausible. But any such isolated segment would have revealed itself on the schematic charts. Therefore, this cannot be the solution, despite its appealing simplicity.”

“But something very similar must be happening!”

“Well—perhaps.”

Althea ventured a question, “Will you be able to help Jaro?”

“Yes—though I am not quite sure where to start. If we knew the truth of Jaro’s past, perhaps we could exorcise the sad ghost which haunts his mind.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” said Althea, “though it doesn’t sound very practical.”

“Not practical at all,” declared Hilyer. “Such a program would mean far travel, much time and expense, with a very cold trail to follow, and small prospects of success.”