Players at the Game of People (7 page)
Read Players at the Game of People Online
Authors: John Brunner
"I already told you" was his sour reply. But his mood was already changing,
precisely as he had expected, and it took no more than a glance to inform
him that hers was also.
Set between ranked wrought-iron railings, the richly colored teak door
opened to his touch. There was time to glimpse a high-ceilinged hallway
with a fine Persian carpet on the floor and several eighteenth-century
landscapes in thickly gilded frames before he ushered her into the first
room on the right.
This too was high-ceilinged, but nonetheless it was dark. The walls were
papered with a somber pattern; the furniture was of an old-fashioned
solidity; the curtains were of dark green velvet, held back with tasseled
ropes of old gold, while the carpet was of a deep wine-red and seemed to
absorb not only footfalls but every sound from the outside world. There
was a couch stuffed with horsehair and covered in black oilcloth over
which a rug was thrown, occupying a prominent position, while the only
decorations consisted in three oil paintings: portraits of Freud, Jung
and Ernest Jones.
At a rolltop bureau, from which he turned in a swivel chair to greet them,
they found Dr. Klosterberg himself. He was a round-headed man of medium
build, his hair close-cropped and graying, wearing an unremarkable dark
suit with a dark blue tie. He affected pince-nez, behind which his pale
eyes gleamed. He exuded an air of grave authority. Altogether he was an
archetype of the psychiatrist rôle.
Beside the couch, looking as though a four-foot fir cone had been
carved out of anthracite, then flattened like a cowering hedgehog,
lay Adirondinatarigo. Godwin bent to pat it on the tapered end and
was rewarded by a protuberation that disconcertingly exposed a band
of mucous membrane as softly glossy as the inside of a human cheek,
but yellowish-green and ever so slightly luminous. The mood improved
further as more pheromones escaped into the air.
Simultaneously he said, "Hermann, nice to see you again. This is Gorse.
Just Gorse at the moment. She's trying to decide on a surname to go
with it."
"Then she should consult Ambrose, as you and I did," Hermann murmured.
"Some of his opinions may be questionable, but of his ability to sense
the overtones of nomenclature there is no doubt . . . How do you do,
Gorse?" he added, extending his hand with a beaming smile.
She shook with him absently, staring at the scaly black mass beside the
couch. "What on earth is that?" she demanded. "I could swear I saw it
move when God touched it."
"Oh, that's Canaptarosigapatruleeva," Hermann said dismissively. "No need
to worry about it. Just forget it's there. For the time being, that is.
Later on, you can get properly acquainted with it." He bent slightly
and touched one of the thick, dull-shiny, overlapping scales; it rose a
centimeter and exposed another patch of membrane, this time of a fir-tree
green. "Do sit down," he added. "And what seems to be the trouble?"
The atmosphere conduced to openness. Almost before she had sunk into the
chair which Hermann indicated for her, Gorse had begun to pour out her
life story, far more truthfully than to Godwin last night. His back to
the bureau, his elbows on the arms of his swivel chair, his fingertips
arched together, Hermann listened with complete attention. All the while
Potanandrusabalinicta lay immobile except for an occasional ripple of
its carapace.
When the breathless recital was at an end, Hermann gave a slow nod of
comprehension. It was apparent from his expression that he had grasped
the essence of her problem.
"First let me assure you," he said after a pause far deliberation,
"you are by no means alone. Professional ethics naturally forbid me
to mention names, but I can state that friends of mine -- I never use
the term patient, for reasons I'm sure I needn't spell out to someone
as perceptive as yourself -- friends of mine, then, whom you would
instantly recognize were it permissible for me to identify them,
prominent in the theater, in music and literature, in politics and
diplomacy, in commerce and so forth, have sat here in this room and
described just such a constellation of perplexities. In certain cases
they had been plagued with them for many years of their adult life,
because what they had failed to appreciate until they were well advanced
in years was the necessity of learning to yield to the impact of the
collective unconscious at unpredictable intervals. Precisely because
it is an unconscious, it declines to obey the dictates of clocks and
calendars. That knack once acquired, however, even the regrettable
aftermath of experimentation with chemical substances like the ones
you have tried diminishes to insignificance. Are you familiar with the
concept of the collective unconscious, by the way?" His bright, pale
eyes flickered to the portrait of Jung, as though to furnish her a clue.
"I've heard of it," she said after a moment's hesitation. "Isn't it
supposed to be where we get our dreams from?"
"I'm afraid that's an oversimplification," Hermann said with a thin smile.
"Essentially it's a pool of shared experience -- shared among all of us
because we happen to be human beings -- which may or may not have an
'objective' existence." The interpolated quotation marks were perfectly
audible. "Almost all of us have had the experience of, for instance,
entering puberty or becoming parents or confronting a rival or suffering
hunger, and so on. And of course we have all had the experience of being
born. Inevitably certain patterns of behavior are selected for among the
countless possible patterns our cerebral neurons could create. You've
heard that there are more possible neuron connections in a human brain
than there would be particles in the observable universe if it were packed
solid? And I'm talking about any given brain: yours, mine, Godwin's."
She gave a cautious nod. Godwin, repressing the impulse to utter a loud
sigh of boredom, leaned back in his chair. It was plain that Hermann's
words were sinking into her mind like ink into a dry sponge, leaving
their traces everywhere. She wasn't even making a pretense of resistance.
One of these years . . .
". . . isolation from which, after so many millions of years of imprinting
during the course of our evolution, can trigger an urge toward
self-destruction. But you are triply fortunate."
Godwin returned to full attention. Gorse was leaning forward on her chair,
eyes bright and fixed on Hermann, lips a little open, hands almost curled
into fists but not quite. Every few seconds she gave a vigorous nod.
"Imprimis," Hermann said, raising his forefinger, "you are still youthful.
Learning the gift of yielding to the collective unconscious becomes more
and more difficult as adult behavior patterns -- some, indeed most, badly
matched to reality -- become rigidified in the mind. Secundo, you had the
luck to fall in with Godwin, who is one of my oldest friends . . . not,
you understand, that one believes in 'luck' as an objective phenomenon,
but sometimes the poetic imagery afforded us by superstition lends a
little color to the nakedly scientific landscape of one's existence.
And tertio, Godwin had the good sense to bring you here straight away."
Apticaranogapetulami stirred and readjusted the pattern of its scales
by a few millimeters here and there.
"So let us recapitulate. You would like to live the way Godwin lives,
or I do, or our various friends. You would like to achieve this goal
by succeeding as a designer. You believe you have the talent. You would
rather begin today than at some arbitrary date in the future set for you
by someone else, regardless of who that someone else might be. You feel
you have been handicapped in your laudable ambitions by unwarranted
interference, although you accept that some of that interference is
internal, the consequence of an unwise adventure which 'seemed like
a good idea at the time.' I stand ready to be corrected if I have
misrepresented you."
Seeming awed by the conciseness with which she had been summed up in a
handful of words, Gorse gave a firm nod.
"You're right. You're absolutely right."
"Well, that's easy, then. Lean over Coparatuleemicabicani and take a
deep breath." He pointed. Confused, she turned to follow his gesture. The
anthracite scales had risen so that they stood away from the supporting
muscles at almost a right angle, and the membranes thereby revealed were
pulsing and oozing drops of liquid. There was an acid greenish glow.
Drawn like a needle to a magnet, Gorse leaned forward and inhaled a
perfume only she could detect.
Waiting for her to recover consciousness, Godwin felt a pang of irrational
envy. Maybe he ought to come back to see Hermann some time. Of course he
would if he must. But maybe it would be a good idea if he did it without
having to.
The question hovered in his mind for a long while, unanswerable. He had
spent too long doing what he must to be able to judge the rights and
wrongs of doing what he felt like doing. For that, there was a proper
time, and it wasn't now.
He dismissed the whole matter as Herrnann inquired affably, "And how about
yourself, God? I see you fresh from Irma's mill, or I'm much mistaken.
Mens sana in corpore sano, hey?" He risked a playful jab in Godwin's
ribs.
Beside the couch, which had the potency of an established symbol and
therefore was of use solely for the mundane clientele which could not
possibly afford Hermann even if they were platinum-disc pop stars and
therefore received ordinary therapy from him (the world he inhabited was
full of "therefores," as though it made sense), Apitaculabricomulapariti
folded its scales and resumed a condition of inertness. Gorse awakened.
"I needed it. I'd been called," Godwin muttered, and at the very edge
of his consciousness there fluttered the hope-cum-suspicion that this
statement might elicit sympathy. He was horrified inasmuch as that was
possible, and repressed it.
"One should never resist the tug of the collective unconscious,"
Hermann said smoothly. "That way lie all sorts of psychosomatic
unpleasantnesses. How are you feeling, Gorse?"
"As though I'd sprained my mind," she said around a yawn. "Golly,
I don't think I ever took in so much data at one go before."
"Nor will you ever need to again. God! Take this young lady and feed her
somewhere, and let her relax. That's a prescription."
"We're going to Hugo & Diana's."
"Ideal. Have a good time. Good morning!"
There was a pause. Lurabanguliticapulanduri remained as motionless as
though it were carved in ebony. At last Gorse said with great timidity,
"I don't quite know how to meet your fee, doctor."
"Hm?" Hermann, having nodded and smiled at them, had turned back to the
bureau, where something seemingly occupied his attention. He glanced over
his shoulder at her words.
"Your -- your fee!"
"My dear young lady!" -- removing and rapidly polishing and replacing his
pince-nez -- "Absultarimanipicoloto must have let me down for once! Of
course, it is difficult for it to comprehend such peculiarly human notions
as 'money' and 'finances,' but even so . . . !" He accorded the creature
a disdainful look, designed to establish his own ultimate superiority
in the context of this consulting room. "It should have dawned on you
by now that everything is already paid for."
"Everything?" -- in a whisper.
"Everything!"
Godwin had risen to his feet, eager to get shut of this dull-witted,
self-destructive little twat. At the back of his mind he knew his mood
was once more due to the presence of Catapulibampulicarato, which grew
easily bored, but there was no help for that. So did he.
"You only need to know the right way to ask for it," he declared. Hermann
raised one eyebrow and nodded reluctant approval.
"Our long acquaintance has borne fruit, after its fashion," he said
as he rose from his chair, hand outstretched. "Now you do as I said,
and all will be well. Good morning, Gorse! And remember that you now
know how and when to yield to an impulse surging up from the collective
unconscious. Never resist it, and you will reap a rich reward! Good
morning to you also, God; let's hope it won't be long until we meet
again."
On the way to the door Gorse paused and tried to imitate Godwin's gesture
on arrival. But Abutaralingotogulisica lay as unresponsive as a bone.
Hugo & Diana was having brunch in the gravity-free patio and it was
beautiful: clear blue skies with just a touch here and there of puffy
white cloud; inflatacouches drifting up and down in response to the
breezes which a mere gesture could create in the pure, delicately scented
air; long, graceful bluish-green creepers with deep red leaves arcing
across the whole of the volume and bearing on their spurs dispensers of
toasted crumpets awash in melted butter, Patum Peperium, smoked oysters,
bitter-orange marmalade, hot coffee and hot milk, and also pitchers
of buck's fizz and bloody mary. In such a flawless environment clothes
seemed superfluous. Immediately on their arrival Hugo & Diana gave
a cry of delight from where she lay on a long yellow couch and invited
them to
join him in a state of nature. Prepared for this, Godwin complied with a
sigh, helped himself to a mugful of bloody mary, and cast himself adrift
in the sky on a passing inflatabed, one striped in orange and white. Gorse
hesitated for a few seconds, but shortly shame got the better of her
and she discarded her clothes, which gyrated around her for a while in a
mocking pattern, and attempted to imitate her companions' nonchalance. Her
choice of inflatabed was polka-dotted red on yellow. It took her a while
to get the better of it, while Hugo & Diana bestowed indulgent glances,
but very shortly she was able to draw a mug of buck's fizz -- mistaking
it for orange juice -- and paddle her way to where Godwin was.
After necessary introductions, what she said first was "Where are we?"
"About three hundred meters from the King's Road, Chelsea," was the reply.
"I thought I knew . ." The words died away. Godwin and Hugo & Diana
exchanged amused glances. It was always like this.
So always, it would certainly cease to be amusing sooner or later.
precisely as he had expected, and it took no more than a glance to inform
him that hers was also.
Set between ranked wrought-iron railings, the richly colored teak door
opened to his touch. There was time to glimpse a high-ceilinged hallway
with a fine Persian carpet on the floor and several eighteenth-century
landscapes in thickly gilded frames before he ushered her into the first
room on the right.
This too was high-ceilinged, but nonetheless it was dark. The walls were
papered with a somber pattern; the furniture was of an old-fashioned
solidity; the curtains were of dark green velvet, held back with tasseled
ropes of old gold, while the carpet was of a deep wine-red and seemed to
absorb not only footfalls but every sound from the outside world. There
was a couch stuffed with horsehair and covered in black oilcloth over
which a rug was thrown, occupying a prominent position, while the only
decorations consisted in three oil paintings: portraits of Freud, Jung
and Ernest Jones.
At a rolltop bureau, from which he turned in a swivel chair to greet them,
they found Dr. Klosterberg himself. He was a round-headed man of medium
build, his hair close-cropped and graying, wearing an unremarkable dark
suit with a dark blue tie. He affected pince-nez, behind which his pale
eyes gleamed. He exuded an air of grave authority. Altogether he was an
archetype of the psychiatrist rôle.
Beside the couch, looking as though a four-foot fir cone had been
carved out of anthracite, then flattened like a cowering hedgehog,
lay Adirondinatarigo. Godwin bent to pat it on the tapered end and
was rewarded by a protuberation that disconcertingly exposed a band
of mucous membrane as softly glossy as the inside of a human cheek,
but yellowish-green and ever so slightly luminous. The mood improved
further as more pheromones escaped into the air.
Simultaneously he said, "Hermann, nice to see you again. This is Gorse.
Just Gorse at the moment. She's trying to decide on a surname to go
with it."
"Then she should consult Ambrose, as you and I did," Hermann murmured.
"Some of his opinions may be questionable, but of his ability to sense
the overtones of nomenclature there is no doubt . . . How do you do,
Gorse?" he added, extending his hand with a beaming smile.
She shook with him absently, staring at the scaly black mass beside the
couch. "What on earth is that?" she demanded. "I could swear I saw it
move when God touched it."
"Oh, that's Canaptarosigapatruleeva," Hermann said dismissively. "No need
to worry about it. Just forget it's there. For the time being, that is.
Later on, you can get properly acquainted with it." He bent slightly
and touched one of the thick, dull-shiny, overlapping scales; it rose a
centimeter and exposed another patch of membrane, this time of a fir-tree
green. "Do sit down," he added. "And what seems to be the trouble?"
The atmosphere conduced to openness. Almost before she had sunk into the
chair which Hermann indicated for her, Gorse had begun to pour out her
life story, far more truthfully than to Godwin last night. His back to
the bureau, his elbows on the arms of his swivel chair, his fingertips
arched together, Hermann listened with complete attention. All the while
Potanandrusabalinicta lay immobile except for an occasional ripple of
its carapace.
When the breathless recital was at an end, Hermann gave a slow nod of
comprehension. It was apparent from his expression that he had grasped
the essence of her problem.
"First let me assure you," he said after a pause far deliberation,
"you are by no means alone. Professional ethics naturally forbid me
to mention names, but I can state that friends of mine -- I never use
the term patient, for reasons I'm sure I needn't spell out to someone
as perceptive as yourself -- friends of mine, then, whom you would
instantly recognize were it permissible for me to identify them,
prominent in the theater, in music and literature, in politics and
diplomacy, in commerce and so forth, have sat here in this room and
described just such a constellation of perplexities. In certain cases
they had been plagued with them for many years of their adult life,
because what they had failed to appreciate until they were well advanced
in years was the necessity of learning to yield to the impact of the
collective unconscious at unpredictable intervals. Precisely because
it is an unconscious, it declines to obey the dictates of clocks and
calendars. That knack once acquired, however, even the regrettable
aftermath of experimentation with chemical substances like the ones
you have tried diminishes to insignificance. Are you familiar with the
concept of the collective unconscious, by the way?" His bright, pale
eyes flickered to the portrait of Jung, as though to furnish her a clue.
"I've heard of it," she said after a moment's hesitation. "Isn't it
supposed to be where we get our dreams from?"
"I'm afraid that's an oversimplification," Hermann said with a thin smile.
"Essentially it's a pool of shared experience -- shared among all of us
because we happen to be human beings -- which may or may not have an
'objective' existence." The interpolated quotation marks were perfectly
audible. "Almost all of us have had the experience of, for instance,
entering puberty or becoming parents or confronting a rival or suffering
hunger, and so on. And of course we have all had the experience of being
born. Inevitably certain patterns of behavior are selected for among the
countless possible patterns our cerebral neurons could create. You've
heard that there are more possible neuron connections in a human brain
than there would be particles in the observable universe if it were packed
solid? And I'm talking about any given brain: yours, mine, Godwin's."
She gave a cautious nod. Godwin, repressing the impulse to utter a loud
sigh of boredom, leaned back in his chair. It was plain that Hermann's
words were sinking into her mind like ink into a dry sponge, leaving
their traces everywhere. She wasn't even making a pretense of resistance.
One of these years . . .
". . . isolation from which, after so many millions of years of imprinting
during the course of our evolution, can trigger an urge toward
self-destruction. But you are triply fortunate."
Godwin returned to full attention. Gorse was leaning forward on her chair,
eyes bright and fixed on Hermann, lips a little open, hands almost curled
into fists but not quite. Every few seconds she gave a vigorous nod.
"Imprimis," Hermann said, raising his forefinger, "you are still youthful.
Learning the gift of yielding to the collective unconscious becomes more
and more difficult as adult behavior patterns -- some, indeed most, badly
matched to reality -- become rigidified in the mind. Secundo, you had the
luck to fall in with Godwin, who is one of my oldest friends . . . not,
you understand, that one believes in 'luck' as an objective phenomenon,
but sometimes the poetic imagery afforded us by superstition lends a
little color to the nakedly scientific landscape of one's existence.
And tertio, Godwin had the good sense to bring you here straight away."
Apticaranogapetulami stirred and readjusted the pattern of its scales
by a few millimeters here and there.
"So let us recapitulate. You would like to live the way Godwin lives,
or I do, or our various friends. You would like to achieve this goal
by succeeding as a designer. You believe you have the talent. You would
rather begin today than at some arbitrary date in the future set for you
by someone else, regardless of who that someone else might be. You feel
you have been handicapped in your laudable ambitions by unwarranted
interference, although you accept that some of that interference is
internal, the consequence of an unwise adventure which 'seemed like
a good idea at the time.' I stand ready to be corrected if I have
misrepresented you."
Seeming awed by the conciseness with which she had been summed up in a
handful of words, Gorse gave a firm nod.
"You're right. You're absolutely right."
"Well, that's easy, then. Lean over Coparatuleemicabicani and take a
deep breath." He pointed. Confused, she turned to follow his gesture. The
anthracite scales had risen so that they stood away from the supporting
muscles at almost a right angle, and the membranes thereby revealed were
pulsing and oozing drops of liquid. There was an acid greenish glow.
Drawn like a needle to a magnet, Gorse leaned forward and inhaled a
perfume only she could detect.
Waiting for her to recover consciousness, Godwin felt a pang of irrational
envy. Maybe he ought to come back to see Hermann some time. Of course he
would if he must. But maybe it would be a good idea if he did it without
having to.
The question hovered in his mind for a long while, unanswerable. He had
spent too long doing what he must to be able to judge the rights and
wrongs of doing what he felt like doing. For that, there was a proper
time, and it wasn't now.
He dismissed the whole matter as Herrnann inquired affably, "And how about
yourself, God? I see you fresh from Irma's mill, or I'm much mistaken.
Mens sana in corpore sano, hey?" He risked a playful jab in Godwin's
ribs.
Beside the couch, which had the potency of an established symbol and
therefore was of use solely for the mundane clientele which could not
possibly afford Hermann even if they were platinum-disc pop stars and
therefore received ordinary therapy from him (the world he inhabited was
full of "therefores," as though it made sense), Apitaculabricomulapariti
folded its scales and resumed a condition of inertness. Gorse awakened.
"I needed it. I'd been called," Godwin muttered, and at the very edge
of his consciousness there fluttered the hope-cum-suspicion that this
statement might elicit sympathy. He was horrified inasmuch as that was
possible, and repressed it.
"One should never resist the tug of the collective unconscious,"
Hermann said smoothly. "That way lie all sorts of psychosomatic
unpleasantnesses. How are you feeling, Gorse?"
"As though I'd sprained my mind," she said around a yawn. "Golly,
I don't think I ever took in so much data at one go before."
"Nor will you ever need to again. God! Take this young lady and feed her
somewhere, and let her relax. That's a prescription."
"We're going to Hugo & Diana's."
"Ideal. Have a good time. Good morning!"
There was a pause. Lurabanguliticapulanduri remained as motionless as
though it were carved in ebony. At last Gorse said with great timidity,
"I don't quite know how to meet your fee, doctor."
"Hm?" Hermann, having nodded and smiled at them, had turned back to the
bureau, where something seemingly occupied his attention. He glanced over
his shoulder at her words.
"Your -- your fee!"
"My dear young lady!" -- removing and rapidly polishing and replacing his
pince-nez -- "Absultarimanipicoloto must have let me down for once! Of
course, it is difficult for it to comprehend such peculiarly human notions
as 'money' and 'finances,' but even so . . . !" He accorded the creature
a disdainful look, designed to establish his own ultimate superiority
in the context of this consulting room. "It should have dawned on you
by now that everything is already paid for."
"Everything?" -- in a whisper.
"Everything!"
Godwin had risen to his feet, eager to get shut of this dull-witted,
self-destructive little twat. At the back of his mind he knew his mood
was once more due to the presence of Catapulibampulicarato, which grew
easily bored, but there was no help for that. So did he.
"You only need to know the right way to ask for it," he declared. Hermann
raised one eyebrow and nodded reluctant approval.
"Our long acquaintance has borne fruit, after its fashion," he said
as he rose from his chair, hand outstretched. "Now you do as I said,
and all will be well. Good morning, Gorse! And remember that you now
know how and when to yield to an impulse surging up from the collective
unconscious. Never resist it, and you will reap a rich reward! Good
morning to you also, God; let's hope it won't be long until we meet
again."
On the way to the door Gorse paused and tried to imitate Godwin's gesture
on arrival. But Abutaralingotogulisica lay as unresponsive as a bone.
Hugo & Diana was having brunch in the gravity-free patio and it was
beautiful: clear blue skies with just a touch here and there of puffy
white cloud; inflatacouches drifting up and down in response to the
breezes which a mere gesture could create in the pure, delicately scented
air; long, graceful bluish-green creepers with deep red leaves arcing
across the whole of the volume and bearing on their spurs dispensers of
toasted crumpets awash in melted butter, Patum Peperium, smoked oysters,
bitter-orange marmalade, hot coffee and hot milk, and also pitchers
of buck's fizz and bloody mary. In such a flawless environment clothes
seemed superfluous. Immediately on their arrival Hugo & Diana gave
a cry of delight from where she lay on a long yellow couch and invited
them to
join him in a state of nature. Prepared for this, Godwin complied with a
sigh, helped himself to a mugful of bloody mary, and cast himself adrift
in the sky on a passing inflatabed, one striped in orange and white. Gorse
hesitated for a few seconds, but shortly shame got the better of her
and she discarded her clothes, which gyrated around her for a while in a
mocking pattern, and attempted to imitate her companions' nonchalance. Her
choice of inflatabed was polka-dotted red on yellow. It took her a while
to get the better of it, while Hugo & Diana bestowed indulgent glances,
but very shortly she was able to draw a mug of buck's fizz -- mistaking
it for orange juice -- and paddle her way to where Godwin was.
After necessary introductions, what she said first was "Where are we?"
"About three hundred meters from the King's Road, Chelsea," was the reply.
"I thought I knew . ." The words died away. Godwin and Hugo & Diana
exchanged amused glances. It was always like this.
So always, it would certainly cease to be amusing sooner or later.
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