ROWAN-8
The days of happiness that came after I shared Mind’s gift of the freckled girl and the scarred man with Dr. Mulgar were fleeting. Stress, from two separate sources, and of two different natures, leached away the energy of the still-infant peaceful rhythm of my heart.
One of these sources of stress was the need to go outside; the other was the realization that even though Dr. Mulgar knew my visions were of the character he wanted, he still wasn’t satisfied.
After my trip into the outer world—my “birthday present,” as Dr. Mulgar had presented it—I was ever eager for a return engagement. I craved the intoxicating tingle of sunlight and sound, water and wind, that had filled my being so unexpectedly out there; plus I had the sense that I had missed things the first time—missed most of everything, in fact, there had been so much to experience. I had been so dizzied by the bigness of the world, so overwhelmed by the sheer number of sights, sounds, smells, and sensations available to the senses, that it had all been a blur. I wanted, I needed, to go outside again, and this time, to catch, and remember, everything, or at least a lot more than I had the first time.
But, Dr. Mulgar was showing no inclination to take me on another trip; and this was frustrating. Every time he visited, which was, as it had always been, almost every day, I would ask him if we could go outside again and he would say, “Later, Romulus, we will, later,” or something like that, and pat me on the head with an apparent unconcern.
If he had given me a specific day that we would go, such as tomorrow, or in three days, or even six or seven, I would have been satisfied; if had told me, for example, “We’ll go in twenty days, Romulus,” or even thirty, I would have been disappointed, and yet, in a way, satisfied, because the stress of not knowing when we would go and thus of thinking that there was a possibility that we would never go, would have been alleviated. I would have counted off the days as they went by, and then been ready and eager to go on the appointed day.
However, not only did he not give an exact day that we would go outside, he seemed barely to acknowledge that going outside was a thing that was done, or that he and I had done. If he had suggested that I was a bad boy for asking to go out or that it was inappropriate for me to bring up the subject, it would actually have given me more hope that we might at some point go; but he seemed so disinterested in the subject and was so offhand in his dismissals of my requests that the possibility seemed remote.
Even if he had told me that I wouldn’t be permitted to go outside again until I had a vision that satisfied him, the stress that was overcoming me day by day would have been alleviated somewhat. It would have at least connected the two sources of my unease together, into one big serpent, if you will, that I might be able to kill with one sword. As it was, it was as if I were being attacked from two different enemies, from different directions—smaller, individually, than if they were combined into one, and yet somehow much more difficult to fight. But, Dr. Mulgar didn’t use my wish to go outside to motivate me into having a vision that would satisfy him. He didn’t even say that he was unsatisfied with my visions, I could just tell that he was, or at least that he had become as restless with my new visions as he had been with my lack of visions previously.
Every morning, beginning the day after that wonderful first “victory,” as Dr. Mulgar thought of the first Mind vision I’d given him, of the freckled girl and the scarred man in the cave, I would have Mind give me a vision, sometimes two, which I would be ready to describe to Dr. Mulgar when he arrived. And for a number of days he continued to be enthusiastic about my progress, as he called it, but within ten days, I would say, at most, I began to sense a crack, an impatience, perhaps, in his happiness. After I had described my pre-arranged visions to him, he would urge me to have “another” one, and I would try and try and fail to have one, and then, as before, just to give him something, would ask Mind for one, which he would give me and that I would report to Dr. Mulgar.
“That’s a nice one, Romulus,” he would say, “But can you try to direct them, see something at a specific time, a specific place, maybe?” I’d tell him that I would try, and he would request a specific time and place for me to see, but I couldn’t generate any vision, let alone a specific one; and I couldn’t ask Mind for a specific one because if I did, it would take so long for me to explain to him exactly the what, when, and where I wanted to see, that first of all, Dr. Mulgar would get impatient, and second, he’d see me mumbling and either tell me to stop or else demand that I explain why I was talking to myself.
“You’ll get better, don’t worry about it,” he would assure me when he perceived that I was frustrated by my visions (which wasn’t exactly true: I was frustrated by his reaction to them); but it was becoming more than apparent to me that the Mind visions, while enough to slake his thirst temporarily, weren’t what he wanted; he wanted, he needed, something else, but what that was, I was unable to fathom. He’d been happy about that first Mind vision I’d given him, and I had thought that meant I could offer him up an endless supply from Mind, but apparently not. But what else, I wondered, can I give him? I didn’t know, and I had no idea as to how to begin to figure out what he wanted, which was maddening. I couldn’t generate a vision without Mind’s help.
The frustration I felt about not getting to go back outdoors, I tried to relieve by confiding with Romulus; but he was little, if any, help in ameliorating my eagerness. Usually, when I became preoccupied or worried about something, he would go to lengths to point my mind towards other pursuits, such as engaging me in a black-and-white tile game, or the chicken bone game, or questioning me about something on the Grail, but when I pined away about my thwarted desire to go outside, he did nothing to distract me from my fixation, but would simply agree, and nodding, say, “Yes, yes, we must leave.”
The frustration I felt about not knowing how to satisfy Dr. Mulgar; this, I discussed with Mind. One morning, I was trying with every inch of energy in my being to have a Mind-but-non-Mind vision, that is, one possessing the same properties that one of Mind’s held but for which I didn’t have to spend time with Mind pinning down details, so that when Dr. Mulgar asked me about a specific time and place, I could give him a prompt answer. I was absolutely grinding it out. I wasn’t quite holding my breath, but my fists were clenched, my face was red, the veins in my neck and head bulging, as if I were trying to squeeze out a brick—squeeze out a vision, I guess. My head and ears felt like they were going to pop, I was beginning to see concentric circles in front of my eyes, when I heard a voice.
“What are you doing, Rowan?” It was Mind.
“I’m trying to see the visions Dr. Mulgar wants me to see.”
“What visions does he want you to see, Rowan?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. Not the ones that you give me.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can just tell.”
“What can you tell, Rowan?”
“That he’s not happy.”
“And you believe that the reason he’s not happy about the memories I have shared with you that you’ve been sharing with him is that they’re not the ones he wants?” ‘Memories’ was Mind’s word for the scenes he gave me.
“That’s right.”
“How do you know that?
“Huh?”
“How do you know that the reason he’s not happy with these memories is that they’re not the ones he wants?” Many of the Grail’s teaching programs that I accessed had voice-overs, that is, as images and words were displayed on the screen, a voice would explain them, or elaborate upon them, or, alternatively, instruct me in what I was supposed to do (for example, “Touch the picture of the horse”). These voices were different from the one I listened to every night as I went through my bedtime ritual. That one seemed to be the actual voice of the machine, these seemed human, either coming from elsewhere, or somehow recorded and stored inside the Grail. There were three main voices, one female and two male; and one of the male ones I liked best: it was less formal than the others, more expressive, and sounded both old and youthful. Mind’s voice was like that one, yet still different, a little bigger somehow. He spoke softly but since his voice arose from inside my head, or so it seemed, there was, to me, a greatness to it, a vastness, even.
“Uh,” I pondered, “well, what else could it be? Anyway, he asks for exact ones.”
“Do you mean he asks you for specific memories, Rowan?”
“Yes, specific.”
“And why cannot you give him specific ones?”
“Because when he asks for them, it would take too long to find them. We—you and me—would have to talk about it for a long time, and I’d be mumbling right there in front of him, and he would be impatient, and that would make me too nervous to ask you the right questions.”
“Would he care if you were mumbling if he were receiving the memories he wanted?”
That was a good point. He was so intent upon getting what he wanted that he might just overlook certain imperfections in the method of its delivery to him.
“Hmm,” I mused, but decided, no, I probably wouldn’t have the equanimity to converse productively with Mind under the ruthless eye of Dr. Mulgar, even operating under the knowledge, or assumption, that in this case, at least, he wasn’t going to be particularly concerned with my elocution. “No, it won’t work.”
After a short silence, Mind asked, “Is there a way, Rowan, that it would…”
But I was already there: if Mind first showed me Dr. Mulgar telling me what he wanted me to see, on, for example the occasion of his next visit, then I could have Mind give me the appropriate “memories,” and I could go over them at leisure, and have descriptions of them ready for Dr. Mulgar when he arrived!
The next hour or two I spent questioning Mind, first watching Dr. Mulgar question me the coming afternoon, and then, by trial and error, finding a bevy of images that I would be able to share with him. By the time we had finished, I was confident that our afternoon session would be a happy one.
Then, I got greedy. Dr. Mulgar had never tied my visions to my need to go outside; but it occurred to me that I could. If I provided him with a future that would really excite him, a grand scene, a vision of visions, then surely, if I asked, he would take me outside again. Convinced of this, I asked Mind to show me Dr. Mulgar at the culmination of his pursuits.
At the end of the bright road, I walked into a low ceilinged room with strange cloth-like walls, illuminated only with what smelled like lemon candles which flickered atop a dark table strewn with parchments. A mattress, covered neatly with shiny purple blankets, was tucked against one wall, and there was a bulky pile of something in a corner. Two dark chairs were pulled away from the table, and in these chairs two individuals sat conversing. One looked like an older version of the me I’d seen with the dark lady in the meadow: dark-faced, green-eyed, features both sharp and soft, a thin but compact build. He was clad in a bronze uniform with a red collar, and his face was twisted into what seemed to me like a fake smile. The other was taller, broad-chested, skin as bronze as his uniform (which was identical to the one the other boy was wearing, but was untucked at the waist), sparkling gray eyes, and strong, handsome features. He was flashing what seemed a genuine smile as he finished, “Here he comes!”
Both turned their heads to regard Dr. Mulgar as he sidled into the room through what seemed a flap of material rather than a door. He looked pretty much the same as I knew him in the present, just a little older, with hair about half-gray. He was as vibrant, as intense as ever, or seemed so at first glance.
He started to say something to the boy who resembled me, and then, noticing the other, said, with annoyance, “Dex, where’s your brother?”
This other boy, or man, it was difficult to decide which, said, with a smirk, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Dr. Mulgar motioned him out. “Joecon and I have something to discuss.”
The boy, this Dex, didn’t budge. “My father doesn’t like you, you know. He’s just using you, just like you’re using him. He knows you have no chance of winning. Even though they call him a traitor, he’s still loyal to Leopard. He’s a fool.” The boy that looked like me, this Joecon, watched both of them, wide-eyed.
“Thanks for your considered opinion, boy, now if you would…” He pointed at the room’s odd flap-like entrance.
The bronze boy/man sighed, pointed up at the ceiling of the room, and then as candlelight flickered on the dark, cloth-like material that comprised the ceiling as it comprised the walls, flexed the top phalange of his finger. With a look of confusion more than surprise, and mixed with pain that turned quickly to agony, Dr. Mulgar clutched his chest, and then crumpled to the ground, and in one final surge of effort moaned and rolled most of the way onto his back before growing still, his eyes open but unseeing.
The boy who looked like me continued to stare, wide-eyed, first at Dr. Mulgar, then at the other boy, who was grinning like a Blood Festival mask.
“Man, that was fun!” this boy said, with relish; and then a moment later, “I mean, that guy was impossible. You know, I really didn’t need to move my finger. That was just theatrics, to enhance the experience.”
Thinking that this scene probably wasn’t one I would want to share with Dr. Mulgar, I took a minute to consider the wording of my next request, and then said to Mind, “Well, show me Dr. Mulgar at the time and place of his greatest triumph,” which worked out a little better. At the end of the bright road, I saw him in the same candlelit cloth-like room where he’d been in the previous vision, this time being addressed by a bronze-uniformed man, who told him, with emotionless officiousness, “We have word that the Mulgarian fleet has taken Aberick, sir.” Dr. Mulgar reacted to this news with grim satisfaction.
This scene, I thought, would do.
As morning turned into afternoon, I waited, by myself, with the Grail. Romulus would have to amuse himself, today; I was simply too wound up to deal with worrying about whether he’d hear Dr. Mulgar, or any of our other regular visitors, in time to give me the Grail and for me to hurry into the Main room with it before the visitor came through the front door.
And Dr. Mulgar didn’t come, and didn’t come, and didn’t come, until, growing restless, I had Mind start showing me some of the adventures, variously, of the hyacinth-eyed girl, the blue-eyed man, and the woman with the scar under her eye. This helped pass the time—so well, in fact, that I came back to my own time and place (specifically, early afternoon, on the brown couch, which was across the room from the front door) just in time to see, to my delight, Dr. Mulgar (for it was a delight to see him when I knew I was going to please rather than frustrate him) enter the house—with, to my surprise, Dr. Bowusuvi (for they rarely came together) in tow.
The latter’s presence dampened my exuberance a little bit; but even so, I ran to Dr. Mulgar announcing excitedly that I’d had another vision—“all kinds of visions!” I added, with significance. I had thought that he might doubt me (not thinking that I was lying but suspecting that I might be mis-interpreting my experience) and need to hear about what I’d seen before being satisfied that I had indeed had legitimate visions; but I could tell by his expression, of suppressed eagerness, that he believed me. He looked as if he were about to reach into my pockets.
“Let’s hear what you’ve got,” was all he said, half-laughing at my eagerness.
I started to speak; I opened my mouth to tell him about what I’d seen, to share, to give him his future triumph—I had, after all, been anticipating this moment all day, looking forward to his look of amazement, excitement, joy, pride—but something Romulus had said rose in my consciousness, and I stopped before the first word got to my tongue. A few days earlier, while I’d been pining and pining away about not getting to go outside, Romulus had assured me, “They won’t let you go outside until you see what they want you to see, and once you tell them what they want you to see, there will be no reason for them to take you outside.” It had bothered me to hear him talk so, but it had also calmed me down because it gave me something to think about. I’d asked, “What do you mean?” over and over again but he would give no further explanation, or couldn’t, which had left me to puzzle over his words, diverting me, for a little while, from my frustration. I’d decided later that he’d purposefully given me something to think about to alleviate my anxiety; but now his words came back to me and I had the overpowering sensation that if I told Dr. Mulgar what I’d seen, I still wouldn’t get to go outside. I abandoned my plan to ask him if we could go outside after I’d told him about the Mulgarians taking Aberick and the other scenes I knew he was going to ask for, and instead asked, “And then we can go outside?”
His expression was unreadable. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.” Dr. Bowusuvi watched us with his usual penetrating detached-ness.
I wasn’t a rebellious boy at all, I was very obedient. I did everything Dr. Bowusuvi asked of me on his daily visits, undergoing his pokes and prods without question or complaint; I injected myself religiously every night with the eye-burning black vapor; I studied everything Dr. Mulgar asked me to study, memorized what he asked me to memorize, and tried with all my heart and mind and will to have visions that would be acceptable to him. I liked him, I still wanted to please him, wanted that pat on the head, that smile of approval, or encouragement; but a resistance rose up in me, perhaps partly inflamed by Romulus’ obvious dislike of Dr. Mulgar, who he called, “the demon.” I was angry for perhaps the first time in my life. There was no reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to go outside; why wouldn’t he let me? (I wouldn’t even have considered the issue if the draw to go outside wasn’t so strong, I would have just obeyed without question; but the draw was strong, and so I took note of the reasonlessness of this continual blockade.)
I mumbled, “Outside.” Nothing more: I couldn’t articulate any more than that. I couldn’t explain, “I will tell you my vision if you let me go outside first.” Even though I had no reason to suspect that Dr. Mulgar would get angry, or punish me, or do anything except talk with me reasonably, as he always did, I was unused to anger, unused to any sort of conflict, and found that my legs were shaking, my throat dry, my hands damp, my heart thumping in my chest, my mind unable to find words.
Dr. Mulgar blinked, cleared his throat, and then, in a voice that suggested he was trying to confirm something that couldn’t possibly be true, said, “What?” If Dr. Bowusuvi, standing behind him, reacted at all, I didn’t notice.
My gut hollow, my heart beating like a woodpecker, my legs shaking with a near-uncontainable violence, I sought words and found only “Outside.” I pointed at the door (a reflex, almost, a physical manifestation of an attempt to say something more).
“Are you saying that you’re not going to tell me what you’ve seen until I take you outside?” He said it calmly, with only the slimmest narrowing of his eyes, but I sensed danger, perhaps because he spoke so slowly.
I wavered, but anger held me, and I nodded.
“That’s not the way it works, Romulus.” Danger was imminent. A subtle change in his voice told me that something was growing in him, something I wouldn’t like. At the same time, my nostrils caught a wave of something strong, not foul in the sense of Romulus’ waste after it had been smoldering in his cage for a few hours, but sharp and smothery. I realized, distantly, that it was Dr. Mulgar’s body odor, having somehow overcome the cologne he always wore.
The colors, red and yellow, of Dr. Mulgar’s shirt spun with my innards, and the colors of the room—the green floor, the blue ceiling, the brown furniture—seemed suddenly far away, as if my consciousness, sensing pain, was fleeing my body, fleeing the room, or perhaps trying to hide deep inside my body; but I held my ground. “Outside,” I said again.
“Let’s have it, Romulus.” This time there was definite command in his voice, and some irritation, as narrowing his eyes still further, he caught my gaze, and held it, his expression a sophisticated union of hurt, disappointment, disapproval, and forcefulness, as if at the same time as saying, “How can you treat me like this, I, who have been as a father to you? How can you do this to me?” he was also reminding me, “I am stronger than you, you cannot oppose me.”
I lowered my eyes, as he had expected me to, noting, stupidly, as I did, that my socks were mis-matched: one was iron-gray, the other slate-gray. The words, “An easy mistake, to be sure,” came into my mind, spoken by an old man, and then I wondered, “Who said that?” My mind was leaping about like a pebble in a jar. I was scared, and what was more, which made my fear both strange and insidious, it was my trusted tutor, Dr. Mulgar, who I was afraid of—more afraid of than I’d ever been of Dr. Bowusuvi. Some part of me thought I could still save myself, could still change course, divert our conversation back to where it could have gone had I simply told him about my vision when he’d asked me to; but I was unable to act. I was frazzled, I couldn’t lasso my thoughts enough to say anything except “Outside,” and at some level I knew that even if I’d been able to, I wouldn’t have. Trembling so violently I thought I might fall over, I looked back up into his midnight eyes and said, “Outside.” I had jumped off the cliff.