Pharmakon (22 page)

Question 27:

Makes no attempt to influence or control others.

Attempts to influence others indirectly, e.g., by comments,
allusions, flattery, etc.

Attempts to control others by direct comments or requests.

Insists on controlling others by any means at his/her disposal.

Question 46:

Does not try to attract the sexual interest of others.

Dresses, behaves, or speaks in a manner that may attract
the sexual interest of others.

Dress, behavior, or speech is explicitly provocative or exhibitionistic.

Makes direct and unmistakable physical approaches of a
sexual nature.

Question 62:

Shows no unusual inclination to smile or laugh.

Smiles or laughs readily.

Smiles or laughs at things that are not humorous or amusing
for most people.

Smiles or laughs at things that are decidedly unpleasant for
most people.

Grouped in symptom clusters, tabulated, and scored via factor analysis, it measured change. People and their lives and the feelings they felt and the thoughts in their heads were broken down into a series of numbers that when tallied would determine whether or not GKD altered behavior in ways that were desirable, and ultimately marketable, to both the scientific community and the world at large.

Friedrich and Winton knew it worked. Over the course of the last four months, one of Winton’s nurses had gone back to college. Another reported being less irritable, i.e., she’d stopped giving the toddler the back of her hand. Another had lost twenty-six pounds. The cleaning woman had become the first female deacon in the history of the Christ Is Lord Baptist Church. One of Friedrich’s boys, who suffered from a mild case of acrophobia, had not only climbed into the cockpit of a plane, he’d gotten his pilot’s license. Self-improvement equals self-fulfillment. Friedrich believed that. But did the symptom clusters factor out to happiness?

Of the twenty subjects who weren’t on placebo, only two reported no improvement in the quality of their lives. One complained of intestinal side effects, but since he had a previous history of chronic colitis, it was inconclusive whether or not diarrhea was an occasional side effect of GKD. Of course, no one’s improvement was as meteoric as Casper’s. But as Friedrich had told Winton from the start, “Casper’s special.”

Friedrich had brought a yellow legal pad and pen to take notes, but he already knew how he would have to answer the questions posed by the Friedrich Rating Scale. The trouble was, the Friedrich Rating Scale did not cover all the changes he had observed in Casper Gedsic. Friedrich’s test would reduce Casper to a number that would make him a victory. But that was not an accurate way to describe how he felt about Casper. The purloined accent, the borrowed clothes, the stolen girlfriend—all could be considered “self-improvement” in a sense. Casper had made real progress. But there was something phony about it, something that Friedrich didn’t trust.

The success of his rating scale depended on his objective observations, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Casper had given him the cage knowing that it would lure the parrots back inside.

Casper arrived in a pinstripe suit, his shirt was French-cuffed, and the links at his wrists were amethysts set in gold. He had taken his last sugar cube that morning. “Sorry I’m late, Professor Friedrich.” Friedrich noticed but did not note that Casper had ceased to call him “Doctor.” “I got held up having lunch with Alice’s father.”

“How’d that go?”

“Did you know he was given a seat on the New York City Stock Exchange for his twenty-first birthday?”

“You don’t say. What did you and Alice’s father talk about?”

“Gold. Specifically, how you can predict fluctuation in its price based on market history, current events, threat of war. I came up with a mathematical formula. It’s pretty simple, but it seems to work.”

“You’ve been buying and selling gold?”

“It began as a joke. Well, a challenge. Made over the bar at the yacht club. He and I both started out with a hundred thousand dollars in imaginary capital and speculated, bought futures, sold, short, that sort of thing. When Labor Day came and I’d doubled my money, he got interested how I did it, and . . . here, I’ll show you.” Casper took out an alligator agenda with a silver pencil attached and neatly began to write out a series of cosines.

Friedrich focused on the smile on Casper’s face as the elegant young man handed him the formula written out on gilt-edged paper with a silver pencil. “Try it out, see for yourself. We’ve made over forty-seven K in the last two weeks.”

“You made forty-seven thousand dollars?” Friedrich struggled to keep his jaw from dropping.

“No, not me personally. Alice’s dad did. He gave me ten percent. Which was very fair of him, considering he was the one who risked the capital. It’s based on an extrapolation of the work of the philosopher Laplace. You know, Laplace’s demon—know everything about the past and you can predict the future.”

“The future’s not firm ground, Casper. Say, just supposing, what if someone discovered a huge deposit of gold? The price would drop.”

“It’s possible. But . . . basic human nature, self-interest, would seem to suggest, if not guarantee, that your discoverer would keep his discovery a secret so as not to flood the market and lower the price of gold and devalue what he had worked so hard to dig up.”

“What if someone discovered how to manufacture gold synthetically?”

“Alchemists have been trying to do that for a long time. Besides, if it happened, someone would pay the fellow who discovered it enough to forgo being famous in return for being rich. He’d destroy the formula.”

Friedrich stared at him. “You’re not taking notes, Professor Friedrich. Something wrong?”

“No.” There was, of course. “I’m taking it all in.”

“I’m not giving up physics, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried if you’re not, and you seem to be doing well.”

“I’m happy. It’s not quite the right word for how I feel. But whatever it is, I like it, and it’s thanks to you.” Casper adjusted his French cuffs and admired his amethyst links.

“You’re the one who changed your life, not me.”

“I wish I could say Whitney was happy. Alice and I talked to Whitney’s mother about the drinking.”

“How’d Whitney feel about that?”

“Drinks more than ever, blames everything on me; he says terrible things about me. He has this idea he can get me kicked out of Yale. He’ll probably call you.”

“To say terrible things about you?”

“That, and his mother’s ordered him to see a psychologist. I recommended you.”

When the hour was up, Casper shook Dr. Friedrich’s hand. The ten-bell carillon of Harkness Tower was ringing out the hymn “All Things Bright and Beautiful.”

“Now can you tell me the name of the organic substance I’ve been taking?” Casper hadn’t let go of Friedrich’s hand yet.

“No.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Casper let go, turned, and started to walk away, then looked back with a smile. “Will you ever tell me?”

“When we publish the results of the study you can read about it. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Maybe we can get together before that.” Casper called out.

“Maybe.” Friedrich wanted to be done with his day, and with Casper Gedsic. Packing up his briefcase, he decided to put off filling in the blanks on Casper until tomorrow, and headed home early.

Friedrich drove home slowly, but not carefully. He drifted through yellow lights, crossed the line, and strayed over into the wrong side of the road without realizing it. A cigarette waited in his mouth for ten minutes before he remembered to light it. Reaching into his pocket for a match, he pulled out Casper’s formula for gold. He balled it into garbage. The window was already down. He was about to throw it away, then stopped . . . what if it worked? The math was beyond him.

Was he simply envious of Casper’s brain? Or the way he was using it? Friedrich was ambitious, he wanted more: a house on the hill, private school for his children, an alligator agenda. Was it simply that Casper was getting more faster, that the student was better than the teacher? Or was it that Casper showed no shame or guilt, was unconflicted about his reinvention? Quaint as it seems, social climbing was bad manners in 1952.

When he got home Friedrich’s brain downshifted to the here and now. There was a silver Jaguar sedan parked at the curb. Foreign cars were a rarity in Hamden back then. Thayer drove a black Cadillac; he thought he remembered Whitney driving a Packard. Casper had said Whitney was going to call. It’d be like a rich, spoiled, aspiring alcoholic to come to his home unannounced. Casper said he had a motorcycle now. Maybe he’d bought a Jag to go with it. Anything was possible.

Friedrich had told Nora he was going to work late. She wasn’t expecting him for several hours, and he wasn’t expecting to get out of the Whale and hear his wife’s laughter bubbling down from their bedroom window, carefree and girlish as a daisy chain. She laughed like that after she had an orgasm.

What if . . . who knows . . . anything?
Silence now. Where were the children? What was she doing up there? The image of his wife bobbing for a stranger’s apple flashed inside his head.

Friedrich entered his home as silently as a thief. It was a game. He didn’t really believe Nora was up there with . . . but if he didn’t believe it, why was he walking on tiptoes? He climbed the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky step. The bedroom door was ajar. Nora didn’t see him. She stood in front of the mirror, wearing a pink slip he had never seen before. In the bathroom, the water was running. He heard a man’s voice.

He pushed the door open slowly. It was more sordid than the fantasy in his head. A man was sitting on the toilet in his underwear. There was a long moment of rage before he realized it was the Czech he had met at Winton’s. It took Friedrich a moment to even remember his name, to focus on the fact that—Lazlo, that was his name—was holding a copy of
Little Red Hen,
and that the laughter was coming from his boys who were at that moment splashing in the tub.
Why is this stranger sitting in my bathroom
in his underwear reading to my naked sons in the bathtub?

“Your fish were getting me wet and there wasn’t room for me in the tub.” His suit was hung from a coat hanger on the bathroom door.

Normally, Friedrich’s mind would have gone straight to “pervert.” But he was so relieved not to have walked in on his wife having sex, he greeted Lazlo like a long-lost friend: “Great to see you, Lazlo.” Then, in spite of his relief, added, “What are you doing here?” He tried not to sound suspicious. All psychologists know they’re crazy. They just try not to advertise it.

“The butcher that I used to work for when I first came here had to have his thumb amputated. Osteomyelitis. Pinkie, the cheap bastard, he deserves to lose, but without this . . .”—he held up his thumb like he was hitchhiking—“. . . we would have lost our grip when we tried to climb down from the trees. I visited him in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, I’m glad to see you, but . . .” He was still suspicious.

Nora appeared in the doorway and kissed him. She was wearing a dress now. “I missed you.”

Willy announced, “Jack spilled chocolate sauce on Mom’s dress.”

“I was changing. I didn’t hear you come in.” Nora wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him twice more.

Friedrich was still trying to get his bearings. “Your Jaguar, Lazlo?”

The Czech nodded. “You know what they call them in England? Jews’ Bentley.” Lazlo laughed.

Nora glared at him as she dried off the boys. “That’s a horrible thing to say, Lazlo.”

“To me, what is horrible is the
Little Red Hen.
Not sharing the bread. Capitalist propaganda. And very un-Christian. If a Jew had written this book, the hen would at least have had the decency to offer to sell the pig some bread.”

“Why do you talk like an anti-Semite?” Nora didn’t find it funny.

“I’m anti-everything.” Lazlo thought that was very funny.

Friedrich laughed, too. “Where are the girls?”