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diff --git a/old/68170-h/68170-h.htm b/old/68170-h/68170-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index f9dc97d..0000000 --- a/old/68170-h/68170-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1263 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dream's End, by Henry Kuttner. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dream's end, by Henry Kuttner</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Dream's end</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Henry Kuttner</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 25, 2022 [eBook #68170]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, Alex White & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM'S END ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>DREAM’S END</h1> - -<h2>By HENRY KUTTNER</h2> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Startling Stories, July 1947.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -<p><i>Risking his own life force to cure a<br /> -patient’s psychosis, Dr. Robert Bruno learns<br /> -of the true individualism of human minds!</i></p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The sanitarium was never quiet. Even when night brought comparative -stillness, there was an anticipatory tension in the air—for cyclic -mental disorders are as inevitable, though not as regular, as the swing -of a merry-go-round.</p> - -<p>Earlier that evening Gregson, in Ward 13, had moved into the downswing -of his manic-depressive curve, and there had been trouble. Before the -orderlies could buckle him into a restraining jacket, he had managed to -break the arm of a “frozen” catatonic patient, who had made no sound -even as the bone snapped.</p> - -<p>Under apomorphine, Gregson subsided. After a few days he would be at the -bottom of his psychic curve, dumb, motionless, and disinterested. -Nothing would be able to rouse him then, for a while.</p> - -<p>Dr. Robert Bruno, Chief of Staff, waited till the nurse had gone out -with the no longer sterile hypodermic. Then he nodded at the orderly.</p> - -<p>“All right. Prepare the patient. I want him in Surgery Three in half an -hour.”</p> - -<p>He went out into the corridor, a tall, quiet man with cool blue eyes and -firm lips. Dr. Kenneth Morrissey was waiting for him. The younger man -looked troubled.</p> - -<p>“Surgery, Doctor?”</p> - -<p>“Come on,” Bruno said. “We’ve got to get ready. How’s Wheeler?”</p> - -<p>“Simple fracture of the radius, I think. I’m having plates made.”</p> - -<p>“Turn him over to one of the other doctors,” Bruno suggested. “I need -your help.” He used his key on the locked door. “Gregson’s in good shape -for the experiment.”</p> - -<p>Morrissey didn’t answer. Bruno laughed a little.</p> - -<p>“What’s bothering you, Ken?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the word experiment,” Morrissey said.</p> - -<p>“Pentothal narcosynthesis was an experiment when they first tried it. So -is this—empathy surrogate. If there’s a risk, I’ll be taking it, not -Gregson.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t be sure.”</p> - -<p>They stepped into the elevator.</p> - -<p>“I <i>am</i> sure,” Bruno said, with odd emphasis. “That’s been my rule all -my life. I make sure. I’ve got to <i>be</i> sure before I undertake anything -new. This experiment can’t possibly fail. I don’t run risks with -patients.”</p> - -<p>“Well—”</p> - -<p>“Come in here.” Bruno led the way from the elevator to an examination -room. “I want a final check-up. Try my blood-pressure.” He stripped off -his white coat and deftly wound the pneumatic rubber around his arm.</p> - -<p>“I’ve explained the whole situation to Gregson’s wife.” Bruno went on as -Morrissey squeezed the bulb. “She’s signed the authorization papers. She -knows it’s the only chance to cure Gregson. After all, Ken, the man’s -been insane for seven years. Cerebral deterioration’s beginning to set -in.”</p> - -<p>“Cellular, you mean? Um-m. I’m not worried about that. Blood-pressure -okay. Heart—”</p> - -<p>Morrissey picked up a stethoscope. After a while he nodded.</p> - -<p>“A physician hasn’t any right to be afraid of the dark,” Bruno said.</p> - -<p>“A physician isn’t charting unmapped territory,” Morrissey said -abruptly. “You can dissect a cadaver, but you can’t do that to the -psyche. As a psychiatrist you should be the first to admit that we don’t -know all there is to know about the mind. Would you take a transfusion -from a meningitis patient?”</p> - -<p>Bruno chuckled. “Witchcraft, Ken—pure witchcraft! The germ theory of -psychosis! Afraid I’ll catch Gregson’s insanity? I hate to disillusion -you, but episodic disorders aren’t contagious.”</p> - -<p>“Just because you can’t see a bug doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” -Morrissey growled. “What about a filterable virus? A few years ago -nobody could conceive of liquid life.”</p> - -<p>“Next you’ll be going back to Elizabethan times and talking about spleen -and humors.” Bruno resumed his shirt and coat. He sobered. “In a way, -though, this <i>is</i> a transfusion. The only type of transfusion possible. -I’ll admit no one knows all there is to know about psychoses. Nobody -knows what makes a man think, either. But that’s where physics is -beginning to meet medicine. Witchcraft and medicine isolated digitalin -when they met. And scientists are beginning to know the nature of -thought—an electronic pattern of energy.”</p> - -<p>“Empirical!”</p> - -<p>“Compare not the brain, but the mind itself, to a uranium pile,” Bruno -said. “The potentialities for atomic explosion are in the mind because -you can’t make a high-specialized colloid for thinking without -approaching the danger level. It’s the price humans pay for being <i>homo -sapiens</i>. In a uranium pile you’ve got boron-steel bars as dampers, to -absorb the neutrons before they can get out of control. In the mind, -those dampers are purely psychic, naturally—but they’re what keep a man -sane.”</p> - -<p>“You can prove anything by symbolism,” Morrissey said sourly. “And you -can’t stick bars of boron-steel in Gregson’s skull.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I can,” Bruno said. “In effect.”</p> - -<p>“But those dampers are—<i>ideas</i>! Thoughts! You can’t—”</p> - -<p>“What is a thought?” Bruno asked.</p> - -<p>Morrissey grimaced and followed the Chief of Staff out.</p> - -<p>“You can chart a thought on the encephalograph—” he said stubbornly.</p> - -<p>“Because it’s a radiation. What causes that radiation? Energy emitted by -certain electronic patterns. What causes electronic patterns? The basic -physical structure of matter. What causes uranium to throw off neutrons -under special conditions? Same answer. If an uranium pile starts to get -out of control, you can damp it, if you move fast, with boron or -cadmium.”</p> - -<p>“If you move fast. Why use Gregson? He’s been insane for years.”</p> - -<p>“If he’d been insane for only a week, we couldn’t prove it was the -empathy surrogate that cured him. You’re just arguing to dodge the -responsibility. If you don’t want to help me, I’ll get somebody else.”</p> - -<p>“It would take weeks to train another man,” Morrissey said. “No, I’ll -operate. Only—have you thought of the possible effect on your own -mind?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” Bruno said. “Why the devil do you suppose I’ve been running -exhaustive psychological tests on myself? I’m completely oriented, I’m -so normal that my mind must be full of boron dampers.” He paused at the -door of his office. “Barbara’s here. I’ll meet you in Surgery.”</p> - -<p>Morrissey’s shoulders slumped. Bruno smiled slightly and opened the -door. His wife was sitting on a leather couch, idly turning the pages of -a psychiatric review.</p> - -<p>“Studying?” Bruno said. “Want a job as a nurse?”</p> - -<p>“Hello, darling,” she said, tossing the magazine aside.</p> - -<p>She came toward him quickly. She was small and dark and, Bruno thought -academically, extremely pretty. Then his thoughts stopped being academic -as he kissed her.</p> - -<p>“What’s up?”</p> - -<p>“You’re doing that operation tonight, aren’t you? I wanted to wish you -luck.”</p> - -<p>“How’d you know?”</p> - -<p>“Bob,” she said, “we’ve been married long enough so I can read your mind -a little. I don’t know what the operation is, but I know it’s important. -So—for luck!”</p> - -<p>She kissed him again. Then, with a smile and a nod, she slipped out and -was gone. Dr. Robert Bruno sighed, not unhappily, and sat behind his -desk. He used the annunciator to check the sanitarium’s routine, made -certain everything was running smoothly, and clicked his tongue with -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>Now—the experiment....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Surgery Three had some new equipment for the experiment. Bruno’s -collaborator, Andrew Parsons, the atomic physicist, was there, small and -untidy, with a scowling, wrinkled face that looked incongruous under the -surgeon’s cap. There was to be no real surgery; trepanning wasn’t -necessary, but aseptic precautions were taken as a matter of course.</p> - -<p>The anesthetist and two other nurses stood ready, and Morrissey, in his -white gown, seemed to have forgotten his worry and had settled down to -his usual quiet competence. Gregson was on one of the tables, already -prepped and unconscious. Intravenous anesthesia would presently -supplement the apomorphine in his system, as it would also be -administered to Bruno himself.</p> - -<p>Ferguson and Dale, two other doctors, were present. At worst quick -cerebral surgery might be necessary, if anything went badly amiss. But -nothing could, Bruno thought. Nothing could.</p> - -<p>He glanced at the sleek, shining machines, with their attachments and -registering dials. Not medical equipment, of course. They were in -Parsons’ line; he had planned and built them. But the idea had been -Bruno’s to begin with, and Bruno’s psychiatric knowledge had -complemented Parsons’ technology. Two branches of science had met, and -the result would be—a specific for insanity.</p> - -<p>Two spots on Bruno’s head had been shaved clean. Parsons carefully -affixed electrodes, which were already in place on Gregson’s skull.</p> - -<p>“Remember,” Parsons said, “you should be as relaxed as possible.”</p> - -<p>“You took no sedative, Doctor,” Morrissey said.</p> - -<p>“I don’t need one. The anesthetic will be enough.”</p> - -<p>The nurses moved with silent competence about the table. The emergency -oxygen apparatus was tested. The adrenalin was checked; the sterilizer -steamed on its table. Bruno emptied his mind and relaxed as a nurse -swabbed his arm with alcohol.</p> - -<p>Superimposure of the electronic mental matrix of sanity ... psychic -rapport ... the pattern of his sanity-dampers would be fixed -unalterably in the twisted, warped mind of the manic-depressive.</p> - -<p>He felt the sting of the needle. Automatically he began counting. One. -Two. Three....</p> - -<p>He opened his eyes. The face of Morrissey, intent and abstracted, hung -over him. Beyond Morrissey was the bright ceiling fluorescent, glaring -down with a brilliance that made Bruno blink. His arm stung slightly but -otherwise there were no after effects.</p> - -<p>“Can you hear me, Doctor?” Morrissey said.</p> - -<p>Bruno nodded. “Yes. I’m awake now.” His tongue was a little thick. That -was natural. “Gregson?”</p> - -<p>But Morrissey’s face was growing smaller. No, it was receding. The -ceiling light shrank. <i>He was falling</i>—</p> - -<p>He shot down with blinding rapidity. White walls rushed up past him. -Morrissey’s face receded to a shining dot far above. It grew darker as -he fell. Winds screamed, and there was a slow, gradually increasing -thundering like an echo resounding from the floor of this monstrous -abyss.</p> - -<p>Down and down, faster and faster, with the white walls fading to gray -and to black, till he was blind, till he was deafened with that roaring -echo.</p> - -<p>Visibility returned. Everything was out of focus. He blinked, swallowed, -and made out the rectangular shape of a bedside screen. There was -something else, white and irregular.</p> - -<p>“Are you awake, Doctor?”</p> - -<p>“Hello, Harwood,” Bruno said to the nurse. “How long have I been out?”</p> - -<p>“About two hours. I’ll call Dr. Morrissey.”</p> - -<p>She stepped out of the room. Bruno flexed his muscles experimentally. He -felt all right. Not even a headache. His vision was normal now. He -instinctively reached for his wrist and began counting the pulse. -Through the window he could see the slow motion of a branch, the leaves -fluttering in a gentle wind. Footsteps sounded.</p> - -<p>“Congratulations,” Morrissey said, coming to the bed. “Gregson’s in -shock, but he’s already beginning to come out of it. No prognosis yet, -but I’ll bet a cookie you’ve done it.”</p> - -<p>Bruno let out his breath in a long sigh. “You think so?”</p> - -<p>Morrissey laughed. “Don’t tell me you weren’t sure!”</p> - -<p>“I’m always sure,” Bruno said. “Just the same, confirmation’s always -pleasant. I’m thirsty as the devil. Get me some ice, Ken, will you?”</p> - -<p>“All right.” Morrissey leaned out of the door and called the nurse. Then -he came back and lowered the Venetian blind. “Sun in your eyes. That -better? How do you feel, or need I ask?”</p> - -<p>“Quite normal. No ill effects at all. Say, you’d better notify Barbara -I’m alive.”</p> - -<p>“I already have. She’s coming over. Meanwhile, Parsons is outside. Want -to see him?”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The physicist must have been near the door, for he appeared almost -instantly.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to depend on you now,” he said. “Psychiatric examinations are -out of my line, but Dr. Morrissey tells me we’ve apparently succeeded.”</p> - -<p>“We can’t be sure yet,” Bruno said cautiously, reaching for cracked ice. -“I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”</p> - -<p>“How do you feel?”</p> - -<p>“If there’s a healthier specimen in this hospital than Dr. Bruno,” -Morrissey said, “I’ve yet to hear of it. I’ll be back. I’ve got to check -a patient.” He went out.</p> - -<p>Bruno lay back on his pillow.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be up and around tomorrow,” he said, “and I’ll want to make some -tests on Gregson then. Meanwhile, I’ll relax—for a change. One good -thing about this place; the routine’s so perfect that you can unhitch -yourself completely and let yourself rest, if you want to. A dependable -staff.”</p> - -<p>The Venetian blind clattered in the wind. Parsons grunted and went -toward it, taking hold of the cord.</p> - -<p>He raised the blind and stood there, his back to Bruno. But it was dark -outside the window.</p> - -<p>“The sun was in my eyes,” Bruno said. “Wait a minute! That was only a -little while ago. Parsons, something’s wrong!”</p> - -<p>“What?” Parsons asked, without turning.</p> - -<p>“Morrissey said I was unconscious for only two hours. And I took -anesthesia at half-past nine. At night! But the sun was shining in that -window when I woke up, a few minutes ago!”</p> - -<p>“It’s night now,” Parsons said.</p> - -<p>“It can’t be. Get Morrissey. I want to—”</p> - -<p>But Parsons suddenly leaned forward and opened the window. Then he -jumped out and vanished.</p> - -<p>“<i>Morrissey!</i>” Bruno shouted.</p> - -<p>Morrissey came in. He didn’t look at Bruno. He walked quickly across the -room and jumped out of the window into the darkness.</p> - -<p>Ferguson and Dale entered, still in their operating gowns. They followed -Morrissey through the window.</p> - -<p>Bruno hoisted himself up. Three nurses came through the door. An intern -and an orderly followed. Then others.</p> - -<p>In nightmare procession the staff filed into Bruno’s room. In deadly -silence they walked to the window and jumped out.</p> - -<p>The blankets slipped down from Bruno’s body. He saw them sail slowly -toward the window—</p> - -<p>The bed was tilting! No—the room itself was turning, revolving, till -Bruno clung frantically to the head-board while gravity dragged him -inexorably toward a window that now gaped directly below him.</p> - -<p>The bed fell. It spilled Bruno out. He saw the oblong of the window -opening like a mouth to swallow him. He plunged through into utter -blackness, into an echoing, roaring hell of night and thunder....</p> - -<p>“Oh, good heavens!” Bruno moaned. “What a dream! Morrissey, get me a -sedative!”</p> - -<p>The psychiatrist laughed. “You’ve had a dream-within-a-dream before, -haven’t you, Doctor? It sounds unnerving, but now you’ve told me all -about it. The catharsis is better than a barbiturate.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so.” Bruno lay back in the bed.</p> - -<p>This wasn’t the room he had dreamed about. It was much larger, and -outside the windows was normal darkness. Morrissey had said that the -anesthetic had lasted for several hours.</p> - -<p>“Anyway, I’m jittery,” Bruno said.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know you had any nerves.... Here, Harwood.” Morrissey -turned to the nurse and scribbled down a few symbols on a pad. “There. -We’ll get your sedative. Don’t you want to know about Gregson?”</p> - -<p>“I’d forgotten about him completely,” Bruno acknowledged. “Can you tell -anything definite yet?”</p> - -<p>“We caught him on the downcurve of the depressive cycle, remember? Well, -he isn’t talking yet, but there’s a touch of euphoria. The elation will -wear off. One thing, you’ve broken the cycle. His mind isn’t adjusted -yet to those—damper bars you put in ’em, but off-hand, I’d say it looks -pretty good.”</p> - -<p>“What does Parsons think?”</p> - -<p>“He’s immersed in calculations. Said he’d be around to see you as soon -as you woke up. Here’s that sedative.”</p> - -<p>Bruno accepted the capsules from the nurse and washed them down with -water.</p> - -<p>“Thanks. I’d rather rest a bit. I must have unconsciously piled up quite -a lot of tension.”</p> - -<p>“So I gather,” Morrissey said drily. “Well, here’s the bell-cord. -Anything else?”</p> - -<p>“Just rest.” Bruno hesitated. “Oh—one thing.” He extended his arm. -“Pinch it.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Morrissey stared and chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Still not sure you’re awake? I can assure you you are, Doctor. I’m not -going to jump out of the window. And it’s still night, you’ll notice.”</p> - -<p>When Bruno didn’t move, Morrissey pinched up a fold of the other’s -forearm between thumb and finger.</p> - -<p>“Ouch!” Bruno said. “Thanks.”</p> - -<p>“Any time,” Morrissey said cheerfully. “Get some rest now. I’ll be -back.”</p> - -<p>He went out with the nurse. Bruno blew out his breath and let his gaze -wander around the room. Everything looked perfectly solid and normal. No -black, thundering abyss lurked under the floor. An unpleasant dream!</p> - -<p>He reached for pad and pencil and made careful notes on the curious -double-delusion before he let himself relax. Then he felt the sedative -creeping slowly along his nerves, a warm, pleasant sensation that he was -glad to encourage. He didn’t want to think. Later would be time enough. -The empathy surrogate experiment, Gregson, the physicist Parsons, -Barbara—later!</p> - -<p>He drowsed. It seemed only a moment before he opened his eyes to see -sunlight beyond the window. Brief panic touched him, then he looked at -his wrist-watch and was reassured to see that it said eleven o’clock. He -could hear the muffled sounds of the ordinary hospital routine going on -outside door and window. Presently, feeling refreshed, he got up and -dressed.</p> - -<p>In Nurse Harwood’s office he telephoned Morrissey, exchanged brief -greetings, and then went to his own office to shower and shave.</p> - -<p>He telephoned Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Hello, there,” she said. “Morrissey notified me you were doing all -right. So I thought I’d wait till you woke up.”</p> - -<p>“I’m awake now. Suppose I come over to the house for lunch?”</p> - -<p>“Swell. I’ll be waiting.”</p> - -<p>“Half an hour, then?”</p> - -<p>“Half an hour. I’m glad you called, Bob. I was worried.”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t have been.”</p> - -<p>“Was your experiment a success?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t tell yet. Keep your fingers crossed.”</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later Bruno’s fingers were still crossed as he examined -Gregson. Parsons and Morrissey were present. The physicist kept making -notes, but Morrissey stood silent and watchful.</p> - -<p>There was very little to be seen as yet. Gregson lay in his bed, the -shaved spots on his head white against the dark hair, his features -relaxed and peaceful. The typical anxiety expression was gone. Bruno -opened the man’s eyes and flashed his light into them. Contraction of -the pupils seemed normal.</p> - -<p>“Can you hear me, Gregson?”</p> - -<p>Gregson’s lips moved. But he said nothing.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right. You’re feeling fine, aren’t you? You’re not worried -about anything, are you?”</p> - -<p>“Headache,” Gregson said. “Bad headache.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll give you something for that. Now try to sleep.”</p> - -<p>Outside, in the corridor, Bruno tried hard to repress his exultation. -Parsons blinked at him, scowling.</p> - -<p>“Can you tell anything yet?”</p> - -<p>Bruno checked himself. “No. It’s too soon. But—”</p> - -<p>“The manic-depressive phase is passed,” Morrissey put in. “He seems -rational. And he hasn’t been for three years.”</p> - -<p>“Those damper bars—” Bruno smiled. “Well, we’ll have to wait and see. -We can’t write up a report yet. He’s certainly oriented. We’ll give him -a chance to rest. More tests later. I don’t want to jump the gun.”</p> - -<p>But with Barbara he let himself be more enthusiastic.</p> - -<p>“We’ve done it, Barbara! Found a specific for insanity.”</p> - -<p>She leaned across the table to pour coffee.</p> - -<p>“I thought there were so many types of psychosis that the treatment -varied considerably.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s true, but we’ve never got to the real basis of the trouble -before. You can cure a cold by rest therapy, force fluids and aspirin, -but cold vaccine gets directly to the root of the trouble. Some types of -insanity have been thought incurable, but tetanus was incurable till we -got a vaccine for it. The empathy surrogate therapy is the lowest common -denominator. It works on the electronic structure of the mind, and -unless there’s physical deterioration, as in advanced paresis, our -treatment should work beautifully.”</p> - -<p>“So that’s what you were working on,” Barbara said. “Bob, you don’t know -how glad I am that it’s successful.”</p> - -<p>“Well—we hope. We’re almost sure. But—”</p> - -<p>“You can take a vacation now? You’ve been working so hard!”</p> - -<p>“A few more weeks, and I’ll be ready. I’ve got to collate my notes. I -can’t run out on Parsons at this stage. But very soon, I promise.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He looked up to see her smile. Suddenly he stiffened. Her smile was -broadening, stretching, the lower lip dropping till all her teeth -showed. The lower lids of her eyes hung ... stretched....</p> - -<p>Her nose lengthened.</p> - -<p>Her eyes slowly crawled out of their sockets and lengthened on dreadful -stalks down her cheeks.</p> - -<p>She melted down and out of sight beneath the table.</p> - -<p>The table began to sink.</p> - -<p>And now everything around him was melting. Under him the chair became -plastic and then fluid. The floor was a bowl, and the walls were -dripping down into it, into a shining whirlpool at the center.</p> - -<p>He slipped helplessly along that slope till the pool engulfed him, in a -chaos of thunder and confusion and sickening horror.</p> - -<p>The winds bellowed.... The empty drop closed around him.... He -fell in darkness....</p> - -<p>This time, when he woke, he wasn’t sure. The panic had not left him. He -learned, later, that he had been semi-delirious for eight days, and only -Morrissey’s unceasing attention had kept him reasonably quiet. Then -there were weeks of convalescence, and a vacation, and it seemed a long -time before he came back from Florida, tanned and healthy, to resume his -duties.</p> - -<p>Even then, though, there was the fear.</p> - -<p>When he drove toward the blocky buildings of the sanitarium he felt a -touch of it brush him. He reached for Barbara’s hand, and felt some -comfort in the assurance of her nearness. She had been helpful, too, -though she had not understood.</p> - -<p>Every day after that, when he left her, there was a fleeting -apprehension lest he never see her again. To forget the uncertainty of -his footing, the ground that was no longer absolutely solid, he plunged -into the hospital’s routine. And gradually, after more weeks, the terror -began to leave him.</p> - -<p>Gregson had been cured. He was still under precautionary observation, -but all traces of his psychosis seemed to have vanished. There were -still minor neuroses, the natural result of the past six years of -abnormal restraint, but they were disappearing under proper therapy. The -empathy surrogate treatment was successful. Yet, for a while, Bruno -refused to attempt more experiments.</p> - -<p>Parsons was displeased. He was anxious to chart a graph on the process, -and one trial did not provide enough evidence. Bruno kept putting the -physicist off with promises. It eventually ended in a minor spat which -Morrissey halted by pointing out that Dr. Robert Bruno was, technically, -his own patient, and was not yet ready for further research on the -dangerous subject.</p> - -<p>Parsons, furious, went off. Bruno followed Morrissey into the latter’s -office and sat down in one of the more comfortable chairs. It was -mid-afternoon, and beyond the windows the drowsy hum of summer made a -peaceful counterpoint to the conversation.</p> - -<p>“Cigarette, Ken?”</p> - -<p>“Thanks.... Look, Bob.” The two men had drawn closer together in the -last weeks. Morrissey no longer addressed his Chief of Staff with the -former “Doctor.” “I’ve been collating the facts of your case, and I -think I’ve got at the root of the trouble. Do you want to hear my -diagnosis?”</p> - -<p>“Candidly, I don’t,” Bruno said, closing his eyes and inhaling smoke. -“I’d prefer to forget it. But I know I can’t. That would be psychically -ruinous.”</p> - -<p>“You had a cyclic self-containing dream—I suppose you could call it -that. You dreamed you were dreaming you were dreaming. You know what -your trouble is?”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“You’re not sure you’re awake now.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m sure enough,” Bruno said. “Most of the time.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got to be sure all the time. Or else make yourself believe that -it doesn’t matter whether you’re dreaming or waking.”</p> - -<p>“Doesn’t matter! Ken! To know that everything may melt away under my -feet at any time, and to think that doesn’t matter! That’s impossible!”</p> - -<p>“Then you’ve got to be sure you’re awake. Those hallucinations you had -are over. Weeks have passed.”</p> - -<p>“Hallucinatory time is elastic and subjective.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a defense mechanism—you know that, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Defense against what?”</p> - -<p>Morrissey moistened his lips. “Remember, I’m the psychiatrist and you’re -the patient. You were psychoanalyzed when you studied psychiatry, but -you didn’t get all the devils out of your subconscious. Hang it, Bob, -you know very well that most psychiatrists take up the work because -they’re attracted to it for pathological reasons—neuroses of their own. -Why did you always insist that you were so utterly sure of everything?”</p> - -<p>“I always made sure.”</p> - -<p>“Compensation. To allow for a basic unsureness and insecurity in your -own makeup. Consciously you were sure the empathy surrogate treatment -would work, but your unconscious mind wasn’t so certain. You never let -yourself know that, though. But it came out under stress—the therapy -itself.”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” Bruno said slowly.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Morrissey tapped the papers on his desk.</p> - -<p>“I know my diagnosis is pretty accurate, but you can decide that for -yourself. You can tell, perhaps, better than I can. The frontiers of the -mind are <i>terra incognita</i>. Your simile of a uranium pile was better -than you’d realized. When critical mass is approached, there’s danger. -And the damper bars in your own mind—what did Parsons’ machine do to -them?”</p> - -<p>“I am quite sane,” Bruno said. “I think.”</p> - -<p>“Sure you are, now. You’re getting over that explosion. You’d been -building up an anxiety neurosis, and the therapy made it blow off. Just -how, I don’t understand. The electronic patterns of the mind aren’t in -my field. All I know is that the experiment with Gregson removed the -safety blocks from your mind, and you lost control for a while. Thus the -hallucinations, which simply followed the path of least resistance. -Point One: You’re afraid of insecurity and unsureness, and you always -have been. Thus your dream follows a familiarly symbolic pattern. At any -time the sureness of waking may vanish. Point Two: As long as you think -you’re dreaming, you’re dodging responsibility!”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord, Ken!” Bruno said. “I just want to be sure I’m awake!”</p> - -<p>“And there’s absolutely no way you can be sure of that,” Morrissey said. -“The conviction must come from your own mind and be subjective. No -objective proof is possible. Otherwise, if you fail to convince -yourself, the anxiety neurosis will grow back into a psychosis, and—” -He shrugged.</p> - -<p>“It sounds logical,” Bruno said. “I’m beginning to see it pretty -clearly. I think, perhaps, this clarification is what I needed.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think you’re dreaming now?”</p> - -<p>“Not at the moment—certainly.”</p> - -<p>“Swell,” Morrissey said. “Because the conglobulation of the psych -between the forever and upstriding kaleeno bystixing forinder saan—”</p> - -<p>Bruno jumped up. “Ken!” he said, dry-throated. “Stop it!”</p> - -<p>“Fylixar catween baleeza—”</p> - -<p>“<i>Stop it!</i>”</p> - -<p>“BYZINDERKONA REPSTILLING AND ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS NEVER KNOWING NEVER -KNOWING NEVER KNOWING—”</p> - -<p>The words came out in great whirling shining globes. They raced past -Bruno’s head with a screaming hiss. They bombarded him. They carried him -back into a thundering, windy abyss of blackness and terror.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Morrissey stepped back from the bed and asked:</p> - -<p>Dr. Robert Bruno managed to nod.</p> - -<p>“Good,” Morrissey said. “You were out for about three hours. But -everything’s going nicely. You’ll be up and around pretty soon. There’s -plenty to be done. Barbara wants to see you—and Parsons.”</p> - -<p>“Ken,” Bruno said, “wait a minute. Am I awake now? I mean, really -awake?”</p> - -<p>Morrissey stared and grinned.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” he said. “I can guarantee that.”</p> - -<p>But Bruno did not answer. His gaze moved to the windows, to the solidity -of the walls and ceiling, to the reality of his own hands and arms.</p> - -<p><i>Never knowing?</i></p> - -<p>He looked at Morrissey, waiting for Morrissey to vanish, and the black -pit to open again beneath him.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM'S END ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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