As the patient came to and looked around dazedly, Poffis at once began to plead. "Now look here, I am your officer. You can't—"
The patient at once caught the pleading tone, and the words "I am your officer." He reacted with still-fast reflexes.
"Oh, can't I?" he snarled. He staggered to his feet with Poffis's help, and immediately tried to plant his knee in Poffis's groin.
Poffis turned too fast, and sank his fist in his patient's midsection.
Dr. Garvin watched the patient collapse and lie motionless.
Poffis now dumped a bucket of water on the patient, brought him to, and as the patient looked around dazedly Poffis bent over him and said sympathetically, "Understand, none of this is meant for the real you. We have to retrain your habits and attitudes, and this is the quickest way. I realize what you're going through, because I've been through the same thing myself."
The patient sat up dizzily. Some instinct for self-preservation apparently prompted him to keep Poffis talking. "You—you did?"
"Yes," said Poffis reminiscently. "I've been through the whole thing. You see, I had bad habits." A tinge of regret entered his voice. "And wrong attitudes, and I didn't even know it. That's how it works. No one could reason with me, or get through to me by anything that boiled down to reason, because, you see, this wrong attitude of mine distorted everything, and I couldn't understand things right."
Garvin was staring, wondering what would happen next. Poffis's voice was starting to grow heated.
"So," said Poffis emotionally, "they stuck me in a cell, and for these bad habits and wrong attitudes they beat me up, and slammed me all around." He sucked in a deep breath. "Sure, I had it coming. I deserved it. Because of the bad habits." His voice dropped. "But I felt every blow. It was meant for the bad habits. But I felt it."
There was now an impression of smoldering resentment building up behind Poffis's expressionless face. The patient glanced around nervously.
"Bad habits," said Poffis flatly. "They got me in all that trouble. And I suffered. I hate them!"
"Sure," said the patient nervously. "I can appreciate—"
"I hate bad habits, bad traits, bad emotions," said Poffis, his voice rising. "But they've been beat out of me, so now there's only one way I can get back at them."
The patient tried a quick shake of the cell door. It was still locked.
"And that," said Poffis, "is to find them in someone else."
The patient's eyes were wide-open. "Hey now. Wait a minute. Listen, now!"
"Right here," snarled Poffis, gazing intently at the patient, "I see conceit, arrogance, carelessness—"
Poffis's voice, already charged with emotion, took on a tone suggestive of rending flesh and popping bones. He tore off his tunic and tossed it toward a corner of the cell, where Moklin with one deft motion snapped it out through the bars and laid it on the chair, neatly folded.
Patient and psychotherapist were suddenly flashing around the cell in a blur of speed, the prisoner screaming at the top of his lungs. "You can't! Help! You're responsible! STOP!"
WHAM!
The cell was one flying tangle of furry arms, legs and tails, with the prisoner's horrified face in view, and now Poffis's grim visage. Grunts, screams and gasps resounded like the sounds of a medieval torture chamber.
Captain Moklin, watching, grinned and nodded.
Dr. Garvin looked on in horrified stupefaction, staring at the chaos resolved momentarily into grim scenes.
For an instant the prisoner was flattened out on the floor.
Then he was slammed motionless against the bars.
Next he was suspended in midair, one outstretched arm against the ceiling.
A fraction of a second later, it was one chaos of violence all over again.
Interspersed with the violence was Poffis's grim voice:
"You will listen.
"You will try!
"You will learn!"
There was a sudden crash, and the prisoner was saying rapidly, "All right! I'll do it! Sure, I'll do it! Anything you say!"
Poffis stared intently into the prisoner's eyes. "You look crafty. You don't mean it."
The cell exploded into chaos.
The prisoner screamed, "I promise! I mean it!"
Poffis stared deep into his eyes. "Close, but you're not there yet."
The violence ended the next time with a cry of despair. Then Poffis straightened. "Moklin!"
"Yes, sir! The lash?"
"The board."
Moklin handed in a medium-sized solidly made paddle.
The prisoner stared as Poffis took it, and said in a kindly voice, "Bend over, son. Grip the bars."
The prisoner swallowed, tore his gaze from the paddle, bent and took hold of the bars with both hands.
Poffis took the paddle in a practiced grip.
"You have committed ten serious offenses. For each offense, there must be a blow. The blows must be hard, or they will not be punishment. Hold on tight. Moklin!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Read the offenses."
Moklin raised the list, and read slowly and distinctly. At the end of each numbered offense, Poffis delivered a staggering blow.
Toward the end, as the list went on and on, the prisoner began to sob, but continued to tightly grip the bars.
At last, the list, which seemed to Garvin, watching dazedly, to be ten times as long as when it was first read—at last this list came to an end.
Moklin said soberly, "That is the end of the list of offenses, sir."
Poffis said, "So be it. Take the board." He handed the paddle out through the bars.
The prisoner collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
Poffis waited a moment, then said, "Prisoner, that ends the punishment. But punishment is not necessarily the same as repayment. You have, by your actions, done grave damage to the Integral Union itself. Yet the Integral Union feeds and shelters you. You have attacked what defended you. Are you sorry?"
"Yes," cried the prisoner.
Poffis nodded. "Good. Look at me. Are you going to do better?"
"Yes!"
Poffis nodded slowly. "Yes, I see you mean it. Moklin!"
"Yes, sir?"
"This prisoner has hard work in front of him. He will need to sleep, but first he needs something to ease the pain, and he also needs a little warm thin gruel. Take care of this at once."
"Yes, sir."
Garvin, still watching in a sort of daze, saw Poffis help the prisoner to his feet, to ease him, very carefully, warning him where to put his hands and feet, onto the cot. To Garvin's astonishment, the prisoner, still sobbing, gripped Poffis's hand in what appeared to be gratitude.
Poffis said gently, "Don't worry, son. You may think we're going to half-kill you. But we'll get you out of it."
Moklin stepped into the cell, carrying a small bowl in one hand, and a jar of bandages in the other. Poffis stepped out of the cell and beckoned Garvin into the next room. Uncertain what to expect, Garvin followed with unspoken reservations. Poffis shut the door behind them.
"Now, just what the devil is going on at Mental Institution 16?"
Garvin said, "Why, just standard treatment."
"Whose standard treatment?"
"Well—"
"What is it?"
Garvin drew a slow deep breath, and described it.
Poffis shook his head.
"Conceivably that may work on Earthmen. But a thing like that won't work on Centrans."
"Is that so?" said Garvin, his professional pride touched. "Well, all I can say is, it certainly is more scientific than the procedure you use!"
"Obviously," said Poffis, "that's exactly what's wrong with it. The techniques of Science were developed for use on inanimate objects."
As Garvin grappled with this statement, Poffis said, "Observe what has happened. Science came into existence to solve purely physical problems. To solve these problems it was necessary to exclude emotional considerations. The forces operative in this physical world are different from the forces operative in the emotional world. It is as if one were land and the other sea. The seafarer who goes ashore has little need for nets, lines and a knowledge of the tides, winds, and currents. But when he has built up his structure on solid land, is he then automatically fitted to go back to sea, relying exclusively on land methods? It won't work, Dr. Garvin, except where, so to speak, the emotional sea has been frozen over, turned to ice on the surface. In the emotional world, to say, 'My methods are entirely scientific,' is similar to saying, 'I have made an entirely scientific proposal of marriage.' It is a cause for alarm, not confidence."
Garvin hesitated, distracted by the uneasy suspicion that there might be some truth to Poffis's point, but stung by the implications. If psychology wasn't a science, then wasn't he, Garvin, a charlatan of some kind?
Poffis said earnestly, "Why insist that your study must be a science? Should everything be jammed into the same mold, and any parts that don't fit be thrown away? Just because a hammer is useful, should we throw away screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers and every other tool, and force the hammer to do work it isn't meant for? Or, by some kind of verbal wizardry, have we got to represent screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers and other useful tools, as different kinds of hammers? They are not hammers, my friend, any more than all useful studies are sciences. If you let such a distortion enter into your thought, you may not only blur your picture of the subject you are thinking of, but also your picture of Science itself."
On thinking it over, it seemed perfectly clear to Garvin that if psychology was not a science, then he, Garvin, must necessarily be a fake. If psychology was not a science, then it followed that he was no scientist, and this meant that he was less than, for instance, a physicist, or a chemist, and if he admitted to being not a scientist, it followed that he would seem to be less than one of those incredible creatures, the political scientists who, everyone agreed, were actually no scientists at all.
All this went through Garvin's head in a flash, and at the end he said coolly, "Psychology, Major Poffis, whatever it may be among Centrans, is universally recognized among Earthmen as the 'science of the mind.' I certainly don't intend to argue this proposition."
Poffis was watching Garvin's expression intently. "Psychology," said Poffis, with the air of one who reluctantly concedes a point, "may deserve to be a science; it may have distinct scientific elements; but if you say psychology is and is only a science, then I say that in your respect for your subject, it appears to me that you are mistakenly throwing half your tool kit into the nearest ditch. The essence of Science is the Scientific Method, and the essence of the Scientific Method is the Repeatable Experiment. To have a repeatable experiment requires first that the object experimented upon be comparatively constant. If atoms could argue, fight back, run away, sulk, plead, throw tantrums, learn our terminology and use it against us, then we might reasonably have some doubts as to just how strictly scientific the study of atoms could be. But in that case, would the study of atoms be any the less important?"
Garvin said hesitantly, "I came here to learn your method, so that I could combine your methods and ours—"
Poffis looked doubtful. "Your method, as you have described it, suggests to me the attempt to fix a malfunctioning ground-car by the use of analytical chemistry."
"And how would you explain your brand of psychology?"
"Very simple. To begin with, we believe in sympathy, power of will, character, habit, love, association, contrast, the power of example, the soul, the spirit—"
"What a hodgepodge! You've got religion in there! You've got—"
"What we got in there," said Poffis, "is Truth, and we accept Truth from any source, including religion."
"But, of all the unscientific—"
Poffis momentarily paralyzed Garvin with a poke of his long forefinger.
"The one advantage of Science is that it enables us, where it is applicable, to reach Truth. Truth is the goal, my friend, and Science is one means of reaching Truth, where Science applies. Don't forget your quest. You are seeking Truth. Don't mistake the means for the goal."
Poffis went out, leaving Garvin open-mouthed. Dazedly Garvin considered Poffis's last two sentences.
"You are seeking Truth." Certainly this was so. Why had he ever been interested in Science in the first place? He was seeking Truth. And that warning, "Don't mistake the means for the goal." Could he, Garvin, possibly be like a boy who spent so much time laboring over his finicky but beloved car that he rarely actually went anywhere?
The rest of Poffis's argument was borne in on him. How the devil did you have a science when the thing you were working with was as unstable and changeable as the human personality and the human intellect? Science! Was it an example of Science when the object of the experiment got up and tried to strangle you, as had happened twice now to poor Hardison? Was it Science when the experimenter fell in love with the object of the experiment, as had happened to Pangeist? And what about Hergeswalther, who got sucked into the patient's fantasy, and was only gotten out again because the patient realized what was going on?
"Science!" snarled Garvin. "My foot, it's a science. Only parts of it are scientific." And in that case, how was it going to get him to Truth?
For the second time, it dawned on Garvin that Poffis was really a master psychologist. How the deuce had Poffis known what he, Garvin, had turned to Science for? And how had Poffis been able to drive his idea across with such effect that, just a few minutes later, Garvin was accepting them as his own? But the main thing was—how was Poffis able to make cures while he, Garvin, spent his time floundering through the dark, and as often as not accomplished little more than to give the patient a knowledge of the underlying theory, which might or might not work.
Garvin hesitated, then went to the door.
Captain Moklin glanced up and smiled. Across the room, the patient slept peacefully.
Garvin said in a low voice, "Does the major always use the same treatment?"
"No. It depends on the patient."
That was helpful, thought Garvin sourly.
Moklin said, "Major Poffis looks to see what is wrong with the patient, then he fixes it. Down the corridor is one who is here because it is against his principles to obey orders. Major Poffis will break his arguments into little bits and pieces. He will make it all so clear that the prisoner will go out seeing the question in a new light. But most of these uncontrollables have a treatment more like this one here. Only, each treatment is different in the details, because the prisoners are different."
Garvin nodded. He was still getting nowhere. At random, to keep the conversation going until he thought of a new approach, he said, "No wonder the major complained about the work-load."
"Yes," said Moklin, "the work-load is piling up, and the major hasn't even an apprentice to help him."
Garvin nodded sympathetically, then blinked, "Apprentice? You mean you teach psychotherapy by the apprentice system?"
"Not I," said Moklin, block-headedly literal minded.
"No, no," said Garvin, "I mean is that the Centran system for teaching psychotherapy?"
"The Centran system?" said Moklin blankly. "Why should we have only one system? Also, there are schools that teach it."
"Yes, but you can't have both!"
Moklin looked at him. "Why not?"
"Well, the results wouldn't be uniform, for one thing."
"So?"
Garvin looked blank. Here he was again. The Centrans, block-headed fellows, did some silly thing, and when Garvin tried to explain why it was silly, the reasons evaporated, and he was left with this foolish feeling.
"Well," he said stubbornly, "obviously a man taught at a special school would know more than a mere apprentice. By the results not being uniform, I mean that the apprentice would be inferior."
"Oh, you think so? With Major Poffis to teach, you think the apprentice would be laggardly in his efforts?"
"Well, no, I can see the major would keep him working, but—after all, there are a lot of things to be taught. At a school, there would be special teacher for each subject."
Moklin nodded agreeably. "And this special teacher will have a class with many in it, and split his efforts among the class."
"All right," said Garvin angrily, "if this apprentice system works, why do the students go to school instead of apprenticing themselves to the major?"
"Because," said Moklin promptly, "they are afraid to apprentice themselves to the major. Once they apprentice themselves to him, he will not let them go until they are almost as good at cures as he is, and he is one of the best there is. It will be nothing but work, work, study, practice, practice, and the major will see through excuses, punish laziness, stimulate earnest hard work, and judge with merciless accuracy. And we have been unable to find any students who are anxious to go through this."
Garvin thought it over. "But at the end, his apprentice will be almost as good at it as he is?"
"Oh, yes. Major Poffis will see to that."
"H'm." Garvin paused to consider. He was totally fed up with floundering around. Among other kinds of patients, Rolling Hills Rest and Rehabilitation Center, where Garvin worked, got a good number of uncontrollables. The frustration in dealing with them was terrific. "Ah," said Garvin, "is there any limitation—on age, race and so on—would the major take a—ah—an Earthman, past the usual student age—"
"With this work-load," said Moklin, "the major would take anyone, provided the apprentice was in earnest, and, of course, showed some promise."
"How many apprentices can the major take at once?"
"I don't know. I've never known him to take more than three at one time."
Garvin thought hard. He would like to have a record of cures like the major's. On the other hand, he certainly did not want the major's undiluted attention focused on him alone. It followed that he would need to interest someone else. How about Hardison? After that second strangling attempt, Hardison had sworn that he had always wanted to be a corporation lawyer, and the director had practically turned himself inside out to keep Hardison from quitting, right on the spot, and heading for law school.
Then there was Hergeswalther. His brief sojourn in fantasy-land had given him a new outlook. Who among the staff hadn't heard him muttering, "I could go nuts myself, any time. Any time." What wouldn't Hergeswalther do to get a better grip on sanity?
Here are two additional prospective apprentices, if Garvin could only sell them on the idea. He glanced at Moklin.
"How much do apprentices get paid?"
"Not much as apprentices, beyond room and board," said Moklin, adding at once, "But they get very high pay when they have acquired their skill."
"H'm," said Garvin, "that's very interesting."
In his mind, he was saying to Hardison and Hergeswalther, "It's a tremendously exciting idea to me, from a scientific viewpoint. Here was a method that works, that turns out cures like clockwork, and it's never really been scientifically analyzed."
"Yes," he could hear Hardison say, "But, for God's sake, Garv, to apprentice ourselves to this Centran witch doctor—"
"I know, I know. But that's the only way to really get his methods. We could write a book afterward, detailing the underlying scientific elements of the cures."
"Hey, we could, couldn't we?" Hardison had always wanted to write a book.
Hergeswalther said uneasily, "And, meanwhile, what do we eat?"
"Well, we get room and board, and I guess not much more. But afterward we've got the ability. And then they really pay. Believe me, there's plenty of business there. The patients are piling up fast. And we could cure them."
"Yes," said Hardison, with a smile. "That would be a change, wouldn't it? If our treatment would work."
There was a thoughtful silence.
"Just think, Walt," said Hardison, "we could call the book, Elements of Centran Psychotherapy."
Hergeswalther's lips repeated the title, and he added softly, "By Hergeswalther, Hardison and Garvin."
"Yes," murmured Hardison, half-aloud. "By Hardison, Hergeswalther and Garvin."
Garvin came out of his fantasy. Actually, he told himself, the book should be "By Garvin, Hardison and Hergeswalther." Any fool could tell that it sounded better that way. Not that that argument would get anywhere with the other two. Let's see now: A, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i . . . Of course! It was alphabetical! Garvin could rest his case solidly on that argument.
Beaming, Garvin got his coat and turned to thank Moklin for a very pleasant visit.
Moklin said, "I am sorry, Dr. Garvin, that you must go now. Shall I say good-by to the major for you?"
Garvin shook his head.
"Don't bother," said Garvin. "I'll be back!"