[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Startling Stories, July 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Risking his own life force to cure a
patient’s psychosis, Dr. Robert Bruno learns
of the true individualism of human minds!
The sanitarium was never quiet. Even when night brought comparativestillness, there was an anticipatory tension in the air—for cyclicmental disorders are as inevitable, though not as regular, as the swingof a merry-go-round.
Earlier that evening Gregson, in Ward 13, had moved into the downswingof his manic-depressive curve, and there had been trouble. Before theorderlies could buckle him into a restraining jacket, he had managed tobreak the arm of a “frozen” catatonic patient, who had made no soundeven as the bone snapped.
Under apomorphine, Gregson subsided. After a few days he would be at thebottom of his psychic curve, dumb, motionless, and disinterested.Nothing would be able to rouse him then, for a while.
Dr. Robert Bruno, Chief of Staff, waited till the nurse had gone outwith the no longer sterile hypodermic. Then he nodded at the orderly.
“All right. Prepare the patient. I want him in Surgery Three in half anhour.”
He went out into the corridor, a tall, quiet man with cool blue eyes andfirm lips. Dr. Kenneth Morrissey was waiting for him. The younger manlooked troubled.
“Surgery, Doctor?”
“Come on,” Bruno said. “We’ve got to get ready. How’s Wheeler?”
“Simple fracture of the radius, I think. I’m having plates made.”
“Turn him over to one of the other doctors,” Bruno suggested. “I needyour help.” He used his key on the locked door. “Gregson’s in good shapefor the experiment.”
Morrissey didn’t answer. Bruno laughed a little.
“What’s bothering you, Ken?”
“It’s the word experiment,” Morrissey said.
“Pentothal narcosynthesis was an experiment when they first tried it. Sois this—empathy surrogate. If there’s a risk, I’ll be taking it, notGregson.”
“You can’t be sure.”
They stepped into the elevator.
“I am sure,” Bruno said, with odd emphasis. “That’s been my rule allmy life. I make sure. I’ve got to be sure before I undertake anythingnew. This experiment can’t possibly fail. I don’t run risks withpatients.”
“Well—”
“Come in here.” Bruno led the way from the elevator to an examinationroom. “I want a final check-up. Try my blood-pressure.” He stripped offhis white coat and deftly wound the pneumatic rubber around his arm.
“I’ve explained the whole situation to Gregson’s wife.” Bruno went on asMorrissey squeezed the bulb. “She’s signed the authorization papers. Sheknows it’s the only chance to cure Gregson. After all, Ken, the man’sbeen insane for seven years. Cerebral deterioration’s beginning to setin.”
“Cellular, you mean? Um-m. I’m not worried about that. Blood-pressureokay. Heart—”
Morrissey picked up a stethoscope. After a while he nodded.
“A physician hasn’t any right to be afraid of the dark,” Bruno said.
“A physician isn’t charting unmapped territory,” Morrissey saidabruptly. “You can dissect a cadaver, but you can’t do that to thepsyche. As a psychiatrist you should be the first to admit that we don’tknow all there is to know about the mind. Would you take a transfusionfrom a meningitis patient?”
Bruno chuckled. “Witchcraft, Ken—pure witchcraft! The germ theory ofpsychosis! Afraid I’ll catch Gregson’s insanity? I hate to disillusionyou, but episodic disorders aren’t contagious.”
“Just because you can’t see a bug doesn’t mean it isn’t the