Go on, I whispered.
You started your police record by the theft of a car, so you wound up in reform school for that episode. It seems it wasnt a good reform school; all you learned there was how to make crime pay. You ran away and for six months you existed by petty crime until you were caught. Fortunately you werent sent back to the same reform school and you found a warden who knew how to handle you and you began to straighten out. On leaving reform school you were put in a hostel under the care of a probation officer and you did pretty well at high school. Your good intelligence earned you good marks so you went to college. Right then it looked as though you were all right.
Susskinds voice took on a savage edge. But you slipped. You couldnt seem to do anything the straight way. The cops pulled you in for smoking marijuana another bad mark on the police blotter. Then there was an episode when a girl died in the hands of a quack abortionist a name was named but nothing could be proved, so maybe we ought to leave that one off the tab. Want any more?
Theres more?
Susskind nodded sadly. Theres more.
Let me have it, I said flatly.
Okay. Again you were pulled in for drug addiction; this time you were mainlining on heroin. You just about hit the bottom there. There was some evidence that you were pushing drugs to get the dough to feed the habit, but not enough to nail you. However, now the cops were laying for you. Then came the clincher. You knew the Dean of Men was considering throwing you out of college and, God knows, he had enough reason. Your only hope was to promise to reform but you had to back it up with something such as brilliant work. But drugs and brilliant work dont go hand in hand so you were stupid enough to break into an office and try to doctor your examination marks.
And I was caught at it, I said dully.
It would have been better if you were, said Susskind. No, you werent caught red-handed but it was done in such a ham-fisted way that the Principal sent a senior student to find you. He found you all right. He found you hopped up on dope. You beat this guy half to death and lit out for places unknown. God knows where you thought you were going to take refuge the North Pole, maybe. Anyway, a nice guy called Trinavant gave you a lift and the next thing was Bingo! Trinavant was dead, his wife was dead, his son was dead, and you were seven-eighths dead. He rubbed his eyes. That just about wraps it up, he said tiredly.
I was cold all over. You think I killed this man, Trinavant, and his family?
I think it was an accident, nothing more, said Susskind. Now listen carefully, Bob; I told you the unconscious mind has its own brand of peculiar logic. I found something very peculiar going on. When you were pulled in on the heroin charge you were given a psychiatric examination, and Ive seen the documents. One of the tests was a Bernreuter Personality Inventory and you may remember that I also gave you that test.
I remember.
Susskind leaned back in his chair. I compared the two profiles and they didnt check out at all; they could have been two different guys. And Ill tell you something, Bob: the guy that was tested by the police psychiatrist I wouldnt trust with a bent nickel, but Id trust you with my life.
Someones made a mistake, I said.
He shook his head vigorously. No mistake. Do you remember the man I brought in here who sat in on some of your tests? Hes an authority on an uncommon condition of the human psyche multiple personality. Did you ever read a book called The Three Faces of Eve?
I saw the movie Joanne Woodward was in it.
Thats it. Then perhaps you can see what Im getting at. Not that you have anything like she had. Tell me, what do you think of the past life of this guy called Robert Boyd Grant?
It made me sick to my stomach, I said. I cant believe I did that.
You didnt, said Susskind sharply. This is what happened, to the best of my professional belief. This man, Robert Boyd Grant, was a pretty crummy character, and he knew it himself. My guess is that he was tired of living with himself and he wanted to escape from himself hence the drugs. But marijuana and heroin are only temporary forms of escape, and like everyone else he was locked in the prison of his own body. Perhaps he sickened himself but there was nothing he could do about it a conscious and voluntary change of basic personality is practically an impossibility.
But as I said, the unconscious has its own logic and we, in this hospital, accidentally gave it the data it needed. You had third-degree burns over sixty per cent of your body when you were brought in here. We couldnt put you in a bed in that condition, so you were suspended in a bath of saline solution which, to your unconscious, was a pretty good substitute for amniotic fluid. Do you know what that is?
A return to the womb?
Susskind snapped his fingers. Youre with it. Now Im speaking in impossibly untechnical terms, so dont go quoting me, especially to other psychiatrists. I think this condition was tailor-made for your unconscious mind. Here was a chance for rebirth which was grabbed at. Whether the second personality was lying there, ready to be used, or whether it was constructed during the time you were in that bath, we shall never know and it doesnt matter. That there is a second personality a better personality is a fact, and its something Id swear to in a court of law, which I might have to do yet. Youre one of the few people who can really call yourself a new man.
It was a lot to take in at once too much. I said, God! Youve handed me something to think about.
I had to do it, said Susskind. I had to explain why you mustnt probe into the past. When I told you what a man called Robert Grant had done it was like listening to an account of the actions of someone else, wasnt it? Let me give you an analogy: when you go to the movies and see a lion jumping at you, well thats just the movies and theres no harm done; but if you go to Africa and a lion jumps at you, thats hard reality and youre dead. If you insist on digging into the past and succeed in remembering as personal memories the experiences of this other guy, then youll split yourself down the middle. So leave it alone. Youre someone with no past and a great future.
I said, What chance is there that this other bad personality might take over again spontaneously?
Id say theres very little chance of that, said Susskind slowly. You rate as a strong-willed individual; the other guy had a weak will strong-willed people generally dont go for drugs, you know. We all of us have a devil lurking inside us; we all have to suppress the old Adam. Youre no different from anyone else.
I picked up the mirror and studied the reflected caricature. What did I what did he look like?
Susskind took out his wallet and extracted a photograph. I dont see the point in showing you this, but if you want to see it, here it is.
Robert Boyd Grant was a fresh-faced youngster with a smooth, unlined face. There was no trace of dissipation such as one might have expected he could have been any college student attending any college on the North American continent. He wasnt bad-looking, either, in an immature way, and I doubted if hed had any trouble finding a girl-friend to put in the family way.
Id forget about that face, advised Susskind. Dont go back into the past. Roberts, the plastic surgeon, is a sculptor in flesh; hell fix you up with a face good enough to play romantic lead with Elizabeth Taylor.
I said, Ill miss you, Susskind.
He chuckled fatly. Miss me? Youre not going to miss me, bud; Im not going to let you get away Im going to write the book on you, remember. He blew out a plume of smoke. Im getting out of hospital work and going into private practice. Ive been offered a partnership guess where? Right Montreal!
Suddenly I felt much better now I knew Susskind was still going to be around. I looked at the photograph again and said, Perhaps Id better go the whole way. New man new face why not new name?
A sound idea, agreed Susskind. Any ideas on that?
I gave him the photograph. Thats Robert Grant, I said. Im Bob Boyd. Its not too bad a name.
III
I had three operations in Montreal covering the space of a year. I spent many weeks with my left arm strapped up against my right cheek in a skin grafting operation and, no sooner was that done, than my right arm was up against my left cheek.
Roberts was a genius. He measured my head meticulously and then made a plaster model which he brought to my room. What kind of a face would you like, Bob? he asked.
It took a lot of figuring out because this was playing for keeps Id be stuck with this face for the rest of my life. We took a long time working on it with Roberts shaping modelling clay on to the plaster base. There were limitations, of course; some of my suggestions were impossible. We have only a limited amount of flesh to work with, said Roberts. Most plastic surgery deals mainly with the removal of flesh; nose-bobbing, for instance. This is a more ticklish job and all we can do is a limited amount of redistribution.
I guess it was fun in a macabre sort of way. It isnt everyone who gets the chance to choose his own face even if the options are limited. The operations werent so funny but I sweated it out, and what gradually emerged was a somewhat tough and battered face, the face of a man much older than twenty-four. It was lined and seamed as though by much experience, and it was a face that looked much wiser than I really was.
Dont worry, said Roberts. Its a face youll grow into. No matter how carefully one does this there are the inevitable scars, so Ive hidden those in folds of flesh, folds which usually come only with age. He smiled. With a face like this I dont think youll have much competition from people your own age; theyll walk stiff-legged around you without even knowing why. Youd better take some advice from Susskind on how to handle situations like that.
Matthews had handed over to Susskind the administration of the thousand dollars a month from my unknown benefactor. Susskind interpreted FOR THE CARE OF ROBERT BOYD GRANT in a wide sense; he kept me hard at my studies and, since I could not go to college, he brought in private tutors. You havent much time, he warned. You were born not a year ago and if you flub your education now youll wind up washing dishes for the rest of your life.
I worked hard it kept my mind off my troubles. I found I liked geology and, since I had a skull apparently stuffed full of geological facts it wasnt too difficult to carry on. Susskind made arrangements with a college and I wrote my examinations between the second and third operations with my head and arm still in bandages. I dont know what I would have done without him.
After the examinations I took the opportunity of visiting a public library and, in spite of what Susskind had said, I dug out the newspaper reports of the auto smash. There wasnt much to read apart from the fact that Trinavant was a big wheel in some jerkwater town in British Columbia. It was just another auto accident that didnt make much of a splash. Just after that I started to have bad dreams and that scared me, so I didnt do any more investigations.
Then suddenly it was over. The last operation had been done and the bandages were off. In the same week the examination results came out and I found myself a B.Sc. and a newly fledged geologist with no job. Susskind invited me to his apartment to celebrate. We settled down with some beer, and he asked, What are you going to do now? Go for your doctorate
I shook my head. I dont think so not just yet. I want to get some field experience.
He nodded approvingly. Got any ideas about that?
I said, I dont think I want to be a company man; Id rather work for myself. I reckon the North-West Territories are bursting with opportunities for a freelance geologist.
Susskind was doubtful. I dont know if thats a good thing. He looked across at me and smiled. A mite self-conscious about your face, are you? And you want to get away from people go into the desert is that it?
Theres a little of that in it, I said unwillingly. But I meant what I said. I think Ill make out in the north.
Youve been in hospitals for a year and a half, said Susskind. And you dont know many people. What you should do is to go out, get drunk, make friends maybe get yourself a wife.
Good God! I said. I couldnt get married.
He waved his tankard. Why not? You find yourself a really good girl and tell her the whole story. It wont make any difference to her if she loves you.
So youre turning into a marriage counsellor, I said. Why have you never got married?
Whod marry a cantankerous bastard like me? He moved restlessly and spilled ash down his shirt-front. Ive been holding out on you, bud. Youve been a pretty expensive proposition, you know. You dont think a thousand bucks a month has paid for what youve had? Roberts doesnt come cheap and there were the tutors, too not to mention my own ludicrously expensive services.
I said, What are you getting at, Susskind?
When the first envelope came with its cargo of a thousand dollars, this was in it.
He handed me a slip of paper. There was the line of typing: FOR THE CARE OF ROBERT BOYD GRANT. Underneath was another sentence: IN THE EVENT OF THESE FUNDS BEING INSUFFICIENT, PLEASE INSERT THE FOLLOWING AD IN THE PERSONAL COLUMN OF THE VANCOUVER SUN R.B.G. WANTS MORE.
Susskind said, When you came up to Montreal I decided it was time for more money so I put the ad. in the paper. Whoever is printing this money doubled the ante. In the last year and a half youve had thirty-six thousand dollars; there are nearly four thousand bucks left in the kitty what do you want to do with it?
Give it to some charity, I said.
Dont be a fool, said Susskind. Youll need a stake if youre setting off into the wide blue yonder. Pocket your pride and take it.
Ill think about it, I said.
I dont see what else you can do but take it, he observed; You havent a cent otherwise.
I fingered the note. Who do you think this is? And why is he doing it?
Its no one out of your past, thats for sure, said Susskind. The gang that Grant was running with could hardly scratch up ten dollars between them. All hospitals get these anonymous donations. Theyre not usually as big as this nor so specific, but the money comes in. Its probably some eccentric millionaire who read about you in the paper and decided to do something about it. He shrugged. There are two thousand bucks a month still coming in. What do we do about that?