Wilbur perspired in his heavy Midwest winter clothes. Rays of beautiful California sunshine bathed the room as soft Pacific breezes played with a light curtain and made Wilbur's very breath a song of joy. The man cleared his throat.
"Are you trying to kill me? What do you mean coming into this room and waking me up? I don't know who you are. You could be the feds come to throw me in the slammer. You could be some disgruntled parent wanting his kid back come to kill me."
"Those are negative thoughts you are bringing on yourself. You should speak to Dr. Dolomo sometime. You would realize you yourself are bringing all the bad things of your life into your life. No one else does it."
"I don't need grief like that this early in the morning."
"It's the afternoon," said Wilbur.
"Whatever. Did Beatrice send you in here with that crap?"
"Beatrice?"
"Mrs. Dolomo. She resents anyone who thinks. I think. Therefore she resents me."
"I feel sorry for you in your suffering in negativity, but I have been sent here from Toledo to see Dr. Dolomo."
"All right, what do you want?"
Wilbur saw the eyes, the watery blue eyes. The whitish hair had been blond apparently. The face that sagged now had once been young. It was the man in the poster on the second floor of the Toledo Temple, the man that smiled out from the jacket of his Level Two book. Dr. Rubin Dolomo.
"No," said Wilbur. "I have made a terrible mistake."
"You already woke me up, so let's have it."
"I am not giving you anything."
"I didn't ask for anything, but now that you've ruined my day, I am sure as hell going to get what you came for."
"I would never give it to you."
"You've just realized this is a hustle and you're at Level One or something."
"Three," said Wilbur.
"All right. We'll give you your money back. I don't need this grief. But look, you didn't get in here without clearance. And you obviously have something for me. Right?"
Wilbur did not answer. He wondered if he could make the gate running full out. He wondered if he could climb over the gate at the far end of the expanse of lawns. He knew he shouldn't tell what he had.
"I was just reporting from the Toledo Temple. They said they are going to give you an extra payment this month."
"Look," said Dr. Rubin Dolomo with weariness in his voice. "I know you are here with something else. But worse for both of us, Beatrice will know you are here with something else. She'll know. And she'll get it. Me, I would just as soon fly away and not bother with any of this. Personally, I am sorry it all went this far. But you have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Dolomo. May you never have to endure that pleasure. So what is it?"
"I won't tell you."
"I'm going to call her."
"No," said Wilbur.
"Before I call her, I want you to know, sonny, that I had nothing against you. And by the way, her name is Beatrice and never, ever call her Betty. Gets her nose out of joint."
"I'm leaving."
"Beatrice!" screamed Dr. Rubin Dolomo, and the woman who had been cursing in the hallway came into the room still cursing, cursing that she was being bothered.
"I knew you'd find out sooner or later. But there is some kind of good news from Toledo and this kid here is a believer and he won't talk."
"I am leaving," said Wilbur.
Wilbur found out that Mrs. Dolomo did not believe in arguments. She believed in radiators. Two large strong men with hands like steel vises tied Wilbur to a radiator. Even though the day was warm, there was still steam in the system. It was used to heat water.
Wilbur, understanding what the drug might mean in the wrong hands, held out until he was crying in pain. And then, mentally begging forgiveness, he told the Dolomos about the mind drug that could wipe out memory.
But he warned them how dangerous it was. He begged them not to use it, even as Dr. Dolomo talked of using Level Two people as guinea pigs, of selling small doses of it, or better yet, using it as a teaching booster at the first level. The possibilities were endless: give a group dose to the entire second level and then, as the dose wore off, make the members believe Paweressence had returned their memory. Of course, they would have to give the Toledo franchise its cut. Or better yet, a dose of the drug. They would forget they owned a piece of the potion.
"I was thinking about getting it into the food of the witnesses against us," said Dr. Dolomo. He lit the end of the cigar.
"The witnesses against you, Rubin," said Beatrice Dolomo.
"I am your husband."
"Please," cried Wilbur.
"What do we do with him?" asked Dolomo.
"I am not going to have someone with an assault charge in his pocket against me running around the streets," huffed Beatrice.
"I told you, kid," said Dr. Dolomo, shrugging.
"Please," sobbed Wilbur. "Please let me up." The woman nodded for him to be untied.
"We don't have to kill him," said Dolomo. "He already told us everything it did. Give him a good swallow like the Indians used. He'll forget everything."
"No," said Wilbur.
"Young man," said Beatrice Doiomo. "Do you know how alligators eat their dinner? Well, either you take a swig out of that vial you just showed us, or you will become very familiar with the dental pattern of the American alligator. They rip their food rather than chew it, you know. Thrash it about, so to speak. Not much of a choice, is it, dear?"
Wilbur looked at the brown liquid. He wondered what he would feel like not remembering anything, not remembering who he was, who his parents were, or how he lived, and he understood in that last mature moment of his life what the Indians meant by a punishment. When he swallowed the little vial, he said good-bye to himself.
The liquid was surprisingly'sweet and pleasant. Wilbur thought that he would make a mental note of how long it took before the potion took hold and what the last moments of memory would be like.
He did not harbor this thought long. He was standing in a room with people looking at him and had something sweet in his mouth. He did not know whether they were kind people or bad people. He did not know he was in California. He knew the sun was shining and someone, some nice person, was telling him they were going to fix the boo-boo on his backside. He had been burned. But Wilbur Smot did not quite understand those words. He did not know what burn was. He did not know what boo-boo was.
He was on the floor, because he had not yet learned to walk.
Chapter 2