Now, Pm allowed to keep back some of these more personal reports, but before the final report to the Welberg Foundation, Professor Nemur will read through everything to decide what part of it should be published .47 What happened today at the lab was very upsetting. I dropped by the office earlier this evening to ask Dr. Strauss or Professor Nemur if they thought it would be all right for me to ask Alice Kinnian out to a movie, but before I could knock I heard them arguing with each other. I shouldn’t have stayed, but it’s hard to break the habit of listening because people have always spoken and acted as if I weren’t there, as if they never cared what I overheard.
I heard someone bang on the desk, and then Professor Nemur shouted: “I’ve already informed the convention committee that we will present the paper at Chicago.”
Then I heard Dr. Strauss’ voice: “But you’re wrong, Harold. Six weeks from now is still too soon. He’s still changing.”
And then Nemur: “We’ve predicted the pattern correctly so far. We’re justified in making an interim report. I tell you, Jay, there’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ve succeeded. It’s all positive. Nothing can go wrong now.” Strauss: “This is too important to all of us to bring it out into the open prematurely. You’re taking the authority on yourself—” Nemur: “You forget that I’m the senior member of this project.” Strauss: “And you forget that you’re not the only one with a reputation to consider. If we claim too much now, our whole hypothesis will come under fire.”
Nemur: “I’m not afraid of regression any more. I’ve checked and rechecked everything. An interim report will do no harm. I feel sure nothing can go wrong now.”
The argument went on that way with Strauss saying that Nemur had his eye on the Chair of Psychology at Hallston, and Nemur saying that Strauss was riding on the coattails of his psychological research. Then Strauss said that the project had as much to do with his techniques in psychosurgery and enzyme-injection patterns, as with Nemur’s theories, and that someday thousands of neurosurgeons all over the world would be using his methods, but at this point Nemur reminded him that those new techniques would never have come about if not for his original theory.
They called each other names-opportunist, cynic, pessimist-and I found myself frightened. Suddenly, I realized I no longer had the right to stand there outside 48 the office and listen to them without their knowing it. They might not have cared when I was too feeble-minded to know what was going on, but now that I could understand they wouldn’t want me to hear it. I left without waiting for the outcome.
It was dark, and I walked for a long time trying to figure out why I was so frightened. I was seeing them clearly for the first time-not gods or even heroes, but just two men worried about getting something out of their work. Yet, if Nemur is right and the experiment is a success, what does it matter2 There’s so much to do, so many plans to make. rll wait until tomorrow to ask them about taking Miss Kinnian to a movie to celebrate my raise.
April 26-I know I shouldn’t hang around the college when I’m through at the lab, but seeing the young men and women going back and forth carrying books and hearing them talk about all the things they’re learning in their classes excites me. I wish I could sit and talk with them over coffee in the Campus Bowl Luncheonette when they get together to argue about books and politics and ideas. It’s exciting to hear them talking about poetry and science and philosophy-about Shakespeare and Milton; Newton and Einstein and Freud; about Plato and Hegel and Kant, and all the other names that echo like great church bells in my mind.
Sometimes 1 listen in on the conversations at the tables around me, and pretend I’m a college student, even though I’m a lot older than they are. I carry books around, and I’ve started to smoke a pipe. It’s silly, but since I belong at the lab I feel as if I’m a part of the university. I hate to go home to that lonely room.
April 27-I’ve made friends with some of the boys at the Campus Bowl. They were arguing about whether or not Shakespeare really wrote Shakespeare’s plays. One of the boys-the fat one with the sweaty face-said that Marlowe wrote all of Shakespeare’s plays. But Lenny, the short kid with the dark glasses, didn’t believe that business about Marlowe, and he said that everyone knew that Sir Francis Bacon wrote the plays because Shakespeare had never been to college and never had the education 49 that shows up in those plays. That’s when the one with the freshman beanie said he had heard a couple of guys in the men’s room talking about how Shakespeare’s plays were really written by a lady.
And they talked about politics and art and God. I never before heard anyone say that there might not be a God. That frightened me, because for the first time I began to think about what God means.
