The third week, no food, but you’re back on water. It’s an interesting procedure devised by Dr. Goodson.”
Henry waited for the explanation.
“Please eat. I’m giving you good advice,” Clete said. “Dr. Goodson came here as a guest and has stayed on to conduct some experiments. We know people just don’t appreciate the things they’ve got, you know, the most fundamental things like food and water. Dr. Goodson’s findings show that after one week of liquid deprivation and one week of food deprivation, people appreciate both for the first time in their lives, isn’t that wonderful!”
“You need experiments to demonstrate something that obvious?” Margaret asked.
“To prove his thesis,” Clete said. “He’s a brilliant man. That’s him over there.”
Dr. Goodson, a gray-haired, small man was eating at a long table that accommodated more than a dozen people, all wearing orange armbands.
“Those are all trusties with him,” Clete said. “They have privileges denied to other guests.”
“Like what?”
“They’re allowed to work without supervision. They can wander around the grounds during daylight hours. We’ve got a terrific work project going right now down the southern end.”
“What kind of work?” Henry asked.
“Oh you’ll see, just as soon as your indoctrination period’s over. Your wife will probably work with Dr. Goodson.”
“I will not,” Margaret said.
Clete smiled. “Relax. The important thing is to accept. You’ll be happier here. Ah, there we are.”
The waitress arrived with the fish mousse.
“I really don’t think I can eat any more,” Henry said.
“Oh, it’s delicious,” Clete said, reaching his fork over to Margaret’s plate and taking a small amount. “You see,” he said, flourishing his fork, “it’s not poisoned.”
Clete, he noticed, was not served the mousse, but two hamburgers and a side of french fries.
“I’m not much on European-type food,” Clete said.
“Perhaps you’d better try eating something,” Margaret said to Henry.
The doctor is being sensible, Henry thought. Nourishment was necessary. Eat, eat was the refrain that sang in his head. Were Jewish mothers who pressed food on their children the harbingers of catastrophe? Did they think man was made like a camel so that he could store food for the uncertain future? Margaret wasn’t like that. She was practical. He had to be practical, too. Get the facts. Know your opponent.
“Tell me about yourself,” Henry said to Clete.
Clete looked up with the expression of a child just handed a present. “I’d love to.”
“If it’s not against the rules,” Henry said carefully.
“Oh no,” Clete said. “We’ve really got to get to know each other, don’t we? To start with—go on, you finish that marvelous fish mousse and I’ll talk. My father drove one of those sixteen-wheel interstate rigs, and he used to come home maybe once a week and say how awful Texas was or Illinois or someplace like that. My mother always told me he was lying, that he had a woman in most of those places and talked them down just so she’d think all he did on the road was drive the rig, eat, sleep, and think of her. My own opinion was that he didn’t think of her even when he was home. Sure, he’d shave, eat a tremendous meal, then take her into the bedroom, but if she was anyone else female and handy, he’d have taken anyone else into the bedroom. He got laid the way most people—gosh, Dr. Brown, I’m sorry, I forgot myself.”
“That’s all right,” Margaret said. “Go on.”
“He offered to take me on one of those trips when I was thirteen or so, but Mom said I couldn’t miss school for a week. I think she was worried about what I might see on the road. It’s a terrible place, when you think of it. I mean bus stops and diners and other truckers for company, and nothing to do all day but stare through the windshield. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to enjoy life. I used to go out to
Henry waited for the explanation.
“Please eat. I’m giving you good advice,” Clete said. “Dr. Goodson came here as a guest and has stayed on to conduct some experiments. We know people just don’t appreciate the things they’ve got, you know, the most fundamental things like food and water. Dr. Goodson’s findings show that after one week of liquid deprivation and one week of food deprivation, people appreciate both for the first time in their lives, isn’t that wonderful!”
“You need experiments to demonstrate something that obvious?” Margaret asked.
“To prove his thesis,” Clete said. “He’s a brilliant man. That’s him over there.”
Dr. Goodson, a gray-haired, small man was eating at a long table that accommodated more than a dozen people, all wearing orange armbands.
“Those are all trusties with him,” Clete said. “They have privileges denied to other guests.”
“Like what?”
“They’re allowed to work without supervision. They can wander around the grounds during daylight hours. We’ve got a terrific work project going right now down the southern end.”
“What kind of work?” Henry asked.
“Oh you’ll see, just as soon as your indoctrination period’s over. Your wife will probably work with Dr. Goodson.”
“I will not,” Margaret said.
Clete smiled. “Relax. The important thing is to accept. You’ll be happier here. Ah, there we are.”
The waitress arrived with the fish mousse.
“I really don’t think I can eat any more,” Henry said.
“Oh, it’s delicious,” Clete said, reaching his fork over to Margaret’s plate and taking a small amount. “You see,” he said, flourishing his fork, “it’s not poisoned.”
Clete, he noticed, was not served the mousse, but two hamburgers and a side of french fries.
“I’m not much on European-type food,” Clete said.
“Perhaps you’d better try eating something,” Margaret said to Henry.
The doctor is being sensible, Henry thought. Nourishment was necessary. Eat, eat was the refrain that sang in his head. Were Jewish mothers who pressed food on their children the harbingers of catastrophe? Did they think man was made like a camel so that he could store food for the uncertain future? Margaret wasn’t like that. She was practical. He had to be practical, too. Get the facts. Know your opponent.
“Tell me about yourself,” Henry said to Clete.
Clete looked up with the expression of a child just handed a present. “I’d love to.”
“If it’s not against the rules,” Henry said carefully.
“Oh no,” Clete said. “We’ve really got to get to know each other, don’t we? To start with—go on, you finish that marvelous fish mousse and I’ll talk. My father drove one of those sixteen-wheel interstate rigs, and he used to come home maybe once a week and say how awful Texas was or Illinois or someplace like that. My mother always told me he was lying, that he had a woman in most of those places and talked them down just so she’d think all he did on the road was drive the rig, eat, sleep, and think of her. My own opinion was that he didn’t think of her even when he was home. Sure, he’d shave, eat a tremendous meal, then take her into the bedroom, but if she was anyone else female and handy, he’d have taken anyone else into the bedroom. He got laid the way most people—gosh, Dr. Brown, I’m sorry, I forgot myself.”
“That’s all right,” Margaret said. “Go on.”
“He offered to take me on one of those trips when I was thirteen or so, but Mom said I couldn’t miss school for a week. I think she was worried about what I might see on the road. It’s a terrible place, when you think of it. I mean bus stops and diners and other truckers for company, and nothing to do all day but stare through the windshield. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to enjoy life. I used to go out to
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