I'll See You In Your Dreams (17 page)

“You can serve as President, Ludwig. Your impressive background and charming German accent will allow us to exploit you and most certainly win them over.”

Paul continued, “I should be receiving my shipment of heroin from Bayer soon. We can get some of the elite members of ‘The Thought Foundation’ enjoying the pleasures of heroin. I’m sure they will consequently contribute more to our foundation and our new endeavor, which will incidentally cater to a far larger segment of society.”

“I like the psychoanalysis angle. It’s almost like the gypsies, easy pickings and beautiful girls to treat,” Ludwig agreed.

Paul and Ludwig smiled at each other. Paul’s eyes suddenly lit up. “The more I think about it, all we have to do is set up a private room, and like the gypsies, come up with a story of how our visitors were a victim as a child and no one understood them. Then whatever is said, end by giving them either cocaine or heroin and a little sympathy, and voila, like a magician, we will be their only friends and they will sing our praises!”

Ludwig chuckled. “Something tells me they’ll be back for more, of the cure, just like they did when the snake oil salesman added opium to the sugar water!”

“We must get serious now and apply what we developed in Vienna.”

“That was serious?” Ludwig raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“Factually, yes. Emotionally, no!” Paul rejoined and continued.  “Okay, now if we want their money, what must we convince them of, that they’re willing to pay us for?”

“According to your Uncle Siggy, it all comes back to sex.”

“In that case we must convince them that nut balls don’t get any.” Paul smiled and continued. “Actually, of course we will exploit the opposite.  Sane people get laid more.”

“I’ll bite on that one myself!” Ludwig added.

“I wonder which is true?” puzzled Paul.

“Who cares?”

“Our little contributors, that’s who!”

Ludwig held up a finger as an idea struck him. “How about, ‘Love’ begins with talking or ‘Talking’ brings you closer.”

“That’s good, Ludwig, but what did little Eddie say about the positive generality thing?”

“Vagueness and positive association like love. What does love mean in actuality? That will work. We all want it, and remember the other side of that is fear, the most controlling of all emotions. Fear and love, fear of not being loved. Fear, fear, our little people controlling friend. Hey you better get psychoanalyzed or no one will love you!”

“I love it!” He sniggered, and crossed his arms, satisfied.

“So we need to cleverly imply that psychoanalysis will help them discover why they aren’t loved enough.”

“Yes. If they come to us, they’ll be loved by us.” They both giggled.

“Ludwig, you realize we are talking about frustrated women, whom we can, treat. Unfortunately, we have to handle the drooling, voice-hearing druids that are the majority.”

“Of course, Paul, but money is money, and that will be the source of most of it.”

“Yes, I know.” Paul sighed. “I thought of all that crap I would have to listen to.”

“There’s your problem, Paul. You listen. You need to learn to sleep sitting up, without snoring. Just listen a bit and pretend to have an insight into their special problems, and then give them a bit of cocaine or heroin.”

“Okay, Ludwig, back to the acronym. What do we call this foundation?”

“’Love is for everyone.’ LIFE.”

“Too corny.”

“Uh, ‘Psychoanalysis is sensual and special’—PISS.” They both laughed.

“We need something eliciting more fear and even sympathy to maximize donations,” Paul mused.

“Help us now before insanity is at your door!”

“Ohhh, that’s scary,” replied Paul while raising his thumbs.

“I got it, a ‘Matter of minds,’ or MOM.  My god, man, who wouldn’t help their mom, or better yet, be helped by their mom?” Ludwig was excited.

“My god is right. Perfect. You’re a genius!” Paul exclaimed with a glint in his eye.

“’Mothers of the hearts entire revitalization and sanity’ or MOTHERS.  Man, do I crave some apple pie!” Ludwig added.

“We need a warm puppy as a mascot,” Paul declared.

“How about that little Asian dog, uh, the Shitzu? We could breed it with a bulldog and have the perfect mascot for what we do, the Bullshitz!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sam stood on the foredeck of the great tall ship as it entered the port of London.

He took in the sights and sounds of the busy port he hadn’t seen in years. He tried to recall the details he knew of psychiatry in his life in the other universe. All that information was fading fast. As soon as Anne finished the story and his memory of this universe was restored, the other began to fade like a dream. He even had moments of doubt that it was just a hallucination.

At any rate, investigating anew and more thoroughly was the order of the day. His father could help him tremendously in that respect. He looked forward to seeing his father. The General, as he was referred to, wasn’t an overly affectionate man. He was all business and took all endeavors, including fatherhood, seriously.

Sam respected and loved his father, though that love was never verbalized. But Sam knew their mutual bond was nonetheless firmly held together by that universal cement, love.

Strong men, of course, often, deny such sentiments as though protecting those they love from enemies who would do their loved ones harm. If you can’t destroy a strong man, destroy his loved ones, to hurt him- is the idea that seems to lurk in the dark recesses of some men’s minds.

Strong men preferred to handle everything face to face. It was what his new adopted country, America, was founded upon-courage. It took great courage for the founders of America to choose to face the world’s mightiest naval and army forces and demand freedom as an independent country. It was a country founded by strong men. It was why Sam wanted to be a part of it.

He knew from his own education, experience, and his father’s wisdom, that it was the weak and fearful who often betrayed those they love. He remembered his father taking him to play billiards at the United Service Club when he was 12-years-old.  The United Service Club was a gentlemen’s club where high ranking military and men of the social elite spent much of their free time.

The General was certainly high ranking military and at the top of the socioeconomic order of the existing caste system. There were always several such powerful men surrounding the General, embroiled in rousing conversation of various adventures and exploits. Sam was riveted by the tales being told.

On one particular day the subject of the Zulus came up, as might be expected in as much as Sam was probably the only black child ever admitted as a guest. The General looked at each player in turn as he began his story.

“You’ve never seen a fighter unless you’ve seen Shaka Zulu fight.” He paused for dramatic effect as he surveyed his friends. He had their attention.

“There are those who call him bloodthirsty and cruel.” He paused and once again looked from face to face.

“He may have been that, but a better leader and warrior never lived. He was a gifted strategist par excellence, a designer of weapons; a man who could inspire men to reach capacities they didn’t believe themselves capable.”

All movement stopped, and it was totally quiet. “I don’t flinch at the thought that we were defeated on several occasions by Shaka and the Zulus, for they fought with heart and courage, and they fought for freedom, freedom from outsiders determining their destiny. That ultimately, is the greatest cannon ever forged, and it’s composed of flesh and blood of armed conflict.”

He once again paused for effect. “The true forge is desire for freedom in the warrior’s eye, until there’s nothing. I repeat, gentlemen, nothing more valuable than freedom and the right to determine the course of one’s life.”

“Here, here, bravo,” another general added. There was a polite round of quiet applause.

The General continued as though oblivious to the small interruption. “It is not the strong men like Shaka that we should be on guard against, it is the cowards, the fearful, the weak, who would destroy all civilization. Few realize the good book’s wisdom in saying the weak will inherit the earth. They forget it also says the earth will be destroyed by fire. It’s only fitting that they should inherit the end result they will most certainly cause.”

“Bravo!  And who needs a drink?” The other general added once more. All hands went up.

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Sam’s trance was broken as a cheer went up: the big ship had eased into a slip at the Royal Albert Docks. Sam disembarked down the gangplank of the ship. The excited crowd of fellow sea travelers poured onto the wharf looking for loved ones there to meet them. Some were just excited to be off the ship and back on terra firma, and new adventures.

Sam looked around and soon spotted his father’s aide-de camp, Albert Addison. Albert likewise spotted Sam and gave a small wave. Soon Albert was at his side.

“Samuel, it is so good to see you!” He extended his hand.

“It is good to be home for a visit. It’s impressive that they named these docks after you!”

Albert smiled at the joke. “One day, perhaps, I shall earn such an honor.”

Albert turned and gestured to a middle aged gentleman standing a few feet away at casual attention. “Jarrod, please see to Mr. Novak’s trunks and get them home.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Addison.”

The carriage carrying Sam and Albert arrived at the General’s residence and Sam’s boyhood home. As they made their way up the driveway Sam felt the familiar impact of its grandeur. Sam had only known it as home, although it was designed and built to impress. He knew all the nooks and crannies, hiding places and flaws. His memories of this residence were a child’s memories.

Now Sam viewed his former home as the residence of Lord General Maxmillion Novak and Sam was impressed.

As Albert stopped the carriage in front, a servant appeared as if from nowhere. He took the reigns of the horses and held them steady as Albert and Sam entered the General’s domain.

The butler led Sam and Albert into the parlor where they were seated. The butler left to fetch some tea and Sam looked around. It seemed strange to be seated as a guest in the home he grew up in. He rather liked it. The pomp and circumstance made one feel important, which, of course, was the point. You feel important and hold the resident in awe. It was an ancient system.

He remembered from his youth all the dignitaries and other members of the world’s elite who’d sat in this parlor. It seemed all a bit dull then. Life at the top of society was only about talk, to his child’s eye. Now, he was here to do just that.

The butler entered with a teapot and cups on a silver tray. He set it down and poured Sam and Albert each a cup of black tea with milk. He quietly left the room and after but a few moments returned to the doorway and announced, “The General will see you now. Please follow me.”

Sam and Albert followed the butler to the library and entered. The General stood by a long table in dress regalia and smiled broadly as Sam entered the room. “Son, what do you think of the royal treatment?” His smile broadened, and he stepped forward to shake Sam’s hand and administer a small hug.

“I rather like it,” replied Sam.

“Would you like anything to drink after such a long trip?”

“A brandy would be good.”

The General turned to the butler. “Harold, two brandies please. And Albert, I’ll see you here at first light so we may assess how we can assist my son in conquering an adversary.”

“Yes, sir, first light.” Albert retreated from the room.

“So, son, let us stroll through this drafty castle of sorts and into the garden and be proper Englishmen.”

“Excellent idea, father, and perhaps after our brandy, a high tea with mother would be in order? I’m starving, and mother may well be the superior strategist when it comes to corralling obstinate men!”

They both chuckled.

“Your powers of observation are in good working order, son. As poet Wallace observed, ‘The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.’”

After their meal with his mother, Margaret, Sam and Max retired to Max’s extensive library and took their places in the comfortable leather chairs. It seemed to Sam that every possible endeavor in England had a certain pomp and circumstance that facilitated the correct outcome. The library and its stored wisdom, the comfortable leather chairs, all led to the feeling that the correct conclusion would be reached.

Sam told the detailed story of his and Colton’s current problems in Fresno. Max listened intently.  When Sam finished, Max spoke. “Well, as far as the psychiatry thing is concerned, I wouldn’t put too much stock in that aspect of your opposing forces. Psychiatry, as you probably remember from Oxford, is a dismal failure. Its main contribution to medicine is the therapeutic laughs it garners from the rest of the medical field.”

Sam laughed. “Actually, I was then only vaguely aware of their existence. I didn’t think about psychiatry at all.”