In the Deadlands (4 page)

I stood up then and tried to push the ceiling back by hand, but I couldn't reach it and had to stand on a chair. Even then, the surface of it was hard and unyielding. (Although I was close enough to see that there were numerous cracks and flaws in it.)

I started to push on it again, but a strong hand on my shoulder and a deep voice stopped me. “Lay down on the couch,” she said. “Just close your eyes. Relax. Lie back and relax.”

“All right,” I said, but I did not lie on my back. I lay on my stomach and pressed my face into the hard unyielding surface.

“Relax,” she said again.

“I'll try,” I said, forcing myself.

“Look out the window,” the doctor said. “What do you see?'

“I see clouds,” I said.

“What kind?”

“What kind???”

“Yes. What kind?”

I looked again. “Cottage cheese clouds. Little scuds of cottage cheese clouds.”

“Cottage cheese clouds—?” asked the doctor.

“Yes,” I said. “Cottage cheese clouds. Hard and unyielding.”

“Large curd or small curd?”

“Huh?” I asked. I rolled over and looked at her. She did not have on golf shoes, but she was wearing a sweater. Instead of the golf shoes, she had on high heels. But she was a doctor—I could tell that. Her shoes still had cleats.

“I asked you a question,” she rumbled in that deep voice of hers.

“Yes, you did.” I agreed. “Would you mind repeating it?”

“No, I wouldn't mind,” she said and waited quietly. I waited also. For a moment there was silence between us. I pushed the silence to one side and asked, “Well, what was it?”

“I asked whether the clouds were large curd or small curd.”

“I give up,” I said. “What were they?”

“That's very good of you to give up—otherwise we'd have had to come in after you and take you by force. By surrendering your misconceptions now you've made it so much easier for both of us.”

The whole thing was coming disjointed and teetered precariously on the edge. Bigger cracks were beginning to appear in the image, and tiny pieces were starting to slip out and fall slowly to the ground where they shattered like so many soap bubbles.

“Uh—” I said. “Uh, Doctor—there's something wrong with my eye.”

“Your I?

“Uh, yes. The pupil is gone.”

“The pupil is gone from your I?” The doctor was astounded. “How astounding!”

I could only nod—so I did. (A bit too hard perhaps. A few more pieces came flaking off and fluttered gently to the floor. We watched for a moment.)

“Hm,” she said. “I have a theory about that. Would you like to hear it?”

I didn't answer. She was going to tell me her theory whether I wanted to hear it or not.

“The world is coming to an end,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Right now?” I asked, somewhat worriedly. I still hadn't fed the cat.

“No, but soon,” she reassured me.

“Oh,” I said.

We sat there in silence. After a bit, she cleared her throat. “I think...” she began slowly, then she trailed off.

“That's nice,” I said, but she didn't hear me.

“...I think that the world exists only as a reflection of our minds. It exists the way it does only because that's the way we think it does.”

“
I
think—therefore
I
exist,” I said. But she ignored me. She told me to be quiet.

“Yes, you exist,” she confirmed. (I'm glad she did—I was beginning to be a bit worried—and this was the wrong day for it. The last time I looked this was Tuesday.) “You exist,” she said, “because you think you do. And the world also exists because you think it does.”

“Then, when I die—the world ends with me...?” I asked hopefully, making a mental note not to die.

“No—that's nonsense. No sane and rational man believes in solipsism.” She scratched at her eyeball with a fork and went on.

“When you die—
you
cease to exist,” she said. “But the world goes on—it goes on because everybody else who's still alive still believes that it exists. (The only thing they've stopped believing in is you.) You see, the world is a collective figment of all of our individual imaginations.”

“I'm sorry,” I said stiffly. “I do not believe in collectivism.” I unbent a little so as to sit up. “I am a staunch Republican.”

“Don't you see?” she said, ignoring my interruption. “This mass hallucination that the world is real just keeps on going because of its own momentum. You believe in it because that's the way it was when you first began to exist—that is, when everybody else first began to believe
you existed. When you were born, you saw that the world followed a certain set of rules that other people believed in, so you believed in them too—the fact that you believe in them just gives them that much more strength.”

“Oh,” I said. I lay there listening to her, trying to figure out some way to leave gracefully. My eye was starting to hurt, and I couldn't see the ceiling any more. The fog was rolling in again.

“Look at the church!” she said suddenly.

“Huh?” I said.

“Look at the church!” she said it again, insistent.

I tried to. I lifted my head and tried to look at the church, but the fog was too thick. I couldn't even see my toes.

“Look at it,” she said. “
Faith
is the basic precept of religion—faith that what they're telling you is true! Don't they tell you to have faith in the church, that faith can work miracles?!! Well, I'll tell you something—it can! If enough people believe in something, it becomes reality!”

By now, my eye was throbbing most painfully. I tried to sit up, but her strong hands held me back. She leaned closer and whispered intensely, “Yes! It's true. It is.”

“If you say so,” I nodded.

She went on. “Fortunately, the church long ago abandoned miracles in favor of conservatism—now, it's fighting to preserve the status quo! The church is one of the last bastions of reality—it's one of the few things holding back chaos!”

“Chaos?”

“Yes, chaos.”

“Oh.”

“The world is changing,” she explained. “Man is changing it.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know. I read the newspapers too.”

“No, no! That's not what I meant! Man is changing his world unconsciously! More and more people are starting to believe that they really can change their environment—and the more they believe it, the more drastically it changes. I'll give you an example—fossils!”

“Fossils?”

“Yes, fossils. Nobody ever discovered any fossils until people started believing in evolution—then when they did start to believe in it, you couldn't turn around without tripping over fossils.”

“You really believe this?” I asked.

“Yes, I do!” she said intensely.

“Then it must be so,” I said.

“Oh, it is,” she agreed, and I knew that she really did believe it. She made a very convincing case. In fact, the more she talked, the more I began to believe it too.

“Why did you tell me all this?” I asked.

“Because we're in great danger. That's why.” She whispered fiercely, “The world isn't changing uniformly. Everybody is starting to believe in different things, and they're forming pockets of noncausality.”

“Like a pimple?” I offered.

“Yes,” she said, and I could see a small one forming on the tip of her nose. “It works this way: a fanatic meets another fanatic, then the two of them meet with some other people who share the same hallucinations, and pretty soon there are a whole bunch of fanatics all believing
the same thing—pretty soon, their delusions become real for them—they've started to contradict the known reality and replaced it with a node of nonreality.”

I nodded and concentrated on wrapping a swirl of the fog securely around me.

“The more it changes, the more people believe in the changes, and the stronger they become. If this keeps up, we may be the only sane people left in the world—and we're in danger—”

“They're outnumbering our reality?” I suggested.

“Worse than that—all of their different outlooks area starting to flaw the structure of space! Even the shape of the Earth is changing! Why, at one time, it was really flat—the world didn't turn round until people started, to believe it was round.”

I turned round then and looked at her, but she had disappeared into the fog. All that was left was her grin.

“But the world is really pear shaped,” I said. “I read it in
Scientific American.
”

“And why do you think it's changing shape?” the grin asked. “It's because a certain nation is starting to believe that it's really bigger than it is. The Earth is bulging out to accommodate them.”

“Oh,” I said.

“It's the fault of the news media—television is influencing our image of the world! They keep telling us that the world is changing—and more and more people keep believing it.”

“Well,” I said. “With the shape of the world the way it is today, any change has got to be for the—”

“Oh, God not you too! All you people keep talking about the world going to pieces—falling apart at the seams.”

And then even the grin was gone.

I was left there. I was also right. Other people had begun to notice it too. Great chunks of the surface
had
gone blotchy, and holes had appeared in it. More and more pieces were falling out all the time, but the waters had not yet broken through from the other side.

I poked my finger through one of the holes, and I could feel the soft gelatinous surface behind. Perhaps it hadn't completely thawed out yet.

So far, nothing had been accomplished about my eye—not only was it beginning to ache something fierce, but my I was beginning to twinge a bit also, and I had a feeling that that too might be going opaque.

“Have you found yourself yet?!” one of the speakers in the park demanded. (I hadn't even looked—and remembering my previous experiences with looking for things, I certainly was not going to initiate any kind of a search.) I walked on.

Farther on, there was, another speaker—this one on a soup box. “We should be thankful for this great nation of ours,” the speaker woofed and tweetered, “where so many people are allowed to believe in so many different things.”

I rubbed at my eye. I had an uneasy queasy feeling that great cracks were opening in the ceiling.

“Anyone can get up and speak for his cause—any group can believe in anything they choose—indeed we can remake the world if we want too! And in our own images!”

Things were teetering right and left—also write and wrong.

“But the truly great thing about it,” he continued, “is that no matter how much we contradict each other, we are all working together for the common good! Our great democratic system lets us maximize our differences so that we can all compromise ourselves. Only by suggesting all the alternatives to a problem can we select the best possible solution. In the long run, this ultimate freedom and individuality will help all of us to achieve the most good for the most people!”

It sounded good to me.

When I got home, the workmen were just finishing with the wallpaper. It was amazing how solid the surface looked once all the cracks and flaws in it had been covered with a gaudy, flowered facade.

I could no longer tell where the plaster had given way—and the bare surface of the understructure had disappeared into the fog. Indeed, the only thing was that the ceiling seemed to be much lower than before.

I paused long enough to stroke the cat. He waved as I came in. “Hey, man,” said the cat. “Give me a J.”

“I can't. I'm having trouble with my I.”

“Well, then give me a dollar.”

“What for?”

“For a trip,” he said.

“Oh.” I gave him a dollar, waited for the trip.

He dropped the bill into his mouth, lit it, picked up his suitcase and quickly rose to a cruising level of thirty thousand feet. Then he headed west. I did not quite understand this. The fog had gotten much worse, and the—controllers were not letting any traffic through. There had been something I had wanted to ask, but I had forgotten it. Oh, well—it couldn't have been very important. But I wish I could figure out—

The man on the TV was a Doctor. He sat on top of it with his feet dangling in front of the screen (his cleats were scratching the image) and said that the drugs were destroying the realities. Drugs could destroy a person's sanity by altering his perceptions of the world until he could no longer perceive reality at all.

“Just so long as it doesn't change what he believes in,” I muttered and turned him off. Then I turned him out. It was getting late and I wanted to get some sleep. However, I did make a mental note not to have my prescription refilled. Already the wallpaper was peeling.

In fact, by now, only the framework of the structure is left, and it looks like it's made out of chocolate pudding. Maybe it is. Perhaps it
is
the drugs. Maybe they
are
altering our collective fogments—but
I
haven't noticed anything.

AFTERWORD:

In 1984, Cornell University Press published
The Incredulous Reader: Literature and The Function of Disbelief
by Clayton Koelb
,
a noteworthy professor of English and Comparative Literature.

According to the jacket copy, “In
The Incredulous Reader,
Clayton Koelb identifies and explores a significant and hitherto unrecognized literary genre. The genre, which Koelb calls ‘lethetic fiction,' consists of works that tell an incredible story—a story that stubbornly resists conventional interpretation and is meant to be taken as neither truth nor allegory.”

Part One of the book is about “Disbelief And Untruth.” It consists of three chapters. Chapter Three is entitled, “The Imitation of Language: Logomimesis in David Gerrold and Thomas Mann.”