The Pleasure Merchant (37 page)

Though I was young, I saw it all so clearly, and thus I began to study education out of a sense of philanthropy towards mankind. At first, I thought to become a tutor, and mold minds that way… but quickly I realized that the brains of children were already too fossilized. After a few disastrous experiences, I abandoned this pursuit.

But my failure, again, was a good thing, for it caused me to reassess my methodology (and Rousseau’s, for that matter). Children were
not
the blank slates he alleged, to be written upon by helpful teachers. Their minds were as inflexible as any adult’s—it is my belief that indeed, all minds are, on the conscious level at least.

You see, I recalled something I had read once, about the Asclepeion—the temple to Asclepius—at Pergamon, in what is now the Ottoman Empire. Asclepius was a god of healing in the Classical world, and at his temple, the sick slept in a sacred chamber, where they would dream their own cures. It was believed that Asclepius himself came to the devout to tell them what should be done; the dreamers would then report their dreams to healers, who would interpret and carry out the will of the god.

All that is of course nonsensical, unworthy of modern man’s modern mindset, and the writer who described the scenario was a modern man with a modern mind. He believed that the little holes all along the walls of the chamber had been put in not for ventilation, but rather for priests to wander past, and whisper
suggestions
to their patients. These suggestions would become dreams, the dreamer would then believe in the power of the god, which would make them amenable to the cure… and most importantly, they would donate lots of money to the temple when they departed.

It was a brilliant interpretation, and, I believed, one that could be applied to education. I don’t mean I believed an educator could
suggest
a language, or maths, or anything like that. But what of behavior? Could I
persuade
someone to act in a certain way, by
suggesting
the correct course?

If it could but be done, the good it would do would be, frankly, staggering. Children persuaded to behave and learn their lessons! Grown men persuaded to abandon ideas harmful to the greater good! Women persuaded to give up their self-absorbed and selfish ways, and see with unclouded eyes the virtues of men deserving of their adoration! It was a tremendously attractive notion to me.

As I contemplated how best to test my hypotheses, I received a letter from a lawyer, informing me that I must go to London. I had been left a substantial sum of money—an inheritance that would not only make me independent, but also save my struggling family. Though unhappy to leave my studies I went, and the change of pace was good for me.

Whilst away, I realized that I had everything I needed to begin my researches at home. I had already decided that procuring a youth—not a child, but a young adult—would be essential, if I were to begin applying my researches. A young person would not require a nurse, meaning I could be their sole caregiver, and they would be of an age where they could be reasoned with. I would need one who could come and live with me, for I would need access to them at night. At that stage, I believed to reap the benefits of my instruction my subjects would really need to be
asleep
, rather than in a dream-state, but I shall come to this later.

I did not wish to waste my efforts on some stupid peasant’s surly child. I wanted someone with breeding, someone who would truly benefit from this new sort of moral instruction.

That is how I came to settle on…
you
.

I had known you from a girl, Miss Rasa, and watched you grow from, frankly, a hideous and muddy troglodyte with no breeding or manners into a pretty, if saucy, maid. Watching you teetering on the cusp of womanhood… well, it was fascinating, especially to an impartial educator like myself.
You
would be the vessel into which I poured myself—by which I mean my knowledge. It was a grand gift, but as I knew you would not appreciate it, some deceit would need to be utilized.

Having discussed my theories with your father, I knew he would not give you up easily. He found the whole business distasteful in the extreme, believing that the horsewhip and the Bath bun, applied liberally and in equal measure, would produce children more or less satisfactory for the purposes of the Realm. But now that I had money—now that I could save the family—I had
leverage
, and indeed, we were able to come to an agreement.

For saving the family, your father would manage my money, allowing me to devote myself to my researches. He would also allow me to take you away to the north of England, while telling you and everyone else I was taking you abroad. There, in the north, in a rented cottage, I would experiment upon your mind. Perhaps it sounds cruel, but I assure you, that is not at all the case. Yes, you would be isolated, separated from your family save for me… but the advantages, were I successful, would be enormous.

There were pitfalls to be overcome, of course—for example, your father was concerned for your marriageability if it ever got out that you had lived alone with me. He wanted me to bring along a governess, but I had to refuse—though I generously agreed that I would one day wed you, if we proved sufficiently compatible. After that, he finally consented.

Thus began one of the happiest periods of my life. Miss Rasa, though I can see you are displeased by some—or all?—of what I have related, I tell you truly, I enjoyed our time together. Eventually, at least…

At first you rebelled, as I expected you would. You were a spoiled brat, a motherless beast ruined by an overly indulgent father. You were accustomed to getting your own way in everything, along with being vain and silly like all your sex. But as I began my experiments—after I began whispering to you for hours every night after lacing your food with mild soporifics, you began to…
change
. You became pliant, more tractable to my will. Your spirit became softer. You smiled less, true, but you also cried less. You became truly…
womanly
. I began to enjoy your company, and my promise to your father to marry seemed not only possible, but exciting.

It was an imperfect method, this whispering. It was time-consuming, for one thing, and I was suffering from lack of sleep. I knew I needed to refine the process, make it quicker, more efficient. I ruminated on how I might make your treatments daily activities instead of nightly.

A periodical from the Royal Society provided the key to my eventual solution. A report from Vienna regarding a young doctor’s work with magnets implied a course I had never before considered—
inducing
sleep rather than waiting for the natural state to occur, and utilizing
that
for the purposes of suggestion. I shan’t bore you with the details, but in your newly-agreeable state you allowed me to test magnets, the slow dripping of water, and other techniques. You were curious, of course, as these new experiments required you to be awake for at least part of the time, and your intelligence, unlike your waywardness, never diminished with my treatments. Therefore, I finally explained to you that I was trying to develop a system for moral instruction. You became intrigued, and agreed to help me, demonstrating again that you were becoming the helpmeet I had always longed for.

It was a happy day when we hit on the solution: that technique I have named onarprotrepsis, which means
dream-guiding
. You look skeptical, but I tell you, Miss Rasa, it proved most efficacious. Of course, my technique is proprietary, I shan’t tell you how I managed it, but it worked, as did rousing you with a suggested command—usually, clapping twice. The very first suggestion I gave you was to embrace me upon waking… which you did! Best of all, when I told you that you had voluntarily obeyed a command given to you in a dream-state, you were overjoyed, for us both.

Sadly, our mutual happiness did not last long. We ate a fine dinner that night, and I even uncorked a bottle of wine. Being unused to such luxuries after so long in our cottage I misjudged the amount I drank, and became garrulous. It was then that I told you I had long been suggesting changes to your behavior while you slept, and was so pleased with the results that I intended to make you my bride upon our return to London.

You did not seem as pleased as I had expected to hear this. No; you turned sober where you had been gay, and not long after, you pleaded exhaustion and went to bed.

I slept ill that night. My uneasiness over your reaction to my happy plan, plus the wine, had me tossing and turning. That was why I heard you stirring in the wee hours. I thought perhaps you were only getting up to use the outhouse when I heard the back door creak, but when you did not return after an appropriate duration, I got up too.

In the dewy grass I saw your footsteps, leading away from the cottage and over the moors. I discerned in an instant that you had abandoned me, and I chased after you as fast as I could pelt. I ran and ran—who knew what would befall you in unfamiliar country? I had never allowed you to leave our humble farm, and you did not know the way to town.

I thanked God it was so wet, otherwise I might never have found you! But find you I did. When I spied you, you were speaking with a simple country girl who had been out milking her cows in a lonely pasture. You were gesturing animatedly as you spoke, and she seemed perturbed, as well. Then she saw me, pointed—and
screamed
.

I knew then you had been speaking of me. Anger rose hot in my breast, yes, I confess it! With the last of my energy I sprinted to your side and caught you in my arms. But I knew it was not enough to have captured you. The milkmaid was backing away, fear in her eyes. She would repeat whatever you had told her. With a terrible sense of purpose I threw you to the ground and went after her, scarcely thinking about my actions. I caught her, and overpowered her. She screamed at me to leave her be, that she would have the law on me soon enough, for assault and for battery as well as for the involuntary imprisonment of a young woman. I told her to be silent, I feared someone would hear. But she would not stop shouting!

I… I put my hand to her throat, to impress on her the importance of silence… but I must have pressed too hard. The next thing I knew she had gone limp and lifeless in my arms. When you saw what I had done, you screamed. A sharp cuff to the side of the head shut you up, and as you lay there, stunned, I pulled out my pocket watch, and angled it away from the rising sun.

“You will forget everything,” I commanded. “When you wake up, you will remember nothing—nothing at all, do you hear me? It will be as if none of this ever happened!”

And I clapped. Twice.

It worked… but alas, it worked too well! You did not know where you were, nor who I was. You did not even know your own name. You really had forgotten everything…

I put you back into an onarprotreptic state, and commanded you to obey me in all things when you awoke. That way, you would help me carry away the milkmaid, to bury her in the forest. Not long after, we departed for Puriton by the next stage.

On the journey back I tried to restore you to your former self, but to no avail. Alula Bewit was gone—gone forever. Imagine my dismay! All that work—lost! All those hours—wasted! It was a terrible tragedy.

The rest is really quite simple. I kept you insensate during the journey, tending to you as you needed, for you had to be told to do everything. I shan’t outrage your delicacy further by describing what we both endured. When we drew near to Puriton I left you in an inn several miles out from the village. I alone went home to your father.

I told him all—well, most of what had happened. He was distraught. In case you have wondered, he wanted to care for you himself… but I persuaded him that it would be better to take you to the Foundling Hospital, where you would be looked after by responsible people. There, you could make a new life for yourself, untroubled by your lack of memory. We would deliver you in the dead of night on the doorstep with only a note pinned to your breast. I would clap twice—from a distance—and your father and I would simply disappear. That way, you would be safe, and we could tell everyone you died of a fever whilst we were abroad.

You may wonder why I would want to abandon my own creation—the woman I had come to adore and admire—to the care of strangers. Well, you were no longer the woman I loved. You were someone else, someone new, unformed. Now, had you not been related to me, I should have found you an ideal pupil—that was what I had wanted from the very beginning, after all. As it stood, however… everyone knew you. It would come out, what I had done. How terribly I had failed.

Before even speaking with your father I had decided your situation could never become public. I had come too far with my researches, and a scandal such as
you
would have haunted my professional reputation for the rest of my life; would have ruined my chances of becoming a member of the Royal Society. I was certain I could—and
would
—reproduce my successes with others. But with you being unaware of anything that had ever happened to you, from birth to the moment of your re-awakening, I would never be able to achieve any real notoriety as a brilliant man of science.

These concerns did not affect your father, cold thing that he was. But, when I threatened to withdraw my financial support from the family, of course he agreed it was all for the best that you go to a place where no one could blame me for your failings.

So, there you are, Miss Rasa. Now you know your story. You were a wretched brat, who through my genius became a lovely woman. You might have been a happy mother and wife, if I had been insightful enough to predict your implacable waywardness… a mistake I would not repeat, I assure you.

Although… I do myself a disservice by shouldering the blame that should be placed at your own feet. How could I have predicted that you would leave me—that such rebelliousness still resided in the breast of the ideal woman whom I had fashioned from your crude, girlish clay? I would say you fell from the pedestal upon which I placed you, but the truth is, you chose to step down off it.