Backteria and Other Improbable Tales (16 page)

The telephone kept ringing. Millman kept snatching up the handset in his imagination, crying out, “Hel-
lo
!”

Abruptly, then, the man’s voice answered. “You don’t have to
shout
.”

“For God’s sake!” Millman cried.

“Take it
easy
,” the man’s voice told him.

“
Easy?
” Millman said. “The phone’s been ringing in my head for ten minutes straight!”

“Five,” the man corrected.

“Well,
why
?” demanded Millman.

“I’ve been
busy
.” The man’s voice had an edge to it. “You’re not the only line I have to deal with, you know.”

“I’m
sorry
,” Millman said in a shaking voice. “But you —” He broke off, frowning. “Why did you keep
ringing
me then?”

“Oh, was I ringing you? I didn’t realize,” the man’s voice said.

Millman looked astonished as he heard a handset click down in his head, breaking the connection.

Seconds later, the telephone began to ring again.

No matter how often he answered it, there was no response.

The ringing continued almost until dawn, Millman lying wide-eyed on his bed, teeth clenched, hands like talons clutching at the sheets.

“I was wondering what happened to you,” Dr. Palmer said.

Millman drew in labored breath. “I thought I knew what it was,” he said. “I thought I had to keep it quiet.”

“Keep what quiet?” Dr. Palmer asked.

When Millman had finished telling him what happened, Dr. Palmer gazed at him without acknowledgment.

Millman swallowed nervously. “I’m still not sure I’m not making a mistake in telling you,” he said, unable to endure the silence. “But he’s driving me crazy, ringing me every night from three a.m. to six and never answering.”

Dr. Palmer began to speak, hesitated, then finally said, “You believe this?”

Millman regarded him blankly.

“You believe it’s a secret government project?” the therapist asked.

“Well—” Millman broke off in confusion. “That’s what he
said
. He—”

The expression on Dr. Palmer’s face stopped him.

“David,” the therapist said. “Does it really make sense to you?”

Millman struggled for an answer. “I—” He stopped; braced himself. “I
hear
the telephone ringing,” he said. “I
answer
it. The man’s voice
speaks
to me. I’m not imagining it.”

Dr. Palmer sighed. “David, think about it,” he said. “A secret government project? Citizens picked at random? Microscopic telephones implanted in their brains without them knowing it? Espionage agents of the United States government transmitting information this way?” He looked at Millman challengingly.

Millman stared back, feeling a heavy weight on his back. Dear God, he thought.

He fought against the feeling. “But I
hear
the ringing,” he insisted. “I
hear
the man’s voice.”

“David, not to alarm you,” Dr. Palmer replied, “but hearing voices in one’s head has been in the symptomatology tradition for a long time.”

Millman drank black coffee with supper that evening. He wanted to remain alert.

Lying on his bed in the dark, propped on pillows leaned against the headboard, he waited for the ringing of the telephone to start.

And thought about what Dr. Palmer had said.

He’d gotten angry at the therapist’s remark about hearing voices in one’s head. Was Dr. Palmer implying that he’d gone insane?

“Not at all,” the therapist had reassured him. “What I’m saying is that you’re undergoing some kind of mental constraint. That your mind is seeking out a method of redressing it.”

“By dreaming up a phone call from some secret government project?” Millman had responded tensely.

“The means by which the human mind attempts to deal with hidden problems can be infinite,” Dr. Palmer had told him.

The room was still. Millman heard the whirring of the electric alarm clock on the bedside table.

Was Palmer right? he wondered.

True, it did seem awfully farfetched that the national government would go to such lengths to conduct a project so outlandish.

Still, the alternative.…

Millman bared his teeth in anger. It was all irrelevant anyway. If the man’s voice didn’t answer any more—and it hadn’t in a week—what difference did it make? Palmer might be convinced that presently the voice would speak to him again because it needed to, but he was certainly not—

Millman caught his breath, jerking back against the headboard as the telephone began to ring. His gaze jumped to the clock. It was three.

He let the ringing go on for thirty seconds before mentally picking up the handset and saying, “Yes?”

“
We’re very displeased with you
,” the man’s voice said; Millman tensed at the tone of it. “You were asked not to say anything about the project, weren’t you?”

Millman swallowed nervously.

“
Weren’t
you?” the man’s voice snapped.

“Yes, but—”

“You were told it was a matter of national security,” the man’s voice cut him off. “Yet still you told your therapist.”

Millman couldn’t seem to fill his lungs with air. He made a wheezing sound. “How do you know?” he asked, his voice frail and breathless.

“Figure it out,” the man’s voice said. “If we can hear your voice when you speak to
us.…
”

He didn’t finish. Millman shuddered.
Every word
? he thought in dismay.
Every single word I say?

He struggled to resist. “You know what he told me then,” he said. “You know what he thinks you are.”

“
Sure
,” the man’s voice answered scornfully. “I’m not Agent 25409-J. I’m not William J. Lonsdale. I’m not married with three children. I don’t work for the C.I.A. I’m your goddamn subconscious mind. Jesus, Millman. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Millman had no answer. He lay immobile, staring up into the darkness. He thought he heard the breathing of the man on the other end of the line.

“All right, listen to me,” the man’s voice said then. “We’re going to try to cut you off the circuit. We
have
been trying for a week now; that’s why we haven’t spoken to you. I’ll put it on priority now that you’ve blabbed to your therapist about us. Jesus, Millman!”

Millman heard the sound of a handset being set down.

Hard.

“But don’t you
see?
” Palmer said with a smile. “Your subconscious mind was reacting angrily to having its ruse exposed. A step forward, David.”

“He said he was going to cut me off the circuit.”

Dr. Palmer shook his head, still smiling. “He won’t cut you off,” he said. “He has things to say.”

“
What if I don’t want to listen to him anymore?
” Millman said.

“David” Dr. Palmer said. “
David
. Cons
ider
. You’re being given an invaluable opportunity: to engage in dialogue with your own subconscious mind.”

“What if the voice keeps picking on me? Millman asked.

The therapist’s gesture was casual.

“Hang up on him,” he said.

When the telephone began to ring in his head, Millman was loathe to answer it. The resonating jangle of the bell set his teeth on edge. Even so, it was preferable to the man’s potentially abusive voice.

He remained immobile on the bed, a flinching expression on his face.

Could
he hang up on the man?

Further, could he snatch up the invisible handset after the connection had been broken, making it impossible for the man to call him anymore? He imagined hearing a dial tone in his head, then an operator’s voice, breaking in to tell him he should hang up if he wanted to make a call.

Millman scowled. Now he really
was
beginning to think like a man who was losing his mind.

Abruptly, he picked up the imaginary handset and said, “Hello.”

“Thank you for answering,” the man’s voice said.

Millman tightened.
Now what
? he thought.

“I apologize for speaking out of turn during our last conversation,” the man’s voice said. “It was uncalled for.”

“
Yes, it was
,” Millman said impulsively.

“I’m sorry,” the man replied. Before Millman could respond, he continued. “Listen,” he said, “I’m going to level with you.”

Millman’s eyes narrowed.
Now
what? he wondered.

“This government project thing,” the voice went on. “It’s all a lie.”

Without thinking, Millman drew his left hand near his face to stare at it as though he actually held a handset in his grip.

“There’s no such thing,” the man confessed. “Your Dr. Palmer was correct. It
doesn’t
make sense. Microscopic telephones implanted secretly in people’s brains? I can’t believe you bought it.”

Millman made a sound of spluttering exasperation.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” the man’s voice said. “I won’t give you my name because I’m afraid you might report me to the police. They’d lock me up and throw the key away if they found out what I’m doing.”

“What are you talking about
now?
” Millman demanded furiously.

“I’m an inventor,” the man’s voice said. “I’ve developed an apparatus which radiates short-wave energy that penetrates the mind of anyone the beamer is directed at, enabling two-way conversation with them. You’re the first.”

Millman couldn’t tell if he felt horrified or enraged. The clashing emotions kept him speechless.

“I know this is as hard to believe as the government project idea,” the man’s voice continued. “The government would love to get their hands on this, I guarantee you. I’d destroy it first though. It gives me the creeps thinking what our government would do with this device. I’d never—”

Millman broke in fiercely. “
Why are you doing this to me?
” he demanded.

“As I said,” the man’s voice answered patiently, “I chose you as my first subject. I didn’t have the nerve to tell you what was really going on so I made up the story about a government project when all the time—”

It all burst out explosively from Millman. “
Bullshit
!” he snarled. “I don’t believe this story any more than I believe the other! You’re no inventor” My therapist’s been right all the time! You’re my own—”

“You
fool
!” the man’s voice cut him off. “You goddamned fool!”

Millman tried to answer but the words choked in his throat.

“You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” the man’s voice criticized him. “Just can’t let me do this my own way. No! Not you! You’re too goddamned smart for that!”

The animal-like sound the man made drowned out Millman’s faint reply. “Well, you’re not smart! Not at all!” the man’s voice cried. “You’re
dumb
! You always
have
been dumb! A dumb boy and a stupid man! Davie, you’re an
idiot
!”

Millman lurched in shock as the handset crashed down in his head.

He lay in silence, struggling for breath.

He knew the voice.

Dr. Palmer gazed at him without a word.

Millman drew in a laboring breath. “I have to tell you something about my family,” he said. “Something I never told you before.”

“Yes?” asked Dr. Palmer.

“My mother suffered from dissociated consciousness,” Millman said. “I mean, she was psychic. I won’t go into details but she proved it many times.”

“Yes?” Dr. Palmer’s tone was still noncommittal.

“I think I inherited her ability,” Millman told him.

The therapist had difficulty repressing a look of aggravation. “You’re suggesting—” he began.

“I’m
telling
,” Millman broke in irritably. “You were
right
. It’s not a secret government project and it’s certainly not what the man’s voice told me last night.”

“Instead—” Dr. Palmer prodded.

“It’s my father,” Millman answered.

The therapist didn’t reply. He rubbed his lowered eyelids with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Millman felt a tightening of resentment in his body.

Dr. Palmer opened his eyes. “You believe that he’s communicating with you from ‘the other side’ as it were?” he asked.

Millman nodded, features hardening. “I
do
.”

The therapist sighed.

“Very well,” he said. “Let’s talk about it.”

The instant the telephone rang in his head, Millman snatched up the imagined handset. “I’m here,” he said.

“That was prompt,” the man’s voice replied.

“I know who you are,” Millman told him.

“You do.” Millman had a fleeting impression of his father’s face, a smile of faint amusement on it.

“Yes, I do,” Millman answered. “Father.”

The man chuckled. “So you’ve caught me,” he said.

Millman was unable to control a throat-catching sob. “
Why are you doing this
?” he asked.

“
Why
?” the voice responded incredulously. “Why do I want to speak to my only begotten son? You ask such a question,
Davie
? Is it so difficult to comprehend?”

Millman was crying now. Tears ran off the sides of his face, soaking into the pillow case. “
Pop
,” he murmured.

“I want you to listen to me now,” his father’s voice continued.

Millman’s chest hitched as he sobbed.

“Are you listening?” his father’s voice inquired.

“Yes.” Millman rubbed the trembling fingertips of his right hand over his eyes.

“The reason I’m calling you,” his father’s voice went on, “is that I feel you should be cognizant of certain things.”

“What things?” Millman asked.

“You don’t know?” his father’s voice responded.

“No,” Millman sniffled, rubbing a finger underneath his dripping nostrils.

His father’s sigh was deep. “I’ll have to tell you then,” he said.

Millman waited.

“You’re a loser,” his father’s voice told him.

“
What?
” asked Millman.

“I have to
explain?
” said his father’s voice. “You leave me
nothing?
All right; I’ll lay it on the line then. You married a bitch. You let her bleed you dry in every way. You let her poison the minds of your two sons against you. You let her divorce proceeding take you to the cleaners. You let her rip away your
manhood
.