Flowers for Algernon

was in honor of the two men on the board of the Welberg Foun­dation who had been instrumental in getting her husband the grant. I planned to take Fay, but she said she had a date and she'd rather go dancing.

I started out the evening with every intention of being pleasant and making friends. But these days I have trouble getting through to people. I don't know if it's me or them, but any attempt at conversation usually fades away in a minute or two, and the barriers go up. Is it because they are afraid of me? Or is it that deep down they don't care and I feel the same about them?

I took a drink and wandered around the big room. There were little knots of people sitting in conversation groups, the kind I find it impossible to join. Finally, Mrs. Nemur cornered me and introduced me to Hyram Harvey, one of the board members. Mrs. Nemur is an attractive woman, early forties, blonde hair, lots of make-up and long red nails. She had her arm through Harvey's. 'How is the research coming?' She wanted to know.

'As well as can be expected. I'm trying to solve a tough problem right now.'

She lit a cigarette and smiled at me. 'I know that everyone on the project is grateful that you've decided to pitch in and help out. But I imagine you'd much rather be working on something of your own. It must be rather dull taking up someone else's work rather than something you've conceived and created yourself.'

She was sharp, all right. She didn't want Hyram Harvey to forget that her husband had the credit coming. I couldn't resist tossing it back at her. 'No one really starts anything new, Mrs. Nemur. Everyone builds on other men's failures. There is nothing really original in science. What each man contributes to the sum of knowledge is what counts.'

'Of course,' she said, talking to her elderly guest rather than to me. 'It's a shame Mr. Gordon wasn't around earlier to help solve these little final problems.' She laughed. 'But then—oh, I forgot, you weren't in any position to do psychological experimentation.'

Harvey laughed, and I thought I'd better keep quiet. Bertha Nemur was not going to let me get the last word in, and if things went any further it would really get nasty.

I saw Dr. Strauss and Burt talking to the other man from the Welberg Foundation—George Raynor. Strauss was saying: 'The problem, Mr. Raynor, is getting suffi­cient funds to work on projects like these, without having strings tied to the money. When amounts are earmarked for specific purposes, we can't really operate.'

Raynor shook his head and waved a big cigar at the small group around him. 'The real problem is convincing the board that this kind of research has practical value.'

Strauss shook his head. 'The point I've been trying to make is that this money is intended for research. No one can ever know in advance if a project is going to result in something useful. Results are often negative. We learn what something is not—and that is as important as a pos­itive discovery to the man who is going to pick up from there. At least he knows what not to do.'

As I approached the group, I noticed Raynor's wife, to whom I had been introduced earlier. She was a beautiful, dark-haired woman of thirty or so. She was staring at me, or rather at the top of my head—as if she expected some­thing to sprout. I stared back, and she got uncomfortable and turned back to Dr. Strauss. 'But what about the pres­ent project? Do you anticipate being able to use these tech­niques on other retardates? Is this something the world will be able to use?'

Strauss shrugged and nodded towards me. 'Still too early to tell. Your husband helped us put Charlie to work on the project, and a great deal depends on what he comes up with.'

'Of course,' Mr. Raynor put in, 'we all understand the necessity for pure research in fields like yours. But it would be such a boon to our image if we could produce a really workable method for achieving permanent results outside the laboratory, if we could show the world that there is some tangible good coming out of it.'

I started to speak, but Strauss, who must have sensed what I was going to say, stood up and put his arm on my shoulder. 'All of us at Beekman feel that the work Charlie is doing is of the utmost importance. His job now is to find the truth wherever it leads. We leave it to your foun­dations to handle the public, to educate society.'

He smiled at the Raynors and steered me away from them.

'That,' I said, 'is not at all what I was going to say.'

'I didn't think you were,' he whispered, holding onto my elbow. 'But I could see by that gleam in your eye you were ready to cut them to pieces. And I couldn't allow that, could I?'

'Guess not,' I agreed, helping myself to another martini.

'Is it wise of you to drink so heavily?'

'No, but I'm trying to relax and I seem to have come to the wrong place.'

'Well, take it easy,' he said, 'and keep out of trouble tonight. These people are not fools. They know the way you feel about them, and even if you don't need them, we do.'

I waved a salute at him. 'I'll try, but you'd better keep Mrs. Raynor away from me. I'm going to goose her if she wiggles her fanny at me again.'

'Shhhh!' he hissed. 'She'll hear you.'

'Shhhh!' I echoed. 'Sorry. I'll just sit here in the cor­ner and keep out of everyone's way.'

The haze was coming over me, but through it I could see people staring at me. I guess I was muttering to my­self—too audibly. I don't remember what I said. A little while later I had the feeling that people were leaving unusually early, but I didn't pay much attention until Nemur came up and stood in front of me.

'Just who the hell do you think you are, that you can behave that way? I have never seen such insufferable rude­ness in my life.'

I struggled to my feet. 'Now, what makes you say that?'

Strauss tried to restrain him, but he spluttered and gasped out: 'I say it, because you have no gratitude or un­derstanding of the situation. After all, you are indebted to these people if not to us—in more ways than one.'

'Since when is a guinea pig supposed to be grateful?' I shouted. 'I've served your purposes, and now I'm trying to work out your mistakes, so how the hell does that make me indebted to anyone?'

Strauss started to move in to break it up, but Nemur stopped him. 'Just a minute. I want to hear this. I think it's time we had this out.'

'He's had too much to drink,' said his wife.

'Not that much,' snorted Nemur. 'He's speaking pretty clearly. I've put up with a lot from him. He's endan­ gered—if not actually destroyed—our work, and now I want to hear from his own mouth what he thinks his jus­ tification is.'

'Oh, forget it,' I said. 'You don't really want to hear the truth.'

'But I do, Charlie. At least your version of the truth. I want to know if you feel any gratitude for all the things that have been done for you—the abilities you've developed, the things you've learned, the experiences you've had. Or do you think possibly you were better off before?'

'In some ways, yes.'

That shocked them.

'I've learned a lot in the past few months,' I said. 'Not only about Charlie Gordon, but about life and people, and I've discovered that nobody really cares about Charlie Gordon, whether he's a moron or a genius. So what difference does it make?'

'Oh,' laughed Nemur. 'You're feeling sorry for your­self. What did you expect? This experiment was calculated to raise your intelligence, not to make you popular. We had no control over what happened to your personality, and you've developed from a likeable, retarded young man into an arrogant, self-centered, antisocial bastard.'

'The problem, dear professor, is that you wanted someone who could be made intelligent but still be kept in a cage and displayed when necessary to reap the honors you seek. The hitch is that I'm a person.'

He was angry, and I could see he was torn between ending the fight and trying once more to beat me down. 'You're being unfair, as usual. You know we've always treated you well—done everything we could for you.'

'Everything but treat me as a human being. You've boasted time and again that I was nothing before the ex­periment, and I know why. Because if I was nothing, then you were responsible for creating me, and that makes you my lord and master. You resent the fact that I don't show my gratitude every hour of the day. Well, believe it or not,

I am grateful. But what you did for me—wonderful as it is—doesn't give you the right to treat me like an experi­mental animal. I'm an individual now, and so was Charlie before he ever walked into that lab. You look