Flowers for Algernon

shocked! Yes, suddenly we discover that I was always a person—even be­fore—and that challenges your belief that someone with an I.Q. of less than 100 doesn't deserve consideration. Pro­fessor Nemur, I think when you look at me your con­science bothers you.'

'I've heard enough,' he snapped. 'You're drunk'

'Ah, no,' I assured him. 'Because if I get drunk, you'll see a different Charlie Gordon from the one you've come to know. Yes, the other Charlie who walked in the darkness is still here with us. Inside me.'

'He's gone out of his head,' said Mrs. Nemur. 'He's talking as if there were two Charlie Gordons. You'd better look after him, doctor.'

Dr. Strauss shook his head. 'No. I know what he means. It's come up recently in therapy sessions. A peculiar dissociation has taken place in the past month or so. He's had several experiences of perceiving himself as he was be­fore the experiment—as a separate and distinct individual still functioning in his consciousness—as if the old Char­lie were struggling for control of the body—'

'No! I never said that! Not struggling for control. Charlie is there, all right, but not struggling with me. Just waiting. He has never tried to take over or tried to prevent me from doing anything I wanted to do.' Then, remem­ bering about Alice, I modified it. 'Well, almost never. The humble, self-effacing Charlie you were all talking about a while ago is just waiting patiently. I'll admit I'm like him in a number of ways, but humility and self-effacement are not among them. I've learned how little they get a person in this world.

'You've become cynical,' said Nemur. 'That's all this opportunity has meant to you. Your genius has destroyed your faith in the world and in your fellow men.'

'That's not completely true,' I said softly. 'But I've learned that intelligence alone doesn't mean a damned thing. Here in your university, intelligence, education, knowledge, have all become great idols. But I know now there's one thing you've all overlooked: intelligence and ed­ucation that hasn't been tempered by human affection isn't worth a damn.'

I helped myself to another martini from the nearby sideboard and continued my sermon.

'Don't misunderstand me,' I said. 'Intelligence is one of the greatest human gifts. But all too often a search for knowledge drives out the search for love. This is something else I've discovered for myself very recently. I present it to you as a hypothesis: Intelligence without the ability to give and receive affection leads to mental and moral break­down, to neurosis, and possibly even psychosis. And I say that the mind absorbed in and involved in itself as a self-centered end, to the exclusion of human relationships, can only lead to violence and pain.

'When I was retarded I had lots of friends. Now I have no one. Oh, I know lots of people. Lots and lots of people. But I don't have any real friends. Not like I used to have in the bakery. Not a friend in the world who means anything to me, and no one I mean anything to.' I discov­ered that my speech was becoming slurred, and there was a lightness in my head. 'That can't be right, can it?' I in­sisted. 'I mean, what do you think? Do you think that's… that's right?'

Strauss came over and took my arm.

'Charlie, maybe you'd better lie down a while. You've had too much to drink.'

'Why y'all looking at me like that? What did I say wrong? Did I say something wrong? I din't mean to say anything that wasn't right.'

I heard the words thick in my mouth, as if my face had been shot full of novocaine. I was drunk—completely out of control. At that moment, almost with the flick of a switch, I was watching the scene from the dining room doorway, and I could see myself as the other Charlie— there near the sideboard, drink in hand, eyes wide and frightened.

'I always try to do the right things. My mother always taught me to be nice to people because she said that way you won't get into trouble and you'll always have lots of friends.'

I could see by the way he was twitching and writhing that he had to get to the bathroom. Oh, my God, not there in front of them. 'Excuse me, please,' he said, 'I got to go…' Somehow, in that drunken stupor, I managed to turn him away from them and head him toward the bathroom.

He made it in time, and after a few seconds I was again in control. I rested my cheek against the wall, and then washed my face with cool water. Still groggy, but I knew I was going to be all right.

That's when I saw Charlie watching me from the mirror behind the washbasin. I don't know how I knew it was Charlie and not me. Something about the dull, ques­tioning look in his face. His eyes, wide and frightened, as if at one word from me he would turn and run deep into the dimension of the mirrored world. But he didn't run. He just stared back at me, mouth open, jaw hanging loosely.

'Hello,' I said, 'so you've finally come face to face with me.'

He frowned, just a bit, as if he didn't understand what I meant, as if he wanted an explanation but didn't know how to ask for it. Then, giving it up, he smiled wryly from the corner of his mouth.

'Stay there right in front of me,' I shouted. 'I'm sick and tired of your spying on me from doorways and dark, places where I can't catch up with you.'

He stared.

'Who are you, Charlie?'

Nothing but the smile.

I nodded and he nodded back.

'Then what do you want?' I asked.

He shrugged.

'Oh, come now,' I said, 'you must want something. You've been following me—' said it. I was an arrogant, self-centered bastard. Unlike Charlie, I was incapable of making friends or thinking about other people and their problems. I was interested in myself, and myself only. For one long moment in that mir­ror I had seen myself through Charlie's eyes—looked down at myself and saw what I had really become. And I was ashamed.

Hours later I found myself in front of the apartment house, and made my way upstairs and through the dimly lit hallway. Passing Fay's room, I could see there was a light on, and I started toward her door. But just as I was about to knock I heard her giggling, and a man's answering laugh.

It was too late for that.

I let myself into my apartment quietly and stood there for a while in the dark, not daring to move, not daring to turn on the light. Just stood there and felt the whirlpool in my eyes.

What has happened to me? Why am I so alone in the world?

4:30 A.M.

The solution came to me, just as I was dozing off. Illuminated! Everything fits together, and I see what I should have known from the beginning. No more sleep. I've got to get back to the lab and test this against the re­ sults from the computer. This, finally, is the flaw in the ex­periment. I've found it.

Now what becomes of me?

August 26

LETTER TO PROFESSOR NEMUR (COPY)

Dear Professor Nemur:

Under separate cover I am sending you a copy of my re­port entitled: 'The Algernon-Gordon Effect: A Study of Struc­ture and Function of Increased Intelligence,' which may be published if you see fit.

As you know, my experiments are completed. I have in­cluded in my report all of my formulas, as well as mathemat­ical analyses of the data in the appendix. Of course, these should be verified.

The results are clear. The more sensational aspects of my rapid climb cannot obscure the facts. The surgery-and-injection techniques developed by you and Dr. Strauss must be viewed as having little or no practical applicability, at the present time, to the increase of human intelligence.

Reviewing the data on Algernon: although he is still in his physical youth, he has regressed mentally. Motor activity impaired; general reduction of glandular functioning; acceler­ated loss of coordination; and strong indications of progressive amnesia.

As I show in my report, these and other physical and mental deterioration syndromes can be predicted with statisti­cally significant results by the application of my new formula. Although the surgical stimulus to which we were both sub­jected resulted in an intensification and acceleration of all mental processes, the flaw,