[Ace7X]

a few short stories
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A Psychological Crusade

A renegade experimental psycologist explains how to inflict his methods on the general public.

A good system for revealing as yet unknown facets in man consists of placing the subject in a totally new situation and observing his reactions. For example: if I make a phone call and I hear a voice on the other end of the wire say "Hello," the experiment will lack any scientific or informative value since the subject has done nothing more than to react in a routine manner in response to an equally routine situation. Therefore, it does not provide me with the opportunity to investigate any hidden aspects of his personality.

How can I learn, for example, if a particular storekeeper - all amiability and smiles as I make my purchase - might not be capable of strangling me over a matter of a few small coins? The best thing, then, would be to stimulate the man's unforeseeable reactions; these can be quite instructive.

I shall propose several examples.

1. I pay for the meager amount of a half kilogram of bread with a bill of the largest denomination in circulation and I flatly refuse to accept the change. I attentively observe the baker's covetousness, willing as he is to take advantage of my presumed insanity. I leave. Five minutes later I enter the store once more, this time accompanied by a police officer, and I accuse the baker of having refused to hand over my change. I study his anger at my bad faith, his disappointment at the foiled rip-off. Fearful, perplexed, he stammers incomprehensible excuses under the suspicious stare of the policeman, who does not believe that someone would refuse to accept that kind of change. He humbly hands me the necessary amount and I magnanimously declare that I prefer to consider the unpleasant episode closed. The officer, somewhat disappointed, says "Whatever you say." I observe with satisfaction the immense relief on the baker's face.*

2. I invite a friend of mine to have dinner at my home. When he arrives, I prevent him from entering with the accusation that he had - twelve or fourteen years earlier - stolen my girl with whom, of course, I was madly in love. I observe his astonishment (we've known each other for only a few months), his hesitation (could I possibly be the one who ...), his sorrow, his rage ...

3. I get on the bus and say "To such and such a place." When the driver - who is busy keeping his eyes on the traffic - opens his hand to collect the fare, I drop a chess rook and a sprig of parsley into it. The question is: how will the busdriver - a person of habitually unstable nerves - interpret this enigmatic offering?

4. I take a trip to the resort city of Mar del Plata and check into one of the most luxurious hotels. Just as soon as the maid leaves, I put the bed out in the hallway and take a refreshing nap, particularly well deserved after such a tiring trip, right there.

5. By means of a skeleton key, I let myself into any house when the owners happen to be absent. I await them placidly seated, smoking, drinking whisky, watching television. The subjects arrive. Then I harshly rebuke them, I shake my fist at them, I say "How the devil do you have the nerve to walk into my house?," paying no attention to their explanations, or paying attention (it makes no difference), I demand that they show me their deed to the house, I do not allow them to open the drawer in which they ridiculously claim the deed is since that drawer is an inalienable part of a piece of furniture which, in turn, is an inalienable part of my house and, consequently, in no way could possibly contain the deed to a house belonging to people who are strangers, suspicious characters and perhaps criminals and well-known members of the underworld, etc.

6. I become acquainted with a prim, rather silly and let's say quite pretty girl. I ask her for a date, I tell her I love her, I become her fiance and thus the date of our engagement arrives; the celebration takes place at her house. Someone makes a toast. Then there's another toast. There's a third toast. Finally, the long-awaited moment arrives in which the fiance - a well-mannered boy, if such an entity can be said to exist - offers his betrothed the beautiful surprise that has been talked about so much. Smiling with love and happiness, I hand over a package of considerable dimensions. The bride-to-be tests its weight; it seems great to her. The keenest curiosity is etched on the guests' faces. Everyone forms a circle and the women squeeze around the ecstatic bride-to-be. The fancy gift wrapping goes flying and so does the bow with which it's adorned. Now a rich case lined in black chamois comes into view. "An expensive jewel!" my sweetheart thinks and that gleam of covetousness that I see in her eyes justifies me in advance. Her fingers rush to unsnap the automatic lock. The lid rises with a plush click and a beautiful, multi-colored, cheery extremely venomous coral snake sinuously slides, in search of freedom, along my sweetheart's ivory arms.

7. I wait until the manager of the firm for which I work is in his impressive, carpeted office, conversing with his most important client who is about to close the deal on a purchase worth an astronomical sum. I rap timidly on the door; I hear "Come in;" I enter with discrete and modest steps; I say with a circumspect hint of a smile, "Pardon me, sir;" I walk to the imposing wooden cabinet, open it and urinate torrentially upon portfolios, books, equipment, contracts, documents and papers which may or may not be important.

Of course, there are a few simpler variants which I bequeath to those who may still lack the necessary practice and who may want to take up this psychological crusade. Here are a few:

Making passionate and even erotic remarks to members of the Salvation Army without regard to sex or age. Standing on the drugstore scale and staying there all day without allowing anyone to weigh himself. Buying two hundred grams of salami, sliced very thin, opening the package and, using the beautiful red slices, outlining a heart and writing I LOVE YOU on the delicatessen counter. Traveling on the bus, seated next to the aisle; waiting for the time your neighbor, man or woman, has to get off and says "Excuse me;" and you answer categorically, "No," and you absolutely refuse to allow him or her to pass.

The psychological crusade can cause a certain amount of anxiety (as does any crusade), implies one is involved in serious difficulties (as does any crusade). But, what do these inconveniences mean compared with the delight of observing the reactions to which the psychological crusade gives rise?

This is, at any rate, what I imagine, for - I confess - I'm nothing more than a mere theoretician and it's probable that I'll never put my ideas into practice. But you can - and should - do it.



* Note that we are dealing in mere hypothesis. This baker would react in the manner indicated, the one down the block perhaps would not be intimidated by the presence of the police officer and would impudently affirm that he had given me the change, etc. As can be seen, by repeating this experiment - with different bakers and, especially, with different policemen - we can succeed in plumbing the depths of bakers' souls. This is true to a lesser extent with respect to policemen's souls.

END

[Ace7X]

Mere Suggestion

A man is consumed by a completely irrational fear.

My friends say I am very suggestible. I think they're right. As evidence of this, they bring up a little incident that I was involved in last Thursday.

That morning I was reading a horror novel and, although it was broad daylight, I fell victim to the power of suggestion. This suggestion implanted in me the idea that there was a bloodthirsty murderer in the kitchen; and this bloodthirsty murderer, brandishing an enormous dagger, was waiting for me to enter the kitchen so he could leap upon me and plunge the knife into my back. So, in spite of my being seated directly across from the kitchen door, in spite of the fact that no one could have gone into the kitchen without my having seen him, and that there was no other access to the kitchen but that door; in spite of all these facts, I, nonetheless, was fully convinced that the murderer lurked behind the closed door.

So I fell victim to the power of suggestion and did not have the courage to enter the kitchen. This worried me, because lunch time was approaching and it would be indispensable for me to go into the kitchen. Then the doorbell rang.

"Come in!" I yelled without standing up. "It's not locked."

The building superintendent came in, with two or three letters.

"My leg fell asleep," I said. "Could you go to the kitchen and bring me a glass of water?"

The super said, "Of course," opened the kitchen door and went in. I heard a cry of pain and the sound of a body that, in collapsing, dragged with it dishes or bottles. Then I leaped from my chair and ran to the kitchen. The super, half his body on the table and an enormous dagger plunged into his back, lay dead. Now, calmed down, I was able to determine that, of course, there was no murderer in the kitchen.

As is logical, it was a case of mere suggestion.

END

[Ace7X]

An Enlightening Tale

About an honest beggar, a miserly Lady and an infatuated butler.

This was a very honest beggar.

One day he knocked at the door of a luxurious mansion. The butler came out and said, "Yes, sir. What do you wish, my good man?"

The beggar answered, "Just a bit of charity, for the love of God."

"I shall have to take this up with the lady of the house."

The butler consulted with the lady of the house and she, who was very miserly, answered. "Jeremiah, give that good man a loaf of bread. One only. And, if possible, one from yesterday."

Jeremiah, who was secretly in love with his employer, in order to please her sought out a stale loaf of bread, hard as a rock, and handed it to the beggar.

"Here you are, my good man," he said, no longer calling him sir.

"God bless you," the beggar answered.

Jeremiah closed the massive oaken door, and the beggar went off with the loaf of bread under his arm. He came to the vacant lot where he spent his days and nights. He sat down in the shade of a tree, and began to eat the bread suddenly he bit into a hard object and felt one of his molars crumble to pieces. Great was his surprise when he picked up, together with the fragments of his molar, a fine ring of gold, pearls and diamonds.

"What luck," he said to himself. "I'll sell it and I'll have money for a long time."

But his honesty immediately prevailed: "No," he added. "I'll seek out its owner and return it."

Inside the ring were engraved the initials J. X. Neither unintelligent nor lazy, the beggar went to a store and asked for the telephone book. He found that in the entire town there existed only one family whose surname began with X: the Xofaina family.


Filled with joy for being able to put his honesty into practice, he set out for the home of the Xofaina family. Great was his amazement when he saw it was the very house at which he had been given the loaf of bread containing the ring. He knocked at the door.

Jeremiah emerged and asked him, "What do you wish, my good man?"

The beggar answered, "I've found this ring inside the loaf of bread you were good enough to give me a while ago."

Jeremiah took the ring and said, "I shall have to take this up with the lady of the house."

He consulted with the lady of the house, and she, happy and fairly singing, exclaimed, "Lucky me! Here we are with the ring I had lost last week, while I was kneading the dough for the bread! These are my initials, J.X., which stand for my name: Josermina Xofaina.

After a moment of reflection, she added, "Jeremiah, go and give that good man whatever he wants as a reward. As long as it's not very expensive."

Jeremiah returned to the door and said to the beggar, "My good man, tell me what you would like as a reward for your kind act."

The beggar answered, "Just a loaf of bread to satisfy my hunger."

Jeremiah, who was still in love with his employer, in order to please her sought out an old loaf of bread, hard as a rock, and handed it to the beggar.

"Here you are, my good man."

"God bless you. "

Jeremiah shut the massive oaken door, and the beggar went off with the loaf of bread under his arm. He came to the vacant lot in which he spent his days and nights. He sat down in the shade of a tree and began to eat the bread. Suddenly he bit into a hard object and felt another of his molars crumble to pieces. Great was his surprise when he picked up, along with the fragments of this his second broken molar, another fine ring of gold, pearls and diamonds.

Once more he noticed the initials J.X. Once more he returned the ring to Josermina Xofaina and as a reward received a third loaf of hard bread, in which he found a third ring that he again returned and for which lie obtained, as a reward, a fourth loaf of hard bread, in which ...

From that fortunate day until the unlucky day of his death, the beggar lived happily and without financial problems. He only had to return the ring he found inside the bread every day.

END

[Ace7X]

Rewarding Superstitions

A man makes a living out of other people's superstitions.

I live off the superstitions of others. I don't earn much and the work is pretty hard.

My first job was in a seltzer plant. The boss believed, who can say why, that one of the thousands of siphon bottles (yes, but which one?) harbored the atomic bomb. He also believed that the presence of a human being was enough to prevent that fearful energy from being released. There were several of us employees, one for each truck. My task consisted of remaining seated on the irregular surface of the siphon bottles during the six hours daily required in the distribution of the seltzer. An arduous task: the truck jolted; the seat was uncomfortable, painful; the route was boring; the truckers, a common lot; every once in a while a siphon bottle would explode (not the one with the atomic bomb) and I would sustain slight injuries. Finally, tired of it, I quit. The boss hastened to replace me with another man who, with his mere presence, would prevent the explosion of the atomic bomb.

Immediately, I learned that a spinster lady in Belgrano had a pair of turtles and that she believed, who can say why, that one of them (yes, but which one?) was the Devil in the form of a turtle. Since the lady, who always wore black and said her rosary, couldn't watch them continually, she hired me to do so at night. "As every one knows," she explained to me, "one of these two turtles is the Devil. When you see one of them begin to sprout a pair of dragon wings, don't fail to inform me, because that's the one, without a doubt, who is the Devil. Then we'll make a bonfire and burn it alive so as to make all evil disappear from the face of the earth." I stayed awake during the first nights, keeping an eye on the turtles: what stupid, clumsy animals. Later I felt my zeal to be unjustified and, just as soon as the spinster lady went to bed, I would wrap my legs in a blanket and, curled up in a folding chair, I would sleep away the entire night. So I never managed to discover which of the two turtles was the Devil. Later I told the lady that I was going to give up that job because it seemed it was bad for my health to stay awake all night.


Besides, I had just learned that there was an old mansion in San Isidro overlooking a deep ravine and, in the mansion, a statuette depicting a sweet French girl from the end of the nineteenth century. The owners, a very old, grayhaired couple, believed, who can say why, that that girl was sad and pining for love and that if she didn't get a beau she would die shortly. They provided me with a salary and I became the statuette's boyfriend. I began to call on her. The old folks left us to ourselves, though I suspect they spied on us. The girl receives me in the gloomy parlor, we sit on a worn sofa, I bring her flowers, bon bons or books, I write poems and letters to her, she languidly plays the piano, she glances at me tenderly, I call her "my Love," I furtively kiss her, at times I go beyond what is permitted by the decorum and innocence of a late nineteenthcentury girl. Giselle loves me too, she lowers her eyes, sighs slightly and says to me: "When will we be married?" "Soon," I answer. "I'm saving up." Yes, but I keep putting off the date since I can't save more than a little towards our wedding; as I've already said, you don't earn very much living off other people's superstitions.

END

[Ace7X]

An Enlightening Book

Detailing Dr Ludwig Boitus' studies of the strangely charastmatic Caliguinas bird.

In his brief prologue to Stelzvögel, professor Franz Klamm explains that Dr. Ludwig Boitus travelled from Gottingen to Huayllén-Naquén with the sole purpose of studying in situ the assimilative attraction of the long-legged bird popularly known as calegüinas (this name has almost unanimous acceptance in the specialist literature in Spanish and it will be used here). Stelzvögel fills an acute gap in our knowledge of the subject. Before Dr. Boitus' exhaustive investigations -- the presentation of which takes up almost a third of the volume -- little was known for certain about calegüinas. In fact, except for fragmentary qualitative studies by Bulovic, Balbón, Laurencena and others -- works plagued by whimsical, unsubstantiated claims -- before Stelzvögel, the scientific community lacked a reliable basis on which to base further research. In his work, Dr. Boitus starts from the -- perhaps debatable -- premise that calegüinas' main character trait is its very strong personality (using the term personality in the sense established by Fox and his school). This personality is so potent that simply being in the presence of a calegüinas is enough to induce strongly calegüinas-like behaviour in other animals.

The calegüinas are found exclusively in the Huayllén-Naquén lagoon. There, they flourish -- some estimates put the population as high as one million -- helped both by local by-laws, which make hunting them illegal, and by the fact that their flesh is inedible and their feathers have no industrial use. In common with other long-legged birds, they feed on fish, Batrachia and the larvæ of mosquitos and other insects. Although they posses well-developed wings, they rarely fly, and when they do, they never go beyond the limits of the lagoon. They are of a similar size to storks, though their beaks are slightly larger and they do not migrate. Their back and wings are a blueish-black; their head, chest and belly, a yellowish-white. Their legs are pale yellow. Their habitat, the Huayllén-Naquén lagoon, is shallow but wide. Since there are no bridges across it -- in spite of many representations to that end -- the locals are obliged to make a long detour in order to get to the opposite side. This has had the effect of making complaints to the local newspaper almost continuous but communication between the shores of the lagoon rather scarce. To the uninformed observer it would appear that residents could cross the lagoon quickly and easily by using stilts and even without them, at its deepest point, the water would barely reach the waist of a man of average height. However, the locals know -- although perhaps in a intuitive way only -- the assimilative power of the calegüinas, and the fact is that they prefer not to attempt the crossing, choosing instead -- as already stated -- to go around the lagoon, which is encircled by an excellent asphalt road.

All this has not stopped the hiring of stilts to tourists becoming the single most important part of the Huayllén-Naquén economy, a circumstance that is perhaps justifiable in view of the scarcity of basic resources in the region. The absence of serious competition and the lack of official pricing has made the hiring of stilts a very costly business indeed; inflating prices to outrageous levels is the only way tradesmen can recoup their inevitable losses. In fact, there is a rather limited Huayllén-Naquén by-law stipulating that shops hiring stilts should display a sign, positioned in open view and written in bold lettering, warning that the use of stilts may lead to fairly serious psychological alterations. As a rule, tourists tend not to heed these warnings and, for the most part, treat them as a joke. It should be noted that it is simply not possible to make sure that the notices are read by every single tourist even when, as is undeniably the case, the shopkeepers comply with the by-law punctiliously and place the signs in highly conspicuous places. The authorities are notoriously inflexible on this point. It is true that inspections are not very frequent and are always preceded by a warning sent a few minutes beforehand -- but the inspectors are known to perform their duties conscientiously and it can only be coincidence that there is no recorded case of a shopkeeper being sanctioned under the by-law.

Once in possession of their stilts, the tourists, either by themselves or in cheerful, chattering groups of two, three, five or ten go into the Huayllén-Naquén lagoon with the aim of reaching the opposite shore where they can buy, at very reasonable prices, tins of exquisite fish -- a product that provides the main source of income for the population on that side of the lagoon. For the first two or three hundred metres, the tourists advance happily; laughing, shouting, playing practical jokes and frightening the calegüinas, which, like all long-legged birds, are extremely nervous creatures. Gradually, as they penetrate deeper and deeper into the lagoon, the tourists become more subdued while, meter-by-meter, the density of calegüinas increases. Soon the birds are so numerous that progress becomes extremely difficult for the tourists. The calegüinas no longer run or fly away nervously -- as their numbers rise, they appear to grow in confidence, although their behaviour could also be explained by the fact that, by then, most movement is physically impossible. Whatever the reason, there comes a moment when shouting is no longer enough and it becomes necessary to use sticks and hands to shoo the calegüinas out of the way. Even then they concede very little ground. This is generally the moment when the tourists fall silent and the joking and laughing comes to an end. Then -- and only then -- they notice a dense humming emanating from the throats of the thousands of calegüinas, filling the entire lagoon. In its timbre, this humming is not very different from that of doves -- it is, however, considerably more intense. It enters the ears of the tourists and resonates inside their heads, it fills their minds so completely that, gradually, they too begin to hum. To start with, this humming is a poor imitation of the birds, but soon it becomes impossible to distinguish between the humming of the humans and that of the calegüinas. At this point, the tourists often start to experience a choking sensation, they can detect nothing but calegüinas for as far as the eye can see and soon loose the ability to differentiate between land and the water of the lagoon. In front and behind, left and right they see an endlessly repeating, monotonous desert of black and white made up of wings, beaks and feathers. There is usually one tourist -- especially if there is a large group of them on the lagoon -- who perceives the wisdom and convenience of returning to Huayllén-Naquén and sacrificing their prospective purchase of exquisite fish at very reasonable prices from the opposite shore.

But where is the opposite shore? How can they go back if they have lost all notion of the direction they came from? How can they go back if there are no longer any points of reference, if everything is black and white, an endlessly repeating landscape of wings, beaks and feathers? And eyes: two million blinking, expressionless eyes. In spite of all the evidence that returning is no longer an option, the tourist who is most lucid -- or rather, least delirious -- addresses his companions with some pathetic exhortation: 'Friends, let us go back the way we came!' But his companions cannot understand his strident croaks, so different are they from the gentle humming they are now accustomed to. At this point, even though they themselves answer with the same unintelligible croaks, deep down they are still conscious of the fact that they are human. Fear, however, has unhinged them and they all begin to croak simultaneously. Unfortunately, this chorus of croaks has no meaningful content and, even if they wanted to, the tourists would be unable to communicate their final coherent thought: that they are all calegüinas. It is then that the elders of the calegüinas community, who up to this point have kept knowingly silent, begin to croak with all their might. It is a triumphant croak, a cry of victory that starts from that inner circle and spreads quickly and tumultuously through the length and breadth of the Huayllén-Naquén lagoon and beyond its limits to the remotest houses of the nearby town. The locals put their fingers in their ears and smile. Happily, the noise lasts barely five minutes, and only after it has completely stopped do the tradesmen get back to making as many pairs of stilts as tourists have entered the lagoon.

END