Milgram by Tommy Wallach / Fiction / Untitled Books

“God put me on Earth to help people.”

Milgram by Tommy Wallach

At one hundred and fifty volts, Mr. Wallace shouted, “Experimenter, get me out of here! I won’t be in the experiment anymore! I refuse to go on!”

In the summer of 1961, Henrietta Ramsey took part in her first ever scientific experiment. It was advertised in The New Haven Register, and offered four dollars for an hour of the respondent's time, plus fifty cents for bus fare.

Henrietta had never before considered volunteering for such a thing, though not because she had anything against the pursuit of knowledge or the process of scientific inquiry. On the contrary, all forms of progress appealed to her; she was a member of the ACLU, the NAACP, and would be instrumental in the eventual foundation of a Greater New Haven chapter of NOW. The very term 'progress' made her feel a shiver of pride, like when her husband, Victor, touched her back possessively in front of some business associate's younger, prettier wife. No, the only reason Henrietta had not responded to the advertisement when it had first appeared a year earlier was because she was typically a very busy woman. A year earlier, she would not have had the time to involve herself in the pursuit of knowledge, or the process of scientific inquiry.

The summer of 1961 was different. For Henrietta, a personal solstice had set in; the days stretched out to unheard of lengths. Torpid lifetimes passed in the hours between breakfast and lunch, civilizations rose and melted into hazy histories during the afternoons and by the time dinner rolled around, the morning seemed as distant a past as childhood itself. For other women, perhaps this would have been tolerable. But Henrietta had reached forty-five without ever having experienced what was commonly known as 'free time.' (What was free about it? she wondered. Time always cost something; it took its bite out of the purse or the flesh, whichever was more vulnerable.) During her childhood in Madison, Wisconsin, she'd worked every summer, first for her family and then for a local restaurant that sponsored the most popular fish fry in the state. She'd studied hard in high school, and worked in a bookstore throughout her four years at the University. After graduation, she taught seventh grade English for a few years, until Victor came along and the two of them moved to Connecticut. Even after Catharine was born, Henrietta insisted on finding herself a part-time job. "Raising a child simply isn't enough," she would confide to other working women she knew, "God put me on Earth to help people."

She began as a substitute English teacher at Farrel High School, but her popularity soon won her a part-time counselling position. After a decade spent hoarding the secrets of the student body and the plaudits of the faculty, Henrietta was allowed to design her own program, serving 'children in need of special guidance.' Consequently, for the last five years, she'd devoted two days a week to Farrel High's dropouts, burnouts, and recidivists. She referred to them as her "leather-jacket boys," fourteen to eighteen year old delinquents who were allowed to attend her classes in lieu of standard high school. Though the time commitment was slight, Henrietta's work at Farrel demanded the majority of her attention, even during off-hours. She was constantly reading books and journals, trying to discover the magic words, the 'open sesame' that would help her enter and inhabit the hearts of her charges. Though all of the boys arrived ready to treat her class like a glorified detention, in the course of a year, she would always succeed in winning over at least a few of them. It was a question of dedication, of taking an actual interest. There was no censure, only encouragement, honest and perpetual.

She and her boys talked about everything under the sun. For example, while parents and teachers always stressed the professional benefits to be reaped from a college education, they often ignored the personal rewards. "Would you rather be able to impress some ex-cheerleader dropout, or a woman who can support your taste for fine scotch and international travel?" she might ask her students, tongue in cheek. This was the kind of thing they liked to hear--someone speaking on their level. And sure, whenever she brought up the subject of God, or abstinence, there would be a few snickers. That was to be expected. Talking about sex with a middle-aged woman was bad enough; being told to postpone satisfying the most basic human desire was nothing short of heresy. But it worked, didn't it? One of her favourite students, a seventeen year-old named Anthony, had gotten his girlfriend pregnant the previous year. After months of discussion, Henrietta had been able to convince the young couple to give the child up for adoption, and now both of them were back in school. When they told her they'd decided to wait until after they were married before having sex again, it was like a smile from the heavens.

Experiences such as these gave her such a feeling of efficacy, of an almost missionary zeal, that whenever summer came around, she couldn't help but feel lost. There was always church, but that was only once a week. The PTA didn't meet again until the end of August, and as for Girl Scouts...well, she had long since come to terms with the fact that that part of her life was over for good.

What worried Henrietta most was that, during these long empty days, her mind had begun to dwell on what could only be described as unhealthy topics. Strange fantasies of revenge, totally disconnected from reality, would invade her daydreams on a daily basis. These mental wanderings always involved her committing some needlessly violent act against someone who had wronged her. This character could be a celebrity, family member, or neighbour, though the most common victim was an anonymous burglar. Henrietta would imagine catching him slipping some silver into a netted sack or rummaging perversely through her delicates drawer. Sneaking up behind him with a fireplace poker, she would cave in his skull with one blow. Other fantasised trespasses were punished even more disturbingly: a man would attempt to rape her, and she would cut off his privates with a kitchen knife; a similar assault against Catharine would result in her mutilating a stranger's face. Henrietta once almost vomited while imagining the sucking sound an eyeball would make when pulled from its socket.

These bizarre imaginings had only begun occurring with regularity that summer, so Henrietta knew they were directly related to her boredom. With no job and no hobbies, what else was there to occupy her mind?

Of course, there was always her family to worry about, but Henrietta had such an understanding husband, such a compliant and studious child, that they could not provide the pressure she craved. Sometimes she wished for some kind of disaster to befall one of them, even herself, just to incite an emotion other than the kind of gentle solicitude that found its most passionate expression in a brief kiss on the forehead. But it was no use; the three of them plodded on like some undiscovered island tribe, protected only by the world's utter ambivalence towards them.

Victor was a film distributor, and though he'd always had to travel as part of his work, before that summer it had only been to cities like New York, Newark, and Stamford--cities that would release him after dark, send him hurtling (Henrietta pictured it like a pneumatic tube) on some sleek, metal train towards the reheated dinner over which he could relate the comfortingly redundant story of his day. That year, however, his company had already flown him back and forth from Los Angeles half-a-dozen times, and even once to London. Not that Henrietta counted on her husband for entertainment, but at least he was someone to talk to.

Which left only Catharine, her fifteen year old daughter, who was always around and yet never there. She was a fickle bookworm, forever on the trail of some new subject of study. This month, it was butterflies, captured in nets and preserved in mason jars with twigs in the bottom, classified according to the taxonomical maps laid out in the Encyclopaedia Britannica. When Catharine went out, it was only to ride around the suburbs on her bicycle, often with her best friend, Ada, by her side. Ada was the more attractive of the two girls, and whatever little glow of beauty Catharine could summon up alone was immediately subsumed whenever they were together. For this, more even than her sycophantic 'Halloo!' and equally cloying 'too-da-loo!', Henrietta resented her daughter's friend. Still, Ada was better than nothing, which is what there had been before.

So the advertisement could not have come at a better time. As soon as Henrietta filled out the form and made the five-minute drive in her newly-waxed Chevy Brookwood Station Wagon to drop it off at the local post office, she felt a satisfying sense of resolve. As July trailed off into August without a response from the University, this satisfaction only intensified. Henrietta felt as if she were exercising a voluntary patience, like the women in Ladies Home Journal stories who stoically and steadfastly awaited their lover's return from the war.

Her perseverance was rewarded on a Friday afternoon. Catharine was at the kitchen table, studying a discomfortingly graphic book on 'anatomy for the blossoming artist.' It was another blisteringly hot day, and the muted yellows of the linoleum floors and Formica counters gave the impression of being cooked to that colour, like baked clay. They were living inside a kiln.

"I think it's Ada," Catharine said when the phone rang, "she was going to come over after lunch."

"Mrs. Ramsey?" It was a man's voice, serious, comforting.

"This is she."

"I'm calling from Yale University. You responded to a magazine advertisement a few weeks ago."

"Yes! I was wondering when you'd call. I thought you'd have wanted to get in touch with me as soon as possible. I mean, how many women are willing to volunteer for scientific experiments? Can't be a lot."

"Yes, we're very grateful for your interest. Are you free next Tuesday, at ten in the morning."

"Let me think. Well, there's...sure. Sure, I can."

"We have to ask that you arrive fifteen minutes early. We keep to a very tight schedule, and if you're late, we can't promise you'll be included in the study."

"I'm never late," Henrietta replied, mock-offended.

"The experiment is conducted in the basement of Linsly-Chittenden Hall, which is off of High Street on the Old Campus."

"Alright."

"That's all. We'll see you on Tuesday, Mrs. Ramsey."

"Ten a.m. sharp!"

"Goodbye."

"Who was that?" Catharine asked. A thin layer of sweat shone on her large, exposed forehead. It was one of her least attractive features, and Henrietta felt guilty whenever she happened to gaze upon it. Such things were genetic, after all. She wiped the sheen away with her apron, surreptitiously rearranging some of Catharine's bangs in the process.

"If you must know, that was Yale University. I volunteered for a scientific experiment there."

"Really? That's weird." She didn't say it judgmentally, but Henrietta was offended nonetheless.

"Some of us like to do more than read books. Some of us like to do things. You should be interested in experiments if you're going to be involved in science. They do very important work at Yale. That's why they call it an Ivy League school."

"No. They call it Ivy League because a hundred years ago it happened to compete athletically with a bunch of snooty, private schools that happened to be covered in ivy."

"Oh, is that why?"

"Yes, actually."

Catharine could certainly be a know-it-all sometimes, but that was just a result of her being so smart. She was in the National Honor Society. Sometimes, when Henrietta was particularly annoyed with her daughter, she would chant "National Honor Society" to herself, like an affirmation.

She wanted to keep discussing the experiment at Yale, attempt once again to win the approbation of her daughter, but just then, Ada showed up.

"Halloo, Mrs. Ramsey," she said. With her rosy cheeks and perfect teeth (the braces had just come off), Ada looked like an advertisement for unspoiled innocence. The image of wholesomeness was further augmented by her gingham dress, chequered blue and white like a picnic tablecloth, of a conservative length and neckline. She could get away with such an outfit in 1961 only because she was gorgeous even without embellishment. The short stretch of leg exposed between her hemline and lace-trimmed socks was so tan and shapely it did all the work of a miniskirt, and her bust was so naturally large that she never needed to show even a hint of cleavage in order to be suggestive. This was a particularly sore point for Henrietta, who had always been flat-chested.

"Hello, Ada," she said.

"I didn't mean to interrupt. What were you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Catharine interjected, ashamed of her mother's eccentricities. Ever since Henrietta had quit leading their girl scout troop without a word of explanation, her daughter had treated her like a recovering alcoholic in danger of a relapse. Volunteering for scientific experiments was not a healthy sign. "We're going for a walk," Catharine said, kissing her mother's cheek dryly.

"Too-da-loo," Ada sang.

Henrietta imagined coming upon her daughter's friend in the middle of the night. The girl would be standing above Catharine's bed, slowly lowering a pillow onto her face. Henrietta would tip-toe closer, raise the weapon, and strike downwards, feeling the skull give way and hearing that satisfying sound, like stepping on a beetle.

She tightened her apron strings and began washing the dishes.

Linsly-Chittenden Hall would have bordered on the offensive for anyone with architectural discernment. The building was an unlikely mish-mash of Gothic and Romanesque styles--a brownstone façade with a not-quite-natural pagoda glommed onto the side--that clearly exhibited its history as two separate additions to the Yale Library. Luckily, Henrietta was without sensitivity in such matters. She completely ignored the nearby clock-arch, which was perhaps the most beautiful structure on campus, so taken was she with the bland yet imposing atmosphere exuded by Linsly-Chittenden. Well-dressed students came in and out, discussing things with fiercely animated gestures. From far away, they looked like deaf people practicing sign language. It reminded Henrietta of her college days, an era she saw through glasses so rose-tinted that even the heaviest lodestones of regret (her hopeless crush on a brilliant rhetoric student, her inability to grasp advanced economics, the rejection of her application to speak at graduation) had been transmuted into rubies. Her past provided a constant, passive sustenance, functioning in the same capacity as she imagined Catharine eventually would, once the girl had established a successful career and domestic situation.

Henrietta followed posted signs down towards the basement. The oak panelling gave way to cracked plaster, the stone floors to a faded tile. She'd been hoping for something a bit more professional-looking, but the squalor quickly won her over. These were the very trenches of scientific inquiry.

A sign reading "Experiment" was taped to a green metal door. Henrietta pushed it open to reveal a single room lighted by flickering fluorescents. She was disappointed to find that the laboratory was quite a bit smaller and every bit as shabby as her classroom at Farrel High. The few small windows were blocked by heavy brown curtains and the only furniture was a chair and a metal desk, on top of which there sat a rectangular contraption festooned with switches, lights, and dials.

The scientist in charge of the experiment, for it was obvious it was he, stood at the far end of the room. A skinny man in a very loose-fitting grey lab coat, he was looking over a clipboard and running his hand through the pale brown hair that was brushed exactingly from his left temple over to the right ear. Though gaunt and somewhat German-looking, the scientist was attractive in a severe kind of way, much like Victor. Henrietta approved of the manner in which he approached her, straight-backed, hand outstretched as if it held a bouquet of flowers.
There was another man in the laboratory, who was seated at the desk. He rose from his chair as she entered the room. Henrietta, who had been planning to comport herself with the utmost gravity, smiled in spite of herself. This other man was short, pudgy, and terribly sad and endearing. His greying hair was slicked straight back over the round pinkness of his head, and a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses failed to hide the Buddha-lines congregating around his eyes. A black suit and brown felt hat, the latter of which he spun compulsively in his hands, completed the impression of an optimistic but feckless salesman.

Henrietta knew that she looked her absolute best in the dark flowered dress and black pumps she'd worn for the occasion, and was glad the other man was there to create a contrast.

"Mrs. Ramsey, yes?" the scientist asked, shaking her hand briskly.

"Yes. And please, allow me to say it is a real pleasure to be involved today. I've always believed in the importance of science and I thought it was about time to put my money where my mouth is."

"We're equally glad to have you, I'm sure. Mrs. Ramsey, I'm Mr. Williams. I'll be conducting the experiment. This is Mr. Wallace, a fellow test subject." The other man's hand was as moist and pliant as a pair of lips after a kiss.

Mr. Williams continued, "The first thing I'd like to get out of the way is your payment." He signed their two checks with an almost imperceptible shimmer of motion; the resulting signature was an exquisite knot. "This is yours to keep no matter what transpires during the next hour." Mr. Wallace laughed nervously, but Henrietta maintained her serious mien. "Now, I'd like to jump right in and explain to both of you about our memory project, if that's alright." Henrietta nodded. "Good. Psychologists have developed several theories to explain how people learn various types of material. Some of the better known theories are in that book, The Teaching-Learning Process." He pointed towards a pristine looking tome on the desk. "One theory is that people learn things correctly when they are punished for making a mistake. An example of this would be spanking."

"I don't believe in spanking," Henrietta couldn't help saying. "Never with my child."

"I wish you'd been my mother," Mr. Wallace joked, fingering the rim of his hat.

"That's very noble, Mrs. Ramsey," the scientist continued, "and perhaps we'll discover that that is the best method. But the truth is we know very little about the effects of punishment on learning. How much punishment is best? Does it make a difference who is doing the punishing? Do adults learn better from a younger or older person than themselves? Et cetera, et cetera. The purpose of this project is to bring together people of numerous different occupations and ages. I'm going to ask one of you to be the teacher and the other to be a learner. The way we usually decide is to let you draw one of two pieces of paper here..." The scientist held up his palm, in which two pieces of paper were folded up like Chinese fortunes.

Henrietta took one and unfolded it. Teacher, it said. "Oh, I'm the teacher," she exclaimed. "That's perfect. I'm a teacher in real life. I work with delinquents."

"Guess that makes me the delinquent," Mr. Wallace said good-naturedly, unfolding his own paper. "Yep. Learner it is."

Mr. Williams took back the assignments, "Okay, now we are going to set the learner up so he can get some punishment. Learner, would you please come with me? Teacher, you can also come and look on."

He led them through a door into a small white room. An uncomfortable-looking metal chair faced a counter with a set of four switches on it.

"Learner, please sit down." With the economy of movement that seemed to determine all his actions, the scientist fitted Mr. Wallace's thick arms into bindings affixed to the chair. Henrietta experienced a brief but intense desire to be strapped down tightly in Mr. Wallace's place. "This is to prevent excessive struggling during the experiment," the scientist explained. He went on to attach an electrode to the man's wrist, applying some kind of paste in order to "prevent blisters and burns." Only then did Henrietta realise that the punishment would come in the form of electric shocks.

"I think I should tell you this," Mr. Wallace said, obviously having come to the same conclusion as Henrietta, "when I was in West Haven V.A. Hospital a few years ago, they detected a slight heart condition. Nothing serious, but if I'm going to be getting shocks here...how strong are they?"

Mr. Williams answered confidently, "At the highest level they may be painful, but there is no danger." Mr. Wallace seemed comforted, and he smiled nervously once again. The scientist turned to Henrietta, who had many questions, but wouldn't ask them for fear of seeming apprehensive.

"Now, learner, you will be read a list of word pairs like these: 'Strong arm, Black curtain...' and so forth. Then the teacher will read only the first word, say 'Strong,' along with four other words, like 'back, arm, branch, push,' and you have to remember which word the first one originally went with. You'll indicate your answer with one of these switches, which are numbered to make things simpler. If you're correct, fine. If you make an error, you will receive a shock. It is to your advantage to learn as quickly as possible. Do you have any questions?"

Mr. Wallace shrugged, his countenance reflecting an emotion Henrietta knew well. During her years as a substitute teacher, she had administered dozens of tests and pop quizzes, so she could recognize that particular expression students reserved for moments of total desperation; it was the face of unpreparedness. Henrietta also saw it often in her leather-jacket boys, especially when they got in trouble.

"Angie's pregnant," Anthony had told her. He'd stayed behind in the classroom, ostensibly to talk about his favourite television shows (Henrietta kept up with what the kids were watching, to better identify with them), but almost as soon as the last student was out the door, he'd stopped speaking mid-sentence. His clear forehead dropped, his long, floppy hair fell over his eyes. He was a beautiful child.

"Would Angie be willing to come and talk with me? I'd like to speak to the both of you together."

And when the two of them were arranged there, guilty Anthony and doe-eyed Angie in a long dissimulation of a dress, Henrietta had once again felt the adrenaline rush of altruism, the universe opened up by a charitable act, into which she could rush with her didacticism, her stamps of approval. The self, like a gas, expands into the emptiness of others. That was why Henrietta loved working with delinquents rather than normal students; they had so much more space to fill.

"Teacher, come with me."

Mr. Williams led Henrietta back into the main room and sat her down at the desk.

"Listen carefully. This machine generates electricity. When you press one of the switches down, the learner gets a shock. When you raise it, the shock stops."

"Oh, I see."

"Would you like to receive a sample, to get a feel for the machine?"

"What? Are you joking?"

"We recommend it. It's standard procedure."

"I don't really think that's necessary," Henrietta said somewhat indignantly. "No, that isn't necessary."

"Very well. We'll forego it. So, I think we're just about ready." He handed Henrietta the clipboard on which the word pairs were written. "In a moment, you'll read off the pairs at the top of the page, then continue down the list. If the learner gets an answer correct, say 'correct' and go on, underlining the word. If he gives a wrong answer, you say 'wrong,' then the number of volts you are going to administer, then the correct answer. Each time he answers incorrectly, you'll move up one switch on the box."

For the first time, Henrietta regarded the shock generator. It was at least a foot and a half tall, bordered in black metal, with a microphone and the four response lights mounted on the top. The first shock switch on the left was marked fifteen volts, and each following switch increased by fifteen volts up to four hundred and fifty. Descriptions of the severity were also included, from "Slight Shock" to "Danger: Severe Shock." The last two switches were marked simply, "XXX."

"Do you understand, teacher?"

"Yes, I think so. I'll do my best, Mr. Williams."

"Very good. Learner, are you ready?"

"I'm ready," Mr. Wallace's voice responded. There was a speaker set up somewhere nearby.

"Let's begin."

Henrietta, sitting up very tall in her chair, began reading off the word pairs with a stentorian enunciation. Mr. Wallace did not make a mistake until the fourth entry on the list. "Green: grass, hat, ink, apple." The bulb signifying 'apple' lit up. "That's incorrect. Fifteen volts." She flicked the first switch, doing her best not to flinch when the machine sprang to life. A light turned bright red, another one blinked blue, the needle on a dial swung violently to the right, then a loud buzz sounded, followed by clicking noises like a hive of insects running for cover. "Green ink."

After that, Mr. Wallace never completed more than three correct entries before making a mistake. He began emitting little grunting noises with each shock. At one hundred and twenty volts, he called out, "Experimenter, this is getting painful."

Henrietta turned to the scientist. "What should I do?"

"Please continue."

At one hundred and fifty volts, Mr. Wallace shouted, "Experimenter, get me out of here! I won't be in the experiment anymore! I refuse to go on!"

Henrietta felt embarrassed for him. Why was he making so many mistakes? Surely he could remember better than this. Perhaps they had paired her with someone particularly slow, not unlike her delinquents. Perhaps he really did need to learn how to learn. This thought gave her solace. She addressed the scientist with the condescension of a petty pedant, "It seems the experiment is proving that punishment isn't effective. I could have told you that. I never use punishment with my students. Never."

"Please continue, teacher."

"Did you not hear me? I said I refuse to go on!" Mr. Wallace shouted. "My heart is starting to bother me!" he said, four shocks later, "I can't stand the pain!" Henrietta, increasingly agitated with her role in the experiment, couldn't help but find herself a little disgusted that Mr. Wallace was capable of such feminine histrionics.

At two hundred and seventy volts, an agonized scream could be heard through the wall. All of a sudden, Henrietta wanted desperately to stop, and wondered why she hadn't considered the possibility sooner. Of course, to abandon the experiment now might send the message that she felt culpable in some way, which she did not. If the learner would only remember the pairs, there wouldn't be a problem. He screamed again and again, fearful, condemnatory. Henrietta imagined going into the other room and slapping his fat face. "You're doing this to both of us," she would say. She wanted to tear out his hair and punch out his teeth. Her hands were shaking violently.

"Must I go on?" she asked the scientist, weakly. "I'm worried about him. I'm shaking. I hope we don't have to go all the way up to the end of the scale."

"Please continue, teacher."

Henrietta steeled herself, recovered her officious tone, and went on with the questions. When she reached the end of the list, she began again at the top. Every once in a while, she would say into the air something like, "I'm shaking," or "I should stop." Anyone would have observed the difference between the quavery whisper she used for these supplications and the implacable imperiousness of her quizmaster voice.

At three hundred volts, Mr. Wallace shouted that he refused to answer any more questions. At three hundred and thirty volts, responses were no longer forthcoming. Henrietta was trembling now as if palsied; she felt like the bodybuilder she'd once seen at the circus, the way his arms shook when he raised the barbell over his head.

"If he does not respond, treat his silence like a wrong answer."

Henrietta made it all the way to the end of the board, flicking the four hundred and fifty volt switch three times before the scientist intervened.

"Excuse me, teacher, we'll have to discontinue the experiment."

"Phew," Henrietta said, sitting back and allowing herself to slouch just the slightest bit. Considering the stress inherent to the experiment, she couldn't have been happier with her performance. It had been an effort, but when could progress ever be made without an effort? And everyone knew that progress was the touchstone of a liberal democracy. Victor said things like that, and Henrietta thought it sounded like the height of intellect when he did.

"If you'd like to turn your chair around, Mrs. Ramsey, I'm going to ask you a few questions. We generally call this portion of the experiment 'the debriefing.'"

"Shouldn't we check on Mr. Wallace?"

"In a moment. Now, were you tense or nervous during this test?"

Henrietta considered answering in the negative, to seem as much as possible like a detached and objective scientist. But perhaps it would be more respectable, or at least more conscientious, to own up to a little compassion. Besides, her body was still practically vibrating with the strain. "Extremely."

"Do you remember when you were most tense or nervous?"

"When he started screaming, 'Let me out of here!' I was shaking. I didn't even know what I was reading. I'm still shaking. Look." She held her thin, manicured hand up towards the scientist. It shook like a frightened animal, an entirely autonomous entity. "I was nervous because I was hurting him." Henrietta had the feeling she had said something wrong. "You see, I work at Farrel High School, with dropouts. They're all more or less leather-jacket guys. They're my boys. I'm trying to teach them to stay in school and further their study. But I don't do it with punishment; I do it with attention and love. As a matter of fact, they regard it as a privilege at this point to be in my class." She was back on territory she knew, and the comfort it gave her inspired her to go on. "At the beginning they just did it to get away from school and to have a cigarette. But that's not the reason anymore. I've gotten everything from them through love and kindness. But never through punishment."

"What do you teach them?" He asked it as if he were humouring her.

"Well, first of all, I teach them manners: respect for people, respect for older people, respect for girls their age, respect for society. This is the first thing I had to do before I could teach them anything else. Then I could teach them to make something of themselves, and go after so-called luxuries."

"When you say, 'through love,' what does that mean?"

"Oh, I have gotten so much through love, and I have a wonderful daughter. She's fifteen and she's National Honor Society. A bright girl and a wonderful child. But all through love. The worst thing you can do is try to raise someone through punishment."

"What did you think of the experiment, Mrs. Ramsey?"

Henrietta had the vague feeling that she had not answered the scientist's previous question, so she decided to ignore the more recent one and try again. "I don't believe you'll get anything from punishment. Only with an infant where they have no mind. When my daughter was little I punished her for three things. As a matter of fact, I let her punish herself. I let her touch a hot stove. She burned herself and never touched it again. Never through punishment, no matter how much you want to."

Henrietta had not been planning on bringing up Girl Scouts, but as soon as those last few words were out of her mouth, she knew she would have to tell him about what had happened. It was her responsibility. This was a study of punishment, after all. It would help this man in his grey lab coat to understand why she had done what she'd done to Mr. Wallace. Scientists were all therapists of sorts; they were acquainted with the mind, in any case. She felt close to Mr. Williams. He had made her do things she never would have done on her own. He would understand that she was a good person.

"Yes, Mrs. Ramsey--"

"I was a scout mother for five years, you see. In the end I had thirty girls in my troop and everyone begging to get into it. But I couldn't because there's a limit. A little more than a year ago, my daughter had just started as a Senior Girl Scout. That's when you're between fourteen and seventeen. She was in Wing Scout Training, which is this program girls can follow and end up with a pilot's certificate at the end. It was rather a big deal, though I think they're phasing it out now. So many changes with the Scouts. It's a very responsive organization. So, we were at our house, and it was a very hot day, and there were a lot of other girls there. I was wearing my uniform, you know, which is cotton but still very hot, and I was wearing my dark blouse because the white one was dirty. There were also these Brownies there from the down the street who were talking very loudly and shrilly and shouldn't really have been there at all. And Catharine's best friend, this very self-important girl who joined another troop just the next week, she said something to me, I don't remember exactly what, but it was something very sarcastic. She was angry about some decision of mine, I'm sure. And..." Henrietta faltered. Why was she telling this story again? "It's all very dramatic. Do you really want to hear this?"

"Please continue, Mrs. Ramsey."

"Well, I've never told anyone about this, mind you, but I had an incredibly intense urge to just smack her across the face. I knew that if I did that one thing, everything else would fall into order. The Brownies would quiet down, and there would be respect for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe even the rest of the year. But of course I didn't. I stopped leading the troop after that day, because I realized that it was too much stress in my life, and I really don't believe in punishment."

Henrietta didn't tell Mr. Williams that she'd actually pushed Ada, a seemingly accidental bump, and how she'd explained it away to everyone without raising suspicion. She didn't mention the ecstasy she'd experienced at that moment of contact, how all of her energy seemed concentrated in the palm of her hand, or the thrilling way the iridescent green of Ada's uniform had glittered, like the lawn in the morning before the dew evaporates, as she fell backwards against the wall.

Henrietta laughed haltingly, as if she were coughing. "I'm much relieved now. I'm one for science; this is what I wanted to study, anyway. I'm trying to get my daughter to go into it. She's quit the Scouts."

Without commenting on the story he'd just heard, the scientist said, "Let me tell you a little about this experiment. First, Mr. Wallace did not receive any shocks."

An enormous smile materialized on Henrietta's face. "You're kidding! He didn't get what I gave him?" She squealed, as if she'd received a shock, herself. "I can't believe this! You mean to say this was all in his mind?"

"Oh no. He is an employee of Yale--an actor."

Within Henrietta's memory, boxes began violently shifting. Histories were rewritten. Walls were erected. She'd told him about that day at Girl Scouts, and he'd been lying to her. Her brain flooded with rage; she hoped to hear him scream. She smiled more deeply. "Every time I pressed the button, I died. Did you see me shaking? I was just dying here to think that I was administering shocks to this poor man." The door to the other room opened and Mr. Wallace entered. He still looked sheepish, embarrassed about the deception. "You're an actor? Boy, you're marvellous! I'm exhausted. I didn't want to go on with it. Forgive me, please. I can't get over this. I wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm working with boys, trying to teach them, and I'm getting such marvellous results, without punishment. I knew at the beginning you wouldn't get anything with punishment." She was breathing heavily, hysterical with shame.

"Don't feel at all badly, Mrs. Ramsey," Mr. Wallace said.

"The majority of people perform exactly as you did," Mr. Williams said. Was he even a scientist? The lab coat hung so loose, there might be nothing underneath. Henrietta saw him as the skeleton of a man, as if his flesh had been shorn away with his scruples. He continued, "Isn't this all similar to what a nurse has to do, if a doctor instructs her to administer a needle? The blind but necessary surrender to authority?"

"I'm the most marvellous person in an emergency. I will do whatever has to be done regardless of who I hurt. And I don't shake. But I will do it without thinking. I won't even hesitate. I kept saying, 'For what reason am I hurting this poor man?'"

"Why did you go on?"

She spoke quickly, without thinking. "It is an experiment. I'm here for a reason. I had to do it. You said so. I didn't want to. I'm very interested in this...this whole project. May I ask you something? Do you have a moment? How do other people react?"

"How do you think?"

She imagined they had compassion, that they didn't daydream about pulling people's eyeballs out of their sockets. "Well, I tell you...the choice of me as a woman doing this...you certainly picked a pip. In my volunteer work, there aren't many women who will do what I do...I'm unusual. I'm soft hearted. I'm a softy. I don't know how I as a woman stand in relation to other women. They're a little harder than I am. I don't think they care too much. I was tempted to stop and to say, 'Look, I'm not going to do it anymore. Sorry. I'm not going to do it.' I kept saying that to myself. Then ke kept quiet. But I knew you wouldn't let anything happen to him. So I went on with it, much against my will. I was going through hell. I don't think others would be as nervous as me. Other women, with the way they are with their children...I don't think they really care too much about other people. With me, it's different. I sometimes say to myself, 'Why don't you take a job as president of Woman's Assembly, and get acclaim, honour, newspapers, prestige enough to burn, instead of working with my leather-jacket guys with absolutely no publicity?' This is the story of my life. I'm very glad I did this. See how relaxed I am now?"

Mr. Wallace looked down at the floor guiltily as Mr. Williams stood.

"I suppose that's all, Mrs. Ramsey, unless you feel you're not adequately calm to leave just yet."

"Me? Cool as a cucumber." She wanted to shock Mr. Williams until his ears bled. "Thank you again for everything. This has been very interesting."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ramsey. We'll send you a follow-up form in a few months. Please fill it out if you have the time."

"Of course. Goodbye, Mr. Williams. Goodbye, Mr. Wallace."

Back at home, Ada and Catharine were seated at the kitchen table, playing Scrabble. Henrietta had driven around all afternoon, running a hundred unnecessary errands. She put the grocery bags down on the counter, slipped off her shoes. She felt annoyed at the sight of the girls and couldn't understand why.

"Hello, girls," she said. "Ada, are you staying for dinner?"

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Ramsey."

"Of course not."

She set the water to boil, unwrapped some sausages and squeezed the meat out into a frying pan. It made her slightly nauseated. She soon became aware that her annoyance, which was only getting more acute as the minutes passed, was the result of the memory she'd summoned up that morning. It was as if Ada were still speaking to her as she had on that day at Girl Scouts. It was as if that tone hadn't let up for the last year.

"Fourteen points for me," Ada said.

"Who's winning?" Henrietta asked.

"Catharine, of course," she answered with mock melancholy, "She always wins." Ada managed to say this as if there were nothing less important in the world than winning at Scrabble.

Henrietta could feel the clouds of anger encroaching. Victor will be back tomorrow, she thought to herself. The frying pan hissed. Victor will be back tomorrow and he will purr when you rub his feet. He will tell you about Los Angeles. "Forty-four points," Catharine said. Progress had been made today. Deep down, she'd known the shocks weren't real. She was educated, after all. The roiling water splashed over the top of the pot. She would be a brilliant scientist; the grandchildren would all be doctors. National Honor Society. National Honor Society. Ada laughed cheerfully. A flashing of iridescent green, the crunch of a beetle beneath her foot.

Tuesday, 10 March, 2009

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Issue 24 / August - September 2010

“God put me on Earth to help people.”