Something was. Semmelweiss confirmed it when he adjourned the group session. After the other doctor had left, he sat Morey down for a private talk. On his own time, too—he didn’t ask for his usual ration fee. That told Morey how important the problem was.
“Morey,” said Semmelweiss, “you’re holding back.”
“I don’t mean to, Doctor,” Morey said earnestly.
“Who knows what you ‘mean’ to do? Part of you ‘means’ to. We’ve dug pretty deep and we’ve found some important things. Now there’s something I can’t put my finger on. Exploring the mind, Morey, is like sending scouts through cannibal territory. You can’t see the cannibals—until it’s too late. But if you send a scout through the jungle and he doesn’t show up on the other side, it’s a fair assumption that something obstructed his way. In that case, we would label the obstruction ‘cannibals.’ In the case of the human mind, we label the obstruction a ‘trauma.’ What the trauma is, or what its effects on behavior will be, we have to find out, once we know that it’s there.”
Morey nodded. All of this was familiar; he couldn’t see what Semmelweiss was driving at.
Semmelweiss sighed. “The trouble with healing traumas and penetrating psychic blocks and releasing inhibitions—the trouble with everything we psychiatrists do, in fact, is that we can’t afford to do it too well. An inhibited man is under a strain. We try to relieve the strain. But if we succeed completely, leaving him with no inhibitions at all, we have an outlaw, Morey. Inhibitions are often socially necessary. Suppose, for instance, that an average man were not inhibited against blatant waste. It could happen, you know. Suppose that instead of consuming his ration quota in an orderly and responsible way, he did such things as set fire to his house and everything in it or dumped his food allotment in the river.
“When only a few individuals are doing it, we treat the individuals. But if it were done on a mass scale, Morey, it would be the end of society as we know it. Think of the whole collection of anti-social actions that you see in every paper. Man beats wife; wife turns into a harpy; junior smashes up windows; husband starts a black-market stamp racket. And every one of them traces to a basic weakness in the mind’s defenses against the most important single anti-social phenomenon—failure to consume.”
Morey flared, “That’s not fair, Doctor! That was weeks ago! We’ve certainly been on the ball lately. I was just commended by the Board, in fact—”
The doctor said mildly, “Why so violent, Morey? I only made a general remark.”
“It’s just natural to resent being accused.”
The doctor shrugged. “First, foremost and above all, we do not accuse patients of things. We try to help you find things out.” He lit his end-of-session cigarette. “Think about it, please. I’ll see you next week.”
Cherry was composed and unapproachable. She kissed him remotely when he came in. She said, “I called Mother and told her the good news. She and Dad promised to come over here to celebrate.”
“Yeah,” said Morey. “Darling, what did I say wrong on the phone?”
“They’ll be here about six.”
“Sure. But what did I say? Was it about the rations? If you’re sensitive, I swear I’ll never mention them again.”
“I am sensitive, Morey.”
He said despairingly, “I’m sorry. I just—”
He had a better idea. He kissed her.
Cherry was passive at first, but not for long. When he had finished kissing her, she pushed him away and actually giggled. “Let me get dressed for dinner.”
“Certainly. Anyhow, I was just—”
She laid a finger on his lips.
He let her escape and, feeling much less tense, drifted into the library. The afternoon papers were waiting for him. Virtuously, he sat down and began going through them in order. Midway through the World-Telegram-Sun-Post-and-News, he rang for Henry.
Morey had read clear through to the drama section of the Times-Herald-Tribune-Mirror before the robot appeared. “Good evening,” it said politely.
“What took you so long?” Morey demanded. “Where are all the robots?”
Robots do not stammer, but there was a distinct pause before Henry said, “Belowstairs, sir. Did you want them for something?”
“Well, no. I just haven’t seen them around. Get me a drink.”
It hesitated. “Scotch, sir?”
“Before dinner? Get me a Manhattan.”
“We’re all out of Vermouth, sir.”
“All out? Would you mind telling me how?”