8
The Tutor

I had a grand day at the university – one of the best! On the drive home, all the details replayed in my mind . . .

It had started a few days earlier with a message from Professor Walter Cerberus, Vice Principal at the university and a very important man.

I hadn’t met Cerberus but I knew he was interested in what we got up to in Neurology. The professor was a historian rather than a scientist, but it turned out that he had heard about my lectures and hypnosis demon strations and wanted to bring along a few VIPs and university benefactors to see me in action!

Of course I felt flattered, and I suppose I was showing off a bit when I decided on a performance to demonstrate the effects of hypnosis on body temperature. The first thing I needed was a volunteer – preferably somebody pretty tough, so I paid a visit to the Sports Department to look for someone suitable. We hypnotists are always on the lookout for what we call ‘susceptible subjects’ – in layman’s terms that means people who are easy to hypnotize. So how do you spot a susceptible subject? Well, there are a number of give-away signs which I’d rather not divulge, but suffice to say, I spotted my man right away – a muscular young hockey pro who was obliging but none too bright. I offered him five dollars for a few hours’ work and he seemed more than happy to get involved.

In the meantime some of my students had installed a large glass tank on the stage of the lecture hall and, following my instructions, they filled it right to the top with ice. I’m not averse to a bit of showmanship and I asked to have all the lights dimmed except for a spotlight on the tank and a smaller light projecting upwards from below a lectern with a microphone. I could tell that I’d achieved the right effect because as they filed into their seats, all 225 students were whispering as if they were in church!

While the audience was getting settled, I was at the back of the stage with my volunteer and, as expected, it didn’t take long to put him into very deep trance.

At the allotted time I stepped onto the stage, to a very warm welcome, and I was delighted to see Professor Cerberus and his colleagues in the back row nudging each other in anticipation. After a short introduction a couple of my students guided our man onto the stage. He looked a little dazed and he was dressed in swimming trunks and a bath robe.

When the auditorium was absolutely silent, I stood at the lectern, and this is where the spotlight below my face comes in – let’s just say that it intensifies the effect of my eyes! Having carried out my pre-induction, all I had to do was whisper a few trigger words and place my hand lightly on my volunteer’s forehead before he slumped back into trance, amidst audible gasps from the audience. As I led him across the stage towards the icy tank, I whispered continuously and quietly in his ear, persuading him that, except for his butler, he was alone in a magnificent hotel bathroom and was about to relax in a tub of steaming water.

You should have seen the lovely calm smile on the fellow’s face as I helped him out of his robe and into the tank of ice! My assistants had taped thermometers to various parts of his body, and these were projected onto a screen at the back of the stage so that the whole audience could monitor his body temperature. For a bit of fun I handed our fellow a scrubbing brush, and there was a delightful moment when he started singing and washing beneath his arms. Meanwhile the thermometer on the screen showed that his body temperature was plummeting!

After five or ten minutes it was evident that our man was close to hypothermia and a few of my students began to panic! We hauled him out, and although he looked slightly blue, he wasn’t even shivering because he truly believed that he had stepped out of a hot bath.

He stood there dripping a pool of icy water onto the stage, but perfectly comfortable. I got him to take a few bows amidst tumultuous applause, and even some foot stamping and whoops from the enthusiastic audience.

For an encore, I informed our man that he was now standing in a desert, and as he hopped from foot to foot on the hot sand, the thermometer showed his temperature rushing upwards until he was approaching heat stroke. All the water evaporated from his body and he began to perspire.

Just a bit of fun! Just a simple demonstration to show the power of hypnotic suggestion. But I must admit that I savoured the delight and amazement on the faces of Professor Cerberus and his visiting VIPs; and the Vice Principal gave me a broad grin and a thumbs-up as I took my bow.

What a day! I couldn’t wait to share the story with my family back home. And that’s what I was thinking about as I drove up the track and parked the old Spider in front of the bungalow. As I hopped out, I was surprised to see old man Zachery relaxing on the swing seat on my deck, as calm as you please. All that talk about trespassing, and there he was, behaving as if he owned the place!

As I climbed the steps, he waved an envelope in my direction. ‘Got mahself a letter from the state authorities. Summat ’bout edoocation an’ ob-lig-ation. Truth is, I cain’t understan’ a dog-darn word they say. Lilybelle say, go show it t’ the young fellah yonder.’

‘Delighted to help if I can,’ I said, dropping my bag and unfolding the letter.

‘S’ long as they don’t want no money, ’cos I ain’t got no money.’

‘Let me see . . . Dear Mr Zachery . . . blah, blah . . . No, they don’t want money . . . This is a letter advising you that if you have children under the age of fifteen in your care, you are obliged by state law to provide them with an education.’

‘Wal, I ain’t got no chil’ren. Erwin’s near twenny now.’

‘Now, that’s not strictly true, Mr Zachery. I’ve often seen children working in your yard. I bumped into that young girl the other day, and there’s a new lad too . . . What’s his name?’

‘You mean th’ orphan boy? Name’s Pip. But everyone know ye cain’t send Coloured kids ter a Whaite school.’

‘Yes, I know about the segregation laws . . . But presumably there’s a Coloured school in the district?’

‘Wal . . . yeah, thar’s a Coloured school out towards th’ mountains, but tha’s miles away. Ah ain’t drivin’ thar each day. Wha’s th’ point o’ it, anyways?’

‘The point of what?’

‘Th’ point o’ edoocation. Ain’t no school teach a boy t’ split wood or skin a rabbit. Tha’s raight, ain’t it, Doc? Pip’s a workin’ man now. He’s gonna learn hisself real skills.’

‘Well, you’re entitled to your opinion, Mr Zachery, but the law disagrees. The letter clearly says that you are registered as having children at this address and you are obliged to provide them with an education, on pain of legal proceedings.’

‘Wha’ ’m ah gonna do?’

I recalled the bewildered boy stepping out of the truck with his book. I’d seen him several times since then, running around on errands. And then the startled girl with the dreamcatcher by the dry river-bed. There had been other children too, although I hadn’t seen them in a while. I answered almost without thinking, ‘Ah, well, send them to me, Mr Zachery. I suppose I could spare an hour or two in the evening. As I told you, I work at the university so I’m not a school teacher, but I could probably help with reading and writing.’

He re-lit his cigarette. ‘I ain’t payin’ nuthin’.’

‘No. I didn’t expect you would.’

‘Could give you a few aigs.’

‘Some eggs would be grand.’

‘Th’ gull cain’t tawk. She’s dumb.’

‘Is she now? That’s most interesting. Would you know if she’s physically mute or suffering from elective mutism?’

‘Wha’ . . .? What th’ hell ah know? She don’t tawk – ’s awl ah know.’

‘All right, Mr Zachery. Why don’t you send the children over on . . . let’s see . . . Wednesday afternoon? We’ll give it a try for a few weeks, just to help a neighbour.’

An appropriate response might have been, ‘That’s very civil of you, Jack.’ Or simply, ‘Much obliged.’ But old man Zachery just shuffled across the track, scratching his buttocks beneath his overalls.

I went into my cool kitchen and took out a beer. I thought about what I had let myself in for. I wasn’t a school teacher, so why on earth had I offered to give up my free time to work with those kids? Well, if you want to know the truth, I was a little lonely. Ah, I know what you’re thinking: the Head of Neurology at the new university – he probably has invitations to dinner parties every other night of the week. And I did get invitations. The trouble was, when I went along to those barbecues and baseball games, I felt like the odd man out. I’d always had trouble fitting in.

Besides, those youngsters – Pip and Hannah – they intrigued me far more than my clever colleagues. I wanted to know where they came from. There were all kinds of things that didn’t stack up: Zachery had said that the girl was mute, and yet on that scorching Saturday when I had intruded on her hiding place by the dry river, I had heard something extraordinary. In the seconds before she ran away, that Indian girl had been singing to herself in a small and beautiful voice.

I heard every haunting note, and the words of that song were so strange and mysterious that I had written them in my notebook . . .