by recognition of the stubborn recalcitrance of most subjects. Enthusiasm for the Corporation’s cause is essential, but rarely sufficient to get the job done.
It is a task calling for patience, subtlety, sympathy for the subject’s plight. It sometimes also requires Machiavellian tactics. Many hours of the Corporation’s training course are devoted to whether or not, and under what conditions, the end justifies the means.
Glitner’s attitude toward that problem is almost wholly pragmatic. Although he would never adopt the methods of the Others—pandering to the subject’s coarser instincts—he is willing to take advantage of the subject’s weaknesses, faults, and defects to achieve the end that completely justifies all means.
He is aware of Harry Dancer’s loneliness. Periods of anomie and despair. Glitner believes Evelyn Heimdall will provide a palliative for those painful anxieties. At the same time, the case officer knows the Department is hard at work. Not to provide its own palliative, but to overwhelm Dancer’s miseries by senseless profligacy—in the person of Sally Abaddon.
It is not only a clash of passions and faiths; that exists in all the struggles between Corporation and Department. But in Dancer’s case, there is also a battle of techniques: whether appealing to a subject’s best or worst impulses is the most effective way of winning.
What the Dancer action comes down to, Anthony Glitner reflects, is a test of the ancient question: Does a human being respond more readily to fear of punishment or promise of reward?
While the case officer is pondering the philosophical implications of his current operation, the subject is suffering a special kind of anguish.
It is true that his grief has frayed around the edges. It is no longer a constant pain that haunts all his hours. Awake or asleep. But his brief bouts of happiness with Evelyn Heimdall and Sally Abaddon have resulted in a fresh affliction. Guilt.
Regret and remorse walk hand in hand. Had he said “I love you” enough times? Had he touched Sylvia enough? Kissed her enough? Done anything enough?
He had not.
But now, scarcely two months after her death, he is holding the hands of two strange women. Kissing. Rolling about lubriciously on sweated sheets. He has not yet said, “I love you.” But he is thinking it.
“What kind of a man are you?” he says aloud. Angrily.
A stiff gin-and-tonic helps. Plasma. Then he prepares for his date with Evelyn Heimdall. Taking as much care as a houri. Bathing, shaving, scenting, dressing. Another gin. Straight this time. And he sallies forth. Humming a merry tune.
She is waiting for him. A knockout! All in white linen. Long skirt sashed in blue. Big picture hat. No makeup, but a glow to her. She looks happy.
“Smashing!” he says. Kisses her cheek.
“Off to the races!” she says. “How handsome you look.”
On the drive south, on I-95, he tells her about Jeremy Blaine.
“Oh, Harry,” she says. “How awful. Was he a good friend?”
“No. I’m being honest; he wasn’t a good friend. But he was my closest neighbor, and you try to get along with your neighbors. I’m not even sure I liked him, but I endured him. He could be coarse at times. And was always calling me ‘old buddy.’ But I must admit he was very sympathetic and attentive after Sylvia died. Well…let’s talk about something cheerful. What have you been doing with yourself?”
Chatting easily. Laughing frequently. Listening to music from his tape deck. Recalling lyrics from old songs. She knows all the words to “With a Song in My Heart.” Sings them in a pleasing but not strong soprano. They try a duet on “Nice Work If You Can Get It,” and give up. Giggling.
Souffle of a day. Soft and creamy. Pearlescent sky. They drive with the windows down. Smell sweet growing things. Traffic is unexpectedly light. They are at the track before the first race.
“There’s a colt in the fourth named Harry’s Chance,” she
It is a task calling for patience, subtlety, sympathy for the subject’s plight. It sometimes also requires Machiavellian tactics. Many hours of the Corporation’s training course are devoted to whether or not, and under what conditions, the end justifies the means.
Glitner’s attitude toward that problem is almost wholly pragmatic. Although he would never adopt the methods of the Others—pandering to the subject’s coarser instincts—he is willing to take advantage of the subject’s weaknesses, faults, and defects to achieve the end that completely justifies all means.
He is aware of Harry Dancer’s loneliness. Periods of anomie and despair. Glitner believes Evelyn Heimdall will provide a palliative for those painful anxieties. At the same time, the case officer knows the Department is hard at work. Not to provide its own palliative, but to overwhelm Dancer’s miseries by senseless profligacy—in the person of Sally Abaddon.
It is not only a clash of passions and faiths; that exists in all the struggles between Corporation and Department. But in Dancer’s case, there is also a battle of techniques: whether appealing to a subject’s best or worst impulses is the most effective way of winning.
What the Dancer action comes down to, Anthony Glitner reflects, is a test of the ancient question: Does a human being respond more readily to fear of punishment or promise of reward?
While the case officer is pondering the philosophical implications of his current operation, the subject is suffering a special kind of anguish.
It is true that his grief has frayed around the edges. It is no longer a constant pain that haunts all his hours. Awake or asleep. But his brief bouts of happiness with Evelyn Heimdall and Sally Abaddon have resulted in a fresh affliction. Guilt.
Regret and remorse walk hand in hand. Had he said “I love you” enough times? Had he touched Sylvia enough? Kissed her enough? Done anything enough?
He had not.
But now, scarcely two months after her death, he is holding the hands of two strange women. Kissing. Rolling about lubriciously on sweated sheets. He has not yet said, “I love you.” But he is thinking it.
“What kind of a man are you?” he says aloud. Angrily.
A stiff gin-and-tonic helps. Plasma. Then he prepares for his date with Evelyn Heimdall. Taking as much care as a houri. Bathing, shaving, scenting, dressing. Another gin. Straight this time. And he sallies forth. Humming a merry tune.
She is waiting for him. A knockout! All in white linen. Long skirt sashed in blue. Big picture hat. No makeup, but a glow to her. She looks happy.
“Smashing!” he says. Kisses her cheek.
“Off to the races!” she says. “How handsome you look.”
On the drive south, on I-95, he tells her about Jeremy Blaine.
“Oh, Harry,” she says. “How awful. Was he a good friend?”
“No. I’m being honest; he wasn’t a good friend. But he was my closest neighbor, and you try to get along with your neighbors. I’m not even sure I liked him, but I endured him. He could be coarse at times. And was always calling me ‘old buddy.’ But I must admit he was very sympathetic and attentive after Sylvia died. Well…let’s talk about something cheerful. What have you been doing with yourself?”
Chatting easily. Laughing frequently. Listening to music from his tape deck. Recalling lyrics from old songs. She knows all the words to “With a Song in My Heart.” Sings them in a pleasing but not strong soprano. They try a duet on “Nice Work If You Can Get It,” and give up. Giggling.
Souffle of a day. Soft and creamy. Pearlescent sky. They drive with the windows down. Smell sweet growing things. Traffic is unexpectedly light. They are at the track before the first race.
“There’s a colt in the fourth named Harry’s Chance,” she
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