The Reincarnation of Peter Proud by Max Ehrlich Read Free Book Online

machines. Together they stared at the revolving drum. The pen was moving furiously now. It was changing quickly from a valley pattern of hills and crags to almost a flat pattern.
    “What stage, Paul?” asked Goodman.
    “Stage one; EEG indicates breakup of alpha rhythms. Crest and trough flattened. He’s lost touch with outer world. REM activated.This one won’t last very long. Watch it.” The pattern held steady for about a minute. Then Goodman said,
    “EEG’s beginning to change in amplitude. Short bursts at a frequency of fifteen cycles a second. He’s on his way into stage two.”
    “Yeah. And rapid eye movements decreasing. Dream’s almost finished.”
    “All right. Give him the bell. Wake him up.”
    The researcher pressed a button. From a feedback, they heard a loud bell ring in the sleeper’s room. Then it rang again. The researcher turned on the tape recorder. An irritable, sleepy voice came over the feedback:
    “Okay, okay, I’m awake, goddamn it.”
    The researcher turned off the bell and spoke into a mike. “What’s the dream, Number Five? Do you remember?”
    “Yeah. But maybe we ought to skip this one.”
    “Why?”
    The voice, that of a young man, hesitated. “It’s pretty dirty.”
    “Tell us anyway. If we don’t record it, we can’t pass it on to your psychiatrist.”
    “All right. I dreamed I got out of bed. I went into the john and tried to turn on a water faucet. The thing wouldn’t work. I kept turning and turning the thing, but no water would come out. Then I called a plumber. A little while later the door opened, and someone dressed in plumber’s coveralls came in. At first I thought it was a man. Then I saw that it was a woman. I was pretty surprised. I told her it was crazy—I mean, this idea of a lady plumber. I didn’t think she could do this job. She took off her coveralls, and I saw that she was naked under them. Then she went to the basin and turned on the faucet. She just gave it a little flip, and it turned. I waited for the water to pour out. But just before it did, you bastards woke me!” The sleeper sounded aggrieved. “Man, you woke me just before—well, you know. I’m lying here with the biggest hard-on you ever saw.”
    “Sorry about that, Five,” said the researcher.
    “You think Dr. Melnicker win like this one?”
    “I’m sure he will. Now go back to sleep.”
    “I’ll try. But it won’t be easy.”
    “Try anyway. Goodnight, Five.”
    Paul turned off the tape. Then he grinned at Goodman. “Would you like a little mail-order analysis, Sam?”
    “Go ahead,”
    “He sees sexual fulfillment as a plumbing conception. The faucet is a symbol of the dreamer’s penis, the turning of the faucet is genital manipulation, and the flow of water is ejaculation.”
    Sam Goodman laughed. “You really spoiled his fun, Paul.”
    “If I had known, I’d have let him sleep.”
    They walked down another long corridor which Sam Goodman called “Dream Street.”
    It was lined with a series of rooms, each occupied by one of the sleepers. Peter could hear gentle snores coming from a couple of them.
    “Everybody’s already in the sack but you,” said Goodman.
    He opened a door marked seven and ushered Peter into a small cubbyhole. It was monastic in style—a cot with khaki army blankets, a chair, a washbowl, and a toilet compartment. On the wall next to the sleeper’s head was a panel box with electrode leads, a speaker, an ordinary doorbell, and a microphone, all of which communicated to the EEG room. That was all.
    Sam grinned at Peter’s expression.
    “Well? How do you like it?”
    “It isn’t exactly the Beverly Hilton.”
    “What did you expect? Wall-to-wall carpeting? Louis Quinze furniture? You’re not going to live here, you’re going to sleep here. Now pour yourself into your pajamas and we’ll get this thing on the road.”
    When Peter was ready, Goodman pasted the EEG electrodes—tiny discs at the ends of long colored wires—on his forehead,