The Seal
z119z (z119z2000@yahoo.com)
© by the author 2012
"No! Stop! You are not the right one."
The notebook propped open on Doctor Hastings's right thigh tumbled to the floor as he stood up in surprise. He had been speaking softly, lulling the subject into a hypnotic trance. His chair was in the shadows outside the pool of soft light illuminating the couch on which his new client, Jeff Adams, was lying. He was seated at an angle behind Adam's head so that he could watch Adams's face and body and observe his reactions but remain out of his patient's direct line of sight. To see him, Adams would have to lift his head and twist his body around to look over his left shoulder. Everything seemed to be going well, and the doctor was relaxed and confident of success. Adams had asked for help in focusing. Over the years, the doctor had helped many people improve their concentration. It was a simple task, and his mind was half occupied with other matters as he murmured one of his standard inductions.
The outburst came without warning. One second Adams had been lying peacefully on the couch, totally relaxed, with his hands resting on his stomach, fingers interlaced, and his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, apparently drifting into a deep trance. The next second he had leaped to his feet and swung around to confront Doctor Hastings, a look of anger on his face, his hands balled into fists and lifted aggressively.
"What happened?" The young man looked down at his hands in confusion. Once fully awake, he was as startled by his belligerent posture as Doctor Hastings.
"I don't know. You were responding well. I was just talking to you about relaxing and removing the tension from your body, and then you shouted "no" and jumped up. Has this happened to you before?"
"I've never been hypnotized before, Doctor."
"Mr. Adams, come in." Professor Zumwaldt shook Jeff's hand and then motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat. Could you excuse me for just a moment? I've been seeing people all morning, and I need to wash my hands. It'll just take me a minute. Help yourself to coffee if you like. I'm afraid it may be rather strong by now. It's been sitting on the warmer for several hours."
Jeff nodded and sat down. He was surprised by the size of the room. Apparently the university saw no need to supply a professor of psychology, even one of Zumwaldt's standing, with a large or lavishly furnished office. Most of the floor space was taken up by furniture. To reach the chair behind the desk, Zumwaldt would have to squeeze his body sideways between the desk and the wall. With the exception of Zumwaldt's chair, all the furniture was plain and utilitarian—a standard-issue metal desk, the center of its top surface stained a darker color by years of use; the wooden armchair in which Jeff sat; and an ancient file cabinet, on top of which sat the coffeemaker, a half-dozen mismatched mugs, and three white Styrofoam cups filled with packets of sugar, powdered creamer, and plastic stirrers. The cushion of Jeff's chair had been pressed flat by generations of students sitting on it. It did little to soften the hard wooden seat, as Jeff discovered as he shifted about trying to find a comfortable position. The ergonomic chair with its many adjustment levers behind the desk was the only modern item; perhaps the professor had brought it in. It didn't match the other furniture in the room or look like the type of chair the budget of a public institution could accommodate. The desk was clear of all but a few items. A laptop, its lid raised and the screen turned toward the chair, had been placed on one side. A manila folder, its edges neatly parallel to the edges of the desk, occupied the center. Jeff titled his head sideways and read his name on the tab. There were several pieces of paper in the file; probably Dr. Hasting's notes he surmised. Beside the folder was a tablet of yellow paper with a few words written in a large, sprawling hand followed by question marks. A gray light filtered into the office through the one window. The radiator hissed softly. The room was too warm and smelled of stale, sour coffee.
The walls of the room, from floor to ceiling, were lined with shelves stuffed with journals and books and file boxes. Behind the desk was a shelf littered with odds and ends—a mug labeled "To the world's greatest uncle" filled with pens and pencils, a rose-colored crystal, a small radio, and a photograph. The spines of the books that the professor had written faced outward between milky white stone bookends in the shape of lion's heads: The Uses of Hypnosis in Therapy, Past-life Regression as a Tool in Psychotherapy, A Guide to Self-hypnosis and Pain Management, Case Studies in Hypnotherapy. The titles were familiar to Jeff. When Doctor Hastings had referred him to Zumwaldt and arranged the appointment, he had Googled Zumwaldt and read up on him. He knew that many of Zumwaldt's opinions on the uses of hypnosis in psychotherapy were controversial, particularly those on past-life regression. Many people disagreed with the professor's argument that the ability to speak about past lives under hypnosis was not proof of reincarnation; according to Zumwaldt, the past lives the patient imagined were instead clues about his view of his present life, and the insights gained through studying them could be used in the patient's therapy.
It was the photograph, however, that kept drawing Jeff's attention. He found his eyes returning to it over and over. A man who appeared to be in his early twenties stood next to a tree trunk that slanted through the picture from the lower left to the upper center. The photo showed only his head and upper chest, and they were partially hidden behind the tree. The shaggy and fibrous bark of the tree emphasized the smoothness of the man's face. The photographer must have posed the man against the tree for that reason. He had almost no beard, only a slight shadow above his mouth and on the sides of his chin. To judge from the heft of the one shoulder that was visible and the tightness of his green T-shirt, he was well built. His hair was cut in an out-of-date style, and Jeff guessed that the photograph must date from twenty or thirty years earlier. The young man gazed directly into the camera, a slight smile playing across his lips as if he were struggling to keep from laughing. It was a handsome face, a pleasant face. But it was his eyes that captured and held the viewer. They were prominent in relation to his other features, the irises a strange mix of green and brown and gray. Jeff was so absorbed in gazing at the photograph that the professor's return caught him off guard.
"Now, then, how are you feeling today, Mr. Adams?" Professor Zumwaldt strode briskly into his office, rubbing his hands. He sat behind the desk, facing Jeff. "No aftereffects from your session with Doctor Hastings?"
"No, I've been fine. Physically, I mean. Mentally, well, mentally I've been a little upset, but that's just because I don't know what happened that day. It was kind of disturbing."
"Well, we'll fix that today. Luckily these blocks are easily removed. It's nothing you need worry about." Professor Zumwaldt tapped an index finger on one of the words written on the yellow tablet. "According to Doctor Hastings's report, he attempted to hypnotize you three times, and each time, just as you were entering a relaxed trance state, you had a violent reaction and woke up. Did Doctor Hastings explain to you what a hypnotic seal is?"
"Yeah, and then I Googled it. I found your article on the subject, and I read that—at least as much of it as I could understand."
"It's a very old article. One of my first. It was published in 1987."
"The year I was born."
"Yes, I noticed that in the files Doctor Hastings sent over."
"There's one thing I don't understand, Professor. I know that Doctor Hastings thinks that someone—another hypnotist—planted a seal in my mind to prevent me from being hypnotized by anyone else, but I've never been hypnotized before. I would remember that, wouldn't I?"
"Not necessarily. If you do have a seal, the previous hypnotist may also have intentionally ordered you to forget that he had hypnotized you. Amnesia is common in hypnosis, and easily induced. Many people don't even realize that they are being hypnotized."
Jeff shuddered. "I guess that's what's been worrying me so much about this. I don't like the idea of someone fu—er, someone messing about in my mind like that."
The professor nodded in agreement. "No one does. That's why psychologists' professional associations have so many rules against the use of hypnosis to mess about' in someone's mind. It's what we professionals refer to as a mind fuck.' "
After a second's hesitation, Jeff joined in the professor's laughter. He felt better already. The professor wasn't as stuffy as he had feared he might be.
"Now, tell me, Mr. Adams, according to Doctor Hastings's notes, you approached him for help in improving your concentration. Was that your sole reason for trying hypnosis? What made you decide to see a hypnotist? There are other means of improving concentration. There are plenty of self-help books on the subject, and they would certainly be cheaper than a professional's fee."
"It was rather strange. I had my twenty-fifth birthday last month, on the seventeenth, and that night I was thinking about all the things I want to do in my life, and it just came to me out of the blue that I should try hypnosis. All of a sudden, it was like I had this great need to be hypnotized. I told Doctor Hastings that I wanted help concentrating because of my job, but that was really just an excuse. I was too embarrassed to admit the real reason. It sounded so silly. But it was almost like I couldn't help myself. I had to be hypnotized. It felt like an unfulfilled task. Something I needed to do. I just had an overwhelming urge to experience hypnosis. I still do. I don't understand it. And that worries me too. It's not like me to get these urges. I think I'm usually quite rational, and I try to plan ahead and think through what I want to do. Now I'm worried that someone is controlling me and has planted these urges in my mind."
"I see." The professor paused for a moment and looked at his notes on the yellow tablet. He put a check mark beside one of the words. "Did you read the part of my article in which I discussed removing hypnotic seals?"
"Yes."
"Then you understand what I propose to do. I'm going to remove the seal by taking you into a deep trance."
"But how will you avoid activating the seal? I mean, if there is one."
"There are ways to access the subconscious, to create a deep trance, without activating a seal. Don't worry. I've done this many times before. I'm considered rather of an expert on the subject."
"Yeah, I know. I read the entry on you in Wikipedia." Wrong thing to say, thought Jeff. I might as well have admitted I used Yelp to check his rating. I sound like I was trying to find the highest rated shrink in the neighborhood. "I mean, I was curious. Doctor Hastings recommended you so highly."
"And you wanted to see what sort of person you would be dealing with?" Zumwaldt chuckled. "That's perfectly normal, Mr. Adams. I'm going to be mucking about in your mind, and it's only natural that you would investigate me. I hope what you discovered about me reassured you." He smiled with amusement.
Jeff felt it best to change the subject before he made an even greater fool of himself. "If there is a seal, will you be able to find out who put it in my mind and why?"
"Yes, certainly. But do you want to know who and why? You may learn things you don't want to."
"I think I'll be all right. I just want to know why someone would try to prevent me from being hypnotized by other people. What he wants from me."
"Then let's get started. First I want you to look at a picture." Professor Zumwaldt pulled a book from a drawer in his desk and opened it at a page flagged by a yellow sticky note. "Here. Just examine this picture closely. Take your time. We'll continue when you're ready."
The professor placed the book flat on his desk in front of Jeff, who edged forward in his chair so that he could see the picture the professor was pointing at. A large crimson butterfly was perched on a cone of flowers, its wings spread open. The color of the wings was intense, a vibrant dark red within a narrow, bright blue border. In the center of each of the two lower wings was a large black dot. The petals of the flowers were cream colored and looked thick and waxy.
It must be some sort of memory test, Jeff thought. Later, he'll make me remember this. He studied the butterfly carefully, trying to memorize as many details as he could. The body gleamed in the light. It looked as if it had been formed out of dark copper. The antennae were covered with fine hairs. The eyes—Jeff thought those bulbs protruding from the head must be the eyes—had a faint bluish hue to them.
"I think I've seen one of these," Jeff said. "A long time ago. Somewhere. I can't remember. I don't pay much attention to insects."
"It's possible. On the other hand, butterflies tend to look much alike, and you may just be responding to the shared features. This one is known as the Scarlet Birdwing butterfly. It's native to Australia. Have you ever been there?"
"No." Jeff shook his head and then sat up straighter. "It just seems familiar somehow. I don't know why. I think I'm ready now, Professor."
Zumwaldt nodded. He picked the book up and placed it in front of himself, still open at the page with the picture of the Scarlet Birdwing butterfly. He instructed Jeff to make himself comfortable.
"Now, if you will just close your eyes and listen to me. Lean back in the chair and just breathe in and out slowly and deeply. Take deep, regular breaths."
Jeff did as he was told. From all the reading about hypnosis he had done and his failed session with Doctor Hastings, he knew about breathing exercises and relaxation. He inflated his chest slowly and then just as slowly released the air from his lungs. He tried to be aware of all the tension in his body and to release it and breathe it away.
"For the moment, I want you just to listen to me. Or not, as you choose. I'm going to read to you. Try to pay attention, but don't worry if your mind wanders. It doesn't matter. Just keep taking deep, regular breaths. Now then, let's begin. `Ornithoptera macleodia, popularly known as the Scarlet Birdwing butterfly, is native to a small area near Grafton in the eastern Australian state of New South Wales. It feeds exclusively on the nectar of . . . .' " Professor Zumwaldt lowered both the volume and pitch of his voice and soon began speaking in a monotone.
Jeff tried to pay attention, but his mind kept drifting off. Professor Zumwaldt's voice became a drone in the background, a white noise blocking other sounds. Occasionally he would remember that he was supposed to be focusing on the professor's words, and he would listen for a moment. But his interest in butterflies, especially detailed scientific information about butterflies, was limited. His mind would catch at a word or phrase. One association would lead to another, and soon he would be thinking of subjects far distant from butterflies.
"Butterflies often appear to relax by spreading their wings open to the sun. It is thought that they rest and perhaps even fall asleep during such periods. . . . At other times they drift on the warm breezes, gently floating on the air, so comfortable, so relaxed, so warm. . . . Floating . . . Drifting . . . Relaxed . . . Warm. . . Comfortable . . ."
Professor Zumwaldt continued to talk about butterflies drifting lazily beneath the warm sun, slow, lethargic, indolent butterflies, their wings so heavy. Not once did he mention trances or hypnosis or suggest in any way that Jeff was feeling drowsy or sleepy. After a few minutes, Zumwaldt noted the growing signs of a relaxation in Jeff's face and body. The tension faded from Jeff's jaw and eye muscles, and his mouth opened slightly. His body drooped into the chair. His breathing was deep and regular.
Jeff was floating on a warm current of air, barely moving. Ahead of him was a cone of cream-colored flowers, with thick, waxy petals. It beckoned to him. It would be so peaceful just to land on that flower stalk and spread his wings beneath the warm sun. To doze and dream for a while. Everything in his life would be perfect when he reached the flower. The closer he got, the better he felt. So warm. So safe, So comfortable. Just a bit more. There. He felt so good resting on the flower as it swayed gently in the breeze. Everything was perfect. Everything was possible. All doors were unsealed and open and he could float through them without hindrance. He could just relax and drift for a few minutes. And when he woke up, the seal would be gone and he would be happy about that.
Professor Zumwaldt regarded the sleeping figure of the young man slumped before him. Was it Tom? There was no way to be sure. Certainly the details of Jeff Adams's sudden and overwhelming interest in hypnosis and his response to the picture of the Scarlet Birdwing matched the instructions that the professor had put in Tom's mind nearly twenty-six years earlier. In his new incarnation, upon reaching his twenty-fifth birthday Tom would feel an urgent need to be hypnotized, but the seal would prevent him from being put in a trance until he found his way to Zumwaldt and was shown the picture of the Scarlet Birdwing and heard the right triggers spoken. But there was no earthly way of proving that the seal had worked and that this was indeed Tom. Still I have to try, he thought. I have to act as if my efforts were successful.
"Tom, I do not know if you are there—if you can be there. But if you can hear me, I just want you to know that this life will be better for you. That's all. Forgive me for causing you this distress in your current life, but I had to know. I wanted to make sure that you had returned and that all was well. The only way I could think of how to do that was to make you seek out a hypnotist. I hoped that the seal would mean that you would eventually be referred to me for treatment because of my researches on seals. If this is you, then I have found out what I wanted to know—that you will have a second chance, and what I hope will be a better life. And I want to thank you for all that you gave me. The few months we had are a source of great regret for me because they ended too soon and of even greater happiness because they were so full. I think of them often. I've been living with a wonderful man for almost twenty years now. He reminded me a lot of you when I first met him. He still does. For some reason, he likes me. His name's David. It hasn't always been easy. Living with someone else is never totally smooth. But I've managed to constrain my stupidity well enough to keep the relationship alive. I try to focus on what's really important. I don't know if I could have done that if I hadn't met you. David and I are planning on getting married soon. We can do that now. That's all I wanted to say."
After a few minutes of silent thought, Professor Zumwaldt stood up and returned the book on butterflies to the shelf from which he had taken it in preparation for the visit. It was time to initiate the wake-up sequence. He would begin by removing all memory of the details of the trance from Jeff's mind. All the young man would remember was a dream of butterflies. Both the seal and his interest in hypnosis would be gone. Jeff would even lose whatever curiosity he had about the source of his hypnotic seal.
"Who's the guy in the picture? He looks familiar. I think I've met him." Jeff felt great, happier than he had ever felt in his life. The shadow that had been darkening his life recently had been removed. He was free of it, and he wanted to run and shout and leap high into the air to celebrate that fact. It was as if a long-standing debt had been discharged. But before he left, he had to know about the man in the picture, about what he meant to Professor Zumwaldt.
"His name was Tom—Thomas—Quinn. You couldn't have met him. He died in late 1986, a little over nine months before you were born."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was he your son? Oh, sorry, that was a stupid remark. I guess not. He would have been named Zumwaldt then."
"No, he wasn't my son. He was a friend, a good friend. I haven't always been this old, Mr. Adams. I was only a couple of years older than Tom. He died a few days before his twenty-fifth birthday. I taught him pain management through self-hypnosis when he was sick. He was in a great deal of pain, and I tried to help him."
Something in the older man's voice made Jeff ask the next question. "Were you lovers?"
"I loved him. He was one of those people who inspire love. He was a very loving person, and people responded to him by loving him in return. But we weren't lovers—not physically anyway. By the time I met him, he was too ill to make love, even supposing he had been attracted to me. He was just a very special person. Even when he was dying, he was more alive than most of us ever are. He gave me as much—more—comfort than I gave him. It was as if he was teaching me how to live, since he couldn't. He became my best friend at our first meeting. We could talk about everything, and we did. There weren't any barriers between us. I tried to make his final days easier. I don't know if I succeeded. I found that picture of him among his things after he died. I kept it. I never knew him when he looked like that, but I wanted to remember him as he had been before he got sick and not as I knew him."
"Did he die of cancer?"
"No, not cancer. He had AIDS. In 1986, not much could be done for people with AIDS except to try to make them comfortable. I was just beginning my researches on hypnosis then, and I volunteered to help out at a hospice in the Village to teach self-hypnosis to relieve suffering. Tom was one of the founders and managers of the hospice and also a client—a patient—there. But that's enough about me and my past life. How are you feeling?"
"Great. I didn't realize how much this was preying on my mind. It feels as if a tremendous burden has been lifted, and I can move forward now."
Jeff suddenly felt that he had to tell Professor Zumwaldt more about himself. He needed to reassure the professor that he was fine. "I've got this great job. I just got a promotion, and my supervisor has arranged for me to take a special course on statistics and business modeling so that I can qualify for a higher position. And I'm living with this great guy. His name's Carlos. We've been together for almost a year now. Look, I have a picture of him. Here I'll show you." Jeff pulled out his phone and thumbed through his pictures until he found the one he wanted.
"Nice-looking man."
"And he's so great. We get along so well. Sometimes it's as if we were two halves of the same person. We haven't set a date yet, but we're going to get married."
"That's wonderful. You're very lucky. He's very lucky."
Jeff smiled. He was radiant with happiness.
"And now, Mr. Adams, I'm afraid that I have another appointment in a few minutes. You won't be troubled by the seal again. It's been removed."
"Oh, I'm not worried about that, Professor. I know it's gone. Thank you. You really helped me. You know, it's odd, but I don't feel that I need to be hypnotized again. I don't know why I was so interested in it, but now that's gone too."
After Jeff left, Professor Zumwaldt took the picture of Thomas Quinn from the shelf. He had placed it there before Adams's arrival. It was one of the triggers, and Adams had apparently reacted to it. He outlined Tom's face with the tip of a finger. I will never be able to publish the results of this experience, he thought. Now that I may have found evidence of reincarnation, no one will believe me. One of my greatest successes and no one will believe it. He smiled ruefully at the irony.
He opened a drawer in his desk and set the picture inside it. Later he would return it to its proper place in his old-cases files. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his suit jacket. He thumbed through his pictures until he found his favorite picture of David. The one where David was sitting on the dock at their summer house, with his socks and sneakers beside him and his feet dangling in the water. He pressed 01 in his list of phone numbers.
"David, let's go out to eat tonight. I want to do something special. . . .
"Yes, I am in a very good mood. I'm having a great day and I want to celebrate. . . .
"I'll tell you tonight. And I have something to ask you. . . .
"You'll just have to wait. Later, I'll tell you later. I'm not going to satisfy your curiosity right now. Right now, even as we speak, I am making reservations for 7:30 at Rudolpho's. I'll see you there."
Zumwaldt thumbed through the apps on his phone until he found the one for shopping. He keyed in the commands to find a jewelry store near Rudolpho's that would still be open when they finished eating. What sort of wedding rings did men buy? he wondered.