He continued to gaze into Phillip’s eyes, until the young man’s face relaxed and his eyelids began to droop. His eyes closed and his body went limp as he fell forward. A gasp rose from the audience, but Monsieur Le Coq caught him, adroitly lowering his insensate form into the chair. The hypnotist turned to the audience, ignoring the seemingly unconscious Phillip, who sat slumped over as if asleep.
“The power of the human mind is a wondrous thing. Even now, we can only begin to imagine what it is capable of.”
In the third row, the young woman in the blue dress and light brown curls bit her knuckles, but Monsieur Le Coq gave her a reassuring smile.
“I assure you, no harm will come to the young man you see before you. He is neither asleep nor unconscious; he is merely in a state of deep relaxation. In such a state he is highly open to suggestion. Allow me to demonstrate.” He turned to the man in the chair. “Phillip, do you know any poetry by heart?”
Phillip nodded, his eyes still closed.
“Would you mind reciting it for me?”
Without opening his eyes, Phillip raised his head and recited in a loud, firm voice.
“That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eye
Dear and dewy,
And that infantine fresh air of hers!
To think men cannot take you, Sweet,
And enfold you,
Ay, and hold you,
And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!”
“Robert Browning, if I’m not mistaken?” the hypnotist asked with a smile.
Phillip nodded.
“Well done, Phillip,” said Monsieur Le Coq. “Would I be correct in assuming that these lines apply to your charming young lady?”
Again Phillip nodded without opening his eyes.
Lillian gazed down at the young woman in the third row, who was blushing furiously, trying to hide her face with her handkerchief.
“You may open your eyes now if you wish,” said the hypnotist. The young man did so, staring blankly in front of him, his gaze unfocused, as if he were in a trance. “Very good so far, Phillip—you are an excellent subject. Would I be correct in assuming that you are able to bark like a dog should the occasion arise?”
Phillip nodded.
“Would you be so kind as to do so?”
Without hesitation, the young man emitted a series of short, percussive barks, such as might be made by a terrier or a spaniel. Several people in the audience tittered.
“And might you also cluck like a chicken?” inquired Monsieur Le Coq.
The young man immediately favored the onlookers with an imitation of a chicken, clucking and cooing quite credibly.
“I should like to see you move like one as well—can you do that?” asked the hypnotist.
Phillip sprang from his chair and moved about the stage in a crouched position, waving his arms like wings, pecking and scratching at the stage as if it were the dirt floor of a chicken coop. The audience roared with laughter as the hypnotist pretended to feed him a fat, juicy worm, which Phillip sucked greedily into his mouth, swallowing it with gusto. The young woman in the third row was not so amused, however; she wore an expression of astonished horror.
“Well done indeed!” said Monsieur Le Coq. “And now, one final test, with your permission.” He withdrew a long, thin needle from his frock coat. “Would you allow me to insert this into your arm?”
A gasp arose from the crowd—several women cried, “No!”
The hypnotist raised his hand for silence. “I promised earlier that Phillip would come to no harm, and I beg you to trust me.” He turned back to the young man onstage. “Do I have your permission to insert this needle into your flesh?”
Still staring straight ahead, Phillip nodded. The hypnotist whispered something into his ear, and he nodded again.
“What I have just told him,” Monsieur Le Coq said to the audience, “is that this will not hurt one bit. And now allow me to demonstrate the power of the human mind. Phillip, would you mind removing your coat and rolling up your sleeve?”
The young man did as he requested, exposing a thin white forearm. The hypnotist said firmly, “As I said, you will not feel this at all.”
With that he brandished the needle with a flourish, the thin steel flashing silver in the bright stage lights. A murmur went up from the crowd as he carefully inserted the needle into Phillip’s forearm. To Lillian’s surprise, there was no bleeding save for a tiny droplet of blood that the hypnotist wiped away with a clean white handkerchief. He pushed farther until the needle went clear through Phillip’s arm and out the other side. All the while, the young man’s face remained passive and his body showed no signs of distress. He neither flinched nor grimaced as the needle pierced his flesh.
“Now then,” said Monsieur Le Coq, “how do you feel?”
“Fine, thank you,” he replied in a flat but clear tone.
“Very good, Phillip—well done,” said the hypnotist, drawing forth the needle carefully. He turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm round of applause to our brave volunteer, Phillip!”
The ovation was loud and sustained, an expression of relief as much as approbation. People grinned and elbowed one another, glad to be rid of the anxiety of worrying about the man onstage, the surrogate for everyone in the room.
The rest of the act was variations upon the initial demonstration. Monsieur Le Coq called up volunteers, singly and in groups, to recite poetry, sing songs, or do various foolish things. Occasionally he had someone stand on a chair and pretend it was a cliff, demonstrating how the person experienced real fear.
“Ladies and gentlemen, these are not actors—they are people very much like yourselves. What you are witnessing is the untapped power of the human mind. If you believe something is so, then it is so.”
Lillian watched the entire performance with interest, though to her nothing had quite the power of the needle going through a man’s arm without his seeming to feel any pain at all. She wondered if there might be an application in the field of medicine, to lessen the suffering of patients in pain. But then, she reasoned, the whole thing might very well be a trick, with a fake needle, and Phillip could be an accomplice. Still, she was sorry when the show was over, and applauded enthusiastically with the rest of the audience, feeling that it was indeed a pity her nephew had to miss this . . .
Back in his dressing room, the hypnotist’s shoulders drooped as the fervor that had animated his body drained away, leaving him limp and pale with exhaustion. He removed his elegant frock coat, loosening his cummerbund, soaked with sweat. Unbuttoning his damp shirt, he peeled it from his body and tossed it upon the green velvet love seat in the far corner of the room. He sank into a chair in front of the dressing room mirror, lit a cigarette, and stared at his own reflection. His eyes were dead; he could see no soul behind them.
Oh, there was so much evil in a man, one hardly knew where to begin . . .
He sucked on the cigarette, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes as the drug flooded his system. Tobacco was his one consolation, his sole comfort in a wicked world. There was a knock upon the door, and he took another deep drag before answering.
“Yes?”
“It’s Calvin, sir.”
“Go away.” The French accent was gone, replaced by a north-London dialect.
“But you have some well-wishers waiting—”
“Get rid of them.”