Peace on Earth Read Free Page B

is I have to keep an eye on my left hand and leg because without warning they’ll misbehave. What I want to know is who is misbehaving. If it’s my brain, why am I unaware of it?”
    “Because the hemisphere that’s doing it is mute, Mr. Tichy. The center of speech resides in the left—”
    On the floor between us lay wires from the different instruments McIntyre had used to examine me. I had noticed my left foot playing with these wires. It looped one, thick and shiny black, around its ankle, but I didn’t think much about this until suddenly the foot jerked sharply backward and the wire turned out to be wound around the legs of the chair upon which the professor was sitting. The chair reared and the professor crashed to the linoleum. But he was an experienced doctor and disciplined scientist because he picked himself up from the floor and said in an even voice:
    “It’s nothing. Please don’t be concerned. The right hemisphere is the one with spatial ability, so it’s adept at this type of function. I would ask you again, Mr. Tichy, to sit well away from the desk, the wires, everything. It will facilitate our deliberation as to the therapy indicated.”
    “I only want to know where my consciousness is,” I replied, freeing the wire from my foot, which wasn’t easy because the foot pressed hard on the floor. “Was it I who pulled your chair out from under you, and if not I, then who? ”
    “Your lower left extremity, governed by the right hemisphere.” The professor adjusted his glasses on his nose, moved his chair farther away from me, and after a moment’s hesitation stood behind the chair instead of sitting down. Which of my hemispheres suspected that the next time he might counterattack?
    “We could go on like this until Judgment Day,” I said, feeling my left side tense up. Uneasy, I crossed my legs and my arms. McIntyre, watching me carefully, continued in a pleasant voice.
    “The left hemisphere is dominant thanks to the speech center. Talking with you now, I’m speaking to it; the right side can only listen in. Its capacity for language is extremely limited.”
    “Perhaps in others but not in me,” I said, holding my left wrist with my right hand, to be safe. “It’s mute, yes, but I’ve taught it sign language, you see. Which wasn’t easy.”
    “Impossible!”
    The gleam in the professor’s eyes, I had seen it before in his American colleagues, and immediately regretted telling him the truth. But it was too late now.
    “The right hemisphere can’t conjugate verbs! That’s been proved…”
    “Doesn’t matter. Verbs are unnecessary.”
    “All right, then. Ask it, please, I mean ask yourself, what it thinks of our conversation? Can you do that?”
    I put my right hand in the left one, patting it a few times to pacify it, because that was the best way to begin, then made signs, touching the palm of my left hand. Its fingers began to move. I watched them for a while, then, trying to hide my anger, put the left hand on my knee, though it resisted. Of course it pinched me hard on the thigh. I didn’t retaliate, not wanting to wrestle with myself in front of the professor.
    “Well, what did it say?” he asked, imprudently leaning forward from behind the chair.
    “Nothing really.”
    “But I saw myself that it made signs. They weren’t coherent?”
    “Coherent, yes, very coherent, but nothing important.”
    “Tell me! In science everything is important.”
    “It said I’m an asshole.”
    The professor didn’t even smile, he was so impressed.
    “Really? Ask it about me now.”
    “If you wish.”
    Again I addressed my left hand, and pointed at the professor. This time I didn’t have to pat it; it replied immediately.
    “Well?”
    “You’re an asshole too.”
    “Is that what it said?”
    “Yes. It may not be able to handle verbs but it can make itself understood, I still don’t know who is speaking. Speaking with fingers or lips, it makes no difference. In my head, is there