I was being badgered frequently by Mrs. Gertrude Mcwhortle, who was in turn being constantly annoyed by Colonel Henry Knacker.
Actually, I was very close to completing the project. I had succeeded in developing a testosterone formulation I judged would be effective on humans, and I had converted the liquid into pills not much larger than a 325 mg aspirin. I produced a dozen pills and put them into a small plastic container. The only step remaining was testing on humans.
As I have stated before, I had every intention of trying the ZAP pill first. It was the moral and ethical thing to do. And yet now that the moment had arrived, I confess I felt a certain amount of, perhaps not fear, but trepidation. The chances of fatal poisoning were, I told myself, so slight that they could be ignored.
But I was entering the realm of behavior modification and, quite honestly, I was not certain of the ZAP pill's effects on humans. I thought ruefully that my situation was somewhat akin to that of Dr.
Frankenstein, not knowing if I might produce a monster or a saint.
After a great deal of reflection, I decided it would be too risky to ingest a ZAP pill at the laboratory with so many people nearby. I thought it best to take the pills home, lock myself in the den, and swallow the pill in solitude. But before I did that, I planned to leave a detailed document instructing my wife and the authorities what actions to take in case I died, lapsed into a coma, became unconscious, or began behaving in an antisocial manner.
It was then the last week of August. I took the container of ZAP pills home and carefully concealed it behind a stack of journals in the den.
I did not inform Mrs. Mcwhortle or Colonel Knacker that the ZAP pill had been finalized. I hoped after my test I could assure them that it had no injurious consequences.
I could have conducted the trial immediately, of course, but I admit I dithered. It was not fear of death so much as fear of an irreversible personality change. After all, even if the pill had the desired effect of increasing aggression, I could not be absolutely sure it would not be permanent, even though the result had been temporary when the testosterone formulation had been injected into mice. And also there might be side effects I hadn't anticipated.
I wanted to become more assertive, but what if, after gulping one or more ZAP pills, I underwent a complete transmutation and became a totally different man? The danger that the testosterone might turn me into an insensate brute was very real to me. The possibility was there, I might lose the ability to feel anything but fury and hostility that demanded physical aggression for release.
This concern had an unexpected consequence, I realized how much I loved my wife and son. I confessed to myself that I had neglected my familial responsibilities. I had become an absent husband and an absent father. it was during this period, when I was contemplating all the possibly dire results of swallowing the ZAP pill, that one night, while preparing for bed, I said to my wife in a low voice, "I love you, Mabel." astonished would be no To say that she was she stared at me, eyes wide in exaggeration, belief.
"What brought that on?" she asked.
But having blurted out an intimate truth, I didn't have the courage to continue. It was all so new to me, you see. I was not in the habit of verbalizing my innermost thoughts and emotions.
Somehow it seemed shameful. I know how ridiculous that must sound to you, but it was the way I was.
So I merely shook my head in answer to my wife's question and went to bed. I could see the disbelief in her face, and it saddened me.
I met the same doubts when I attempted to repair my relations with my son.
"Chet," I said to him one morning, "before school starts maybe I'll take time off from work, and you and I can spend a day together. How would you like that?"
He looked at me strangely. "Gee, I don't know," he said hesitantly.
"I got a lot of things planned. I'm going to be awfully busy."
So I dropped it, discouraged by my failure to communicate with wife and son. I couldn't blame them, my behavior must have seemed suspect.
They were so accustomed to my chilly reserve that my awkward attempts to demonstrate my love caused uneasiness. I began to wonder if I could ever convince them I was trying to change, to improve.
I admit I was confused, and ordinarily I might have confided in Marleen Todd, described my problem, and asked for advice. But she would surely inquire why I was suddenly intent in persuading my wife and son that they were important to me, that I loved them and wanted their love in return.
To answer that question truthfully, I would have to inform Marleen that I was about to test a pill that could conceivably turn me into a savage beast. And before that might happen, I wanted to establish myself as a warm and loving husband and father. I wanted to prove my humanness.
But, of course, I could tell Marleen nothing about the ZAP Project.
First of all, I was sworn to secrecy. And second, if I did tell her, I knew what her reaction would be, She'd be horrified and outraged that I had developed a product designed to increase aggression in a world already awash in violence.
So I sat in my den, the door locked, and bounced those darrmable white pills on my palm, reflecting they had the potential to utterly change my life. Whether for good or for evil I could not say.
But I knew I would soon find out.
I always had a very close relationship with my daughter Tania. I was thankful, and proud, that she treated me more as a peer than a mother.
She confided in me, asked my advice, and seemed genuinely interested in my work.
But recently I had noticed a kind of secretiveness in her behavior.
She wasn't as forthcoming as usual, and she seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time with Chester Barrow.
"Tania," I said to her, "you have so many nice friends, but you've hardly seen any of them this summer."
"Mostly they've been away," she said. "Like, on a trip with their parents. And Gloria Peretz went to tennis camp, and Marsha Gilcrest had her tonsils out. So not many of them have been around."
"I'll bet you'll be happy when school starts, and then you'll see them all again."
She didn't reply to that, and I let the matter drop. I wanted to mention that I thought she was, spending too much time with Chet Barrow, but if she was lonely during the day and he offered companionship, it seemed cruel to criticize.
Knowing what I know now, I realize I should have been more alert to her moods and resentments, no matter how fanciful. But to tell you the truth, I was so engrossed in my work at the lab that I neglected my duties as a mother. So part of what happened was undeniably my fault.
The development of Cuddle progressed faster than I had dared hope.
Because of my personal situation with Herman, I had decided to reconstitute the aroma so that men might find it attractive as a cologne or after-shave. This was a relatively simple task of replacing the lavender and floral essences with sprightlier scents such as citrus, pine, and peppermint.
The most difficult problem was increasing what we called the "Projection" of the fragrance. There are perfumes, for instance, that simply don't "carry", only the user is aware of the aroma, and a person standing quite close might not even be able to sniff it. Other perfumes, of course, project so powerfully that the smallest amount can fill an elevator.
After trying several different top notes, I came to the conclusion that for chemical reasons I could not understand, the oxytocin had a deadening effect on other scents. When I tried it on my wrist, I was certainly conscious of the aroma. But when I asked the opinion of my coworkers in the perfume lab, they could hardly believe I was wearing a scent.