The Simulacra by Philip K. Dick Page B

‘In moments of great intimacy with ones we love, especially
then
does the danger of offending become acute,’ and so forth.” He hated even to think about it; his body odor seemed to become more powerful when he did so, if such was possible. He longed, then, for genuine human contact; he felt violently conscious of his encapsulation. “Do I scare you?” he asked.
    Regarding him with his wise, professional intensity, the A.G. Chemie official said, “I’m not worried. Naturally I’ve heard discussions of your endogenous psychosomatic ailment, Mr. Kongrosian.”
    “Well,” Kongrosian said tightly, “let me tell you that it’s
ex
ogenous; it’s the Nitz commercial that started it.” It depressed him to realize that strangers, that the entire world was aware of—was talking about—his psychological situation.
    “The predisposition must have been there,” Judd said, “for the Nitz commercial to so influence you.”
    “On the contrary,” Kongrosian said. “And as a matter of fact I’m going to sue the Nitz Agency, sue them for millions—I’m totally prepared to start litigation. But that’s beside the point right now. What can you do, Judd? You smell it by now, don’t you? Admit you do, and then we can explore the possibilities of therapy. I’ve been seeing a psychoanalyst, Dr. Egon Superb, but thanks to your cartel that’s over, now.”
    “Hmm,” Judd said.
    “Is that the best you can do? Listen, it’s impossible for me to leave this hospital room. The initiative has got to come from you. I’m appealing to you. My situation is desperate. If it worsens—”
    “An intriguing request,” Judd said. “I’ll have to ponder for a while. I can’t answer you immediately, Mr. Kongrosian. How long ago did this contamination by the Nitz commercial take place?”
    “Approximately one month ago.”
    “And before that?”
    “Vague phobias. Anxieties. Depression, mostly. I’ve had ideas of reference, too, but so far I’ve managed to abort them. Obviously, I’m struggling against an insidious schizophrenic process that’s gradually eroding my faculties, blunting their acuity.” He felt glum.
    “Perhaps I’ll drop over to the hospital.”
    “Ah,” Kongrosian said, pleased. That way I can be certain of contaminating you, he said to himself. And you, in turn, will carry the contamination back to your company, to the entire malign cartel which is responsible for shutting down Dr. Superb’s practice. “Please do,” he said aloud. “I’d very much like to consult you tête-à-tête. The sooner the better. But I warn you: I won’t be responsible for the outcome. The risk is entirely yours.”
    “Risk? I’ll take the risk. What about this afternoon? I have a free hour. Tell me which neuropsychiatric hospital you’re in, and if it’s local—” Judd searched for a pen and tablet of paper.
    They made good time to Jenner. Late in the afternoon they set down at the ’copter field on the outskirts of the town; there was plenty of time to make the drive by road to Kongrosian’s home in the surrounding hills.
    “You mean,” Molly said, “we can’t land at his place? We have to—”
    “We hire a cab,” Nat Fleiger said. “You know.”
    “I know,” Molly said. “I’ve read about them. And it’s always a local rustic who acquaints you with the local gossip, all of which can be put in a gnat’s eye.” She closed her book and rose to her feet. “Well, Nat, maybe you can find out from the cab driver what you want to know. About Kongrosian’s secret basement of horrors.”
    Jim Planck said huskily, “Miss Dondoldo—” He grimaced. “I think a lot of Leo but honest to god—”
    “You can’t stand me?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows. “Why, I wonder why, Mr. Planck.”
    “Cut it out,” Nat said as he lugged his gear from the ’copter and set it down on the damp ground. The air smelled of rain; it was heavy and clinging and he instinctively rebelled against it, against the