“Please, keep your voice down,” I said, placating him. Perhaps, I thought, there was a way I could squirm my way out of the corner I was backed into. “Very well. We’ll try it. But if it doesn’t work, don’t blame me.” With a sigh, I dragged my armchair closer to the couch and sat on its edge. I had no idea what to do. Improvising, I pulled out my pocket watch and opened it.

“What are you doing?” asked Artopoulos.

“I’m going to hypnotize you.”

“Not with your watch! Do you take me for a fool? We’re not in a circus. I know your methods. With your eyes! Hypnotize me with your eyes, damnation.”

“Yes, yes, keep calm, I beg of you.”

Until now, I’d never looked into someone’s eyes for any length of time without wanting to cross. This situation—not wanting to cross—was completely unknown to me. Moreover it wasn’t just anyone’s eyes I was looking into. It was Artopoulos. There was nothing I knew about crossing that he didn’t know.

Our gazes met and settled into each other. The key, I told myself, was to keep my soul completely still. I had to stop it from reaching out. I had to stop his, somehow, from reaching in. But almost as soon as our eyes met I felt the forward lurch, the tingling, the beginnings of dissipation. A tide of panic began to rise in me. I had to do something. I had to abandon ship. So I looked away.

“Just as I thought,” I said. “Nothing’s happening. It’s no good.”

“Try again,” snapped Artopoulos.

“No. I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Try it again, damnation, and this time don’t look away!”

“I’m sorry, Aristide, no.”

Artopoulos rose, lunged toward me, and slapped me. “You fraud!” he snarled. “You liar! You snake! After all I have done for you!”

“How dare you!” I said, standing so that we were face to face. I slapped him in return.

He began pummeling me with both hands, fists clenched, over and again, cursing me as he did. “You are a monster!” he said. “You are evil!” I covered my head with my arms but I was no match for him. From under his blows, I fell back against the desk, reached behind me and somehow managed to grab the bell, ringing it vigorously before, with a swipe of his arm, Artopoulos knocked it from my hand. Now, consumed by a scarlet rage, he threw himself upon me until we were both writhing on the desk. He wrestled me onto my back. With one hand, he grabbed me by the throat and began to throttle me while, with the other, he reached his hooked fingers toward my eyes and began digging into them around their edges. At that same moment, the nurse entered the room, saw our imbroglio, and screamed. Soon, several orderlies had rushed in, lifted Artopoulos expertly off me, and strapped him into his wheelchair, where he continued, as they wheeled him out of the room and down the corridor, to shout, “You are evil! You are evil! You are evil!”