Free Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck

mind—the inductive leap. Everything falls into place, irrelevancies relate, dissonance becomes harmony, and nonsense wears a crown of meaning. But the clarifying leap springs from the rich soil of confusion, and the leaper is not unfamiliar with pain.
    The girl said good-by and went away, and Doc did not know she was gone. For that matter he did not know she had been with him.
    With infinite care Doc scrubbed out a big aquarium, carpeted it with sea sand, and laid in stones populated with sponges and hydroids and anemones. He planted seaweeds and caught little crabs and eels and tide-pool Johnnys. He carried buckets of sea water from the beach and set up a pump to circulate the water from tank to aquarium and back. He considered every factor within his knowledge—relations of plant and animal life, food, filtering, oxygenation. He built an octopus world within walls of glass, trying to anticipate every octopus need and to eliminate every octopus enemy or danger. He considered light and heat.
    Eight of his octopi were dead, but the twenty living ones scuttled to the bottom of their new home and hid themselves, throbbing and blushing with emotion. Doc drew a stool close and peered into the little world he had made, and his mind was filled with cool green thoughts and stately figures. For the moment he was at peace. The pale expressionless eyes of the octopi seemed to be looking into his eyes.
    In the days that followed, Doc’s disposition was so unpredictable that Mack exhausted every other possibility before he moved in on Western Biological for the two dollars he thought he needed.
    Mack’s campaign was probably the most elaborate of his career. It began quietly, and only after a thorough preparation did it begin to take shape. Then spinnerets of emotion laced in and the heavy notes of tragic necessity began to be faintly heard. Drama grew, as it should, out of its inherent earth. Mack’s voice was controlled and soft—no trembling yet—just a reasonable, clear, but potentially passionate growth. Mack knew he was doing well. He could hear himself, and he knew that if he were on the receiving end he would find it impossible not to weaken. Why, then, did not Doc turn his eyes from the dimly lit aquarium? He had certainly said “hello” when Mack came in. A little shakily Mack cut in the vox angelica, the vox dolorosa, and finally a bendiga stupenda so moving that Mack himself was in tears.
    Doc did not turn his head.
    Mack stood stunned. It is a frightening thing to lay out everything you have, to finish, and have no response. He didn’t know what to do next. He said loudly, “Doc!”
    â€œHello,” said Doc.
    â€œDon’t you feel good?”
    â€œSure, Mack. How much do you want?”
    â€œTwo dollars.”
    Doc reached in his hip pocket for his wallet without lifting his eyes. Mack’s great performance had been wasted. He might just as well have simply come in and asked for the money. He knew he could never reach such a height again. A sudden anger came over him, and he considered refusing the money, but his natural good sense saved him. He stood there rolling the dollar bills between his fingers. “What’s got into you, Doc?” he said.
    Doc turned slowly toward him. “There’s going to be one great difficulty,” he said. “How am I going to light them? It’s always a problem, but in this case it might be insuperable.”
    â€œLight what, Doc?”
    â€œWe start with two obvious problems,” Doc continued. “First, they can’t stand heat, and second, they are to a certain extent photophobic. I don’t know how I’m going to get enough cold light on them. Would it be possible, do you suppose, to condition them, to light them constantly, so that the photophobia subsides?”
    â€œOh sure,” said Mack uneasily.
    â€œDon’t be too sure,” said Doc. “The very process of conditioning