28.

Joshua emerged from the fog of unconsciousness to see a bright artificial light pouring down on him, perfectly yellow.

But it wasn't till the dentist walked into the room that he quite realized he was in a dental chair, his head upturned to the ceiling, the soft cushy plastic under his body making him uncomfortable with painful associations.

"Well now, do you know why you're here?" asked the dentist.

"To get my teeth cleaned and checked?" said Joshua.

"Oh, we've already checked your teeth--no cavities," said the dentist. "But nonetheless we shall drill them--you won't feel a thing. Not because of anesthesia--no, we shall use none of that--but because you have the option not to feel any pain."

Joshua suddenly sprang up, but hands of assistants, who he did not notice were present, held him back, pushed him flat once more.

"Ah, I can see you're not going to cooperate. It's no matter," said the dentist as a leather strap was laid across Joshua's chest and arms, then pulled tight and buckled.

"Don't you want to know the secret to avoid pain?" The dentist's face--utterly warm and merciful in appearance, with soft skin laid sloppily into creases and wrinkles, his eyes overflowing with a friendly warmth.

"You can't just not feel pain," said Joshua. "Not with teeth being drilled."

"Tell me," said the dentist--"how is it that you can experience anything? No, don't answer. It is a process of memory and expectation. You remember the past and expect the future--the two come together in between, and thus you find yourself alive, seeing reds and yellows, knowing what it is to be conscious. But what if--what if you should cease to expect, cease to remember? There is no such thing as the present moment--or, if there is, it is too microscopic in duration for you to experience it. All you have to do during any sort of torture, is cease to expect any pain, nor remember it. You shall disappear into the microscopic Now, which is so quickly fleeting that it may as well not exist."

"I . . . I don't think I can."

The dentist was fiddling with his equipment as he spoke, revving up drills that whined as dentists' drill do, preparing a tray of dental picks and mirrors.

"There is one exception to this rule--this rule that you need not experience pain. It is purely psychological pain--melancholy, depression, wild anguish--if one feels that, well, his very instrument for erasing pain is itself damaged, non-functional. So how is he to use that instrument--his mind--to escape his pain? No--no--that man is in hell, and shall not escape. But this? This is just some drilling of healthy teeth, much easier than any depression. Do not worry--just remember what I said to you. Cease to expect any sensation, and also cease to remember--your whole experience will disappear into the nonexistent Now."

Joshua went wide-eyed in horror just as the dentist bent down over him, the drill descending down. If he was successful in avoiding the pain that came next, he never knew it.