The man who owned the giant brain took a walk every day in the early morning. He loved the pretty pale gold light. The birds sang secret energy love promises to him: that everything would be okay, that everything would turn out right. On his walks he saw people stumbling around in floaty dazes; he would said HI and walk on, smiling. They were always pretty crabby because they had to go to work. He felt bad for them. They were missing something.
His worst thought about them: they were doomed and useless void robots marching blindly to rusty fields of death. His best thought: they were pitiful lost sheep deserving compassion, and sometimes candy.
His giant brain proved devastatingly useful in solving their problems. It gave him total insight into every mind he touched. He would talk quietly to the tired insomniacs who made doughnuts, to the writers who worked on newspapers, writing articles and editorials that explained why things were so horrible all over the place, and to the waitresses and garbagemen with swollen feet. He knew what was missing, and taught them how to make little adjustments in their daily routines and rotten attitudes so things would work out much better for all of them, lifestyle-wise.
He was a really amazing guy. People who had never met him before immediately fell under the spell of his colossal intellect and carefully followed his advice. They found that everything he said was right and true, and all their lives were transformed—it was like he was the Wizard of Oz or something.
All the waitresses started giving him free coffee at the restaurants and coffee shops where they worked, and the newspaper writers started writing things like how everybody really wanted peace, and how wars were stupid and the worst thing you could do to any country. Even the cops heard about him and came around asking questions like how could they understand criminals better and what was the root of all evil.
"Money," he told them. He learned that one in Sunday School.
But just when everything was going so great for him and everyone else, his head started to hurt like crazy. He collapsed in the street one night and was found by a couple of nice cops who rushed him to the hospital. They hovered over him anxiously, consulting the doctor in whispers.
The doctor had bad news. The guy walking around with the love thoughts who got a kick out of sailing paper boats on Sundays had an abnormal brain that was killing him super fast. Not one person had ever suspected that, not even his dear old Mom who should have known.
"It will burst out of his skull soon," the doctor told them grimly, referring to the guy's giant brain, "and there's nothing I can do about it." While they were talking the guy was moaning and thrashing around in his hospital bed. He didn't even know what was going on because he was slipping in and out of a coma.
The doctor kept on torturing the cops with horrible medical facts. "This man's abnormal and hugely pulsing brain is swelling at an incredible rate. Soon his skull will crack like a rotten egg and that will be the end." The cops shuffled their feet and looked away. Finally one of them said "what a world" and they went out to find some doughnuts.
The waitresses rushed to the hospital with fresh coffee for everyone. The doctor and the nurses certainly appreciated it. They had been up all night and were tired as hell. The waitresses sat down and started to cry when they heard the prognosis. They immediately sent out for raspberry danishes and began a death watch.
The morning papers were full of stories telling how great the guy was. The writers wrote about how the man with the giant brain had saved their marriages, or improved their self images by helping them see the truth about themselves, and stuff like that. The whole city was suddenly aware of the living miracle that dwelt among them.
The strange thing was that the guy didn't die after all, despite what the doctor said. He was in a coma for a month and the governor came to see him and even called him a hero, but he didn't die.
The swelling in his brain subsided and he came out of the coma. "I feel fine," he said. "A little weak, perhaps. I guess I'll be back to normal soon. Thanks for taking such good care of me." The doctor didn't know what to say. All his new friends hugged the guy and cried, and he got a lot of flowers from strangers.
He was never the same after that, though. His brain had undergone a peculiar transmogrification. There were unexplained side effects of a troubling nature.
Waking up to the golden light didn't mean anything special to him anymore. He couldn't remember what he had loved about it. He began to wear black sunglasses. "The sun is too bright," he explained to his wife. He lost the habit of kissing her goodbye. He walked the same streets as before, but forgot about talking to people like he used to. He was trapped in a web of little thoughts and small ideas; he began to worry about the details. The whole world seemed to have shrunk.
One morning he bought a newspaper as usual and went into a coffee shop to buy some coffee. He didn't smile or look at anybody. He didn't know why he should. His waitress smiled cheerfully but he didn't notice. He drank his coffee fast while glancing at the paper and left in a hurry, forgetting to tip her. The man who owned the giant brain had no time to waste.