The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories (63 page)

“I don’t know. We’re going to spend the next few years finding out. Maybe the rest of our lives.”

“I never believed in life after death before. You convince me, and then the next minute you try to un-convince me.”

Don laughed. “Sorry. But it just might not have been life after death.”

“I don’t see how you can say that!”

“Ivalee Trembath might be highly telepathic. Without conscious effort on her part she might have been reading our minds—telling us things we wanted to believe.”

Vivian Hallsey was silent a moment. “It all seems so fantastic…Isn’t it more likely the other way?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to know. If there is another world—it exists. That’s just logic. If this other world exists, it exists
somewhere
! That’s important. ‘The Land of Nod’ for instance—a figure of speech, meaning sleep. It exists—nowhere. Perhaps the after-life is also a figurative expression—something like the ‘Land of Nod’. But if it
does
exist, I want to learn the truth. I have a right to know. Humanity has a right to know.”

Vivian Hallsey looked doubtful. “Human beings derive a great deal of comfort from the hope of an after-life. Isn’t it cruel to take that hope away from them?”

“Possibly,” said Don. “New knowledge always comes as an uncomfortable shock to many people. And of course it’s perfectly possible we might prove the reality of an after-life.”

“You use the word ‘proof”,” said Vivian Hallsey. “Just how do you go about getting this proof?”

“The same way scientists try to get proof for any other matter in doubt.”

“But how do you start?”

“First with a little deep thought. The problem is how to get evidence—scientific evidence—and parapsychology is a hard field to get definite evidence in.”

“Why is that?”

“First, because the subject matter is so far out of reach. Second, good mediums are awfully scarce. Ivalee Trembath is one in a million. There probably aren’t twenty people in the United States as efficient as she is. Incidentally, please don’t use her name, as she isn’t a professional medium—just a gifted woman who is interested in the subject. Third, there are thousands of convincing charlatans, and even more thousands of unconvincing ones. Fourth, good mediums are sensitive. Some of them are jealous of their gifts and don’t want anyone investigating. Others resent laboratory checks. They think it’s a reflection on their integrity.”

“But surely there are mediums who’ll cooperate.”

“Oh, yes. With money anything is possible. There’ll be lots of hard work involved, lots of sweat! If we got about a dozen mediums and held twelve simultaneous seances…” He paused.

“What would that prove?”

“I don’t know. The results might suggest something. We’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Would these simultaneous seances prove or disprove the after-life?”

“So far as I know,” said Don, “nothing a medium does or says has completely ruled out the possibility of telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition, retrocognition, telekinesis. These of course are hypernormal—but they don’t prove survival after death.”

“How about ghosts—and things like that?”

“Ghosts,” said Don. He looked at Jean. They both laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” Vivian Hallsey asked.

“Ghosts are how Jean and I became interested in parapsychology. It happened a long time ago…I wonder if the old Freelock place is still haunted…”

“What happened?” asked Vivian Hallsey. “Darn it, you’re getting me interested. If I’m not careful—but never mind me. What happened at the Freelock house?”

Don told her.

“Do you think this ghost and the spirit which told you to drill for oil are the same sort of thing?”

“I don’t know. I suppose they have certain qualities in common—assuming that the spirits aren’t merely telepathic transferences. Even then there might be a connection. It’s another thing we’ll be checking. So far I haven’t gone into it deeply. Various regions of the world have their unique type of ghosts. Very odd, when you consider it. You’d think a ghost in Siberia would be the same as a ghost in Haiti.”

“Unless, of course, they’re all hallucinations.”

Don nodded. “With that proviso, of course. The degree of evidence for English ghosts, for instance, is stronger than the evidence for Irish fairies. The were-wolf is confined to the Carpathians and Urals. Although there are were-tigers in India, Malaya and Siam, and were-leopards in Africa. Kobolds and trolls live in Scandinavia, duppies and zombies in the West Indies. The Onas of Tierra del Fuego knew a terrible thing called a ‘tsanke’. Assuming that these supernatural creatures exist, or at least are seen—isn’t this localization suggestive?”

“Of what?”

“You think about it.”

Vivian Hallsey laughed. “Are you trying to make a new convert?”

“Why not?”

“All right. You’ve got one. But now I’ve got to write a story on all this. One more question: what will you call this research foundation?”

“There’s only one name possible,” Don told her. “The Marsile Foundation for Parapsychological Research.”

VIII

Eight more wells were sent down to tap Marsile Dome, and owners of adjacent property who had given up options and mineral rights gnashed their teeth in frustration. Representatives of six major oil companies approached Don and Jean Berwick with propositions of varying attraction. After six weeks of study and legal consultation, Don and Jean sold out to Seahawk Oil on a cash-royalty-stock transfer arrangement, and at last were able to devote their time to the Marsile Foundation for Parapsychological Research.

But there were still other delays. The mechanics of organizing the Foundation were more complicated than Don and Jean had anticipated. To qualify for tax-exemption benefits the Foundation was incorporated as a non-profit research institution, capitalized at a million dollars. “At last,” sighed Jean. “We can get started. But how? We still haven’t decided on a thing. Not even on where to establish ourselves.”

“No,” said Don, thoughtfully. “An institution with such an imposing name deserves an equally imposing headquarters—something concrete and glass, spread out over an acre—but how we’d use it at the present time—I haven’t the slightest idea…We’d better try to organize a staff, work out a systematic program, and then we’ll know better what kind of facilities we’ll need.” He picked up a letter from the table. “We should get some help here. This is from the American Society for Psychic Research. They’re interested in coordinating programs. One of their associates is coming out to see us.”

“That would be fine,” said Jean. “Except that we don’t know their program. We don’t even know our own.”

“But now we get down to business.” Don took a notebook and pen, then looked up as the doorbell rang. He jumped to his feet, opened the door.

“Hello,” said Vivian Hallsey. “I was in Orange City and thought I’d drop by to see you.”

“Professionally or socially?” asked Don. “Come on in, in either case.”

“It’s a social visit,” said Vivian Hallsey. “Of course, if you’ve done anything spectacular, like finding an Abominable Snowman or making contact with Lost Atlantis, I’d find it hard to restrain myself.”

“We’re just shifting into high gear,” said Jean. “Have some coffee?”

“Thanks. Sure I’m not bothering you?”

“Of course not. We liked your story; you didn’t make us out to be typical Southern California crack-pots. We’re just now trying to organize a sensible program for ourselves.”

“Go right ahead. I’m interested. In fact, that’s why I’m here.”

“Well, our first problem is deciding where to begin. There’s plenty of literature, thousands of case-histories, bushels of more or less valid research—but we want to start where the others leave off. In other words, we’re not planning to duplicate Dr. Rhine’s experiments, and we don’t want to make Borley Rectory-type studies. The field is enormous—” The telephone rang, Jean answered.

“It’s Dr. James Cogswell, from the American Society of Psychical Research. He wants to call on us.”

“Fine. Where’s he phoning from?”

“He’s in Orange City.” She spoke into the telephone, hung up. “He’ll be right out.”

Vivian Hallsey started to rise; Jean said, “No, no, don’t go. We like company.”

Five minutes later Dr. James Cogswell presented himself. He was sixty years old, a brain surgeon: short, plump, with coal-black hair, combed in precise dark streaks across his balding scalp. He wore elegant clothes; his manners were highly civilized. Don thought of him as representing the old-fashioned school of psychic research, a man who might have been colleague to Sir Oliver Lodge or William McDougall. Dr. Cogswell looked about with interest and a faintly patronizing air, which at first irritated, then amused Don. It was, after all, the natural condescension of a veteran for a group of enthusiastic, and undoubtedly naive, beginners.

“I understand that you plan to conduct a large-scale attack on some of our mutual problems,” said Cogswell.

“That’s our purpose.”

Cogswell nodded. “Excellent. It’s exactly what’s needed—a well-organized, well-financed—I understand that you’re well-financed?” He looked searchingly at Don.

“Adequately so,” said Don. “At least for all present possibilities and contingencies.”

“Good. We need a central agency, a permanent full-time trained staff working at a definite program. My own organization is loose and undisciplined; we’re on our own so far as investigations are concerned. However we do have access to a large library, and perhaps I can save you some duplication of effort.” He looked around the room. “Is this your headquarters?”

“Temporarily. Until we know what we need—which depends on our program.”

“And what is your program, may I ask?”

“We were just hacking it out when you arrived.”

“Am I interrupting you?”

“By no means. You can help us.”

“Fine. Go right ahead.”

“I was explaining to Miss Hallsey that we have no intent of duplicating either Rhine’s work or performing any ghost-laying in the classic tradition.”

“Good. I approve heartily.”

“What we want to do is attack the basis, the lowest common denominator, of all parapsychological phenomena. The simplest, or most common, effect of course is telepathy. It’s part of our everyday lives, although probably none of us are aware how much or how little we use it. Telepathy exists, it links minds. How? Action at a distance without a link—of some kind—is impossible.”

Dr. Cogswell shrugged. “‘Impossible’ is a big word.”

“Not too big. Don’t forget, Doctor, we’re operating as scientists, not mystics. Axiom One: action at a distance is unthinkable. Axiom Two: an effect has a cause.” He raised his hand to quell Dr. Cogswell’s objection. “I’m familiar with the Uncertainty Principle. But doesn’t it describe the limits of our investigative abilities, rather than the events themselves? We can’t determine both the position and velocity of an electron simultaneously—but this does not presuppose that the two qualities are non-existent. So far as we know there is nothing to differentiate a stable radium atom from one which is about to disintegrate. To the best of our present knowledge the process occurs at random. But obviously, if we were able to compare the two atoms carefully enough, we could decide which was about to disintegrate. The lack is in our abilities, not the radium atoms. If they were exactly alike, if they were identities, exposed to identical conditions, then they must act alike.”

“I fear,” said Dr. Cogswell, a trifle pompously, “that your analysis is based on human experience. You reason anthropomorphically, so to speak. Consider the increment of weight as an object approaches light-speed. Such a concept is completely beyond our experience—yet it exists.”

Don laughed. “Your analogy doesn’t contradict me, Doctor. Remember, I’m not postulating that all events are determined by Newtonian physics. Light-speed physics works by its own determinants, so do sub-molecular reactions, and so do parapsychological events.”

“Very well,” sighed Dr. Cogswell. “Continue.”

“We consider the varieties of parapsychological events: telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition, retrocognition, telekinesis, spirit action, poltergeists, house-haunting, sympathetic magic. With precognition and retrocognition, a sort of time-travel occurs. This aside, the phenomena all involve or occur in some sort of medium definitely beyond the sensitivity of our instruments. For the sake of the discussion, we’ll call it mind-stuff. Super-normal continuum, if you prefer.”

“Mind-stuff suits me,” said Dr. Cogswell.

Don nodded, leaned back in his chair. “So, it appears that our first objective is this mind-stuff, or continuum. What is it?”

Vivian Hallsey said, “Heavens, we don’t even know what our own matter consists of.”

Don nodded. “Right. My question was rhetorical. I should have asked, how does it work? How is it related to our own matter?”

“What if there isn’t any relationship?” suggested Vivian Hallsey airily.

“There
has
to be some relationship. The two states have too many qualities in common. Time, in the first place. Second, energy. Ectoplasm reflects light, and certain ghosts give off light. Anything which radiates or reflects light must have some sort of relationship with normal matter. Third, the fact that a great deal of parapsychological phenomena is generated inside an undeniably material brain.”