6
NEW
DIMENSIONS
Dierdre & Sarah
Unknown
to Audley, the laws of the universe were at
work.
The gods don't arbitrarily send entities
into foreign realms and desert them.
There is a vast network of personalities
and coordinated activities that assure the
safekeeping of the sojourner, and 0802-LZ was no
exception.
The Warden of Penn State Reserve read the
Visitor Log from the night of August 14th and
the day following the black-out, noting Audley
Blackstone's request for admittance as well as
the name of her traveling companion, Lanon
Zenton.
He forwarded this information, along with
all the other pertinent information on PSR’s
operations, to Jesse Brothers at JCP
Headquarters.
Jesse was not surprised when he read in
the report that Audley Blackstone, daughter of
his own member-at-large Wilhelm Blackstone, had
been in the blackout.
He knew she was an adventurous woman.
The fact that she stopped at PSR was no
surprise, either, for in spite of her known
prejudices against the JCP, she’d had no choice;
she needed fuel.
But the name Lanon Zenton meant nothing
to him.
Across the globe in Guadix, Spain,
however, Jesse's mentor, Professor Alexius
Vessey, knew all about this entity.
He knew 0802-LZ was coming, how he got
here and when, what his mission was, who he was
with at that very moment, and what could be
expected to happen next.
He knew about these things in the same
manner he had come to know about
everything meaningful in his life for
well over the past forty years - from his
communications with the Supernals.
He was their Taction, their contact
personality.
In his workroom, built apart from the
house in which he lived with his wife, Dierdre,
and their two small children, Professor Alexius
Vessey stilled his body, cleared his mental
mechanism, and prepared to listen to the
familiar voice that brought him messages from
another world.
"Greetings.
We bring you good news.
0802-LZ has incarnated.”
Alexius absorbed this news with supreme
satisfaction.
He had looked forward to this message for
a very long time.
“The materialization took place in a
remote, wooded area in the State of
Pennsylvania, in the east central portion of the
United States of America," the voice continued.
"The process was successful by all
standards.
Before dawn on the night of August 14,
0802-LZ was a fully functioning human being of
your realm.”
Although his body was now frail and
confined to a wheelchair, Professor Vessey’s
mind was still sharp and his will was strong.
When he heard the news of 0802-LZ's
arrival, he determined to live a little while
longer; at least long enough to see the Zooid
mission accomplished.
"You will hear of a power failure in the
eastern portion of the United States,” the
Messenger reported.
“This energy drain was not brought about
by the materialization process.
Kindly reassure the entity that he was
not responsible for the power failure.”
What now, Alexius silently wondered.
What next?
The communication continued: "The entity
has made contact with a female of the realm,
Audley Blackstone, who is the daughter of your
JCP peer and member-at-large, Dr. Wilhelm
Blackstone.
She will take the entity to Penn State
Reserve where he will record his safe arrival.
“I will ask you to adhere to the same
restrictions as those placed upon our
communications, and do not discuss 0802-LZ or
his interests on any electronic media.
Even so, please admonish Jesse Brothers
to monitor the entity’s whereabouts.”
How can I
admonish Jesse to do anything if I can’t talk to
him openly on the viso-phone?
Alexius wondered.
Maybe the woman is a liaison.
Can she be trusted?
"To answer your question, yes.
The woman has been thus far approved.
Whether or not she will remain active in
our mission will depend on her.
Whether or not she will be informed of
the nature of the mission will depend upon the
entity.
We cannot interfere with free will.”
“Fine,” Alexius mused, “but Doc Will is
probably the contact we need, not his daughter.”
The voice went on, “It is our conjecture
that the woman will lead him to her father, Dr.
Blackstone, who is also approved, but again, it
remains to be seen whether or not 0802-LZ will
take the doctor into his confidence.
Remain alert for further communications.
Any questions?"
The Taction had no questions.
THOSE SAME COSMIC OVERSEERS work in the realms
of the minds of mortals.
Although they do not interfere with
mortal free will decisions, they do act upon the
decisions that mortals have made.
The day after Lanon was admitted into her
father’s laboratory, Audley’s mind was busy
trying to decide what to do next.
Brad and Sylvia were out of the way.
No doubt she had handled that situation
poorly, but at least now she was free to
consider her options.
As for the coleus, the hell with it;
maybe it would rain.
She knew Lanon was safe, reasonably safe
with her father.
If Doc Will should happen to stumble upon
Lanon's origins, Lanon would have to deal with
that.
The question was:
What should she do now?
Her gut told her that her next move was
to adjust her attitude about the JCP.
Lanon's reason for being here had to do
with Life Experimental Stations, of that she was
certain, and whether she liked it or not, Penn
State Reserve was a JCP Life Experimental
Station, one of many.
She tried to remember why it was that she
had such an aversion to the JCP -- the Jural
Colony Project.
She knew it was a deep-seated prejudice,
one that went back a long way in her mind, back
to when her mother died.
Audley had gone from being an only child,
doted upon by both parents, to nearly a virtual
orphan in a matter of days, for no sooner was
her mother laid to rest than her father immersed
himself in the establishment of the PSR.
Dr. Blackstone had always been dedicated
to his work so his behavior was not out of the
ordinary, but for the suddenly motherless child,
his absence spelled yet more abandonment and
insecurity. Alas, Doc Will was too
grief-stricken at the time to notice.
He did what he could.
He explained to Audley’s
four-year-old consciousness that Mama had
gone to be with God in heaven.
When Papa left too, right after that,
becoming absorbed in the Jural Colony Project,
her child mind reasoned that since God had taken
Mama to Heaven and the JCP had taken Papa, God
and the JCP would be her life-long enemies.
The grown-up Audley knew she couldn't
hold this childish theory over their heads
forever.
As an adult, she accepted the fact that
her father's work was vital to him.
He loved mindal science, he was good at
it, and he was entitled to find fulfillment in
it.
If the JCP appreciated his abilities and
utilized his services, so much the better.
But there was another prejudice from the
early days of the JCP that she had to rethink.
This one was from her teenage years, when
Doc Will had tried to impress her with JCP
values.
He went on and on about the maturity of
the Zooids, the morality of their ideals, and
the responsibility that such a way of life
entailed.
She remembered these concepts as being
crammed down her throat when she wasn’t yet
interested in Values, Morality, Maturity and
Responsibility.
In her defiance, she had turned her back
on all that the JCP represented.
Forever!
It had been an immature decision, yes,
but she had made it, and through these many
years it was this she lived by.
But now this man from Zenton was
propelling her to review her thinking and change
her attitudes.
Were he a lesser man, were he a Bradford
Spencer, she would have told him to go fly a
kite, but with Lanon she couldn't do that.
Well, she could, but she found herself
committing herself to him.
Why, specifically, she couldn't say, but
she wasn't about to turn her back on him.
To all intents and purposes she now had
something of value, a direction for her
maturity, a reason for morality and an interest
in responsibility.
If Lanon Zenton did nothing else while on
this planet, at least he did that for Audley
Blackstone.
She knew she had to do something,
something that pertained to destiny, but what
was it?
She wasn't a seer, a religious leader, a
great war general.
She was a reporter.
This was what she was trained for --
investigative reporting.
“So investigate, Audley,” she instructed
herself.
“Take notes.”
Investigate
what?
Investigate the JCP.
If Lanon was interested, she obviously
should take an interest in it, too.
Would the JCP be receptive to a man from
outer space nosing into their affairs?
If Lanon was interested in Life
Experimental Stations and he had come all the
way from another constellation to get involved,
it reasoned that the JCP might be interested in
him, too, but they would have to deal with her
first.
God, she mused, what could she remember
about the JCP besides that creepy prison?
They called themselves Zooids, they wore
funny clothes, and lived like ants in colonies
they called Life Experimental Stations.
Jesse Cain Brothers was their leader.
There was a Board of Directors.
Somehow she had the idea that Jesse was
young and that somebody had to have worked on it
before him, but who? How did it start?
Christ, she couldn’t remember a thing!
She lit a cigarette and sleuthed.
Jesse's father must have had something to
do with it, she reasoned, and she seemed to
remember he had an uncle, a Senator, who was
involved somehow.
But even before that.
Whose idea was it in the first place?
Wasn't it Jesse's college professor?
Didn't she remember hearing Doc say the
idea originated in the student-teacher
relationship between Jesse and his Professor
when Jesse was attending the University of
Where?
The University of Knossos.
Wasn’t Knossos in Greece?
Yes.
That must be it.
She remembered her father saying, "The
seed has been planted."
What seed?
What Professor?
Who was he?
Is he still alive?
Jesse would know, of course, but could
she trust him? Doc Will would remember the
professor's name, but she didn't want to bother
him again.
When he was with a patient, Dr.
Blackstone didn't like to be disturbed.
She knew that he would have Lanon holed
up in the lab for nearly a week and she could do
a lot of investigating in that time.
She crumpled up an empty pack of Springs
and opened another, noticing without alarm the
alarming condition of the ashtray.
It was Monday.
Jesse would be in his office.
Would he have time to talk to her?
Even if he had time, would he?
She wasn't anybody important.
Her father was a member-at-large of the
JCP, but so what?
She was only a notoriously willful snip
of a rookie reporter who probably was, to them,
more a part of the problem than the solution.
Well, she concluded, it's time to get
Audley out of the picture.
It was necessary that she contact Jesse
because he could help her help Lanon, and
helping Lanon was more important than wondering
about her status in the eyes of the JCP.
Yes, Lanon could do it by himself,
in his own good time, but she felt she had a
duty to perform on his behalf.
After all, she was the one who had
coerced him into spending a week of his valuable
time locked in a laboratory environment,
subjected to a barrage of tests to prove or
disprove who he said he was in the first place.
Maybe she could make waves for him in his
absence.
She lit another Spring and reached for
the phone.
As she waited for the call to go through,
her mind froze time and again.
How would Jesse react to her call?
Would he react at all?
She didn't know him.
She'd never met him.
Why should he talk to her?
Her anxieties had nearly convinced her to
hang up when Jesse's voice came through.
“This is Jesse Brothers.”
He had connected with her so quickly and
so unceremoniously, she hadn't had a chance to
formulate her thoughts into words.
“Oh!
Uh, hi.
This is Audley Blackstone.”
"What can I do for you, Audley?"
He sounded friendly, as though they had
known each other for years.
"Thanks for taking my call, Mr. Brothers.
Listen," she blundered on, "I won't keep you; I
know you're busy.
I was just wondering if you would tell me
the name of your professor in Knossos.”
There was a long silence.
Had she been presumptuous?
It didn’t matter.
She needed to know.
At last he said, "His name is Professor
Alexius Vessey."
Jesse's tone was curious yet cautious.
"Why?”
She didn’t know what to say, to tell him,
without giving away her ... secret, so she said
nothing.
“Are you thinking about writing an
article about him?
Or about the JCP?" he asked.
"Oh, no," she said.
"I know the JCP has its own staff of
reporters and that I don't qualify.
I was just wondering.
I don't suppose he’d be listed in the
phone book.”
Jesse grinned.
"You were just wondering, huh?"
Of course, he would question her motives.
He needed to protect his interests, too,
but she wasn’t in a position to tell him why she
was interested.
She held her ground and waited for him to
answer, if he would.
She knew he was weighing their
conversation; she could feel his brain clicking.
Finally he said, "I can do this for you,
Audley.
I can contact the Professor and tell him
you're wondering about him and let him answer
for himself."
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“That would be great.
Thanks."
"Is there some lead I can give him as to
what it is you are wondering about?"
"Yes."
She took a deep breath.
"Ask him, please, if the word 'Zenton'
means anything to him."
"Zenton?"
He recognized it as the name of her
passenger the night of the blackout.
"Yes."
She spelled it.
"If that word does mean something to him,
would you please ask him to call me here at my
father's?
Collect.
The number is ...."
Jesse interrupted.
"I know the number."
"Okay."
Now she sighed.
It was done.
"I appreciate your help, Mr. Brothers."
"Call me Jesse,” he smiled into the
phone.
“And I’m happy to help, Audley.
Anything else I can do for you?"
"No.
Just ... just tell the Professor it's
important."
"Obviously.
Good luck!"
His phone clicked off.
"Thanks."
She gripped the receiver and reviewed
their conversation.
Weighing him now, in light of her change
of attitude, she kind of liked him.
He didn't waste time on idle chatter; he
got straight to the point and handled matters
expeditiously.
He accepted her as herself and not as an
extension of her father.
He respected other people's privacy.
He respected the fact that what she was
'wondering' about was important, at least to
her.
When, after several moments, the dial
tone interrupted her thoughts, she realized she
had not hung up and slammed the receiver down
quickly.
Professor Alexius Vessey might be trying
to get through!
She lit another Spring and tried to be
patient.
She didn't have to wait long.
She and Martha answered the phone
simultaneously.
"I've got it, Martha."
The kitchen extension clicked off.
"Hello?"
There was a long pause and a lot of
static.
"Hello?
Who is there, please?
This is the Blackstone residence.
Audley Blackstone speaking."
Suddenly the wires cleared and a voice
sounding as close as the Santa Barbara Shopping
Center said, "Hello, Ms. Blackstone.
This is Alexius Vessey returning your
call.”
He sounded strong and healthy, not at all
like an old man.
Her heart was in her mouth.
What was she to say?
Do you know of a man from outer space?
No?
Oh.
Sorry to have bothered you.
But before she could say anything, he
continued.
“I got your message.
Yes, I recognize the word but I cannot
discuss it with you on the phone.”
Her throat caught and she couldn’t speak.
All she could think was, “It’s true.”
"Are you there?” he asked.
The “yes” she uttered was something of a
croak.
“Don’t say anything,” he instructed and
she knew at once that he was also protecting
Lanon.
She felt an immense relief, but at the
same time new fears spread through her.
He asked suddenly, “How is your father?”
“Oh,
fine, thank you,” she said easily, understanding
his technique.
“He’s with a patient right now.”
“Yes,” Professor Vessey said, as if
confirming what he already suspected.
“Have I made a mistake, Professor?
Did I do the wrong thing?”
“Of course not, my dear.
What could you possibly do that would be
wrong?
Why don’t you come over and visit Dierdre
and me for a few days.
It would be wonderful to see you.”
"Yes, alright.
I'll come right away.
Where are you?
In Greece?"
"No.
We are in a small village in Southern
Spain.
You must take the train from Madrid."
She began writing notes.
"Guadix is on the way to Almeria.
Dierdre will meet you on the platform.
When can you come?"
"I’ll be there right away!"
She would go now and be back before
Lanon's tests were completed and evaluated,
before he was released or found out.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her.
“Bring me an accurate description.
As specific as possible.”
"Okay."
Maybe she could get her father's notes.
Height, weight, stuff like that.
"It's quite exciting, don't you think?"
he asked.
Exciting?
The Professor's voice was childlike when
he asked that, now that he was no longer giving
her orders and they were mutually reacting to a
phenomenon.
Even so, she pictured Lanon sleeping with
his clothes on, his fingers pressed to his brow
(or her nipple), looking at his hair under a
microscope, and grinned into the receiver.
"Yes, Professor, it is.
Quite
exciting.
Frankly, I’m overwhelmed."
"Yes," he agreed, then added cheerfully,
“We’ll see you soon!" as the line clicked off.
It was not yet noon.
She called her Malibu neighbor Eugene and
asked him to housesit, then dialed the airlines
and got an afternoon flight from Santa Barbara
to New York and a night flight to Madrid, Spain.
Connections on the train and she could be
in Guadix, Spain, within thirty hours with a bad
case of jet lag and a belly full of butterflies.
JFK International Airport.
Christ!
She had just gotten away from there!
This time, however, the outlook was
different.
Last time she was contemplating Brad;
this time she was contemplating the next step in
the Case of the Man from Zenton.
She was excited.
Sober.
Her mental faculties were intact and
operable.
Alexius hadn't given her much.
Neither a phone number nor an address.
He hadn't offered to pay for the
round-trip ticket. My God, she thought, I'm on
the story of a life-time and I can't write it,
can't get paid for it, and it's costing me my
life in time and money!
She took out her pen and paper but, as a
reporter, what could she do with this kind of
story?
No one would buy it, literally or
figuratively.
It was all registered in her mind: every
thought, every reaction, every bit of
information and every conversation, but if
someone should happen to find her notes, it
might harm Lanon.
She didn't dare put this on paper.
Instead, she wrote Weinberger a letter of
resignation for with the intention of mailing it
from Madrid.
She loved that kind of prank.
When the person behind her got up to go
to the rest room, she reclined her seat as far
as it would go, then settled in for the
nine-hour flight.
With the earphones on "off" she fell
asleep during the movie and slept soundly all
night.
IN THE DREARY LIGHT OF A WET DAWN, the plane set
down at the Madrid airport.
She had never been to Spain; she had
never been abroad alone.
Were she in her right mind she might have
felt anxiety, but she was not in her right mind.
She had a goal and a determination to
reach it that superseded her concerns on how to
get there.
She followed the crowd off the plane and
into Customs where passports were stamped and
luggage was checked, then to the Exchange to
have her dollars transferred into pesetas.
She spoke almost no Spanish, but the
Spaniards were willing to attempt English, so
with many gestures, por favor's and gracias's
she was able to board a bus for the downtown
Madrid train station.
No one tried to steal her luggage (a
simple bag this time), and no one tried to pinch
her, these being the two things she had been
warned to beware.
Downtown Madrid, which she had been
prepared to enjoy as a tourist, disappointed
her.
A Sears-Roebuck department store, a
McDonald’s restaurant, signs advertising
Eastman-Kodak film, and all windows displaying
Visa and American Express placards, revealed
Madrid as an extension of America.
The Chamartin Station, a wonderfully
modern train station, confirmed this.
At the ticket counter, however, she was
informed she needed the Atocha Station, on the
south end of town, and in the taxi that took her
this distance, she passed from one time zone to
another.
From the Atocha Station she saw she had
passed from the 21st Century into the 18th.
This was the Spain of storybooks.
There were no First Class accommodations.
She could not smoke in the train, which
was more like a rickety bus, having no private
compartments and no amenities.
The toilet, built like a privy in the
front of the car, emitted an unacceptable aroma;
voracious flies flitted from one homely
passenger to the next.
She was obviously out of her class.
Everyone knew she was a foreigner.
They stared at her openly.
She felt overdressed and out of place.
She should have worn jeans and she should
have a dowdy black scarf over her hair.
The women passengers lowered their eyes,
stealing peeks at her while she looked away; the
men watched her overtly, without expression.
Most of her fellow-passengers wore black.
Many of them were plain-faced
countrywomen, obviously Catholic.
The men all had stubble on their swarthy
faces and they smelled of cheap red wine.
The children, without exception, kept
close to their mothers and were silent.
Each traveler carried a bag of sorts,
containing bread and cheese and wine.
Even the children drank wine.
She was sorry she didn't know of this
custom because by now she was hungry and thirsty
and she desperately needed to feel included.
The train started on schedule and chugged
on down the track at an interminably slow speed.
At this rate, she would not reach Guadix
until nightfall.
After several miles the train warmed up
and the stares of the passengers cooled off.
She accepted an orange from a woman then
settled back on the hard wooden seat to await
the end of the ordeal.
Several hours later, lulled by the
movement of the train and caught up in the
timelessness of the Andalusian countryside, she
wrote in her journal:
"Southern Spain.
Somewhere between Baeza and Guadix.
One might think that after these many
hours, gazing mindlessly at the terrain, one
would become immune, as if mile after mile of
sameness would become dull.
But not so, not so. One panorama merges
with the next, ever-changing, constant
variations on the same theme of Urth's beauties.
Plains at first, the train has ventured
slowly:
climbing ... gently sloping upward.
For an hour now -- or has it been an
eternity? -- we are in high tablelands, in
gentle, rolling fields of fertile, peaceful,
bountiful land.
“In the distance the mountains merge with
the blue and purple of the sky, one a shadow of
the one beyond, while in the foreground are
dizzying waves of rippling fields, peppered with
red poppies which creep insidiously into the
green and gold of the wheat as in a Van Gogh
vista.
The byways have been carved out of the
land and the generations by age upon age of the
tracking of the herds and the hand-wielded
farming tools, housed in winter in deserted
haciendas, crumbling with the dust of the ages.
Here and there a herd of goats and a
flock of sheep commingle with the lone herder
and his pair of faithful dogs."
It's another age, she marveled.
Another dimension.
She could see that her fellow-passengers
were right!
They were one with the countryside:
staid, constant, sturdy, reliable, steadfast,
plodding.
"Out of nowhere a small village, a
cantina.
A man leads his mule.
A woman in the dark garb of the Spanish
countrywomen, pushes her wheelbarrow.
In a moment the village has passed and
the vistas of fields and plateaus, mile upon
mile of fertility, resume."
The women nodded over their rosaries; the
children slept against their mothers’ bosoms;
the men closed their eyes and occasionally
swallowed the dust on their lips with a sip of
red wine.
Audley dozed, her head slipping quietly
to lean against the window, her sun-glasses
securely in place, sensing that as mile followed
mile, she was traveling farther and farther back
in time, away from the hustle and bustle of
civilization, entering another era, another age.
It was a peaceful transition.
As one perfect horizon followed the
other, she dozed.
Two or three times she opened her eyes to
notice that little had changed.
Perhaps Guadix was a myth.
Perhaps she herself was a myth.
Perhaps even life was a myth, as
incredible and unpredictable as that stranger
back in her father's laboratories.
Perhaps none of it really existed.
All that existed was a nap, a dream, and
a mirage of endless fields accentuated by red
poppies.
Late in the afternoon she was bumped
awake.
The fields were gone and in their stead
were rock upon rock, red upon purple, grays and
blacks and still more reds.
Gone were the soft and endless greens,
replaced by an almost violent Grand Canyon, a
dramatic Hades, a sublime and stately array of
red pinnacles of non-life.
Her eyes opened wide, alarmed at the
change.
Had she gone so far back in time?
Surely this was the age of dinosaurs!
She watched, transfixed, as the sun
slipped behind the mountains and the violent
shades cooled and tempered into pastels.
It's a continuation of the dream, she
told herself.
Life is just a misty unreality.
But what was that?
Something caught her eye.
A pillar of smoke coming out of a mound
of Urth?
A door cut into the side of the rock?
A hole at the base of that stone wall and
another.
And a window!
See here, she told herself, there's a
door into the side of that mountain!
Indeed, a whole community of people must
live inside that mountain.
Yes.
Smoke was coming from that chimney and an
opening revealed a room painted bright blue.
Cliff dwellers! My God.
She instinctively sought confirmation
from her fellow passengers.
They were still there, still in their
eighteenth century raiment, still nodding over
their beads.
She couldn't sleep now.
Life was too full of surprises.
She stood up, ready to come awake and
stretch and see more of the unreality of life
outside the train windows.
On the opposite side of the coach she
opened the shade, fully expecting to see a
repeat of vast pastel nothingness speckled with
cave-dwellings, but instead she lost her breath
to a visage of Shangri-La.
The sun, now sinking behind the
mountains, cast a halo of light on the village.
Billows of magnificent clouds, outlined
by a brilliant glow of sun, revealed the
proverbial 'silver lining.'
Her gaze slowly lowered into the eerie
light that hovered over the deep green valley at
the base of the Sierra Nevadas.
There, protected and blessed, the
rippling verdant valley held in the palm of its
hand, the loveliest sight her eyes had ever
beheld:
Guadix.
The Village was a Bali Hai, an
Invitation, and a Siren Song of dwelling places.
Set back under this panoply of wonder,
the Village nestled in the lowlands, protected
by a wall of mist and a moat of deep low fields.
This was not a dream.
The train ground to a stop.
The conductor rang out, "Guadix!" and she
stepped off the train in a fog of adulation.
Even the air was different.
It tingled the nostrils.
Crystallized into perfection, it smelled
of exotic, delicately scented blossoms.
The altitude swept her breath away.
She stood light-headed for many minutes,
lost in the heady aura.
When she began to focus, not yet knowing
what to do or where to go, her eyes came to rest
on a very beautiful woman who seemed an
apparition as perfect as this unknown village.
Poise surrounded her.
Tranquillity and clarity emanated from
her.
Like the women on the train, this young
woman wore no make-up.
She wore a dark cape over a loose-fitting
dress and open toed sandals.
Over her yellow hair she wore a mantilla.
She carried a large bag, burgeoning with
parcels.
She smiled in recognition and approached,
holding out her hand and setting the bag on the
platform.
"Welcome, Audley.
I'm Alexius’ wife, Dierdre." With that,
she embraced Audley as she would a sister.
Audley responded instinctively.
It was no social kiss, nor was it sexual,
but it was profoundly satisfying.
As they set out on foot, Audley could see
that they had a good two-mile trek ahead of them
and that she had worn the wrong shoes.
She lit a cigarette and fell into line
with Dierdre’s established pace, enjoying the
beauty of the second sunset.
The silence was unnerving.
After discarding several options for
small talk, she said, "I'm glad you were here to
meet me, Dierdre.
I would never have found my way alone."
"I agree, and the towns-people likely
would have
stopped your attempt.
They are very wary of strangers."
"Professor Vessey didn't give me an
address or phone number,” she pointed out.
“I could have taken a cab.”
"There are no cabs in Guadix.
The fact is it was easy to meet you.
I called the airport and traced your
arrival.
There is only one train a day.
Addresses and phone numbers are mere
details.
Alexius doesn't like details.
He lets me tend to those."
Nothing in her voice indicated she might
resent the role her husband relegated to her.
"It’s been a long journey.
You must be very tired."
"No, not really," Audley confessed.
"I slept.”
"I get very tired when I travel, so I
travel very little.
Alexius can't, you know.
He's been confined to a wheelchair for
the last two, almost three years.
Otherwise, I know he would have come out
to meet you."
"Did he tell you why I'm here?"
Dierdre shook her head.
"Alexius confides very little of his work
with me.
We have our world that we share with each
other and with the children. Alexius keeps busy
and I give him freedom to have as much
fulfillment as he needs. As for me, I am a wife
and the mother of two very active little ones.
And Alexius allows me as much fulfillment
as I can absorb from that."
"I take it you’re not into Women's Lib,
then."
"Heavens, no,” Dierdre laughed a lovely
trickle of joy. “I'm not naturally sympathetic
to American women.
I don't think they need the ERA or
whatever it is called."
Audley thought of Lanon and smiled.
"You're probably right."
With a man like Brad, however, liberation
was a woman's only hope of survival!
Dierdre acquiesced, “If women’s
liberation is necessary in order for you to
discover human liberation, then I will bear with
you.”
The sun, now deep behind the Sierra
Nevadas, cast long, shadowy haunts along the
Village streets.
Dierdre led her guest through the shadows
to the Via de Comprende which wound upward,
meandering, into the black foothills.
The eerie quiet, as well as the
unfathomable dark, unnerved Audley, who again
sought the comfort of Dierdre's serene voice.
"You don't look Spanish, Dierdre."
"I am as Spanish as one can be, Audley.
Where I live with Alexius, where our
children were born, is where I have lived since
the beginning."
"Do you have family?"
"A large family, yes.
They live nearby."
"The only 'near-by' I saw were the
cliff-dwellings."
"In that direction, yes.
But there are many haciendas, and what
might seem near-by to us might seem far away to
you.
The sense of time and space is different
in this way of life."
"Yes, I noticed that.
Guadix seems to exist in another
dimension.”
"All of Andalusia is that way."
"It's beautiful country," she allowed.
"Yes.
It is.
Heavenly."
They had climbed for half an hour and
both women were breathless when they stopped to
turn and look at the Village that now lay below
them.
The train station, a dark spot in the
reflection of the moon on the train tracks, was
in the far distance.
The villagers had lit the lamps in their
homes and the lights danced merrily into the
dusty streets.
The last mystical blues and lavenders of
the sunset settled over the valley.
Before Audley could light a cigarette,
Dierdre said, “We are here.
Come.
You are hungry."
They veered off the dirt path through an
arched wrought-iron gate and entered a veritable
garden of domesticity.
Well-placed lanterns lit the path and
Audley could discern bougainvillea sprays,
geranium beds and manicured lawn off the slate
walkway.
"Tomorrow," Dierdre promised, "I will
show you the gardens."
Audley followed Dierdre into the glow of
light coming from an outdoor patio where two
dark-haired, fair-skinned children, aged about
six and ten, met them.
They held back in the shadows, even while
relieving their mother of her burden.
"And our guest!" she admonished.
"Take hers, too!
We have been walking for an hour.
Where is your father?
Where is Maria?"
The children disappeared as Maria emerged
from the golden glow of the candlelit kitchen.
Dierdre and Maria spoke entirely in
Spanish, but Maria smiled and bowed when Dierdre
introduced them.
Another outpouring of Spanish sent Maria
flying back into the kitchen and Dierdre led
Audley, now barefoot, into the house.
"Alexius is in his office.
He will likely be there until quite late.
Maria will bring us a nice supper then
you can go to bed early.
Would you like to refresh yourself?
Wash your hands?
The children will show you.”
Audley would like that, yes.
She smiled at the children, who led her
down a long, wide, hall. The house was very old,
she noted, but also very well cared for.
The paint was fresh and bright off-white.
The wooden floor and stone hallway were
highly buffed and polished.
Throw rugs of dramatic design, deep
color, and coarse texture adorned the floors and
walls.
The ceilings were very low and
cross-beamed.
Hidden lights embedded in the beams gave
just enough light to show the way.
There were many doors along the hallway
and she sensed that even with small rooms, it
was a large house.
The bathroom was enormous.
It had two windows and, except for the
fact that it was dark outdoors, she expected
them to overlook some sort of gardens.
Even so, the room was a profusion of
potted plant life, evidencing Dierdre's green
thumb.
She washed her hands and face and then
her feet, opting not to put on fresh make-up or
shoes.
She wound her hair into a braid and let
it fall down her back.
She then abandoned her dusty traveling
clothes in favor of a loose-fitting paisley
gown. Returning, refreshed, she detected women's
voices and followed them into the main part of
the house where Dierdre greeted her.
"There you are!
How lovely!
You feel better now."
It was statement, not a question.
"Yes, thank you."
Dierdre touched her arm and directed her
into a very large and airy room, lit by candles
and adorned with flowers.
There was a table set, picture perfect,
where another woman, easily as beautiful as
Dierdre, stood to greet them as they entered.
Suddenly Audley felt weak.
Jet lag, she supposed.
"This is my sister, Flora.” Dierdre said.
“Flora, this is Audley.
She has come to see Alexius."
"I am pleased to meet you.” Flora said.
“You have traveled far."
Again, it was a statement, not a
question.
"Yes, Flora," she heard herself say.
"Quite far.”
"We are honored that you can join us,"
Flora said, seating herself again at the table.
Dierdre urged Audley to sit also.
“Have a glass of wine,” she urged.
“It will refresh you.
Maria will be serving us soon."
Audley sat, feeling drunk.
It must be the altitude, she thought.
She determined to go easy on the wine.
The sisters waited for their guest to
look around and get her bearings.
"You have a way with plants, Dierdre,"
Audley said.
"Your home feels like an atrium!"
"Flora and I are both botanists," she
explained.
"Do you enjoy growing things?"
Audley thought of her humble coleus.
"Yes, very much."
"It is the most noble of endeavors,"
Flora said.
"To plant a seed and nurture it to
fruition is to take part in the miracle of
creation."
Maria entered with a cart of fresh fruit,
bread and salad greens.
She withdrew, and when the three were
alone again, an intense stillness prevailed.
The atmosphere was so heady, Audley felt
faint.
"Please," Dierdre urged, "take food.
Gain strength."
With her first bite, Audley was renewed.
She soon felt lighter and more carefree
than she could remember.
These women were so different from
Sylvia, from any other women she had known.
Their beauty had overwhelmed her.
A halo of yellow hair framed each woman's
face. They epitomized good health.
She had felt intimidated by them until
their graciousness and good cheer put her at
ease.
"Do you live in Guadix, too, Flora?"
Audley asked.
"No, I am a Visitor," Flora said, without
ado.
"Well, you certainly resemble each
other," Audley said.
"It is said we take after Our Mother,"
Dierdre avowed.
During their meal, they all laughed
easily and often. The ambiance, the light
supper, and the filial rapport of the women
conspired to envelop Audley in an aura of well
being. Neither Dierdre nor Flora felt compelled
to play hostess or direct the conversation, so
they sat enjoying the atmosphere and the food
until it must have been quite late.
Their conversations were about simple
matters.
Audley noticed that the things that
seemed important to these women were those which
were immediate: the flower arrangements, the
folds of their dress, the comfort of the guest,
and the music that emanated from some hidden,
subtle source.
Was it a guitar? or was it many guitars?
Whatever it was, it was hauntingly
beautiful.
Long after they had eaten their fill,
Maria cleared the table and served the three a
heady flower blossom tea before extinguishing
the house lights, leaving them to savor the
uncanny peace.
When Audley could no longer stifle her
yawn, Dierdre escorted her across the lawn to
the guesthouse where the children had earlier
placed her suitcase at the foot of her bed, and
her purse and camera case on the dresser.
She unpacked her few things, hung her
blouses in the open closet, and arranged her
cosmetics on the shelves over the sink, jet lag
and the tea overcoming her.
Reflecting on her evening with Dierdre
and Flora, comparing their comportment to hers
and Sylvia's, Audley was impressed by the total
absence of competition.
Hers was a small room.
Any sounds she made were quickly absorbed
into the thick, cool, adobe walls.
Around the three windows and two doors
were massive wood sills.
The windows were high and deep and housed
a nest of plants and flowers.
The bed appeared to be as old as the
house, but the mattress was firm.
Over the massive wood-carved headboard
hung an oil portrait of an ancient-faced
Spaniard.
The floor was wooden and bare.
In one corner nested a kiva fireplace
built low to the floor with bancos off to the
sides.
The dresser was rickety but functional,
and a wicker rocking chair floated freely in the
scant open space of the room.
It was intensely quiet, and within
seconds of sliding between the cool white muslin
sheets, Audley was fast asleep.
THE PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATIONS began the following
day in earnest.
Doc Will began with the standard
Rorschach, amazed at Lanon's lack of creativity.
He next applied the Alfons-Thermatic
Personality Evaluation, followed by Mexler's
Standardized Social Evaluation and the Wexler-Belview.
Following a review of these fundamental
tests, there came a series of Doc Will's own
tests, notably the Blackstone Behavioral
Indicator, as well as the Criminology Potential
exam he had devised for the PSR, and myriad
other secondary and tertiary psychological
evaluations.
He stayed in the lab late that first
night, grading the tests and mulling over
Lanon's unorthodox reactions and responses.
True to form, Dr. Blackstone became
totally detached from the external world.
He refused to take calls or see visitors
and he grew increasingly irritated by Martha's
insistence that he stop to eat on schedule.
Lanon dutifully followed every
instruction that was put to him by the good
doctor and so the psychological testing went
well.
Almost too well.
The patient often finished tests even
before the doctor could grade and analyze the
one previous.
Lanon would have occupied himself reading
Doc Will’s many psychiatric journals, but the
Doctor forbade the patient to read anything
until the testing was completed.
0802-LZ thus spent many hours resting his
eyes on a plaque on the wall that read, “While
the mind is not the seat of the spiritual
nature, it is indeed the gateway thereto.”
On the third day, when Dr. Blackstone
still had no insight into the man's amnesia,
Lanon turned the tables and set out to
psychoanalyze the doctor.
He had finished a rather grueling morning
of testing when he spoke up in the early
afternoon, his stance formidable.
"Dr. Blackstone," he began.
"I'd like to try to penetrate the hidden
recesses of your mind.”
As a rule, Doc Will would object.
He had a policy of long-standing that
there should be little or no extraneous dialogue
between doctor and patient during a testing
series.
This time, however, he decided to break
his own rule.
He had no leads so far.
He might as well try another approach.
"Okay.
Shoot."
"The tests you use.
Do you make up your own?”
"Yes, I use the standard tests, like the
Rorschach and Mexler's Standardized Social
Evaluation, but I administer my own as well,
depending on the subject in question."
"When you set up the tests for Penn State
Reserve, what all did you have to take into
consideration?”
Doc pondered his patient for a moment
before he revealed, "Doctor Martin Belger of
Alabama devised a test which predicted, in
essence, the criminality potential of children
before they reached the age of six … which is to
say that by way of this test it could be
determined if, when the child became an adult,
..."
"Yes," Lanon interrupted.
"I understand all that.
Did you feel his test had merit?"
Doc rather growled, "I had a lot of
respect for the theory and I’d like to see the
test administered more often."
"In every case perhaps?"
"Perhaps,” Doc Will admitted.
“I'm a great believer in potential.
I like to know what could potentially
happen.”
"But the ones you dealt with, those who
were already adjudged as criminal, how did you
test them?"
"I made up several new tests.”
It seemed Lanon was truly interested.
“The first test, and the one I regarded
as the most important, was designed for prison
personnel because we needed to know right away
if they would draw out responses from the
criminal element and, more to the point, what
their responses would be.
I mean, it would not do to have guards
being sarcastic or abusive to the people we were
trying to rehabilitate.”
"Of course.
You tested Barrister, the guard at PSR?”
"Oh, yes.”
Doc nodded kindly.
“He was found to be a peace-loving man, a
follower, one who would obey orders.
In his case, it was a matter of
determining where his orders would come from.
We can find out all kinds of things about
people through these tests -- all you'd want to
know and then some."
“What did you need to find out about the
prisoners?"
"Strangely enough," he said, warmed to
the subject,
"the first thing we wanted to know was
who had leadership ability, and then we
ascertained whether or not they were capable of
being re-programmed.
Rehabilitated."
"Are the tests you devised still being
used today?"
"Oh, yes," Doc said proudly, “along with
the standard tests, of course.
But the most ingenious device being used
now is a machine that photographs personality.
I regret I didn't think of it myself.
This camera shows emotional reaction.
Feelings are color-coded, so to speak.
If, say, something makes a person angry
or anxious or whatever, the machine will
photograph that emotion.
It's quite a breakthrough."
Lanon let his fingers linger briefly on
his brow and after a moment suggested, "Why
don't we get back to work?"
As Lanon willingly set upon the
afternoon's tests, Doc Will set about reviewing
the morning's test results and noted that Lanon
had begun the test at 8:04 and finished it at
10:17.
No one had ever even finished this test
at all, much less under the time limit.
Doc Will was perplexed.
He had reviewed less than one-half of the
finished test when he looked up to see his
patient staring into space.
"Ahem!" he said with some annoyance.
"You finished the test already?"
"No."
There was something in Lanon’s tone.
"You understand all the questions?" Doc
asked.
"I understand the questions, but I don't
understand the intent of such a test."
"It's a simple test, son," he said.
"Did you read all the instructions on
Page 1?"
"It's not the test that I don't
understand.
As I said, I don't understand the
intent."
Doc Will became authoritative.
"You're not here to understand the
intent.
That's what I'm here for.
I'll understand it, if you don't
mind.
Your job is to answer the questions."
He prepared to return to the morning's
tests but Lanon's persistence stopped him.
"For example, Doctor."
The patient’s attitude demanded a
hearing.
"By this test it is strongly intimated
that all humans will steal or kill or commit
other acts of violence if they feel justified in
doing so or if they feel they can get away with
it."
Doc Will was immediately defensive.
Patients weren't supposed to read into
the tests.
It would appear, however, that Lanon had
done just that.
"Well, it's true," he admitted
reluctantly.
Lanon studied Doc Will's face and
rebutted, "It is not true.
It's an incorrect assumption."
Doc Will’s eyebrows shot up.
"You don't say!"
"I know that these tests were designed
for the guests at PSR, but I am not a criminal.
I have no criminal tendencies."
Doc Will felt he was being severely
rebuked.
"Go on," he said.
"It’s unfair of you to expect me to
answer this kind of question.
It puts me in a position of guessing what
I would do in a situation I have no intention of
experiencing.”
"Such as?"
"Such as...."
Lanon pointed out a specific question.
"This.
'If you had not eaten for three days and
you found a loaf of bread (a) on your doorstep;
(b) on your neighbor's doorstep; (c) in a
supermarket; would you consider it (a) a stroke
of luck; (b) your due; (c) not at all; and would
you (a) take it; (b) borrow it; or (c) leave it
alone?'"
"What is it about the question that you
take exception to?"
"I take exception to the question
itself!"
"But why?"
"Before you put me in the position,
through this question, I would not have
considered that I might not eat for three days.
Naive?
No, I don't think so.
Trusting.
Trusting in powers higher than you
acknowledge here, except in your primitive
reference to 'luck' which could be easily
construed as 'superstition'.
There is no option here for discussion
with my neighbor, either by note, a telephone
call, a visit.
Moreover, if I were hungry, why
would my neighbor not know it and have offered
to share with me before even one day had passed?
So you see, it is the question I take
exception to.
It doesn't paint a positive picture of
humankind, Dr. Blackstone."
"I'm not painting anything," Doc
countered, smarting from Lanon's use of the word
'primitive'.
"The results of the test paint the
picture.
You, in refusing to take the test, have
painted a picture."
"But I am assumed to be guilty by
default, if that is the picture I paint, without
explanation.
The test implies to me a rather backward
level of life here on this planet."
"Does it come as a surprise to you to
learn that man is an animal?"
"No, of course not.
I know man is of animal origin, but what
surprises me is that he has evolved so little!
You are telling me, by the use of this
test alone, that with several million years of
evolution behind him, man still hasn't overcome
his animalistic tendencies."
Doc Will nodded.
"That's correct.
And if we're smart, or lucky, we might
survive to evolve for several million more
years."
"For what?
To what end?
To remain at a status quo and continue to
justify these unevolved natures?"
"Lanon,” Doc urged, “take the farther
view!
Yes, it is true that men, women and even
children do steal and murder and worse.
But most of us don't.
Most of us find other ways.
We develop ethics and values.
We are becoming civilized after all."
"It wouldn't appear so from this test."
"You've made your point.
Let me have the test back."
"You said we need to take the further,
long-range view.
How long do you suggest?
How long before the human race grows up?"
"That's a question I ask myself.
It's hard to say how long it will take,
Lanon, but I do know that given enough time and
effective techniques in behavior modification we
will mature."
"Behavior modification?"
"Yes.
Behavior as it influences and is
influenced by the behavior and needs of other
people.
It's a new science, granted, but with the
programs now being developed we will, in time,
be able to modify behavior first on an
individual level, then as a family unit, then as
a community, a nation, and eventually as a
world.
We do have goals and views that preclude
violent crimes and asocial behavior."
"Your method takes too long.
I don't think I'll be here to see the end
result."
Doc Will was miffed.
"Of course, it takes time!
Do you have any alternatives?
It's all
very well and good for you young people to
complain about this world, but do any of you
have any concrete suggestions?
Or, Heaven forbid, do any of you do
anything about it?
No!
Like Audley, you're spoiled.
You think a pill will fix something that
takes generations to come about.
All you youngsters do is demand and
complain and I'm getting too old to tolerate it
any longer!"
Oh, dear.
Why had he gotten angry in front of this
patient?
Sometimes he did, but it was highly
unusual.
"How old are you?" Lanon asked, undaunted
by the doctor's tirade.
"How old am I?"
The doctor sat down.
"I'm 76.
Why?"
"Do you think everyone under 76 is a
youngster?"
Doc Will had to admit that he did.
He referred to his 50-year-old clients as
'kids' and to Jesse and the Board of Directors
as 'children'.
"By Urth's standards, that's a reasonable
length of time to live, isn't it?"
"Reasonable, yes.
Some live to be twice my age, but these
are usually in other cultures.
The American culture is such that it
burns one out more quickly."
"Why is that, do you suppose?"
Doc shrugged.
"Drugs and alcohol aside, I'd say it was
because of the striving."
"I'm led to believe that a certain amount
of striving is desirable."
"Some, yes, but we strive incessantly.
We strive for success, for acceptance,
for affection, for something, all the time.
We don't know how to relax.
If you were to ask someone over the age
of 100 how he managed to live so long, chances
are he would say because he wasn't in a big
hurry, that he quit the striving long ago.
A man of years lives each minute for
itself and for the fact that he's still alive,
not for what can be gotten tomorrow.
Or for that matter, what he failed to get
yesterday.
Smart people modify their strivings
sooner."
Lanon nodded solicitously.
"I will take words under advisement, Dr.
Blackstone, and cease my useless strivings."
Doc Will didn't realize he had been
giving advice or that Lanon was taking it as
such.
"Fine, son.
Fine.
And I will, of course, make a note of
your response to this test and release you from
the subject.
By the way, I quite agree with you, but I
had my reasons for giving you that test."
Not the least of which was his daughter.
Lanon dutifully went on to the next test
while Doc Will wrote, under "Comments: No
Criminal Tendencies," and went back to grading
the morning examinations.
The rest of that day was uneventful, as
was the following day, but on the subsequent day
Lanon once again stopped the flow of progress.
In the manner of a precocious child, he
stated, "I cannot continue with this test."
Doc Will was immediately attentive.
It was the test addressing the patient's
attitudes toward death and dying.
Lanon might not be criminal, but he faced
death as surely as any taxpayer.
The doctor was curious to hear the
patient's views.
"Why not?" he asked.
"It doesn't make sense."
"The subject of this test, Lanon, is
death.
That might help you understand the test."
Lanon shook his head.
"It doesn't help."
"Would you care to elaborate?"
"You mortals have no concept of what
occurs at the time of death.
What you have is based on sketchy,
fear-ridden, ignorant ideas so far beyond my
comprehension, so backward, I can't even relate
to this."
To emphasize, he pushed the papers away
from himself and away from the doctor.
Doc Will was perplexed.
'You mortals' he had said, as if he were
not.
As if he had some super-human insight
into what happened after death.
It occurred to him then that perhaps
Lanon had experienced 'clinical death' at the
time of his plane crash, a 'life after life'
experience.
He decided to pursue that possibility, so
in all sincerity he asked, "You have already
experienced death, perhaps?"
"I have not!" Lanon retorted.
Doc Will scratched that theory.
"It isn't necessary," Lanon added.
Doc Will cocked his ear.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It isn't necessary that I experience
death.
Nor you."
"Would you care to explain your theory?"
"No," Lanon said.
"I've said too much already."
Lanon sat with his fingers pressed
against his forehead for a long moment before
Doc said, "We have time for another test today
if you're up to it.
Otherwise, we can do it tomorrow.
How do you feel?
Would you like to rest?"
"No," he said, removing his fingers.
"I'd like to ask you some more
questions."
"Such as?"
"I'll ask the questions," Lanon averred.
Doc Will considered.
So the patient wants to out-psyche the
psyche?
He had the stamina for it.
“Go ahead.”
"Referring back to the Criminology test
for one moment, do you think it refers to you?"
"It refers to man."
"And what is man?"
"Man is an animal with intellect and
potential."
"Potential for what?"
"Selflessness."
"And you don't consider that suicidal?"
"Not at all.
I consider that altruism."
"Hmmm.
Good.
Now, in reference to this more recent
test, about death.
What does that mean to you?"
"Death is cessation of life."
"What happens, then, to the intellect and
the potential?
Do they die as well?"
"Well, I haven't died, of course, but I'm
under the impression that there is some sort of
afterlife.
Intellect and potential ... well,
they...."
He blushed at his inability to respond as
adroitly as he expected his patients to respond.
Still, he made mental notes of his
patient's behavior and the tenor of the
questioning.
"You said you were ‘under the
impression’.
Where did that impression come from?"
"I suppose it came from Christianity."
"Are you Christian?"
"I guess so."
"You aren't certain?"
"What is this?" Doc objected.
"A psychiatric examination or a third
degree?"
He saw Lanon hesitate, as if he was not
sure what was meant by the phrase 'third
degree.'
"I'll ask the questions, all right,
Doctor?"
"Sure."
"Are you Christian?"
"Sure."
"What makes you Christian?"
"My heritage.
If I were Chinese, I'd be Buddhist."
"Do you have no personal belief of your
own?"
"I'm a scientist!"
"Does being a scientist negate the
possibility of your having a personal theology,
a personal philosophy?"
"No.
I have a personal philosophy."
"Is it one you inherited or one you
developed?”
"It's mine.
I developed it myself."
"Are you pleased with it?"
"I'm not ashamed of it."
"I'd be interested to hear it."
Doc Will hesitated.
He didn't want Lanon taking on his,
Blackstone's, philosophies.
"I have many."
"I'm specifically interested in your
philosophy of life as it relates to death."
"Life terminates at death.
There's no philosophy there."
"But if there could be, what would you
have it be?"
"Immortality, I suppose."
"Do you love life, Dr. Blackstone?"
Doc considered: life without rheumatism,
without arthritis, with work, fresh air, with
Audley and the dream of a grandson.
"Yes," he said.
"I do."
"What do you love about life?
The animal?
The intellect?
The potential?"
"All of those."
"And do you believe in love, Dr.
Blackstone?"
"Do I believe in love?"
He thought about his wife and his
daughter.
"Yes, very much."
"Good.
Now, when you answered that question, you
had to have pictured something that you love,
since the mortal mind works in words and
pictures, right? What did you think of, what did
you picture when you thought of love?"
"My daughter and my deceased wife."
"Interesting.
Your deceased wife.
You think of love in the same terms for
someone who is alive and for someone who is no
longer alive."
Doc Will nodded, now feeling pinned
against a wall.
He regretted going along with the game
Lanon insisted on playing.
"Someone who has experienced death,”
Lanon pressed.
Doc Will nodded again.
"Someone who is dead!”
"Yes!" Doc Will said aloud at last.
"Yet you think of her in terms of love."
"Yes," he admitted quietly.
"Therefore, is it fair to say that the
love did not die?"
"It would be fair, yes."
"Let me ask you something."
Doc Will waited, fascinated.
Fearful.
"There was a moment," Lanon said.
"Once you loved a moment.
A peaceful, sublime and tranquil moment
that you shared only with a flower."
"All right."
"Do you still love the flower?"
He said "yes" but his voice faltered; his
attitude questioned.
"Do you love that flower, that moment,
the same way you love your wife?"
"No, of course not."
"You had no objection to my saying you
love your wife in the present tense.
Is it fair to say you still love your
wife after ... how long has it been?"
It wasn't easy for Dr. Blackstone to
uncover and admit his emotions, yet he answered,
"Twenty-three years."
"You still love her after twenty-three
years?"
"Yes."
And he missed her.
"Present tense."
"Present tense."
"What's her name?"
"Sarah."
"So you're telling me, then, that Sarah
is still loved."
"Yes."
"I will go so far as to say that Sarah
still lives!
She is alive, and not just in the love
that you keep alive for her.
She is as alive and well as you and I
are, sitting here."
Dr. Blackstone didn't know how Lanon knew
that, of course, but he was impressed with
Lanon's certitude.
He was reminded of Sarah's strong faith
and belief in after-life.
"Wouldn't it have been easier, Doctor, if
Sarah had not experienced death?"
"Easier?
I don't know what you're saying."
"Just as I don't know what you're asking
me in that test.
Death is a door.”
Lanon held Wilhelm captive.
“You're familiar with the analogy that if
you come to a door and you want to get to the
other side, you open it and pass through it.
That is all death is, Dr. Blackstone, a
portal, a door, a ‘gateway thereto’, and you
don't have to die in order to get to the other
side."
"I don't understand."
"You will.
You'll approach that door yourself, but
it doesn't have to be called death, and this is
my point.
Couldn't we, for the sake of discussion,
call it Fusion?
Or Home Transport?
Or Dematerialization?"
"What's the difference what we call it?
We all end up going through the same
damned door!"
"The difference is how we react to it,
how we regard the person who left and the people
who are left here."
"This is philosophy," Doc muttered.
"This is philosophy until it becomes
reality.
You’re the one who spoke of a man
as an animal with intellect and potential.
Potential!
Potential then, now and in the future!"
The doctor envisioned Sarah - alive,
loving, laughing, giving, caring, teaching, and
accepting.
He sagged.
"I'm nearly finished," Lanon said.
"Yes," Doc Will responded, recognizing
that he was as caught up in Lanon's mental
machinations as Lanon ever was in his, if not
more so.
"If a method could be devised to approach
death as easily, as academically, as we
approached the door to your laboratory, would
you be interested?"
The ultimate behavior modification.
Modify man's approach to death.
It was the one area of Mindal Science he
had not developed, the only challenge that life
had not yet put before him, but it was a
challenge he would readily sink not only his
teeth, but also his whole soul.
"Yes" he confessed.
"I would be interested."
"Good.
We will discuss it at another time."
"Yes.
Enough for today."
He was drained.
"Are there any more tests you want me to
do?"
"No, Lanon.
No more tests."
Lanon retreated to his cubicle to inform
his peers of his progress for the day and Doc
Will retired to his room upstairs.
In all his years as a doctor, a patient
had never before treated him.
Who is Lanon Zenton? he wondered.
Where does he come from?
And why has he challenged me about Death?
DOC WILL DIDN’T SLEEP at all that night
following his discussions with Lanon.
It had been many years since something
had so disturbed him.
Not that he, himself, was leery of the
subjects of death and dying, no, but that
someone had encouraged his own theories along
these lines.
It had been very difficult for him when
Sarah died.
It was called an accident, but he never
believed that.
As a scientist he accepted their verdict,
but as a sensitive and feeling human being, he
reflected deeply and asked himself such
questions as 'Why?'
Sarah's faith had been simple and
traditional.
His was not.
His beliefs were derived from questioning
and testing and experimenting, and for poignant
moments, he sought answers.
Not necessarily reasons -- he did not
expect to understand all the reasons -- but some
kind of an answer that he could live with, that
helped make sense out of life.
It was, originally, improbable that he
would ever find a woman, a wife, at all.
He had dedicated his life to the Science
of Mind years before he met Sarah and he had no
reason to need a wife.
If he had not met Sarah, had not come to
deeply love her and marry her, she would not
have been on that scaffolding that day and she
would not have had that fatal accident.
Yet, he could not deny how he had
benefited from the experience of knowing her and
loving her.
From that unlikely union they had
produced Audley.
At their ages!
Audley was not an accident.
They wanted a child, and look at what he
had been able to experience and contribute to
his field as a result of bringing up the girl.
Look now at what she was contributing!
It was not an accident, he knew, that she
had brought Lanon Zenton to his house.
Doc Will didn't believe in accidents.
Sarah's death was not an accident.
He couldn't, didn't and wouldn't allow
himself to think that way.
But if she had to die, if it were
necessary for her to cease, if it were necessary
for her to not be here anymore, it would have
been so much simpler, so much more dignified, if
the Powers-That-Be had simply taken her without
all the mess and distortion of the 'accident'.
The odd thing was that Sarah seemed to
know she was going to be leaving this world.
She had said as much to Wilhelm only days
before it happened.
Whatever it was that she said, and he
couldn't remember the exact words, it had
startled him and he could see that it rather
startled her, too, when she said it.
As if something in her knew she would be
leaving and was preparing to go, and she was
telling him so that he could be prepared to let
her go.
It would have been so much easier if she
had just said, "Well, I'm off!"
Instead, there had been a tragedy.
There was much screaming and wailing and
calling of ambulances and medical attention and
expense and trauma.
There were guilts to be dealt with and
worked through.
There were regrets and depression, anger
and resentments, and the dark hole of grief that
threatened to consume him.
Then followed the public reaction, the
newspapers, the funeral, the mourning, and the
sympathy.
The sympathy was worst of all, for it fed
the sense of loss, of
helplessness.
If it could have been clean, if she could
have just said, "It's time for me to go," and
left, with no one making a fuss, if it were
expected to be a natural part of living, the
leave-taking, rather than the infernal negative
approach running rampant on this planet, it
would have been so much easier.
Yes, Lanon had struck a very sensitive
nerve.
He had a damned good point.
Dr. Blackstone had a room full of notes
on the subject of death, on the stages of death
and dying.
The existing theories were ‘primitive!’
Why should anyone have to go through
those phases at all?
How could one be expected to calmly
approach anger, denial, depression and
acceptance?
Like Lanon said, death wasn't necessary!
It distorted all of life, ending all
human experience with a negative.
The entire world would have to be
re-programmed.
Death was not and had seldom ever been
handled right.
What did one do, then?
Send the human race to Alaska to see how
the Eskimos did it?
They knew when their time was up.
They invited all their friends and family
in to say good-bye, they put their affairs in
order and they left!
God, that was clean.
They knew how it should be done.
Goddammed civilized society had to put on
the garb of mourning and the fear of God and the
expense of the damned.
What did Lanon call it?
Prefer to call it?
Home Transport.
That was a good one.
It had a positive ring to it.
Doc Will didn't believe in accidents.
Things happen for a reason and Lanon
Zenton was in his laboratory talking about death
for a reason.
Audley was up to her neck in this for a
reason.
He might not know the reasons but he would, by
God, find an answer. |