Nightmare Alley (20 page)

Knock!

Everyone gasped and then smiled and nodded.

Knock!

Carlisle spoke. “Ramakrishna?”

Three sharp raps answered him.

“Our dear teacher—our loving
guru
who has never left us in spirit—we greet you in the love of God, which you imparted so divinely while you were earth-bound. Will you speak to us now through the lips of our dear medium, Mary Cahill?”

Miss Cahill stirred in her chair and her head drew back. Her lips opened and her voice came softly, as from a great distance:

“The body of man is a soul-city containing the palace of the heart which contains, in turn, the lotus of the soul. Within its blossom are heaven and earth contained, are fire and water, sun and moon, and lightning and stars.”

Her voice came, monotonous, as if it were a transmitter of the words of another. “He, whose vision is clouded by the veils of maya, will ask of that city, ‘What is left of it when old age covers it and scatters it; when it falls to pieces?’ To which the enlightened one replies, ‘In the old age of the body the soul ages not; by the death of the body it is not slain.’ There is a wind that blows between the worlds, strewing the lotus petals to the stars.”

She stopped and let out her breath in a long sigh, pressing her hands against the chair arms and then letting them drop into her lap.

“Our guide has spoken,” Carlisle said gently. “We may expect a great deal tonight, I am sure.”

Miss Cahill opened her eyes, then jumped from the chair and began to walk about the room, touching the furniture and the walls with the tips of her fingers. She turned to the Rev. Carlisle. “D’you mind if I get into something more comfortable?”

The reverend nodded. “My friends, it has always been my aim to present tests of mediumship under such conditions that the slightest suspicion of fraud is impossible. We must face it: there are fraudulent mediums who prey on the noblest and purest emotions known to man. And I insist that the gifts of Mary Cahill be removed from the category of ordinary mediumship. She is able, at an expense to her strength it is true, to work in a faint light. I should like a number of the ladies here tonight to accompany her when she changes her clothes and make sure that there is no chance of fraud or trickery, that nothing is concealed. I know that you do not for one moment harbor such thoughts, but to spread the gospel of Spiritualism we must be able to say to the world—and to our most hostile critics—I
saw
. And under test conditions.”

Mrs. Peabody and Mrs. Simmons rose and Miss Cahill smiled to them and waited. Carlisle opened a small valise, drawing out a robe of white watered silk and a pair of white slippers. He handed these to the medium and the ladies filed out.

Mrs. Peabody led the way up to her own bedroom. “Here you are, dear. Just change your things in here. We’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Miss Cahill shook her head. “Mr. Carlisle wants you to stay. I don’t mind a bit.” The ladies sat down, tongue-tied with embarrassment. The medium slowly drew off her dress and slip. She rolled down her stockings neatly and placed them beside her shoes. When she stood completely stripped before them, leisurely shaking out the robe, a sadness gripped Mrs. Peabody, deep and nameless. She saw the naked woman, unashamed there in the frilly celibacy of her own bedroom, and a lump rose in her throat. Miss Cahill was so beautiful and it was all so innocent, her standing there with her mind, or certainly part of her mind, far away still in that mysterious land where it went voyaging. It was with regret and a feeling she had had as a little girl when the last curtain descended on a play, that she watched Miss Cahill finally draw the robe about her and tie the cord loosely. She stepped into the slippers and smiled at them; and Mrs. Peabody got up, straightening her dress.

“My dear, it is so good of you to come to us. We appreciate it so.”

She led the way downstairs.

In the living room all the lights were extinguished, save for a single oil lamp with a shade of ruby-red glass which the clergyman had brought with him. It gave just enough light for each person to see the faces of the others.

The Rev. Carlisle took the medium by the hand and led her to the armchair in the niche. “Let us try first without closing the curtains.”

They formed the circle, waiting patiently, devoutly. Mary Cahill’s eyes were closed. She moaned and slumped lower in the chair, twisting so that her head rested against its back. A low whimper came from deep within her, and she twisted again and began to breathe heavily. The cord of the white robe loosened, the fringed ends fell to the carpet. Then her body suddenly arched itself and the robe fell open.

With a swift intake of breath the sitters leaned forward.

“Mrs. Peabody, do you mind?” The reverend’s voice was like a benediction.

She hurried over, feeling the warmth in her face, and closed the robe, tying the cord firmly. She couldn’t resist giving the girl’s hand an affectionate little pat, but the medium seemed unconscious.

When she had regained her chair she looked over at the Rev. Carlisle. He sat upright, eyes closed, his hands motionless on his knees. In the dim red glow of the lamp his face, above the severe collar, seemed to hang in mid-air; his hands to float as motionless as if they were made of papier-mâché. Save for the indistinct circle of faces the only other thing visible in the room was the medium in her white robe. Her hair was part of the darkness.

Slowly and gently spirit sounds began. Gentle raps, then louder knocks. Something set the glass prisms of the chandelier tinkling, and their musical voices continued for several minutes, as if a ghostly hand were playing with them—as a child might play with them if it could float to the ceiling.

Mrs. Simmons spoke first, in a hushed, awed voice. “I see a light.”

It was there. A soft, greenish spark hovered near the floor beside Mrs. Peabody and then vanished. Mrs. Peabody felt a breeze —the psychic breeze of which Sir Oliver Lodge had written. Then, moving high in the air across the room, was another light. She tilted her eyeglasses a trifle to bring it into sharper focus. It was a hand with the forefinger raised as if toward heaven. It vanished.

The shadows now seemed to flit with lights but some, she knew, were in her own eyes. The next time, however, they all saw it. Floating near the floor, in front of the medium, was a glowing mass which seemed to unwind from nowhere. It took form and rose before her and for a moment obscured her face.

It grew brighter and Mrs. Peabody made out the features of a young girl. “Caroline!
Carol
, darling—is it you?”

The whisper was gentle and caressing. “Mother. Mother. Mother.”

It was gone. Mrs. Peabody took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. At last Caroline had come through to her. The perfect image of the child! They seem to stay the age when they pass over. That would make Caroline still sixteen, bless her heart. “Carol—don’t leave! Don’t go, darling! Come back!”

Darkness. The oil lamp sputtered, the flame died down and pitch black enfolded them. But Mrs. Peabody did not notice it. Her eyes were tight shut against the tears.

The Rev. Carlisle spoke. “Will someone turn on the lights?”

Orange glow leaped out brilliantly, showing the reverend still sitting with his hands on his knees. He rose now and went to the medium; with a handkerchief he wiped the corners of her eyes and her lips. She opened her eyes and got to her feet swaying, saying nothing.

The spiritualist steadied her arm and then she smiled once at the company. “Let me go upstairs,” she said breathlessly.

When she was gone they crowded around the Rev. Stanton Carlisle, pressing his hand and all talking at once from the release of the tension.

“My dear friends, this is not our last evening. I see many more in the future. We shall indeed explore the Other Side together. Now I must go as soon as Miss Cahill is ready. We must look after our medium, you know. I will go up to her now and I shall ask all of you to remain here and not to say good-bye. She has been under tremendous strain. Let us leave quietly.”

He smiled his blessing on them and closed the door softly behind him. On the hall table was a blue envelope, “To our dear medium as a token of our appreciation.” Inside was Mrs. Peabody’s check for seventy dollars.

“Ten bucks apiece,” Stan said under his breath and crushed the envelope in his fingers. “Hang on to your hat, lady; you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Upstairs he entered Mrs. Peabody’s room and shut the door. Molly was dressed and combing her hair.

“Well, kid, we laid ’em in the aisles. And with the light on every minute and the medium visible. The robe business was terrific. Jesus, what misdirection! They couldn’t have pried their eyes away even if they’d known what I was doing.”

From under his clerical vest he drew two papier-mâché replicas of a man’s hands and two black mittens. From a large flat pocket inside his coat came a piece of black cardboard on which was pasted a picture of a movie actress cut from a magazine cover and touched up with luminous paint. From his sleeve he took a telescopic reaching-rod made of blue steel. Bundling all the props into the white robe he stuffed them into the valise which he had brought upstairs. Then he lifted his shoe, pulled a luminous-headed thumbtack from the instep, tossed it in, and shut the bag.

“You all set, kid? You better endorse this before I forget it. It’s only seventy skins, but, baby, we’re just starting. I got it fixed so we can slip downstairs and out without a lot of congratulations and crap. Baby, next time we really turn the heat on the old gal.”

Molly’s lip was trembling. “Stan, Mrs. Peabody’s awful sweet. I—I can’t go on with this sort of stuff. I just can’t. She wants to speak to her daughter so bad and all you could do was whisper at her a little.”

The Rev. Stanton Carlisle was an ordained spiritualist minister. He had started by sending two dollars and an affidavit, saying that he had produced spirit messages, to the United Spiritual League, and had received a medium’s certificate. To get his Minister’s certificate he had sent five dollars and had been interviewed by an ordained minister who turned his rostrum over to Candidate Carlisle for a few minutes one Thursday night. Messages were forthcoming and the new minister of the spiritualist gospel was sworn in. He was now entitled to perform marriages, conduct services, and bury the dead. He threw back his head and laughed silently.

“Don’t worry, kid. She’ll hear from her daughter. And in something louder than a whisper. And she’ll see her too. This routine with the lights on and the medium in view all the time was just the convincer. The next time we work with this bunch we’ll work in a regular dark séance or a curtain over the cabinet. And do you know who’s going to give Mrs. Peabody the big thrill of talking to her daughter? See if you can guess.”

“No. Not me, Stan. I couldn’t.”

He was suddenly steely. “You don’t want me to let on to all those nice old folks down there that I have been deceived by a fraudulent medium, do you, sugar? You’ve got ’em eating out of your hand, my little kooch dancer. And when the time comes— you’re going to be one ghost that talks. Come on, kid. Let’s beat it out of here. The sooner I ditch this bag of props the rosier life will get. You think you’re the only one in this show that ever gets the shakes?”

The guests stayed late for a buffet supper. Mrs. Peabody had rallied from the shock of recognizing her daughter and was fully launched in praise of the new medium and her mentor, the Rev. Stanton Carlisle. “You know, I got a definite psychic flash the moment that man touched the doorbell, the very moment. And when I opened the door there he was with the light shining on his hair—just like a halo in the sun, it was a perfect halo effect. He’s like Apollo, I said to myself. Those were the very words.”

When the other sitters had gone Addie Peabody was too excited to sleep. At last she drew on a housecoat and came downstairs, feeling constantly the unseen presence of Caroline beside her. At the organ she let her hands fall on the keyboard in chords, and they sounded so spiritual and inspired. There was certainly a new quality about her playing. Then from beneath her fingers a melody took shape and she played with her eyes closed, from memory: