The Link (21 page)

“All right, now I’m cooking,” says De Vries.

Bracelets, watches and rings are placed on a table. De Vries picks up a heavy silver bracelet belonging to Cathy and strokes it with a finger. “No, no. No, no. It’s too heavy,” he complains. “I can’t do this. This will never work.”

He puts down the bracelet in less than a minute. “Sorry,” he says. “I only meant to bend it.”

The bracelet is broken in two places.

Suddenly De Vries gasps. “What time is it?” he asks.

Robert checks his watch. “One thirty-four.”

“Good God, I have to be at ABC by two!” the Dutchman cries. “Someone get me a cab, quickly!”

They all exchange looks after De Vries has rushed out, torn between awe and laughter.

“Well, you know,” says Peter, ever the gentleman, “Holland is advanced in psi. The first academic lecturer in psi was appointed there, the first lab for scientific research in psi established there. The first international conference for parapsychologists was held there—and there are a large number of Dutch psychics, Dykshoorn, Hurkos and Croiset, for example.”

“He’s still a bonehead,” Teddie says.

They are all laughing when the door to the room opens. Robert’s and Cathy’s laughs choke off at the same time as they see who’s coming in.

Harry.

D
ecember 29
^th
; en route to San Francisco. Harry and Cathy are sitting together; he has remained through the holidays. What he knows about Robert and Cathy is not established. The fact that he traveled from London rather than wait for her Christmas visit indicates something however.

Robert is sitting with Peter; Carol is remaining home, not ill but disinterested in the convention. Sitting in distant seats are Stafford and Westheimer. (“Won’t it be a thrill having them along,” Robert says.) Alan is paying Robert’s expenses since the Tahoe house is part of it.

Peter is excited about the side trip to Tahoe. “You would think I’d have run across a genuine haunted house somewhere in England,” he says. “Such has not been the case. Maybe this time.” He has made arrangements for them to pick up a young female medium in San Francisco who has done this kind of work before.

This leads to the subject of Robert’s psychic ability; Peter has suspected its existence for some time, he says, verifying what Cathy told Robert. Has Robert considered allowing ESPA to test him? Robert say she has but isn’t certain that he wants to get involved in that. He’s not averse to cooperating with ESPA but he just isn’t sure yet. Probably he will, in time.

“Cathy will be desolate returning home without a chance to be in on it,” Peter says.

Robert draws in labored breath. “I’m sure,” he says. His gaze shifts to where Cathy and Harry are sitting. These may be the last days he will ever see her if she doesn’t make up her mind.

Peter tells him that Cathy has told him about Bart’s death and he extends his sympathy. “I know how horribly I’d feel if I had to have Fritz put to sleep,” he says.

To divert Robert, he tells him—and we see with Peter’s narration—a little anecdote concerning the cat.

At a certain age, Fritz began to wet the living room rug even though he’d gone outdoors since he was a kitten. Every ploy was devised to prevent this but the cat persisted.

Finally—most unhappily for Peter—they came to the conclusion that the cat was incapable of learning and would have to be taken to the animal shelter since no one else would have him.

“I was desolate,” says Peter’s voice. “Except for that abominable habit, Fritz was a total charmer and I loved him dearly.

“The night before he was to be taken to the pound, I sat with him on my lap and explained to him sadly that there was no other way. If he had only mended his ways, this wouldn’t be necessary. As it was however…”

The next morning, as Peter is dressing, Carol comes into the bedroom and, repressing a smile, tell him to look in the bathroom. Curious, he does.

Sitting on the toilet is Fritz, a kingly expression on his face.

“From that day forward,” says Peter’s voice, “so help me God, that marvelous creature has chosen that method to perform his duties.”

Back to the plane. “I can only assume,” concludes Peter, “that he regards himself as a person and not a cat at all.”

They drift into a trivia contest which further helps to take Robert out of the doldrums.

They arrive at San Francisco airport and taxi to a downtown hotel. Robert is glad to be able to tell them that he’s visiting his brother that night. The less he sees of Cathy together with Harry, the better.

The last thing he does with her is give her a look which openly implores, “Are you going to tell him?”

That night, he goes to see John who lives in an interesting condominium overlooking the bay. “You want to go out for dinner?” John asks. Not unless you do, Robert replies; he’s been eating all day.

They sit in chairs that face the spectacular bay view, sip drinks and talk.

During their conversation, we learn, from John, more about their family background. (Possibly, we dramatize it.)

Their father was a physically oriented man, something their mother could never accept which caused an irreparable rift between them. Retreating constantly into silence and prayer, she would only, now and then, erupt in helpless anger at their father.

“You probably don’t remember it,” John says. “You were only a baby when they separated.”

It is clear that John is more inclined to sympathize with their father than Robert.

“How would you feel having your sex drive referred to as ‘succumbing to the level of the beasts’?” he says. “Jesus. Then she goes mute on him, disappears into the bedroom and locks the door. Wouldn’t you get ticked off too?

“No doubt he demanded his conjugal rights one dark and stormy night and you were conceived,” John adds drily. “That was it for the marriage.”

John looks back through the years.

“I like him,” he says. “He was a hard man to know but I like him. You might have too if you’d gotten a chance to spend some time with him.”

Robert, knowing it is probably a waste of time, asks John if he can tell him anything about their mother’s death he doesn’t already know.

John can only repeat that he was working in the Catskills at the time (“washing dishes for the rich”). Ruth said their mother fell down the stairs and broke her neck. So did Aunt Grace. He looks at Robert suspiciously.

“Why do you keep asking?” he wants to know.

Robert is going to mention the dream—perhaps Teddie’s vision of the old house—then changes his mind.

John returns to the subject of their father. It is clear how hurt he was that their father asked Robert to take over the dig.

“Granted your background is marginally scientific,” John says (he sells insurance), “but, for Christ’s sake, I went
with
him summer after summer.”

Robert tells him he can still take over the dig if he wants; the money is available. “Forget it,” John says, scowling. “What the hell would I do by myself in the middle of the Arizona desert?”

Later. They have had more than a few drinks and are relaxed a little with each other.

“Listen,” John says. “You’re into weird things. Let me tell you about a weird thing I’ve got going.”

He owns a house on the other side of town which he rents for income. His current occupants are a Vietnamese couple.

“The wife keeps telling me—through her husband, she doesn’t speak English—that there’s ‘something wrong’ with the house.”

John leans forward. “Get this,” he says. “She asked me if there’s been a death in the house. I told her not that I know of and I’ve owned the place for five years.

“Well, the husband called me yesterday morning and told me that his wife ‘feels death’ in the house. She insists that I do something about it.”

Robert is into “all that kind of crap”. Would he like to take a look at the house?

Robert hesitates, not because John has referred to his line of work as “all that kind of crap” but because he still feels somewhat “tenderized” by his newly accepted ability and doesn’t want to do anything foolish.

None-the-less, at John’s prodding, he drains his drink in a swallow and grins. “Why not? What the hell.”

En route to the house, John asks him seriously why he is “going back to all that old stuff’ after avoiding it all his life.

“I’m not exactly—” Robert starts.

“Get away from it, Bobby,” John cuts in. “It’s deep-end city, nothing more. You want to go off the edge like Ruth and Mom and the others?”

Robert doesn’t answer. John hasn’t left much room for him to do so.

They arrive at the house and the Vietnamese couple comes out onto the front porch.

A new development. Last night, the wife saw a “white mist” rising from the floor of their bedroom. She is convinced that there is “something” dead down there.

John tries to argue her out of it. He had the entire area beneath the house fumigated, cleaned and covered with fresh sand before the couple moved in.

The woman becomes agitated when her husband translates. “No!” she insists in her language. “There is something dead down there! Very big! Mouth wide open! Many, many teeth!”

John and Robert wince and exchange a look when her description is translated. “Oh,” says John uncertainly.

They unlock the small door under the porch which opens on the area beneath the house and crawl inside, each with a flashlight. John sniffs exaggeratedly.

“I don’t smell anything,” he says.

The underpart of the house is divided into sections by low walls to which thick supporting beams are fixed. They crawl across the first sandy section and shine their lights over the first wall they reach.

“Nothing,” John says.

They begin to crack jokes as they crawl, the situation striking both of them as pretty funny now. Robert keeps shushing John. The woman will hear and think they’re making fun of her.

“Well, we are,” says John, cackling. “This is stupid. Mouth wide open. Many, many teeth.”

They bump their heads and crawl on, chortling, cross the second wall. John makes spooky noises as they continue. “You’ll have to write a book about this,” he says.
“Bay City Spooks I have Met and Loved.”

He puts his hand across the final wall.

And freezes.

“Bobby,” he says in a tight little voice.

Robert doesn’t hear, separated from his brother by several yards.

“Bobby,”
says John, a little louder.

Robert hears the strained sound in his brother’s voice and crawls over, shines his flashlight beam down at where his brother’s hand has come to rest on the other side of the wall.

Both of them yowl and lurch back, landing in clumsy heaps on the sand.

They take another—timorous—look, then start to laugh with reacting abandon despite the grotesque sight.

The skeleton of an enormous cat lying on its back, it’s mouth wide open, all its teeth bared.

“The damn thing must have gotten in without anyone noticing before they locked the door after they finished cleaning,” John says, his voice a bit unsteady.

“Aye, that’s what they’d like us to think,” Robert intones in a sepulchral voice.

John throws sand at him.

They get a garden trash bag from the couple and force themselves to put the skeleton inside it. “Jeez, it’s moving!” Robert gasps.

“Now cut that out!” says John, hitting him on the arm.

As they carry the bag to the car, the Vietnamese woman stands on the front porch, smiling and nodding. “White mist, huh?” says John.

They drive to the dump, thoroughly spooked as the body in the trunk keeps sliding back and forth. “It’s trying to get out!” cries John.

Their uncontrolled laughter fills the car.