The Link (5 page)

“You are being counseled by strong parties to defer the enforcement of it. These parties hope to supplant it by other measures and to delay action. You must, in no way, heed such counsel but stand firm to your convictions, fearlessly perform the work and fulfill the mission for which you have been raised up by an overruling Providence.”

Moments later, Nettie Colburn blinks, regaining consciousness. She finds herself, still standing, in front of Lincoln as he sits back in his chair, eying her intently. She starts and blushes, stepping back, confused, glancing at the silent group.

Lincoln stands, towering over her; she cringes slightly. Taking her tiny hands in his, he says, “My child, you possess a very singular gift. I thank you for coming here tonight. It is more important than perhaps anyone present can understand.”

Flustered, she is being thanked by Mrs. Lincoln as the President is drawn aside by Secretary Newton.

“Mr. President,” he murmurs, “would it be improper for me to inquire whether there has been any pressure brought to bear upon you to defer the enforcement of the proclamation?”

Lincoln’s smile is grave. “It is taking all my nerve and strength to withstand such a pressure,” he says.

They are standing by a full-length portrait on the wall. “Did you notice, Mr. President,” asks Newton, “anything peculiar in the method of address when Miss Colburn was addressing you in trance?”

Lincoln nods. “Yes, and it is very singular,” he says, staring at the portrait. CAMERA PANS TO the nameplate.

It reads:
Daniel Webster:
1782-1852.

“On January 1, 1863 President Lincoln formally issued The Emancipation Proclamation,” Robert says.

We see the words on the processor screen, DRAW BACK TO Robert. “There are those who claim,” he continues, “that its issue was inspired from—”

He breaks off as he hears Bart barking outside, the sound of an approaching car. He rises to look out the window, reacting in surprise as the car is stopped and Cathy Graves steps out.

He goes outside to greet her, introduces her to Bart; an immediate rapport, Bart is a lover. As the dog writhes with pleasure under her stroking hands, she tells Robert that she is on her way to see Peter Clarke at his college; he is a guest lecturer there during his stay in the country. Would Robert care to come along and meet him?

Robert smiles. “Sounds nice,” he says. “Can Bart come too, for the ride? He’s very well behaved.”

She laughs. “Of course.”

He gets a jacket, shuts his house and they start off.

En route, he learns that Harry has returned to England, that she is going back at the end of the year, (it is mid-September) Peter next June; they came over separately. They are members of a psi investigation group in London here on an exchange program. With their assistance, ESPA is working on a study of distance perception, essentially a modern version of clairvoyance. She and Peter hope he’ll come in and observe.

He nods. “I’d like that.”

As Bart sits in the back of the car, looking out contentedly, Cathy tells Robert of her “dreams” in psi investigation: an in-depth study of telekinesis in so-called “magnetic healing”; an investigation of psychic crime detection (“that would be so fascinating,” she declares); the establishment of a world-wide Premonitions Registry to keep track of precognition with statistical thoroughness.

“And, of course, my dream of dreams,” she says. “An extended tour of Russia to observe their work in parapsychology.”

She smiles. “So what have you been up to?”

“Nettie Colburn,” he replies.

Prime example of telepathy, she says; of interest because she practiced it on Abraham Lincoln.

“No spirits then,” he says, repressing a smile. She gives him a look. “And D.D. Home?” he says, already knowing what she’ll say. “A prime example of telekinesis,” she says. “And the burning coals?” he says. “Similar to fire walking,” she responds.

“Ah-ha.”

“You don’t agree?” she asks.

“No opinion.”

“Oh?” She nods, about to pursue his lack of commitment, then dropping it.

She brakes at an intersection as the light turns red. “Ever hear about the woman at the intersection?” she inquires.

We see the woman driving. As she nears an intersection, the light in her favor, she hears a deep male voice saying, “Stop!” She brakes hard, gasping, the car skidding to a halt.

The instant it does, a car shoots by in front of her, speeding through the red light.

“It would have broadsided her if she hadn’t heard that voice,” Cathy says; we are back with them.

“Must have been the spirit of her late husband,” Robert says, straight-faced.

“Or her late insurance man,” she counters.

They come in on PETER CLARKE’S lecture. Peter Eustice Clarke is 57, large of girth and disposition, with a warm smile and a ready twinkle in his eyes. Robert and Cathy slip into seats in the last row of the lecture hall as he proceeds.

“The sires of psi, as we might call them, believed, with majestic naiveté, that the scientific community would embrace them as soon as enough experiments had been carefully performed.

“Yet here we are, a century later, still adjudged to be the loonies of the technological world. Why? Because the things we study contradict the known laws of the universe.

“I quote a well-known critic. ‘In view of the a priori evidence against it, we know,
in advance
, that telepathy cannot occur.’ I quote further from the same source. ‘If the results’—of any experiment—’could have arisen through a trick, the experiment must be considered unsatisfactory proof of ESP
whether or not it is finally decided that such a trick was, in fact, used.’”

Laughter ripples through the auditorium. Robert smiles, exchanging a look with Cathy.

“It is the province of science to investigate nature without prejudice,” Peter Clarke goes on. “Nowhere has this dictum met with less observation than in psi.”

He smiles. “But be of good cheer, we are not alone. On January 7, 1610, Galileo announced that, through his telescope, he’d seen four moons revolving round the planet Jupiter. Immediately a pamphlet was distributed.
Nonsense
, said the pamphlet. Optical illusion. Self delusion. The Inquisition had its say and Galileo recanted. To this very day, they have only
partially
absolved him.

“In 1807, Thomas Jefferson, of all people, dismissed as utterly preposterous the idea that meteors could fall to earth. Those peasants whose cottage rooves had been demolished by same no doubt took a different view but they were not accredited. As were the scientists who, in July of 1790, when a shower of meteors fell in France, declared it—quote—’a physically impossible phenomenon.’ Unquote.

“In 1935, F.R. Moulton, one of the world’s foremost authorities on celestial mechanics did not hesitate to claim that ‘in all fairness to those who, by training, are not prepared to evaluate the fundamental difficulties of going from the earth to the moon, it must be stated that there is not the
slightest
possibility of such a journey.”

More laughter. Peter’s smile is somewhat sad now. “We laugh,” he tells the students, “but do we feel uneasy at the same time? How many truths of tomorrow are being attacked as the heresies of today? How many Galileos will recant new observations? How many meteoric concepts will be condemned as utterly preposterous?

“The answer is self-evident. I have only to quote the scientist who declared, of ESP, ‘This is the kind of thing that I would not believe in even if it
existed!’”

Laughter. Peter shakes his head. “The Lord protect us from such as these and give us, instead, a few more Thomas Edisons who, when asked about electricity, answered, honestly, ‘Don’t know what it is. But it
works.”‘

At the conclusion of the lecture, Cathy introduces Robert to her friend and associate and former professor at Cambridge University. Peter shakes his hand warmly and invites them to his house for supper, re-states Cathy’s invitation for Robert to visit them at ESPA.

As they stroll to Cathy’s car, Robert asks the Britisher if the science departments at the college have anything to say about his comments.

“They accept me as the temporary warlock of the school,” he answers. His smile begins to fade. “However—” he continues. He has known more than one university scholar whose funds “dried up” and promotion “vanished” when he or she began investigating psi. Some were driven into “education exile”, others into “somewhat more desperate situations.”

Peter looks into the past. “One man I knew committed suicide,” he says.

They reach the car and Robert gets in back with Bart who is greeted cordially by Peter. “Splendid chap,” he says, patting Bart on the head. The Lab’s tail thumps.

Of course it isn’t only parapsychologists who have it difficult, Peter goes on as they ride. Psychics have it infinitely worse. If they accept money for their efforts, they are accused of taking advantage of people. Everything they do is eyed as probable fraud.

“They are treated as children by researchers,” Peter says. “Worse, as
objects
.” They are legislated against. Not to mention the ungodly toll on their bodies and minds. “Thank God I do not possess a scintilla of ESP,” he concludes. “It is to be, at once, blessed and cursed.”

In the back seat, Robert’s smile has frozen. Talk like this disturbs him. We will, presently, discover why.

They arrive at the house where Peter suggests that Bart remain in the car—not because of objections he and his wife would have but because his cat is most intolerant in his domain; Bart might get scratched.

They go inside and Robert meets Carol, a frail-looking woman in her mid-forties with a childlike face. She has “the sniffles”. (“I don’t know why I get them here, the weather in England is much more intemperate.”)

Peter puts his arm around her and inquires how her toothache is.

Her smile is brave. “A little painful,” she says; she’s going to the dentist in the morning.

“I’m sorry, love,” says Peter, gently.

Robert suggests that she press together the thumb and forefinger of the hand on the side of the toothache. This will create a “hump” on the upper part of the V formed by the fingers. If she rubs ice on this hump, he tells her, it may relieve the pain. It is a Hoku point the Chinese have made use of for five thousand years.

Carol thanks him, says she’ll try and retires to the kitchen to prepare supper; Cathy offers to help but Carol says she’s fine.

Peter is impressed by Robert’s knowledge of such esoterica. As they move into the living room, a great cat jumps from Peter’s chair to greet him. “Fritz, my beloved!” Peter says.

He introduces Robert to the cat. “He may accept you conditionally in a year or so,” he says.

Cathy laughs. “He isn’t kidding,” she tells Robert. “It took me a good fifteen months to break through Fritz’s reserve.”

They sit and Fritz jumps on Peter’s ample lap to be stroked. Peter points to the space between the cat’s eyes, inquiring innocently, “Know what this is?”

“His nose?” says Robert, wondering why Cathy has just groaned discreetly.

“No, this is his nose,” says Peter, touching the tip of Fritz’s nose.

“What then?”

“Oh, no,” says Cathy. Robert glances at her.

“It’s the
break,”
says Peter.

“Really,” Robert says. He thinks hard. “Seems to me I ran across that somewhere once.”

“You don’t know what you’ve just done,” Cathy tells him ominously.

“What?” he smiles.

“You have just leaped voluntarily into the trivia pit,” she replies. “You may never emerge.”

She points at Peter. “And you, my darling, may have met your match.” The pointing finger shifts toward Robert. “This happens to be the author of THINGS EXPLAINED, OTHER THINGS—”

“But of
course,”
says Peter, breaking in. “Would I be so callow as to goad an amateur?”

Carol comes in with a glass of water and two pills. “You forgot to take them this morning,” she says.

“Oh, dear. Thank you, love.” Peter downs them as Carol asks if they’d like some wine, then retires to the kitchen again, declining Cathy’s second offer of help. Peter puts down the glass. “Hydrocholorizide,” he explains to Robert. “Inderal. Hypertension.”