question.’
‘You told me that the horoscope could be wrong.’
‘I… lied.’
‘This Schenk must be a fraud!’ Garrison burst out. ‘He must have known she’d been to the sanatorium. Must have known why. He’s been in touch with Siebert. He’s a con man. If she’s to die—’ he almost choked on the word, ‘—she’s to die. Why drag this weird bastard in on it?’
‘No, no, Richard,’ Schroeder tried to calm him. ‘Adam is a good friend. I’ve known him for more than twenty years. He is a very genuine person.’
Garrison snatched up the crumpled card, and his own, and stuffed them into a pocket. ‘I’ll have Koenig read them to me.’
Schroeder sighed. ‘Do you really think I would lie to you about these things?’
‘Let’s just say I don’t want to believe you. But yes, I believe. But I’m blind! Willy’s eyes are good. Proof is positive.’
Garrison sensed Schroeder’s nod. ‘Very well. And I know how you must feel.’
‘What of your own horoscope?’ Garrison asked. ‘And Willy’s?’
‘This is mine,’ Schroeder handed him a card. ‘It simply says: “Thomas. Death. Time-scale: six months.”’
Garrison gripped the other’s hand. ‘Jesus! This Schenk’s a bloody murderer. No, a witch-doctor. Can’t you see he’s but a witch-doctor? He’s told you you’re going to die and you believe him, and you’re simply willing yourself to death!’
‘No,’ Schroeder answered, his voice gentle against Garrison’s passion. ‘I knew it before Adam told me, before my doctors told me. They only confirmed what I could feel inside. My guts are breaking down.’
Garrison shook his head; and again, wildly. ‘But there’s no proof yet for any of this. None of it has to be. These are forecasts, that’s all. And damned ghoulish ones at that! I will think this Schenk must be a charlatan.’
‘And my doctors? Saul Siebert?” Schroeder shook his head. ‘No, time will show you how wrong you are.’ And once again Garrison felt that unnatural chill.
‘What of Willy Koenig?’ he asked. ‘Is he too to be sacrificed to this supernatural hodge-podge?’
‘No, Willy’s future seems secure. His card says; “W. Koenig. Time-scale: six months,” following which there is only one further entry. Simply your name, “Richard Garrison.”’
Again Garrison shook his head. ‘You see? None of it makes any sense.’
‘Then why does it worry and anger you?’
‘I… I don’t know. Listen, can we come out in the open, put all of this in a single nutshell?’ ‘Very well,’ said Schroeder, ‘tell me—honestly—what you make of it.’
Garrison nodded and licked his lips. ‘You believe that in about six months’ time you’re going to die.’ ‘I know it.’
‘And that after some eight years you will be reborn, reincarnated—in me.’
‘It is possible, but not without your help. Not unless you sanction it.’
‘How?’
‘You must first accept the principle. And then, when I come to you, you must accept me.’
‘Two minds in one body?’
‘I’ve already told you, it won’t be like that. More a melding of minds. We won’t be aware that there are two of us. My identity will be yours, yours will be mine.’
Garrison frowned, shook his head. ‘It’s no use. I simply can’t grasp reincarnation.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Schroeder. ‘An intelligent man like you. And yet, ask any amoeba—’
‘An amoeba? More riddles?”
‘Consider,’ said Schroeder. ‘What is the simple amoeba if not a classic case of continuous reincarnation? Why, we might state for a fact that any amoeba glimpsed in a microscope is the original, primal amoeba from prehistoric oceans. Mitosis has not only assured the extension of the species but also its original identity.’
‘We are not single-celled organisms,’ Garrison observed.
‘I have known several previous existences.’ Schroeder ignored him. ‘They have been discovered through hypnosis. If you too, under hypnosis,
‘You told me that the horoscope could be wrong.’
‘I… lied.’
‘This Schenk must be a fraud!’ Garrison burst out. ‘He must have known she’d been to the sanatorium. Must have known why. He’s been in touch with Siebert. He’s a con man. If she’s to die—’ he almost choked on the word, ‘—she’s to die. Why drag this weird bastard in on it?’
‘No, no, Richard,’ Schroeder tried to calm him. ‘Adam is a good friend. I’ve known him for more than twenty years. He is a very genuine person.’
Garrison snatched up the crumpled card, and his own, and stuffed them into a pocket. ‘I’ll have Koenig read them to me.’
Schroeder sighed. ‘Do you really think I would lie to you about these things?’
‘Let’s just say I don’t want to believe you. But yes, I believe. But I’m blind! Willy’s eyes are good. Proof is positive.’
Garrison sensed Schroeder’s nod. ‘Very well. And I know how you must feel.’
‘What of your own horoscope?’ Garrison asked. ‘And Willy’s?’
‘This is mine,’ Schroeder handed him a card. ‘It simply says: “Thomas. Death. Time-scale: six months.”’
Garrison gripped the other’s hand. ‘Jesus! This Schenk’s a bloody murderer. No, a witch-doctor. Can’t you see he’s but a witch-doctor? He’s told you you’re going to die and you believe him, and you’re simply willing yourself to death!’
‘No,’ Schroeder answered, his voice gentle against Garrison’s passion. ‘I knew it before Adam told me, before my doctors told me. They only confirmed what I could feel inside. My guts are breaking down.’
Garrison shook his head; and again, wildly. ‘But there’s no proof yet for any of this. None of it has to be. These are forecasts, that’s all. And damned ghoulish ones at that! I will think this Schenk must be a charlatan.’
‘And my doctors? Saul Siebert?” Schroeder shook his head. ‘No, time will show you how wrong you are.’ And once again Garrison felt that unnatural chill.
‘What of Willy Koenig?’ he asked. ‘Is he too to be sacrificed to this supernatural hodge-podge?’
‘No, Willy’s future seems secure. His card says; “W. Koenig. Time-scale: six months,” following which there is only one further entry. Simply your name, “Richard Garrison.”’
Again Garrison shook his head. ‘You see? None of it makes any sense.’
‘Then why does it worry and anger you?’
‘I… I don’t know. Listen, can we come out in the open, put all of this in a single nutshell?’ ‘Very well,’ said Schroeder, ‘tell me—honestly—what you make of it.’
Garrison nodded and licked his lips. ‘You believe that in about six months’ time you’re going to die.’ ‘I know it.’
‘And that after some eight years you will be reborn, reincarnated—in me.’
‘It is possible, but not without your help. Not unless you sanction it.’
‘How?’
‘You must first accept the principle. And then, when I come to you, you must accept me.’
‘Two minds in one body?’
‘I’ve already told you, it won’t be like that. More a melding of minds. We won’t be aware that there are two of us. My identity will be yours, yours will be mine.’
Garrison frowned, shook his head. ‘It’s no use. I simply can’t grasp reincarnation.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Schroeder. ‘An intelligent man like you. And yet, ask any amoeba—’
‘An amoeba? More riddles?”
‘Consider,’ said Schroeder. ‘What is the simple amoeba if not a classic case of continuous reincarnation? Why, we might state for a fact that any amoeba glimpsed in a microscope is the original, primal amoeba from prehistoric oceans. Mitosis has not only assured the extension of the species but also its original identity.’
‘We are not single-celled organisms,’ Garrison observed.
‘I have known several previous existences.’ Schroeder ignored him. ‘They have been discovered through hypnosis. If you too, under hypnosis,
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